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the way smoke looks at stack absolutely kills me

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YESSS GAWD🤤

Yes I cropped it

[i5uckersblog]

Hey y’all, just a small fun fic with stack. Based on the tiktok prank “Calling your man your current boyfriend.”

Modern Stack X Reader

Warnings : Slight choking? Fluff?

One thing you loved more than anything was to get on Stacks nerves. It was your duty to keep him on his toes.

Today, you decided to get on his nerves. Why? Because it’s been a long time.

You were taking a video on your phone for your Instagram and tiktok , doing a fit check. You had a date today. After a few days of being busy, you could finally spend an evening together.

“Okay so I got this little dress from a thrift store. Y’all is it me or these thrift stores getting a bit expensive?” You said as you turned around admiring your shape.

You sure were blessed. The dress hugged you in all the right places. The heels you had on made your ass seat real good in the dress.

Hair on point. Makeup on point. You could hear your man coming in the room. Just from his pace your could feel his irritation as he made an entrance in the room

“Yo, what’s taking you so long baby.”

“Almost finished!”

“Damn, you look good mama!”

“Thank you papa.”

“This dress on you..shit”

His hands kept rubbing on the fabric especially on your backside. Fluffing the dress down.

“You sure it’s not too short?”

“Baabee” you whined

“Can you even bend down in this shit?” He was inspecting the dress, tugging at it like someone’s parents.

“Bend down lemme see sum”

“Stack stooopp. The length is fine.” You humoured him though. Turning your back on him.

He pressed in the middle of your back urging you forward. You let out a small giggle before bending down sensually looking back at him.

“Is that okay baby?” You asked batting your eyes at him.

“Yeahh, that’s perfect.” By now, he was palming your ass through your dress. Some sinful thoughts going through his head.

“Lemme throw some one’s on you. You’re so sexy it don’t make any sense!”

As you were down there an idea popped in your head. Your trouble light going ding ding ding.

“Okay now, your turn show us your outfit.” You said getting back up. Trailing your manicured fingers, that he definitely paid for, down his chest. Stack loves him some sexy, well maintained nails. That crimson red with the first letter of his name on your middle finger, he loves that!

“What outfit? Im just wearing a pair of pants and a shirt. You’re the show stoppa with your fine self.”

“Babe come on.” By now your fingers were toying with his chin hairs.

You turned to the camera, “Y’all, look how good my current boyfriend looks. Babe show them the outfit.”

The way his smile dropped had you rolling on the floor laughing in your head.

You had to bite your lip to stay in character.

He stayed silent a few seconds as if to digest the information. He looked at you, the camera, then you again.

“Watchu say?”

“I said you look good baby, matching my-“

“Nah what the fuck is a current boyfriend?”

“Huh?”

“Huh!?” He mocked you “if you can huh you can fucking hear.”

“Babe why you so pressed?”

“Ain’t no current boyfriend shit going on here. I’m yo fuckin husband you hear me?” By now, his hand was wrapped slightly on your neck. His eyes staring down at you with a crease in his forehead. No matter how disturbed he looked you didn’t want to stop.

“I mean, I don’t see no ring on my finger” you said coily. Lips forming a pout.

“Okay.” One minute you were standing on your two feet. The next minute your head was dangling upside down.

“Oh my god Elias put me down!”

He acted as if he couldn’t hear you. Taking long strides outside the bedroom.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To the jeweller”

“Babe it was a prank! Put me down!” Your hands were hitting his back slightly. Being the trouble maker you are, your hands found their way on his buttocks as you gripped them.

Now in the leaving room, he plopped you on the couch. Good thing the cushions were bouncy.

“Whatever other nigga that’s talking to you right now you better dead that shit. Matter of fact what’s his name?

“W-what? Baby there’s no one else it’s a joke chill.”

“Play too fucking much.” He mumbled as he watched you laugh. “Ain’t shit funny. Imma make this shit hilarious and the only one laughing will be me.”

“Babe, are you angry at me?” He looked big mad. You couldn’t help but bust out laughing even more. That got him even more tight.

He took a seat at the end of the couch as if to get far away from you. Scooting closer to him, you settled yourself in his lap. Throwing your legs on either side of him.

“My big baby. You know I’d never do you like that.” Placing small pecks all over his face. Yiu nestled his head on your chest. He loved that shit, as you rubbed on his head.

You could still hear him mumble about how you like playing too much and you gon make his blood pressure rise with your silly games.

“Imma buy you a necklace with my name on it. Just watch. And you’ll wear it every day.”

“Okay baby.” You said as you kissed his forehead.

“You gon be my wife.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. But you answered anyway.

“Yes baby.”

You stayed put like that a few more minutes, you babying Stack and basking in it before finally heading to your destination.

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Ain’t Your Girl – Pt. 2

Summary: She won’t speak to them, but the twins visit daily, full of guilt—while quietly plotting revenge.

Say less. Here’s Part 2 — slow burn, heavy silence, long healing, and deep regret. The twins are hurting, but not more than she is.

⸻

She didn’t die.

But she didn’t come back, either.

Not the way they remembered her.

⸻

Her body healed slow. The bruises faded, bones mended, but she still wouldn’t speak. Not to them. Not even a glance.

Smoke and Stack came every day. Sat at her bedside, hands twitching, eyes full of things they didn’t know how to say.

Stack brought flowers. Smoke brought silence.

Neither brought her peace.

⸻

Stack tried first. “You remember when we used to steal peaches off Miss Lila’s tree?” He chuckled, soft. “You ran so fast, you dropped your shoe.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Smoke clenched his jaw. “Say something,” he whispered. “Cuss us out. Yell. Just don’t be quiet.”

But quiet was all she gave.

⸻

They stayed anyway. Every day. Like ritual. Like punishment.

Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they just sat there, stewing in it.

They watched her arms slowly regain strength, her legs twitch under the sheets. Her scars became part of her.

She never looked at them.

But they came.

⸻

Outside, Smoke was on fire.

He’d disappear at night, eyes darker than usual, jaw tight.

“Who did it?” he asked Stack one night. “Who really did it?”

Stack didn’t know. But he wanted to.

Because someone out there put hands on her.

And Smoke? Smoke wanted blood.

⸻

But revenge would have to wait.

Because she still didn’t speak. Still didn’t move toward them.

She just sat in that bed, spine straight, face unreadable—like she’d buried her old self right where they left her.

And the boys who once had her heart?

They had to sit and suffer.

Wait.

And wonder if they’d ever get a piece of her back.

⸻

Feel free to leave requests!

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Ain’t Your Girl pt.1

Summary: They grew up together, but the twins left her behind. When the Klan attacks her, they realize too late what they lost.

We grew up together—me, Smoke, and Stack. Always running wild, always together. Our mothers were best friends, so we were, too. I thought I’d always have a place with them.

But as we got older, I became a shadow, a ghost trailing behind them while they chased after Annie’s sugar-sweet smile and Mary’s low-cut dresses.

It was like I didn’t even exist anymore.

And it killed me inside, but I kept quiet.

Until the night the Klan got me.

⸻

I was walking home after sundown, arms full of groceries, tired as hell and cursing myself for staying out so late.

That’s when I heard the tires crunch on the gravel behind me. Heard the low, ugly voices calling me names I wouldn’t repeat if God Himself asked me to.

I ran. I tried. But they caught me. Dragged me off into the dark, their fists like bricks, their boots like fire. I remember the cold bite of the dirt on my cheek, the smell of smoke and blood, the sound of my own ribs cracking.

I screamed for help, but nobody came.

Not Smoke.

Not Stack.

Not the boys I thought would always protect me.

⸻

It was old Miss Hattie who found me.

The next morning, out by the church, she saw me lying there—barely breathing, half-dead, looking like something a dog dragged in.

She screamed so loud it shook the whole town.

Smoke and Stack were at the juke joint, all smiles and slick words, probably throwing dice with their arms around Annie and Mary when they heard her wailing.

The news hit them like a shotgun blast.

“That girl—your girl—she’s been hurt bad. They beat her near to death!”

They ran.

Stack’s voice cracked when he asked where.

Smoke’s hands were bloody from punching a wall before he even saw me.

But by the time they reached the porch where Miss Hattie laid me out, it was too late for all that.

They stood there—two boys who used to mean everything to me, staring down at the mess of a girl they left behind.

Stack whispered my name like it was a prayer. Smoke just looked at me, eyes dark and hollow, like he could see every damn thing he’d done wrong.

But I didn’t look at them.

Didn’t want to.

Let them feel it.

Let them choke on the weight of it.

Because I wasn’t theirs anymore.

Not their sister.

Not their friend.

Not the girl who waited around while they chased after every pretty face.

I was done waiting.

[i5uckersblog]

see how he’s ready to fall asleep as he’s being pampered and pet. cutest kitty

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Little Red

Summary: Logan, his wife, and daughter enjoy a playful Halloween.

The night air was crisp and cool, filled with the soft rustling of leaves as Logan, his wife, and their daughter walked down the sidewalk, surrounded by glowing jack-o’-lanterns and festive Halloween lights. Their six-year-old daughter led the way, skipping excitedly in her bright red Little Red Riding Hood cape, the hood bouncing with every hop. Logan, fully embracing his role as the Big Bad Wolf, prowled behind her in a wolf mask and ears, occasionally letting out playful growls that made her giggle. Walking beside them, his wife, dressed up as Grandma with a cozy shawl and glasses, smiled at their little family.

“Better watch your back, Little Red!” Logan said in a mock growl, crouching down to her level. “There’s a Big Bad Wolf on the loose tonight!”

His daughter spun around, eyes bright and a grin stretching across her face. “Not tonight, Wolfie! I’m too fast for you!” she replied, clutching her candy bucket tightly.

But the moment they reached the first house, her focus shifted entirely. Straightening her cape, she marched up to the door, all business, and knocked firmly. “Trick or treat!” she announced, holding her bucket out as candy dropped in with satisfying plinks.

Logan watched her, hands on his hips, feigning disappointment as she returned. “Guess I won’t be getting any treats from you, huh?” he teased, growling softly.

“No way, Daddy! These are mine,” she said with a giggle, pulling her candy bucket close as they moved to the next house.

His wife, always one step ahead, gave him a playful nudge. “Behave yourself, Mr. Wolf,” she said, shaking her head with a smile. “Grandma’s watching, you know.”

House after house, their daughter trotted up to each door, confidently announcing her “trick or treat” and accepting candy with an eager grin. Logan stayed in character, following her closely, his wolf mask askew but his daughter too focused on her haul to notice. The neighbors laughed and praised their costumes, charmed by their little family act.

At one house, Logan leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure the Big Bad Wolf can’t have just one little piece?”

“Not even one!” she laughed, giving him a defiant look before dashing up the steps, her cape flying behind her.

As they reached the last house on the block, Logan’s wife slipped her arm around his and smiled up at him, her eyes warm. “So, Big Bad Wolf,” she teased, “did you manage to sneak any candy after all?”

Logan looked down at his wife, feeling the warmth of the night and the joy of watching their daughter so happy. “Maybe I got a treat after all,” he replied softly, pulling her close as their little Red Riding Hood skipped down the sidewalk, her candy bucket nearly overflowing.

Together, they walked home, hearts full, as Halloween night wrapped around them in a glow of laughter and love.

Requests are Open!

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Oh MY Gawd🫠😫😫

Kinktober #26

26. Pegging // Edgeplay // Seduction (Logan Howlett x Reader x Wade Wilson)

“Not once?”

“No,” says Logan, the timbre of his voice suggesting that Wade had better drop this subject. Wade, being Wade, doesn’t.

“You’ve really never even had one prostate orgasm? Aren’t you like, two hundred years old?”

Logan growls as he drinks his beer. You exchange a look with Wade across the table, brows raising as one. Yeah, you’re pretty surprised too. But then, thinking about it… Logan is usually the one doing the fucking, whether it’s you or Wade, not being fucked. At least not that way.

Hmm. You tap your fingernails on the tabletop, one at a time, drumming with each second which ticks by.

“Do you want to?” you ask, and coming from you, Logan almost snorts beer out of his nose. Wade tries not to light up like this is the best idea he’s ever heard.

He doesn’t say no, though. Instead he narrows his eyes. He’s thinking.

Logan doesn’t approach it again that night - the conversation instead turning to something asinine (Wade’s fault) and lighthearted (yours)… but when the three of you are in bed a couple of days later, and he’s kissing up your neck, Wade’s fingers walking along his spine… he pulls back.

“Who’d do it?” he asks. The two of you immediately know what he means, but Wade can’t help teasing.

“Who’d do what, Peanut?”

Logan growls again and you think he’s going to call off the whole thing, but you tangle your fingers in his hair to get his attention.

“Me, baby. It’d be me. I have something that’s a good starter.”

Wade nods and pats his junk. 

“For sure. If you took all this for your first time, you’d be ripped in half I think, Peanut.”

Logan goes to snap something at Wade but you’ve been waiting for him to say something dumb, so you shove the dildo you’ve fished out of the drawer straight into his mouth to shut him up. It’s only six inches, not the biggest one you own, but a nice introduction for something like this.

“Get that ready, you goddamn nuisance. I need to go find the harness.”

Wade grumbles and removes it with a pop, grabbing the lube and nodding to the closet.

“It’s hanging up on my side, between my shirt that says ‘baby slut’ and my maid outfit,” he states, as easily as if he’s stating the colour of the sky. Logan watches as the two of you move in tandem, getting things ready, his knuckles going white as he grips and releases the bedsheets over and over in anticipation. When Wade slips his fingers in between his legs his growl is only gentle, letting himself be spread and worked open. You can tell from Logan’s face he’s not used to the strange intrusion but he doesn’t mind it, in fact the more Wade moves his fingers in and out of his hole the more relaxed he gets, his mouth falling into a little ‘o’ of pleasure. 

“You okay, big boy?” Wade asks, as you take the readied silicone cock and tuck it into your harness. Logan nods and Wade retreats, allowing you to line up your fake dick with his needy hole.

“Tap out if you need to, it’s okay if you don’t like it,” you say, gently. Logan doesn’t strike you as the kind of man who’ll tap out at all, but you need to let him know he can’t just suffer in silence. You don’t draw attention to the way Wade threads his fingers through Logan’s and Logan squeezes them, a quiet act of support and reassurance.

You push in and Logan throws his head back, heavy cock bobbing up against his happy trail and smearing pre on his stomach. You grin as your hips fit against his. It’s comfortable here, his thighs pressed up against yours, a strange 180 on how you usually are in bed. 

“Feel good, baby?” you fuck him with gentle little movements, nudging the cockhead against that spot inside of him, and he huffs out an enthusiastic breath. Wade reaches over to slowly stroke his cock and Logan jumps like he’s just touched an electric current.

“Fuck…” he growls, slinging an arm over his eyes as his body gets stimulated in a whole new way. You’re glad he trusts the two of you enough to let you do this, help him have new experiences.

“Can you take more?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, baby, okay,” you sigh, and begin to move your hips properly, dragging your cock out to the top and then slamming it back into Logan’s hole. He grunts and huffs with every movement, cock jerking wildly to Wade’s touch.

“Look at you, honey badger! Taking your first pegging like a champ. I’d finished by this point, so I’m impressed that—”

Before he can get to the end of his sentence, Logan comes so hard that it hits Wade in the goddamn face. All you can do is look at the scene with a grin so wide it hurts your face.

“Welp, that’ll be the prostate orgasm,” Wade mutters, gathering the spend off of his face with his fingers and then licking them clean. Logan shoots him a look.

“Stop goddamn talking, Red.”

“Okiedokie. Just this once.”

“Enjoy it?” you ask with a little laugh, pulling out of Logan’s hole. He considers this for a moment as his senses come back.

“Not bad,” he surmises. You and Wade exchange a twinned look of victory.

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Fur- Real?

Summary: Logan can transform into a wolverine.(BLUrb)

Logan stumbled, a pained snarl ripping from his throat as he clutched his sides, his muscles contracting and shifting against his will. Wade cocked his head, arms crossed, watching with mild curiosity and just a hint of concern.

“Logan?” Wade ventured. “You look a little… uh, feral. Did you eat one of Hank’s weird science smoothies again?”

Logan didn’t respond. Instead, his bones cracked audibly, and he dropped to all fours, gritting his teeth as his skin prickled with a thick coat of fur. In seconds, Logan was no longer standing there—he was a full-fledged wolverine, teeth bared and fur bristling.

Wade’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open. “Oh… my… god! You’re a freakin’ wolverine! Like… a literal one! This is the best day of my life.”

Logan bared his teeth in response, his warning growl lost in the small but fierce animal form he now found himself in. He took a step toward Wade, only to find himself swept up by Wade’s gloved hands.

“Oh, you little fuzzball! You’re coming with me. Hold on one second!” Wade rummaged through his bag and pulled out a tiny, knitted sweater. Without hesitation, he slid it over Logan’s head, ignoring the frantic squirming and snapping jaws.

“There,” Wade said proudly, admiring his handiwork. The sweater read, “King of the Forest.”

Logan twisted in Wade’s grip, giving him a death glare that, even as a tiny wolverine, was still intimidating.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that,” Wade cooed, holding him close. “We’re gonna be the best of friends, you and me. Just wait ‘til I tell the others!”

Requests are Open!

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The Cucumber Conundrum

Summary:Logan hates cucumbers.(BlUrb)

Logan might be the deadliest guy around, but the moment you pull a cucumber out of the grocery bag, he has an entirely different reaction. His eyes go wide, and in a flash, he leaps back, landing in a defensive crouch, hackles practically raised like a spooked cat. He lets out a low, instinctive growl, eyes fixed on the innocent vegetable like it’s an enemy that could strike at any second. You hold back a laugh as he circles it cautiously, claws half-out, every muscle tense. “Get that thing outta here,” he mutters, tail—if he had one—probably puffed out to twice its size.

Requests are Open!

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Kinktober #25

25. Pussy Slapping // Non Con - Dub Con // Titty Fucking (X24 x reader. dark, be warned)

You have been pushed into a corner with one dull realisation: you have no time. 

One of you is going to die and it can’t be Logan. It can’t. You know he’s goddamn self sacrificing to a fault but Laura is a factor here too, and she has a better chance with him than with you.

You tell Logan to give you his suit jacket and, though he doesn’t know why, he obeys unerringly. The shotgun is next, a bunch of shells deposited into your pocket. 

“Go,” you say, loading them into the barrel, “I’ll hold him off.”

“But…” you don’t remember the last time he looked so torn, age and fallibility painted over his face as if with brushstrokes. You hold his cheek in your hand, memorising the feel of his beard.

“Go.” There is no arguing with you. Laura begins to lose it, her voice rising with panicked Spanish as she realises you’re going to be left behind, but Logan hauls her over a shoulder and starts to run. She screams and reaches for you, tears streaming down her cheeks, and you can’t bear to face it for too long or your heart will break.

Buy them time to get to the car. That’s all you need to do. Then they’ll be safe.

“Come on,” you mutter, waiting for the beast to arrive. The wind picks up and you hope the scent of Logan is carried from his jacket, enough bait for the creature to take.

The treeline moves, and then there it is, stalking out towards you. Fierce, furious eyes. Nostrils flaring, scenting the air as it moves. Targeting you.

You fire a round into its belly.

“Let’s go, you fucker,” you hiss.

It howls in pain as skin fixes itself immediately, teeth bared to as if it is about to show you what it will rip you to pieces with.

You have its attention. You start to run.

It lets out a roar and starts to chase you, feet beating loudly on the dry grass. You shoulder your way through the trees, thin and vicious as they whip you, drawing blood with every slap. You can hear it coming after you, moving far quicker than you can, hunting you down, oh god, you’re going to face the end of your life–

It tackles you hard to the ground as you swing your gun around to aim at it. It knocks the weapon from your grasp and you watch with horror as it slides far from your grasp.

X-24 stares down at you, the weight of its body pinning you to the ground. You grit your jaw so hard you fear that your teeth might shatter. If you’re going to die, you’ll do it without looking away.

“Do it,” you hiss, defiantly.

But it doesn’t.

X-24 holds your gaze. An agonising moment passes as you wait for him to sheathe it claws inside of your soft belly, finish you off… so imagine your surprise when it buries its face into your neck.

“Oh… oh!” you whisper, feeling how it nuzzles into where your pulse beats, how its tongue flits against your pulse. Its hips dip down to notch into the space it’s forced your legs open to create and starts to grind down into you, simulating fucking with none of the relief.

Your eyes go wide.

“Wait… wait…” you grab it – no, him, surely – and hold him back. He whines like a dog and his hips don’t stop their movement, but they do still. He’s hard as rock against your clothed cunt, incessant with his little thrusts. “You want to…?”

You’re not sure if he has the capacity to speak back, at least not at the moment, but he understands enough to realise you’ve cottoned on. He must see this as consent, as his hands drop to your jeans with a snik you recognise from Logan, begins to slice them off of you. Panic floods you for a moment. He’s the enemy, isn’t he? This isn’t… you don’t…

“Ah–no…” you mutter but, for some reason, you can’t muster much force behind it. This thing… this man… it's just a feral version of Logan, no? The same as the man you love? Is it that affection for you is so hard-wired into his DNA that it comes through with every single iteration of him, even something as wild as this?

Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing. Perhaps what this creature needs is someone to show it softness.

“Whoa, okay. Slow…” you whisper, reaching to cup his jaw. X-24 whines at the touch, nuzzling into you as he removes the scraps of your jeans from your wait. You move his face to look up at you, make eye contact to try and assert your dominance, even now. Treat him like a needy puppy.

“We can, okay? We can. But go slow, baby.”

Your words sink in and when he goes to tear off your underwear, he is gentler. The shock of cold air still makes you shiver when it touches your surprisingly wet cunt but you are warmed when he buries his face against your folds, scenting and licking you desperately. You gasp at the suddenness of it all, go to bury your hands in his hair like you would with Logan… only to be disappointed when you realise it’s been buzzed to his skull. You drop your grip to the grass instead, pulling up tufts as you try to hang on.

There is no skill in what he is doing, he just desires to be as close to you as he can, totally drown himself in your musk. The feeling of his beard on your clit keeps strumming pleasure through you, though, and the way he attacks you with lips and teeth soon has you coming all over his tongue. He lets out a ragged groan, dragged deep from the cavern of his chest, and then he’s over you again: hips jerking down ineffectively against yours.

“It’s okay, shh, wait…” you mutter, hands going for his fly and freeing his hard cock as quick as you can. There is no surprise: you are faced with Logan’s length and girth, thick and hard and oozing with desire for you. X-24 growls a little and then wastes no time in finding your entrance, sliding himself up to the hilt in one motion which has you gasping and writhing. 

Logan would let you adjust, tease you a little. This creature, this man, does not have the facility to understand that. He ruts wildly, dragging himself out to the tip and then slamming back home, obsessed with the way your needy cunt soaks his entire cock, entranced by the idea of more of you. His hands wrap around your thighs and pull you even closer to him, as if he fears that if he doesn’t pin you down that you’ll disappear from under him. You clutch onto his shirt and try to ground yourself.

“I’m not going anywhere… It’s okay…”

He growls and whines as his pace picks up, hips slapping loudly and lewdly against yours in the quiet of the woodland around you, and then with a snarl he’s releasing himself into your body; filling you full of cum and, as far as he is concerned, claiming you.

He at least has the acumen not to collapse on you, crush you with his skeleton. Instead he nuzzles his face into your stomach as if trying to guard the womb he’s just flooded with himself. As the world settles again you stroke your fingers against the prickle of his hair, not entirely disliking the way he holds you in a vice-grip.

He whines at the softness of your touch, and you can almost make out a word. 

“Mine.”

[i5uckersblog]

Patch Day

Summary:Logan begrudgingly visits a pumpkin patch and has fun.

You pull Logan through the entrance of the pumpkin patch, excitement bubbling inside you. Rows of orange pumpkins spread out before you, some small enough to hold in one hand, others as large as boulders.

Logan glances around, unimpressed. “What’s the point of this again?”

You laugh. “It’s fun! You pick pumpkins, maybe carve them, and go through the corn maze. Just enjoy the fall vibes.”

“Fall vibes,” he mutters, shaking his head. “If you say so.”

You wander through the pumpkins, searching for the perfect one. Meanwhile, Logan trails behind, hands in his pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. You hold up a small pumpkin, admiring it.

“This one’s perfect,” you say, smiling up at him.

Logan squints at it. “You want that tiny thing? What are you gonna do with it?”

“It’s cute! We’ll put it on the table.”

He grunts, picking up a much larger one. “How about this? More practical. Can actually carve something out of it.”

You roll your eyes but laugh. “Alright, big guy. Let’s grab it.”

Logan carries the giant pumpkin under one arm like it’s nothing, drawing a few amused glances from passersby. You both make your way to the hayride area, where families are loading up onto a tractor-pulled wagon.

“Hayride?” you suggest, gesturing to the line forming.

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Really? You want to sit on hay?”

“It’s cozy!” you reply, nudging him playfully. “Plus, you’ll get to see the whole patch.”

He huffs but reluctantly agrees. As you hop onto the hayride, he follows, shaking his head with a slight smile.

After a bumpy ride through the patch, you both hop off, ready to explore the corn maze. Logan glances at the towering stalks, a hint of skepticism in his eyes.

“Let me guess, we get lost in there?” he asks.

You grin. “Maybe, but that’s part of the fun!”

Inside the maze, you lead the way, turning left and right, occasionally glancing back to make sure Logan is still behind you. He moves with purpose, his tall frame making quick work of the twists and turns.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” you tease, peeking around a corner.

“Keeping it in check,” he replies, smirking. “You’re the one who wanted to get lost.”

After a few more twists, you finally find your way out, both of you laughing. “See? Not so bad!”

Logan rolls his eyes but can’t hide his smile. “I’ll admit, it was kind of fun.”

Once you’re back at the main area, you pull out the carving kit you brought. “Time to get creative! Ever carve a pumpkin before?”

Logan shrugs. “Can’t say I have.”

“Seriously?” You hand him a carving kit. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

He gives you a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “You really want me to stab this thing?”

You laugh. “It’s not stabbing, it’s carving. Just follow the lines.”

Logan sets to work, surprisingly focused as he slices into the thick pumpkin skin. You work on your own, glancing at him occasionally. Despite his earlier grumbling, he seems to be enjoying it, even if he won’t admit it.

After a while, you both finish. Yours is a classic jack-o’-lantern face, simple but cute. Logan’s looks like it was carved with a little too much enthusiasm, jagged edges and all.

“Not bad,” you say, holding back a grin.

He chuckles. “Yeah? I’d call it ‘abstract.’”

You hand him a cup of hot apple cider. “Here. Try this.”

Logan eyes it suspiciously before taking a sip. He makes a face. “Too sweet.”

You laugh, leaning against him. “Okay, next time—just coffee. Got it.”

Logan smirks, nudging you lightly. “Good. But don’t think I’m doing this pumpkin thing again.”

“We’ll see,” you say with a smile.

Requests are OPEN!

[i5uckersblog]

The Perfect Turkey

Summary: After you fail to find a turkey, Logan secretly hunts one, saving your Thanksgiving dinner.

You had been planning Thanksgiving dinner for weeks. Pouring over recipes, meticulously selecting ingredients, and making sure every detail was accounted for. But the one thing that seemed impossible to nail down was the turkey.

Every grocery store you visited had either the wrong size or the wrong brand. By the time you’d finally made up your mind, it was too late. The last store you called had just sold out, and with only two days left before Thanksgiving, the perfect turkey—the cornerstone of the whole dinner—was nowhere to be found.

Now, you were pacing in the kitchen, phone still in hand, trying not to spiral into full panic mode.

“I can’t believe this,” you muttered, your voice tinged with frustration. “Thanksgiving is ruined.”

Logan, who had been quietly sitting at the kitchen table with his morning coffee, looked up from his mug. He hadn’t said much throughout your turkey hunt fiasco, and now, as you vented, he remained as still as ever. His rugged frame leaned back in the chair, the kind of calm you wished you had in moments like this.

You let out a long, defeated sigh, tossing your phone onto the counter. “All sold out,” you muttered. “Every single store.”

For a moment, Logan said nothing, just watching as you slumped into a chair. Then, as casually as if he were heading out to chop some firewood, he stood up, grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door, and started to shrug it on.

“I’ll be back,” he said in his low, gravelly voice.

You blinked at him, confused. “Where are you going?”

He paused at the door, turning slightly. “Don’t worry about it,” he grunted before stepping outside, the door closing softly behind him.

You stared at the door, baffled. Don’t worry about it? Was he serious? You stood there for a moment, trying to decide if you should chase after him, but then figured it was probably better to just let him be. Logan wasn’t exactly the type to offer explanations unless he felt like it.

So, you busied yourself with the rest of the meal prep, hoping maybe Logan had some miracle up his flannel sleeve that didn’t involve braving the Thanksgiving crowds. As hours passed, though, you started to wonder where he had gone. It wasn’t like Logan to be gone this long without a word.

Finally, late in the afternoon, you heard the front door creak open. Wiping your hands on a dish towel, you turned around, ready to ask Logan where he had been—only to freeze when you saw him standing in the doorway.

In his arms was a massive, freshly hunted turkey. Feathers and all.

Your jaw dropped. “Logan! What—what is that?!”

He stepped inside, the faintest of smiles on his face as he set the enormous bird down on the counter with a heavy thud.

“Your turkey,” he replied simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stood there, staring at the wild turkey, still in disbelief. “I—I don’t even know how to—Logan, it’s still got feathers!”

Logan shrugged, unbothered by your astonishment. “Thought you needed one. Didn’t say it had to be store-bought.”

Your head was spinning as you looked from him to the bird. This was not what you had expected when you imagined your Thanksgiving turkey. You had no idea where to even start with preparing something like this.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” you said, running a hand through your hair, both overwhelmed and a little amused at the absurdity of the situation.

Logan, ever the practical one, just gave you a small smirk. “Don’t worry. I got it. You just focus on the sides.”

With that, he picked up the knife you’d been using to chop vegetables, and in a few quick, deft motions, he started preparing the bird. You watched in awe as he went to work with the kind of ease and expertise you’d expect from someone who had done this a hundred times before.

The panic that had been building in your chest all day slowly started to dissipate as you watched him handle the turkey like it was just another ordinary day in the woods. You couldn’t help but feel a small smile tugging at your lips, despite the chaos of the day.

“You really hunted a turkey… for me?” you asked softly, still in awe of the whole situation.

Logan didn’t look up from his work, his hands steady as he plucked the feathers with precision. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You were stressed. I don’t like seeing that.”

That simple statement made your heart swell. Logan wasn’t one for grand gestures or flowery words, but in his own quiet way, he always came through. He saw you struggling and, without a word, had gone out and done what he could to fix it.

You moved closer, watching him work, warmth spreading through your chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a Thanksgiving turkey this fresh,” you said with a small laugh, trying to make light of the situation.

Logan glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. “Told you, it’s better this way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Well, guess we’re doing Thanksgiving your way this year.”

He flashed a rare smile, one that made you feel like maybe everything would turn out just fine after all. And as you stood there beside him, watching him prepare the turkey he’d hunted for you, you realized that, in the end, this would be a Thanksgiving you’d never forget.

Requests are Open!

[i5uckersblog]

Settling In

Summary: Logan embraces home life, helping decorate and adding personal touches.

You push open the glass doors of Marshalls, the whoosh of warm air greeting you as Logan trails behind, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. You can feel his presence without even looking, that quiet, observant energy he always carries. His brow furrows when he glances around at the aisles full of seasonal decor.

“You really need more stuff for Thanksgiving?” His voice is low, a grumble, as if the concept of buying throw pillows with turkeys on them is beyond him. You chuckle softly, grabbing a cart.

“It’s not about needing it, it’s about making the place feel festive,” you reply, tossing a plaid blanket into the cart. “We’ve got to switch from spooky to cozy.”

He steps beside you, picking up a ceramic pumpkin, turning it over in his hands like it’s something from another planet. “Haven’t we already got one of these at home?”

“That one’s Halloween. This is Thanksgiving.” You grin, nudging him with your elbow. He grunts, setting it back down.

Logan doesn’t say much as you wander through the aisles, grabbing harvest-colored candles and garlands. You’re used to it by now—the way he watches, the way he seems to process things without needing to talk them through. It’s just who he is. But there’s something about today, the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes narrow at the cozy, staged living room displays, that makes you wonder.

As you reach the checkout, Logan speaks again. “Never stayed in one place long enough for this kinda thing.” His voice is quieter this time, thoughtful. “Decorating for holidays, redecorating… Guess it never made sense to me.”

You look at him, surprised by the honesty. “Yeah, I figured as much. But we’re here now, right? Might as well make it feel like home.”

He glances down at you, and for a second, you think you see a flicker of something—maybe understanding, maybe curiosity. He nods, almost imperceptibly, before taking the cart from you and heading toward the register.

“Fine. But I draw the line at turkey-shaped salt shakers.”

Back at the apartment, the bags from Marshalls are scattered across the living room floor. Logan watches as you pull out candles, blankets, and tiny ceramic pumpkins. He sits on the couch, arms crossed, still trying to figure out how all of this translates into making a home. But when you ask for help, he stands up without hesitation.

“Can you hang this garland over the window?” You hand him a strand of leaves and pinecones, knowing he can reach the spot much easier than you.

He takes it, raising an eyebrow. “This thing really screams Thanksgiving, huh?”

“It does,” you tease. “You’ll see. By the end of the day, this place is going to feel totally different.”

Logan moves to the window and, with surprising ease, drapes the garland across the top. He steps back, nodding slightly at his handiwork. “Looks… alright, I guess.”

As the afternoon wears on, you two fall into a rhythm—him hanging decorations or setting candles where you direct, and you arranging pillows and throws. At one point, Logan even picks up a cornucopia from the box and stares at it for a moment.

“Where does this thing go?”

“By the TV,” you say, smiling at the sight of him holding something so festive. He sets it down and looks at you, a little less skeptical than before.

“Alright,” he finally says, surveying the living room. “I see what you mean. Kinda feels… nice.”

You grin, appreciating the small victory. “Told you.”

A few weeks later, Logan steps into Marshalls again, alone this time. You’ve got no idea he’s here—it’s just something he decided to do on a whim. The door chimes as he walks in, and he pauses, glancing around at the seasonal decor that has now shifted toward winter. But that’s not why he’s here.

Logan moves through the aisles, feeling a little out of place but determined. He spots a shelf lined with wooden signs and holiday accents, all meant to make a space feel “homey.” He picks up a small, hand-carved wooden moose. It’s simple, sturdy—something that doesn’t feel too fussy but still gives off a warm vibe. He can picture it sitting on the bookshelf next to the framed photo you’d hung up last month.

He sets the moose down for a moment, still unsure, but then glances at another sign—a wooden board that says Welcome Home in faded paint. Logan stares at it for a long moment before picking it up and tossing it into his basket with the moose.

“Not bad,” he mutters to himself, satisfied.

When he gets home later that day, he sets the bag on the counter and pulls out the moose and the sign. You come in from the kitchen, surprised to see him holding anything from Marshalls.

“Logan… did you go shopping?”

He gives a small shrug, not making a big deal of it. “Figured the place could use somethin’ else. Thought you’d like it.”

Your eyes soften as you see the items he picked out, the rustic charm fitting in perfectly with the cozy atmosphere you’ve built together. You step closer, taking the moose from him and setting it on the shelf where he imagined it.

“Logan,” you say, smiling warmly, “it’s perfect.”

Requests are Open!

[i5uckersblog]

Someone asked me if I used chat GPT to write my stories. It’s a yes and no because if I get stuck with the wording then I use it for help. Other than that all the stories are actually written out by me. Besides Chat gpt doesn’t write write sexual things anyway 🫠.

[i5uckersblog]

KINKTOBER DAY 20- Oral fixation

Summary:Logan always has something in his mouth.

Logan lights another cigar, the flick of his lighter cutting through the silence.

He takes a slow drag, eyes never leaving yours. There's that familiar intensity in his gaze, but tonight, it feels heavier. Needier.

"You always gotta have something in your mouth, huh?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

Logan smirks, the cigar balanced between his lips. He pulls it away, exhaling the smoke in a lazy cloud.

"Maybe I just need somethin' to keep me from doing somethin' else," he says, voice low and gravelly.

Curiosity piques as you lean closer.

"Like what?"

His hand moves quickly, catching yours.

He brings your finger to his lips, eyes darkening. His mouth opens, tongue sliding over your fingertip before pulling it in, sucking gently. The warmth, the rough scrape of his teeth, sends a shiver through you.

He pulls back just slightly, speaking around your finger. "Could be this... or something else l've been thinking about." The heat in his voice leaves no room for misunderstanding.

Requests are Open!

[i5uckersblog]

Kinktober Day19-69ing

Summary:Logan and you suck each other off at the same time

The dim light of the cabin cast shadows across their bodies, the air thick with the scent of pine and sweat. Logan's breath was hot against her skin as he growled low in his throat, pulling her down on top of him, positioning her over his face.

"C'mere, darlin"" he rasped, voice rough with need. "Let me taste you."

She barely had time to catch her breath before his mouth was on her, tongue sliding through her wet folds with a growl that sent vibrations through her body. She gasped, her own hands trembling as she wrapped them around his hard cock, taking him into her mouth slowly.

"Fuck... just like that," Logan groaned, the words barely audible as his grip tightened on her hips, pulling her down harder. "Keep goin'"

She moaned around him, the sound muffled as she tried to focus on the way his tongue flicked and teased, driving her mad. He lapped at her with a primal hunger, making her head spin.

"Logan….. I'm close," she whimpered, the pressure building inside her, her rhythm faltering as his name left her lips.

"Good," he growled. "Don't stop. Let me hear you, baby."

His words sent her over the edge. Her body tensed, a ragged moan escaping her as she came, trembling on top of him. Logan didn't stop, his mouth relentless even as he shuddered beneath her, spilling into her mouth with a guttural groan.

They lay there, panting, her body still shaking from the aftershocks as she collapsed beside him. Logan wiped his mouth, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Requests are open!