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so-much-for-the-seashells · 1 month ago

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Hi guys!

My name is Anna, and I'm an aspiring writer! (Aren't we all, lol)

Fanfic is a great (mostly) stress free writing environment, and I like to write for many characters, as you will see in my masterlist below the cut :)

I'm super excited to interact with you all! However, this is largely an 18+ blog, and I strongly urge you to remember that you are responsible for the content you consume. Also, this is a side blog, so I can't follow, but I love to chat! <3

Lots of love, hope you enjoy what you read here!

X, Anna

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Anna’s Masterlist

Alright, here we go!

Key:

♡- Fluff

☆-Smut

ꕥ-Suggestive

𖦹-Angst (rare but not unheard of!)

***these are listed by character, and roughly in chronological order of posting. I will be dating each piece from now on (after June 10th, 2025) to track growth!

**I mainly write fem!reader x masc!character

**I will gladly take requests for these characters and characters within the media they are from. Other interests that I have yet to write for will be listed at the bottom. :)

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Colt Seavers (as played by Ryan Gosling in The Fall Guy, 2024)

~The Coffees, Plural Trilogy (mini-series)

Pt. 1: Coffees, Plural ♡

Pt. 2: It’s a Love Story ♡

Pt. 3: I Was Made For Loving You ♡ ☆

Summary: A friends to lovers trilogy between Y/N, makeup artist, and Colt Seavers, stuntman, on the set of cheesy action flick, Metalstorm. Makeup, baked goods, and karaoke take these two from friends to more than friends in this endearing mini-series.

-Anon One Shot request ♡︎

Y/n is a script writer who has a huge crush on stuntman Colt Seavers, but she’s worried he doesn’t like her back. What she doesn’t know is that Colt Seavers likewise has a huge crush on her, but is worries that she doesn’t like him back. A little flirting and a little misunderstanding makes for a cute, short rom com.

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Jacob Palmer (as played by Ryan Gosling in Crazy, Stupid, Love., 2011)

Inhibitions? What Are Those? ♡ ꕥ (one-shot)

Summary: Y/N is tired of her job as a teacher, and Jacob Palmer is tired of his aimless life. The two longing hearts connect at the bar, Swayze-filled shenanigans and heart-to-hearts ensue.

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Dean Winchester (as played by Jensen Ackles in Supernatural, 2005-2020)

Headcanons*

Movie Nights ♡ ☆

Baking ♡ ꕥ

Mornings ♡ ☆

Being Sick ♡ ☆

*I would love to write him a proper one-shot at some point :)

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Soldier Boy A.K.A ‘Ben’ (as played by Jensen Ackles in The Boys*, 2019-)

Taming the Supe ☆ (one-shot)

Summary: Uh oh! Soldier Boy is back, and Hughie both hates him and doesn’t know what to do with him. The fossil is legitimately insane. So, he enlists the help of the best qualified person he knows— his therapist, Y/N— whose life he also happened to save one time. They both know she owes him a favor, but it appears to be an unfortunate case of psychiatric malpractice once the therapist and the decades old supe collide in the dinghy motel room.

The Fun Kind of Sparring ☆ (one-shot)

Summary: Soldier Boy is extraordinarily well-versed in the art of dirty talk.

*I actually haven’t seen The Boys, (and don’t intend to), I just love Jensen Ackles lol

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Logan Howlett (as played by Hugh Jackman in x-men and MCU projects)

Logan Howlett, the man you are ♡ ☆ (headcanons)

Sore ♡ ☆ (one-shot)

Summary: Y/n is sore, but hates stretching. Logan tries to make the experience more… pleasurable… for her.

Logan Gets Humbled ♡ ☆ (drabble)

Logan and his Pregnant Wife ♡ ☆ (anon-requested headcanons)

Headlock ☆ (anon-requested drabble)

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Tim Bradford (as played by Eric Winters in The Rookie, 2018-)

~This River is Wild (ongoing series) (my pride and joy)

Pt. 1 𖦹 ♡︎

Pt. 2 𖦹 ♡︎

Pt. 3+ (coming soon!)

Summary: Set in an alternate timeline of the Pilot and inspired by ‘This River is Wild’ by The Killers, Tim Bradford has been shot in the line of duty. Almost fatally so. He’s been feeling pretty shitty for a while now, but this is the cherry on top. Forced to take a leave of absence for a month, Bradford doesn’t really know what to do with himself. Luckily for him, his chatterbox neighbor who he doesn’t know all too well is about to take matters into her own hands…

Netflix & Chill ♡ ☆ (drabble)

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Frank Castle A. K. A. The Punisher (as played by Jon Bernthal in various Netflix & MCU projects)

Thinking about… ☆ (drabble) (June 10th, 2025)

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Other characters and fandoms I will write for:

Supernatural: I ♡︎ Dean Winchester, but I will also write for just about anyone on that show, especially if they were present in seasons 1-5.

Top Gun/ Top Gun Maverick: literally anyone you want, guys or girls. I switch between being a Hangman or a Rooster girl myself, but far be it from me to overlook the others, including Maverick himself.

Marvel: there’s not a lot I won’t write for, but that being said my favorites are Bucky Barnes, Matt Murdock, Scott Summers, and more. (I would also write fluff for Yelena x Reader)

Anyone played by Jensen Ackles (I’m just a girl… with eyes 🎀)

Lucifer (Netflix Show): I love them all <3

The Rookie: from what I’ve seen Tim is the biggest, but I’d be down to write for others.

Star Wars: While I’m not as into Star Wars as I once was, I’m a sucker for Poe Dameron and Cassian Andor, and would write for most Star Wars character.

(I’ll update as I think of more, but honestly I watch a lot of tv in the background of doing other things, so if you’re curious if I know a niche show or movie (or maybe even book!), just ask! <3 if you have any other questions for me, let me know! I’ll be happy to answer :)

Here’s the link to the requests info again, just in case. Love you guys! <3

#masterlist #supernatural fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #marvel fanfic #lucifer fanfiction #the rookie fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 1 month ago

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Heey! Are you taking requests with Tim Bradford?

Hi!! I would love to! I’ve finally finished the Rookie so I definitely know him better! If you have a request let me know <3

#request #tim bradford x reader #🌟 anon <3

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 1 month ago

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Thinking about Frank Castle being unable to stop running his mouth while he’s inside you… (MDNI)

His arms are bent at the elbow on either side of your head, caging you under his body as though you had anywhere else you’d rather be. Grunts escape his lips despite him, most of them against your lips as he tries to swallow your pitchy moans. He’s thrusting into you roughly, and quickly at that, knowing that’s how you like it. One of your legs is tightly wrapped around his back, heightening the experience for the both of you. There’s a pillow under your hips keeping them slightly elevated, making it easier for him to reach the deepest spots inside of you.

Unfortunately for the pillow, Frank had a long day, and his only cure for a long day happens to be making you cum as many times as he possibly can. He’s usually a man of very few words, but on nights like these the dam is irreversibly broken. He’s already brought you over the edge twice, once on just his tongue and again on merely two fingers. This is a usual occurrence, as Frank knows the game better than any other man can, but it happened quicker because he won’t. Stop. Talking.

Now especially, as he tries to add more slick to the inside of your thighs. He’s yet to cum, the incessant trembling of your pitiful legs almost enough satisfaction for him. “Cmon mama, cmon princess. Uh huh. Make a mess for me, you can do it. Let go, soak this dick. I know you want to, hell it only took you five minutes to make this mess on my face and hands. Yeah baby, that’s it—fuck— take it,” the words trickle out of him between grunts as his pace picks up. You whine and gasp beneath him, his words sending you into overdrive.

“Harder, Frank,” you gasp, the only words you can think of as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Harder? Jesus, baby. You can cum on just two fingers alone but by the time I got my dick in you, you want me to wreck you, huh? Just can’t get enough, filthy thing. Wanna get fucked like a whore, sure, I can do that. My whore. My sweet girl,” he rambles, ramming right into your favorite spot, one of his hands traveling down without you realizing it. Suddenly a loud smack fills the room as his palm comes down on your ass. It immediately brings pleasure filled tears to your eyes, the stimulation almost unbearable.

“You gonna cry for me? You poor thing. Can’t handle getting fucked like you want, can you? Maybe I should take it easy on you, huh?” he smirks, knowing that is the exact opposite of what you want, but slowing down nonetheless.

“Frank! No!” you protest, grinding into him.

“Tell me what you want, Princess. Come on,” he demands, biting the juncture of collarbone and neck, making you cry out his name.

“Fuck me like- fuck me- like a whore,” you stutter as he keeps leaving bites along your chest.

“That what you want? Yeah, alright. I can do that,” he grunts, resuming the pace from before. The tears freely fall now, not out of pain, but out of sheer, mind numbing pleasure. “Aww, shh, sweet thing. Just giving you what you want, baby. Cmon, make a mess for me,” he coaxes, kissing your tears away, bringing his hand down to rub on your very overstimulated clit. “Let me wreck you, cmon, come on this big dick.” You cry out his name, but he swallows it with his mouth, kissing you deeply.

It doesn’t take long before you come again, gasping for air and his name all at once. He rolls off of you to give you a moment, and once your breathing slows you realize—

He’s still rock hard, his cock red and angry against his abs as he lies next to you. “You thought we were done, sugar?” He asks, a slow, lazy smirk on his handsome face. You whimper, somehow getting wet again despite yourself. “Nah,” he continues. “We’re just getting started.”

A/N: Requests are open! I take the more depressed marvel characters (Bucky, Logan, Frank, Matt, etc.), anyone played by Jensen Ackles, and more. If you’re curious, just ask! :D

Also, comments are appreciated— writing is hard and I have a praise kink :3

#frank castle #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 3 months ago

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Netflix & Chill

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

MDNI, warnings: smut, fingering, fluff

You’re sitting in Tim’s lap, comfortable as can be. He’s shirtless, wearing those sweatpants you bought him after proclaiming his old ones to be dismally ‘dinghy.’ You’re wearing a soft tank top and fluffy pink pajama pants. A match made in heaven. Your head is snugly lying in the crook of his shoulder, gently nestling against him. His lips keep darting over to kiss your temple every so often as his piercing blue eyes stay glued to the movie. The Fifth Element. A classic.

Tim is significantly larger than you, so your ankles are bent at his knees, helping to keep you atop him. His hands are lightly squeezing your hips, almost absentmindedly so.

While he is contentedly focusing on the movie, or at least appears to be doing so, regardless of having seen it ten times, you physically cannot. Why? Because his wandering, large hands keep traveling to the inside of your plush thighs, squeezing there momentarily before returning back to their posts at your hips. It is probably—no, definitely— naïve to assume he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, given how perceptive he is. Yet you sit, trying to keep yourself still as you tried your hardest to concentrate on the movie.

And again, his hands wander. His thumbs gently rubbing over the insides of the tops of your thighs, inches from where you are unquestionably wet. You squirm slightly, despite yourself. He notices.

“What’s the matter, sweets?” he teases, squeezing at your hips.

“Nothing,” you lie, willing yourself to stay still. He’s had a long day at work, and you also can’t give him the satisfaction of being able to rile you up with a few touches. Really, you only care about the second part. Your ego can’t handle him having an ego bigger than the one he already has.

Speaking of big… those hands squeeze your thighs again, as if to tell you that he knows. You stop breathing.

“You sure, sweetheart?” you can feel his smirk by the side of your neck.

“Mhm,” you hum, barely audible. But he notices, as always.

“Okay,” he agrees with a featherlight press of his lips to the sweet spot on your neck. You sigh, quietly, nestling into his touch. Tim Bradford is nothing if not a man of few words, rather one who enjoys quiet action.

Suddenly, he withholds his hands, reaching for his phone. A quiet breath of disappointment leaves you. He remains unbothered behind you, checking his email. “You sure nothing’s up?”

He can hide a lot of things, but he cannot hide the smugness in his voice. “I think you know there is, officer,” you tell him, a hint of sass in your voice. He stiffens at “officer.” It’s the best way you know to break his nonchalance. He sets down his phone on the cushion next to you, his hands returning to your hips.

“Care to tell me the issue, ma’am?” Ma’am is your equivalent to officer. You would try to close your legs for friction, but it would be impossible around his large legs. He has the upper hand and he knows it.

“No sir, there’s no issue,” you say meekly, squirming as his hands squeeze— hard— at your thighs.

“If that’s the case you surely wouldn’t mind me commencing a brief search, would you, ma’am?” he asks, his fingers already grazing the waistband of your pajamas. His light touch makes you shiver.

“Not at all,” you say a little dreamily, sighing as his hands dip beneath the waistband of both your pajama pants and your underwear.

“Attagirl,” his voice is low with lust. You love when he sounds like that, a little bit of a gravelly quality to his tone. Slowly, tantalizingly slowly, his dominant right hand travels to your door, as his left rests on your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles against it. His hand feels cool against your skin, and it’s a delicious contrast.

He feels you squirming slightly, your legs trying to close, so he widens the way he is sitting, subsequently widening your legs. “Tim…”

“You’re needy tonight, huh?” It’s not much of a question when you both already know the answer, but a soft moan leaves your lips nonetheless as his middle and ring fingers travel over your cunt. Back and forth, they play with your wetness, lubricating your expectant hole.

He’s pavloved you— before dating him you could get yourself off on your fingers, but now? Nothing can come remotely close to the pleasure that he always delivers to you. And the most infuriating part of it all— he knows it.

“Stop teasing, Tim,” you complained, your body leaning into his touch, your brain not sentient enough to let your ankles unclasp from his legs.

“Oh come on,” he taunts in your ear. “Where’s the fun in that?” His left hand travels up, cupping your covered breasts, as his lips tantalize you. Though his position is somewhat awkward, it does not stop him from pressing intentional kisses to your sweet spot.

“Ah- Tim,” a little moan escapes you from the multiple forms of stimulation, your fuzzy brain unable to compete process.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he grunts as his fingers finally dip into your heat. You gasp, your hips trying to buck down into his touch. It’s a perfect stretch, even more so when he curls them in a ‘come hither’ motion. You barely register his growing erection against the small of your back with how good he feels. Slowly he thrusts them in, curls them, and pulls all the way out before repeating the motion. It’s torturous.

“Faster, please,” you whimpered as he begins hitting deeper, hitting the spot he knows you love.

“Since you asked so nicely…” he begins picking up the pace, hitting the deep spot inside of you and never completely pulling back before pushing back in. Both of you are thankful that the waistband of your pj pants is so loose as he continues to bring you to the precipice of your release.

It feels so, so good. You tell him as much, in between the gasps and soft moans.

“Yeah, I know baby,” he says smugly. Your head begins to loll from the pleasure, so his left hand moves up from your breast to cup your neck. You love, love, love when he does that. He doesn’t squeeze, just keeps his hand there as a reassuring presence, and good god does it turn you on all the more.

His fingers drag up to your clit, drawing small, purposeful circles against the swollen bud. You whine, leaning into his hand as he swiftly works you. It doesn’t take long before you’re soaking his fingers, crying out his name as he keeps you on a high. He continues to finger you and circle your clit until your legs are shaking, and only the does he reluctantly pull away. Your body is drooping against him, and you sigh contentedly, your eyes closing with a sweet, languid smile on your lips.

He turns you around to face him, your shaky legs straddling his lap, completely snapping you out of that sated state. You feel his rock hard erection against your core, turning you on again.

“You got one more in you, sweetheart?” he asks you, a very attractive smirk on his face.

“Only for you, Tim,” you smile happily, kissing him on the mouth.

Only for him indeed.

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A/N: if you want more Tim, check out ‘This River is Wild,’ my ongoing multi-part slow burn! Hope you enjoyed this drabble :D also, if you have an idea for another short one off like this, send it my way, I’d love to give it a look!

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford smut

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 3 months ago

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This River is Wild (pt. 2)

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ for mature themes including mental health, injury, and potential sexual themes down the line. Please do not interact if you are under 18– you are responsible for the content you consume.

A/N: we’re back for part two! This has been such a cathartic write for me. I hope you enjoyed part one, and part two gives you the same— if not more— enjoyment!! This chapter features Talia and Angela, and I had a ton of fun with the dialogue! Please let me know if you like my characterizations of the canon characters!

Heads up— I did edit part one quite a bit, so I highly recommend a reread!

Anyways, if you enjoy what I write, please leave a comment/review! It really helps me keep going!

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Tim didn’t sleep well again last night. He’s thinking about getting some of that melatonin shit. He used to scoff at drug induced sleep— back in the army he could fall asleep anywhere with a rock as his pillow and wake up well rested. Hell, one time he fell asleep on a beach and got woken up to the first waves of the morning.

These days though… his mind has been keeping him up late. ‘What if I didn’t get shot?’ ‘Why did I bust them sooner?’ ‘Why hasn’t Isabel checked in, I was literally on the news?’ ‘Is that boot going to be okay?’ ‘What if PT doesn’t work and my arm is dead weight forever?’

‘What if I died?’

It’s a constant stream of thoughts. He can’t control them, no matter how much he wants to.

Sometimes Tim misses the army. Yes, it could be hell, but it was also simple. You knew who the enemy was and you knew what you were supposed to do. You didn’t have to be a person, you just had to be a soldier. To some degree it was as if your commanding officer thought for you, and you simply carried out what he wanted from you.

To some extent being a cop is similar, but there is more improvisation. You have to be able to think on your feet every single day, but at the end of the day you do what your sergeant commands you to do. For the most part, Tim can get away with just being a cop—

—and not a person.

That’s where his real struggle lies. He’s had problems maintaining any form of relationship with anyone after Isabel. Sure, he’s friends with his work buddies, but he’s lacking that deeper connection. The kind that tells him to call a friend up for a drink on a Saturday evening instead of drinking whiskey alone and passing out on the couch.

Therapy is uncharted waters for him. Most cops scoff at the thought of a shrink, himself included, but these days he isn’t so sure. It could be nice to let the thoughts crash down on someone else, instead of only in his head.

He’s better than that, though (so he thinks). He’s just hurt. He’ll be fine.

He grumpily gets out of bed at 9:30, sick of scrolling on his phone. His arm is throbbing continuously, so he forces himself to go into the kitchen and put some ice in a bag.

He’s been running hot, and when he touches the bag of ice he feels like he can see steam where it makes contact with his skin. He gingerly places it in his injury. It hurts to the touch. He hisses.

But then—

He sighs with relief. The pain morphs into a pleasant feeling of coolness, not dissimilar to that of going in the ocean after getting really hot out in the sun. It’s nice.

He’s trying to figure out what to do today, but he really doesn’t want to do anything. Maybe he should shave? Better yet, maybe he should change out of that backwards and inside out t-shirt. He sits at the kitchen table, letting his right arm hold prop his face up.

Maybe he should actually eat breakfast today. He could go and get eggs— or better yet, make a legitimate shopping list so he doesn’t wander the aisles aimlessly.

Yeah. That’s a good idea. He gets up to find a pen and some paper, but then his doorbell rings.

Who is this? Grey? Is today the day PT starts? Please let it be someone needing his cop expertise.

Hell, let it be a hit out on him and he needs to go into WITSAC.

Anything. Please.

He doesn’t even look through the peephole before answering the door, he just doesn’t care.

Suffice it to say he’s surprised to see you standing there, looking up at him expectantly with another box in hand. It’s a sage green box that says ‘Luna’s Treats’— oh, that’s right. You’re a baker. He did know that. You mentioned it one of the few times the two of you crossed paths, had given him a business card and everything. “Y/N. Hi,” he greets, unsure of what else to say. He can’t help but be a little disappointed, his imagination really let him think he was going to see one of his cop buddies, or that something interesting was going to happen.

“Hi! I hope you like cookies!” you say cheerily. He can’t help but find your smile cute, noticing the your wispy loose hairs and the way you were bouncing on your toes. Little does he know you practiced that very line at least ten times on the short walk from your door to his.

“Y/n, you seriously don’t need to do this,” he warns, giving her the once over. A subtle judgement that he would normally use on perps in the hot box. To be fair, it still got you antsy. But not enough so to not stand your ground.

“You’re right. But I want to,” you’re so genuine. He moves out of the doorway, inviting you in. You walk right past him, grinning from ear to ear. He inhales. You smells like sugar and berries. Or maybe he’s hallucinating because he hasn’t interacted with anyone in a while.

“Did you like the soup last night?” you ask, setting down your box on the table.

Tim blinks slowly. Maybe the lack of human connection has turned him into a robot, because now there’s someone in his house, and he doesn’t know how to talk to people. He snaps out of it. “I was going to tell you, actually. It was amazing. Thank you. Y/n.” He adds your name as if it’s an afterthought. As if he can’t actually believe he’s in conversation.

“Anytime,” you say, and he can tell you mean it. He doesn’t really know what to do with that fact, though. He’s still in the doorway of the kitchen, as if he’s surveillance for the room as opposed to the person who actually owns it. You open the box sitting on the table. “I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I brought one of everything. Everything except for the macarons were made today.” She stood there expectantly, waiting for him to come see.

“When were the macarons made?”

“I made them three days ago. They last longer than some of the other stuff,” you explain patiently.

“Huh.”

He’s kind of a brick wall. It’s hard for you to get through. He probably doesn’t mean to be hurtful with his curtness, but it still makes you flinch. “These are my favorites. Lavender cookies with lemon glaze,” you hand him one. The cookie is a soft purple, and the glaze is a pastel yellow that looks very nice with the purple.

He takes it, looking a little unsure. Has he ever even had lavender before? It’s purple. Well, duh, it’s purple. He knows that much. Is he staring too much? Is too much of a reaction going to encourage her to keep coming back? Is he going to hurt your feelings if he doesn’t react enough?

He must’ve been staring, because you look up at him, a hint of confusion plain in your expression. “It’s not poisoned, I swear,” you quip, trying to hide an influx of nervousness. Maybe you shouldn’t have barged into his life like this, you barely know the guy after all…

Was this a bad idea? You’re beginning to feel a little embarrassed. Maybe you should go. Maybe he feels like a charity case. Or like you’re doing too much, and it’s weird. You should probably go. Yeah, that’s a good idea. This is embarrassing. Not everyone is like your dad, why did you assume he would need or want help?

Finally, he takes a bite of it. He hums despite himself. “Holy shit. That’s really good,” he says. He doesn’t want to overreact, so he tables it. But it’s actually fucking phenomenal. He better find someone to share this box with or he’s gonna end up weighing thirty more pounds when he gets back to the LAPD.

“Glad you like it,” you say softly. He’s just so… monotonous. He’s probably just saying that it’s god to get you out of his hair. This was a bad idea. “Well, I should probably be on my way,” you say, already slipping away.

Shit. He realizes he probably hurt your feelings. He’s not that well versed in consolation. He doesn’t really know what to do here.

So, he just lets you leave. A thanks from him and a bye from you.

And that’s it.

He feels a little shitty for it, but he’s just not in a place for conversation at present. Maybe he will be soon, but not right now.

He decided to go back to making that damn shopping list.

***

He actually ends up restocking his entire fridge, and getting some snacks he hasn’t had in a while. He couldn’t help himself- those strawberry pop tarts sounded good and he hadn’t had goldfish since the time he had to babysit a WITSAC kid. He was impressed with himself when he got home, and was feeling productive. He finally showered and changed his shirt before he left, opting for an exercise tank top and shorts due to the LA heat.

He is about to shave after finishing putting groceries away, but then the doorbell rings. He groans, knowing damn well that this sudden burst of productivity might be a fluke. But, he trends over to the foyer anyway.

He opens the door to reveal Angela and Talia’s smug faces. “Oh, hey-,” he starts, before getting cut off by Angela.

“You look like hell,” she quips, handing him a bear from the six pack she’s holding in her left arm. He takes it in his good hand, muttering a sarcastic ‘thanks.’

“You gonna let us in or what, Bradford?” Talia asks, forward as ever. He shakes his head but smiles despite himself, moving out of the doorway to let them in.

“Pizza’s gonna be here in ten, and you’re paying,” Angela informs him, taking a seat on his grey couch.

“Awesome,” he says, sitting on the spot next to her. Talia takes the arm chair to the left of the couch.

“I never took you for a puzzle guy,” Talia remarks, sizing up the Mediterranean motif.

“The old boot brought it and I genuinely have nothing better to do,” he shrugs, a slight pink on his cheeks.

“You did it one-armed?” Angela asks, a hint of doubt in her voice.

“Yeah, it took five hours and my sanity,” he says, holding his beer between his legs so that he can twist the top off with his good arm.

“Damn, you’re a pro,” Angela sounds duly impressed.

“I’d better be by now. Four days on my own has got me crazy.”

“You know you could come by the station right?” Talia asks, taking a swig of her own beer. She looks very comfortable in the plush, grey arm chair.

“I know, but I think if I step foot in the precinct Grey would find a way to suspend me,” Tim says, his head laying back against the couch.

“Fair enough,” she relents.

“So tell me,” Angela starts. Tim turns his head slightly, looking over at her. “Are you going to shave the beard or do we have to?”

“If I had known I was going to get blasted I wouldn’t have let either of you in,” he groans, and they laugh. He didn’t realize how much he missed this rapport, not that he would tell them. For once, the waves of thoughts that have been crashing in his head have stilled. It’s nice. “How’s my boot?” he asks. That’s one rapport that he barely even got the chance to build— he was still in his bullying phase.

“Grey gave her to Williams,” Talia informs him.

Tim nods at that. “Not bad. She’s not as good as me, but she’s not bad.”

“Always with that ego,” Talia says bemusedly.

“Damn right,” Tim grins. He doesn’t have much else to say, but that’s typical. They’ve always been understanding of that. He doesn’t want to leave them in complete silence though, so he asks: “Do you guys want to watch Rocky?”

“Make it Rocky 4 and I’m in,” Angela tells him.

“Agreed,” says Talia.

“You two do love some Drago,” he comments, getting up and grabbing his CD case from the drawer in the TV stand.

“And you love your CDs. What are you, older than Nolan?” Talia jokes. Tim just can’t win tonight.

“How dare you,” he pretends to be hurt, scoffing before turning back to the case.

“When did he get so dramatic?” Angela muses.

“Getting shot’ll do it to you,” Talia responds.

Tim doesn’t bother respond, finally landing on Rocky 4 after flipping through other classics like ‘The Breakfast Club,’ ‘The Empire Strikes Back’—his childhood favorite—, ‘Sixteen Candles,’ ‘The Outsiders,’ and the like. Maybe that’s what he should be spending his break doing, rewatching the films. He forgot how much he likes them.

He places the movie in his dvd player, and then sits down with the remote. Just as he sits down does the doorbell ring. He expectantly turns to Angela, who’s already making the same face. “Rock, Paper, Scissors?”

He wins, thankfully. “My wallet’s by the door,” he tells her smugly.

“I’ll be tipping extra,” she informs him. The doorbell rings again. “Coming!”

Tim hits play on the remote, and ‘No Easy Way Out’ beginnings to play through the TV speaker. Meanwhile, Angela finagles with the delivery guy, grabbing Tim’s wallet from the table by the door. She walks back over with two boxes of pizza, setting them beside the puzzle on the coffee table.

“Starting the movie without me?” she accuses, opening the box on the top. A delicious, warm, cheesy smell fills the living room when she does so. Tim remembers that he forgot to eat lunch once the smell reaches his nose, and his stomach grumbles despite him. Thankfully it’s a quiet sound. He really needs to work on his solo eating habits. He doesn’t remember ever being so bad about it.

“How much did you just cost me?” he counters.

“You’re on paid leave, you’ll live,” she shrugs, grabbing a slice.

“Lopez-,” he says warningly.

“Sixty-two dollars and forty-eight cents,” she tells him, unable to stop smirking.

“Yeah, that tracks,” he doesn’t even bother to argue. It’s nice to be around her and Talia even if they do keep messing with him. He reaches over and also grabs a slice, offering it to Talia who shakes her head.

“I’ll have some later,” she says.

“Your loss,” Tim says, taking a bite.

“If there is a later,” Angela jokes. Tim watches as the inevitable happens with his haphazard food— somehow the entire topping of her pizza falls on her pants. Angela is known to be a bit of a messy eater, so all Tim can do is laugh and say “Graceful as ever, huh.”

“You got plates?” Angela asks, scowling at him.

“Yeah, I got paper plates in the bottom of the pantry,” he tells her. “Napkins too,” he adds, as an afterthought.

“What, I gotta go get them?”

“Yeah,” he says, making a face as though it was implied. She shakes her head, but smiles despite herself.

“Alright. Let me go to the bathroom first, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” he says, finishing his pizza. She walks towards the bathroom, and when Talia hears the door close, she moves to speak.

“So, how you holding up?” she questions, giving him a knowing look. Looks like they’re ignoring the movie.

“I’m fine,” he says matter of factly, downing what’s left of his beer.

“Cut the macho act, Bradford,” Talia narrows her eyes. Tim might be closer with Angela, but Talia always knows how to see right through him.

“What exactly do you want me to say? That I don’t know what to do with myself? That I’m struggling?” he doesn’t mean to snap, but he does. Talia’s mouth is drawn in a thin line, her brown eyes boring holes into his. “Sorry.”

“You’re good. Look, I have never been shot, so I’ve got no idea what you’re going through. But I can empathize with your situation. So, if you need someone to lean on, I’m here for you. You got me?” Her ton is firm yet soft, a blend that belongs to Talia and Talia alone.

“Yeah, I got you. Thank you,” he says softly.

She gives him a smile, as though deeming him worthy of it. “Sure.”

“You holding out on us, Bradford?” Angela calls from the kitchen, startling both Tim and Talia. They hadn’t even heard the bathroom door reopen, or her padding over to the kitchen. Andrea’s a stealth agent, that’s for sure.

“What?” Tim asks, genuinely confused. Both he and Talia turn their heads over to her direction, and she’s holding the sage green box that y/n had brought him earlier. “Oh. Uh-.”

Right. The other stupid thing Tim’s done, aside from not calling his friends sooner.

“I-my neighbor brought them.” He makes an effort to be concise— the last thing he needs is for his friends to know that he’s lost his charisma.

“She cute?” Angela questions. She’s holding the box like a server, the lid propped up against her upper arm and the base resting against her forearm.

The answer is yes, but he’s not saying that. “How’d you know it’s a she?”

“Because you just told me,” she sasses, a mischievous smile on her face. “Self incrimination, remember?”

It can be so annoying to have cops as friends sometimes.

“Should’ve had you read me my damn Miranda Rights,” he rolls his eyes. Talia and Angela both laugh at that. “You gonna keep holding the box or are you gonna bring it over here?”

She walks over, setting it down on top of the puzzle. Despite himself, he flinches. Thankfully neither of them notice. “Damn, Lopez. Help yourself,” he cracks.

“You judging, Bradford?” she looks at him, raising a brow with a cupcake in one hand and two cookies in the other.

“Never. Pass me a cookie,” he grins.

“Yeah, alright. Only ‘cause you’re crippled.”

“Hey!”

Talia comes from her chair to sit on Tim’s right. Now they’re all together, eating the baked goods y/n had brought earlier.

“Holy shit, this is too good to be true,” Angela praises after taking a bite out of a sugar cookie with floral piping on top of it.

“Oh, I know,” Tim agrees. “She made me try this lavender cookie and it was awesome.”

“So she was in your house?” Talia questioned, giving him a suggestive look as she reached for a green macaron.

This would be a great time for them turn their attention back to Apollo Creed.

“Yeah? Just to drop off the box.”

“You were a dick to her, weren’t you?” Angela assumes.

Tim inhales slowly. They know him just a little too well. “Yeah.”

“Come on, man!” Angela exclaims, exasperated.

“Look, being social has been…” he sighs in frustration. “…hard for me. And she’s very nice, but I’m pretty sure I’ve already hurt her feelings, and I just don’t know what to do with that.”

“You could take her out to lunch tomorrow?” Talia offers, ever the voice of reason.

“I know, but I’m just not good at, like-,” he breaks off, struggling to find the words.

“Flirting?” Angela tries.

“No! It’s not like that”

“Talking?” Talia tries.

“No… I’m just not good at not being a cop. That’s it,” he comes to terms with it. It’s the truth.

He’s just never said it out loud before.

They both stay quiet, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know if it’s a work-life balance thing. Or maybe it’s more than that. I don’t know.”

Angela opens her mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. Onscreen, Apollo Creed dies.

Finally, Talia speaks. “I might be out of line, but maybe it’s Isabel.” Tim tenses automatically at the name of his ex wife, as if intentionally proving Talia’s point.

Angela chimes in. “She’s got a point. When you were with her, back when she was clean, you were lighter. Happier. You smiled more,” she analyzes.

It slight pang of sadness washes over him at that. Because they’re right.

“I don’t want to see you end up like some cops do,” Angela continues. “Too obsessed with the job, unable to see the world outside of the precinct. You’re not meant for that.” She’s carefully choosing her words, speaking slowly. “But it’s been a long time since you were happy.”

He nods, somewhat absently. The spiral is threatening to crash over him again, the waves of insolence threatening to drown him. He felt like he was finally making a breakthrough earlier, but the way his friends know him exposes that mirage.

Angela comfortingly places her hand on his knee.

Talia clears her throat. “Maybe talking to your neighbor isn’t the worst idea. It could be a place to start over, you know? Blank slate.”

Ever the voice of reason. That’s not a bad idea.

“We’ll see,” he says, swallowing hard, but leaving the book open. He’s not ready for any certainties. But maybes he can deal with.

Angela planted a seed he was not yet ready to deal with. It was enough dealing with how to cope with the injury, but how to cope with the fact he’s been unhappy since his wife became a druggie? That’s a whole other ballgame. He tables it for now though, as best as he can.

The three of them sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, each intently watching the screen as Rocky is forced to face the fact that his best friend is fallen.

Once Tim gets himself together, he speaks again. Changes the subject, because it’s easier for him. “I will say, not being able to work out is pissing me off.” His tone is lighter. They each chuckle.

“You could try running?” Talia suggests.

Why didn’t he think of that?

“That’s not a bad idea,” he says.

“You could run on the beach like Rocky and Creed in Rocky 3,” Angela offers, her tone light.

“I’m better looking than Rocky,” he narrows his eyes.

“Debatable,” she shrugs.

“Hey!”

And that’s how the rest of the night goes. Comfortable banter with a comforting movie. Eventually Talia and Anhela fall asleep on the couch next to him, but one thought still creeps in Tim’s mind— what if he’s never happy again?

Suddenly, Talia’s sleeping head falls on his good shoulder. Talia, who doesn’t need anyone. Talia who’s the strongest person he’s ever met.

If she, who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders every single day can deal with her demons, so can he.

As a matter of fact, he might take her advice. He wonders if y/n would like Jerry’s as he begins to nod off.

He’ll see. And for once, he feels there’s a possibility for him to be happy. Maybe he can feel whole. He may have only just admitted to not feeling like a person and only a cop, but he’s Tim Bradford. And Tim Bradford deals with problems head on.

But for now, with one of his friend’s head on his shoulder and the other lying next to him? That’s tomorrow’s problem.

For once, Tim Bradford dozes off peacefully.

==================================

#tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #This River is Wild

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 3 months ago

Text

This River is Wild (pt. 1)

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

==================================

A/N: Hi Rookie fandom!!! I’ve taken a long leave of absence from writing in general, but I just started the Rookie and am finally feeling inspired again! I’m barely halfway into the first season, but I’m obsessed. I hope my perception of Tim is decent, I’m really trying to get this right. ‘This River is Wild,’ if you haven’t heard it, is a The Killers deep cut that really resonates with me. Its lyrics also happen to really match Tim, so hopefully this’ll inspire you to give it a listen!

Anyways, if you do end up enjoying part one of this indefinite series, let me know! I’m excited to put this out into the world, and I would really appreciate some commentary/reviews to keep me into it!

Without further ado, welcome to ‘This River is Wild’!

==================================

You better run for the hills before they burn

Tim Bradford was used to running for the hills before they burned. It’s what he was trained to do, both in the army and as a cop. It was a simple concept— if things were going to shit, you got out. Immediately. No questions asked.

Listen to the sound of the world, don't watch it turn

Even now, though he could be considerably more comfortable as an established cop in LA than he could be in Afghanistan or Iraq, he can’t just stop and smell the roses. Not that he would anyway, he’d probably find something better to do, but the point still stands.

I just want to show you what I know

So he remains hopelessly devoted to the job, showing boot after boot what he knows, and then they leave him. On to the next one.

And catch you when the current lets you go

The only place that lets him just be is his home. But he’s not there nearly as frequently as he should be.

Or should I just get along with myself?

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t really get along with himself. It’s hard to be in a silent house when it’s one resident—you— is someone you don’t even like.

I never did get along with everybody else

He used to get along with everybody else better too. He won’t admit it, but Isabel fucked him over more than he’d ever account for.

I've been trying hard to do what's right

He’s been trying so hard to do what’s right, but it’s almost impossible when he doesn’t even know what’s right and wrong anymore. Was he right for trying to take matters with his wife into his own hands? For still calling her his wife even though she ran?

But you know I could stay here all night

He won’t admit this either, but he just needs somewhere to stay all night. Somewhere where his mind doesn’t have to be in all for corners of the world, constantly on and relentlessly so. Somewhere where he can let his constantly clenched jaw relax. Spend some time with the dog. Go for a swim. Eat some food that hasn’t been premade.

And watch the clouds fall from the sky

Somewhere where he can watch the clouds fall from the sky.

==================================

Now especially has been difficult for him. He’d been injured in the line of duty before, but this time was different. The first shot almost hit his heart, and the second almost rendered his left arm immobile.

“We might’ve lost you if you weren’t such a stubborn ass,” Grey had told him while he was lying in that dingy hospital bed.

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” was all Tim said in return.

A small part of him was heartened by the frequent visitation from the other cops. He was too closed off to show it, but honestly, it really made him feel loved. Which, yes, was sappy, but it did.

Now that he’s discharged from the hospital, all he wants is to be around the other cops. Be on the job. Even that ancient rookie would be better company than his thoughts.

But Grey all but threatened to fire him if he didn’t take a leave of absence.

So here he is, at home for the third day out of thirty.

Nolan, the boot who’s older than him, came by and brought him a puzzle yesterday. Tim didn’t even answer the door, but now he has a large Mediterranean Ocean motif on his living room coffee table. He supposed it made the granite look more interesting, and hadn’t yet had the heart to take it apart. It took him five hours, after all.

He watched the Dodgers game a the way through the first night, which he hadn’t been able to sit down and do in a long time. He even threw popcorn in the microwave. A part of him was hoping that the phone would ring with another officer requesting back up. Or maybe they needed someone on midnight patrol. The phone never rang.

He doesn’t really want to do anything on day three, and stays in bed until his stomach grumbling pisses him off enough to make him get up. He would work out or something, but his arm is useless at the moment and he didn’t want to go back to the LAPD looking like Roger Federer.

Of course, he forgot that he didn’t have any food at the house aside from a few sorry bags of popcorn in his pantry and a bag of expired carrots at the back of his fridge. He curses himself for not going to the store sooner, already storming back into his bedroom to find his keys. He hits his bad arm on the doorway as he walks, and swears loudly. The pain is a hot white flash, and he can’t believe he’d been clumsy enough to wreck into the wall like that.

“Get it together, Bradford,” he says to himself aloud.

He grabs his keys, still flinching from the throbbing in his damned left shoulder. He never realized how much he took it for granted until he’d been shot— he used to be able to do twenty pull ups, and now he can’t raise his arm over his head. It is infuriating to him.

He walks into his bathroom that adjoins with his room, and looks in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t look like a caveman. The man who looks back at him is a shell of the Tim Bradford he knows himself to be. He is looking a little too slim, and despite all of the rest he is getting, his blue eyes look more tired than ever. His hair is a little shaggy, and he has the beginnings of a beard— that has to go. Immediately. He makes a mental note to shave when he got back.

Then he sees his shirt— it is evidently backwards and inside out. Nice one, Bradford. Real nice. He simply rolls his eyes and decides he can’t be bothered— it was already hard enough to get it over his head last night.

Finally making his way out of the house, he glances at the time on the stove in his kitchen. 10:30. He should’ve gone out sooner, but he hasn’t emotionally prepared himself for the looks he’ll get from the neighbors.

He almost died. Whether he wants to acknowledge the fact or not, it’s true. He’s lucky to be alive, and by all means shouldn’t be. He was on the news— Angela had showed him a picture of the headline. “LAPD Cop in Critical Condition following Drug Bust.” Yes, it was severe.

Tim doesn’t want the pity though. He just wants to go back to being ‘Tim Bradford,’ and doing his thing.

He’s still stuck in reverie as he walks out of the house, and almost topples over an unnoticed figure in the driveway.

***

Y/N’s POV

You don’t know Tim Bradford, your next door neighbor, very well. Or at all, really. You’ve just seen him in passing. Shared small talk a few times, but that was the extent of it. You know next to nothing about him.

What you did know about Tim, however, is that he’s a cop. You’d seen him running in and out of the house in that pristine LAPD uniform, and just recently you’d seen his name and picture on your TV screen with the caption “LAPD Cop in Critical Condition following Drug Bust.” Your heart had fallen quickly- for one, while you didn’t know Tim all that well, you liked him well enough. And for two, your father had been a cop in one of the many precincts in New York. He’d been shot in the line of duty just as well, and you knew exactly what that meant to cops. You knew what the spiral looked like, you’d seen it firsthand. It took him a long time to get back on his feet as a cop, and longer as a dad.

Maybe it was because you saw the news on the night of your dad’s “shot-versary,” but that night you vowed to yourself that if Tim ended up being alright, you would look out for him. It didn’t seem like he had anyone else at home, and you knew damn well that your dad wouldn’t’ve pulled through without the help of his family.

Thankfully, Tim did end up coming home. You saw his car pull into his driveway three days ago, two weeks after you saw the headline. Your heart skipped a beat upon seeing him walk out of the car into his house, his left arm in a sling. Of course, the bakery kept you busy that day, and you needed to go on a grocery run, but you remembered your promise to yourself.

Two days later you are in a position where you have the time to cook, and figure that Tim has had enough time to himself by now. So, you make something basic— a big vat of chicken noodle soup. Your mom’s recipe, in fact. You can’t help but admire your work, because now your house smells heavenly, like sautéed garlic and vegetables and bright lemons. You put as much soup as you can fit in the largest container you own, and set off to your next door neighbor’s house.

Evidently he is coming out of the house for the first time since he’d been back, because he all but barrels into you as you approached the steps leading up to his porch. You manage to keep a tight grip on the container, refusing to let your hard work unceremoniously fall to the ground.

“What the— oh, y/n,” he looks at you quizzically, saying your name by way of greeting instead of a “hey.” He looks a little bent out of shape, to say the least. His blue eyes have dark circles beneath them, and he’s squinting like he hasn’t seen the sun in ages. He has a light beard, and his hair is more grown out than you’ve ever seen it, which isn’t saying too much, but that’s beside the point. And… is his shirt inside out? Normally this man is spick and span, not a single hair out of place.

Come to think of it, he’s reminding you of how your dad looked after about a week of being home. This can’t be good.

“Hi, Tim! I made you some soup,” you say cheerily. He does not seem like the kind of guy who wants to hear the words “I’msorryyoualmostdiedfromgettingshotwowbeingacopiscrazy,” so you don’t even bother. Just keep it right to the point.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, eyeing the container.

“And?” you say, a bit of a sassy bite to your words.

He shakes his head a little. “Uh, okay. Thanks.”

Yeah, that was about right for Tim. Man of few words. “Anytime,” you promise him, holding the container out to him, before remembering that one of his arms is out of commission.

“That’s really okay, y/n. You don’t need to do that,” he says.

“Do you want to take it inside before you leave?” you don’t even bother dignifying that last statement with a response.

“Sure,” he walks back towards the house, and you follow him. He unlocks the door and steps inside, not holding it or waiting on you. Okay.

You briefly glance around the house as you follow him into the kitchen. It doesn’t look very lived in.

Sparse furniture, grey walls, no pictures. The only thing you see that isn’t a necessity (ie chairs, a couch) is a blue, glass vase with water lingering at the bottom of it. Maybe it is for flowers?

He opens the fridge, which is somehow more depressing than the rest of the house. There’s virtually nothing in it.

As if he can sense your judgement, he grumbles.“Was just about to go on a grocery run.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, unable to hide the bit of disbelief in your voice. You set the large container of soup on one of the racks. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“It’s really okay, y/n. But thanks for the food, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” you say again. Anytime indeed.

You stand there awkwardly under blue eyed gaze. As if finally deciding something, his gaze softens slightly. “I should really get going-.” He doesn’t say it unkindly, just matter of factly.

“Yeah, Same. Long day at work ahead of me,” you say. It’s a little hard not to be hurt by his bluntness, but maybe that’s just how he is.

You both walk out of the house, and go in your separate ways.

Maybe you can bring him some baked goods from the bakery tomorrow?

You doubt yourself, a little. He probably only sees you as a random neighbor who’s taken pity on him. That’s not a good feeling for anyone.

Maybe you’ll try one more time, and if he really doesn’t seem to want your attempt at help, you’ll keep out of his life.

***

Tim’s POV

Tim knows his cart must’ve looked depressing to anyone who spared it a glance at Target, but he just doesn’t care. The most he could get was spinach, apples, and protein power before he just gave up. His injury has been causing him some form of fatigue, so his robotic cart would just have to do for today.

He pulls into his driveway, still feeling robotic. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, and he doesn’t like that feeling. Not one bit.

He doesn’t feel like himself. He couldn’t make a joke if he wanted to, and not even the Dodger’s are giving him much joy, even with their current winning streak. He can’t bring himself to call Angela or Talia, but he figures they’ll barge into hiss house at some point regardless.

Maybe it’s the LA heat that has him a little crazy. He feels numb to everything aside from his damn arm, which hasn’t stopped throbbing since he hit it in the morning. He hates complaining about anything, but it’s just really getting to him. Even when it’s a dull pain, it’s a noticeable pain. Just makes him think about those damn druggies who he should’ve been able to subdue without getting shot.

Definitely a great look for his new boot too. He’d done his Tim Tests and his typical intimidation tracks to whip her into shape, but now it seems like it was useless. By the time he gets back she’ll surely be comfortable with whomever Grey reassigns her too.

Tim grumpily gets out of his car, almost forgetting to grab his grocery bag as he does so. He unlocks the door to his house, the first thing he glances at being the puzzle on the coffee table. He wishes he could just make some great escape, take himself to the Mediterranean. He had never taken a personal day in his history of being a cop, it’s not like he couldn’t take a vacation…

He shakes his head. His stomach growls for the seventieth time today, reminding him that it is 12:15 and he’s had yet to feed himself. Setting his groceries on his table, he gives them the once over. It’s either a protein shake or… a protein shake. Awesome.

He opens the fridge and throws the spinach in, not really wanting it. He then sees the soup. The soup that you had so graciously brought to him.

It certainly looks better than the shit he brought home. He awkwardly maneuvers the large container out of the fridge. It’s difficult with only one arm in commission, but he manages. He grabs a bowl from the cabinet next to the sink, and hastily warms up a bowl full of the vibrant yellow soup. The smell of it heating up in the microwave is making him even more hungry.

Checking to see if it was hot enough after the first go around, he gingerly dips his spoon into the bowl to try it. And it’s… really good. Maybe one of the best things he’s ever put into his mouth. It’s been a while since he’s had a home cooked meal. It’s… nice.

Needless to say, he ends up eating two bowls full.

He thinks about you as he eats it. You coming over was… not necessarily an unwelcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. He really doesn’t want the neighbors taking pity on him, but he also doesn’t mind the food. He probably shouldn’t have been so curt with him, you seemed like you genuinely just wanted to help.

But it’s always been hard for Tim Bradford to accept help. If the people in his life are onshore, he’s in the deepest part of the ocean.

Maybe it’s time to change that.

==================================

Part Two out now!!

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x fem!reader #This River is Wild

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 10 months ago

Note

ur writing is so yummy!! i had a rlly hot idea idk tho lol

Logan holding the reader in a headlock and absolutely ravaging them 🤤

YUMMY?? Anon you’re too kind!! Hope you enjoy!

Minors, do NOT interact.

-ps: imagine any Logan you’d like! Also, comments are highly appreciated!! Beyond that, if you have a request of your own, please fire away!

Warnings: erm, I think the request has that one covered- but smut, piv, mentions of multiple positions, overstimulation, dirty talk, slight degrading?, sweet!logan even though he’s very rough, safe words. Afab reader.

————————————————————————

As far as sex with you went, Logan had one very important rule for himself: “don’t be rough.”

For as much as a part of him wanted bend your cute little self over a table and fuck you senseless until you had nothing on your mind other than his name, he knew he shouldn’t. He was worried he would break you. Genuinely worried. After all, it might be fun in the moment but the bruises from his adamantium skeleton? You probably wouldn’t be able to sit right or walk right for a week, and that’s not an exaggeration.

That’s not to say that the sex isn’t already fantastic. He’ll thrust into you with slow yet powerful thrusts that leave you shaking with every orgasm. He’ll put you in strenuous positions- time to join up with yoga!- and set every single nerve ending on fire.

But like him, you couldn’t help but want to see him let the animal out. You’d been having wet dreams about it recently, begging him to be rough with you.

Eventually he gave in, saying that this was to be a one time thing. This took SO much convincing, and it had to be on a night where you both had nowhere to be for the next couple days. Once that was settled, he finally, begrudgingly said ok, telling you that you would have to tell him to stop if you needed to. You agreed, and that’s how you landed in your bed, already on your third orgasm simply from him roughly stretching you out with his fingers and tongue.

God does he love the way your face screws up into that pleasure filled smile with your eyes closed tight. The way your head nestles into the pillows as you try to get away from him, not because you don’t like but because it just feels too good.

“L-Logan,” you whine, clutching at his hair. He groans into your cunt at the tugging, not relenting. Your legs have been quivering since your second orgasm, and show no signs of stopping.

“Gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart. Said you wanted it rough,” he mutters, before moving away from you and settling on top of you. You whine at the loss of contact even though you’re extremely excited for what’s to come.

“You know your safe word, right?” his eyes are black with lush. You nod. “Can you tell it to me, baby?” he prods. You oblige.

“Good girl,” he mutters, stroking himself a few times before lining up with your entrance. “My good girl.”

You’re positively soaked, so it’s no surprise that Logan’s able to slip in without any resistance, immediately hitting the deepest parts inside of you. You moan loudly, already on cloud nine.

“You like that, sweet girl? Well you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he smirks, and that’s the last thing he says before pulling out all the way and slamming back into you, making you yelp his name with delight.

He takes you so many ways- missionary, doggy, mating press, screwdriver, the works, until finally…

He wrestles you so that your back is against his broad chest, his cock splitting you from behind as you’re forced to look in the mirror. And then one of his beautiful, muscular arms flexes, forcing you in a headlock for support but all it does is pour gasoline on the flame of pleasure he had been stoking within you.

“I love your arms, Logan,” you tell him stupidly as he thrusts up into you. You couldn’t even tell how many times you or he had come, and you’re so out of it that you can barely register your mixed releases seeping out of your tight hole.

“I know you do,” he teases through a grunt. “I seen you looking at them all the time. Thought you might like this.”

It’s the fact that he actually thinks about what you might like before doing it that makes you come yet again, and he chucked, holding you close but his pace unfaltering.

“Makin’ so many messes, dolly. That good?” he says right in your ear before nipping at its lobe.

“Yes,” you cry, overstimulated but feeling as though you’re on cloud nine.

You see your fucked out self in the mirror, but you’re far more focused on Logan. Logan who’s face is scrunched up with determination, his jaw clenched as he brings your hips down to meet his every thrust. Logan, who’s cock is visibly stretching you open with every single hard, fast, deep thrust.

It gets to the point where you don’t think you can take it anymore because it just feels too good. Your head is lulling against his chest, relying on his arm to support it. A dumb, fucked out smile rests on it. But then he starts rubbing in your puffy clit, and you cry. “Logannnn I can’t- I- it’s too much,” you pout, but he just chuckles right into your ear.

“Whats the matter? You been begging for this for so long and now you can’t take it? Poor baby,” he coos mockingly, his pace never faltering.

“Logan!” you whine, clenching on him as hard as you can. He grunts.

“You need your safe word, baby?”

“No!”

“Then shut the fuck up and take it,” he scolds, somehow maneuvering you so that you’re on your hands and knees, his arm still around your neck as he snaps his hips against your. You think your legs are going to give out, but you don’t care because it just feels too good. You’re whining his name over and over again, your cheek smug against his strong arm as he abuses your cunt.

“We should do this more often, huh? Let me fuck into you like you’re a dirty whore,” he grins, impossibly picking up the pace. You clench at his words. “You really are a slut for me, huh, baby?”

“Yes!” you gasp, your eyes screwing shut as he brings you to the edge again. You’re past the point of overstimulation, your limp body unable to fight back as he bruises your hips with his own.

“Good girl,” he praises, making you whimper again by pressing his fingers to your pathetic clit. He expertly maneuvers his deft fingers against it, and you cry, unable to keep the tears of pleasure at bay any more. He tuts, speeding up his pace in response and all you can do is lie back and take it, powerless to say or do anything. A few minute more and you come again with a weak groan, your legs fully numb. He follows suit, finishing and stilling inside of you.

“You okay, sweets?” he asks after taking a moment to catch his breath. Your brain is still fuzzy, your body limp against his. You’re barely conscious enough to register the soreness between your legs, much less his rumbled words.

“Baby?” he asks, obviously concerned.

“Mmm,” you acknowledge him. Tears are still slipping from your eyes, residuals from how good he was making you feel.

“There she is,” you can all but feel his smile. He slips out of you and you whine, your cunt weeping for him, leaking what is definitely too much cum.

“What a gorgeous sight,” he meets your eyes in the mirror in front of your bed.

“Mhm,” you agree. He moves to stand, knowing that you need to rest, but naturally you pout as he gets off of the bed. “Need to get you cleaned up, sweet girl,” he says gently, brushing your sweaty hair off of your forehead.

“Kiss?” you ask sweetly, your watery eyes impossible to say no to.

“Where d’you want a kiss?” he teases, kissing your forehead. “Here?” You pout, tilting your head up toward his lips. “Oh, I see. Here?” he kisses your nose. You make an annoyed noise, and he takes pity on you. “Ohh, here,” he says, kissing you sweetly on the lips.

Because even though Logan has that power to be rough, when he loves on you, it’ll always be sweet.

#logan howlett smut #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine x female reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 11 months ago

Note

about ur Logan headcanons…

him n his pregnant wife 🥺🥺

OMG YES!!!!!

Okay okay wait I’m so excited, thank you so much for the ask anon!!

Minors don’t interact!

(Dw it’s not all smut just some of it is <3) (teeny bit of breeding kink given the circumstances)

(Btw I would really really appreciate some comments because my last post got like 800 some (thank you btw!!) likes/blank reblogs and one comment 😭 you don’t have to but it would make my day!!)

-first, he literally will NOT leave you alone. You’re sleeping? He’s laying there too, pretending to sleep. You’re in the bathroom? He’s outside the door- hell, he’d go in there with you if you’d let him. He’s so so scared that your water will just magically break (even while you’re only a month in) and also so so obsessed with the fact that you’re gonna be parents

-that being said, this man would NEVER admit to it but he’s bought like 5 parenting books that he all but knows by heart. He’ll read them when you fall asleep, his old man glasses low on his nose as he does.

-he’s also been writing letters to your future child as the pregnancy goes on, one per month. “I don’t know what your name is yet, kid, but your mom and I can’t wait to meet you.” And it’s in his precious old man cursive and I can guarantee you that when you see it you’ll be crying for seven hours

-he loves brainstorming names with you. I personally see him as a girl dad and wanting a girl, but he’s still thinking of any and all possibilities. And he’s still gonna love it to death if it’s a boy, don’t you worry about him

-but because he’s so old so many of the names he picks are somewhat dated, and it’s ADORABLE. Ulysses, Ethel, Martha, etc.

-he’s been insistent on doing basically everything- the cooking, the cleaning, the building of the baby furniture. Except he usually needs your help, or for you to throw some seasoning on the food behind his back. But he doesn’t want his pretty baby with his baby to have to lift a single finger

-ESPECIALLY in the bedroom. This mf… he believes every single myth he sees on the internet, so he’s SUPER gentle and will always wear a condom, both of which are unheard of prior to your pregnancy.

-which is SUCH a switch from how he was while you guys were trying for a baby…

-see, Logan’s always had this raging breeding kink.

-so after many serious conversations leading into the decision that the both of you wanted to try for a kid…

-let’s just say Logan was more than ready

-the amount of money that had to go into sheets during this period was actually crazy

-look, Logan always fucks

-but when he was able to let his breeding kink take control, he was absolutely feral

-the moment you would get home from work he would pounce on you, ripping off your clothes before you even had a second to say hello

-you’d have already come three times before he’d throw you down, bending you in half into the mating press and absolutely ravishing you, pounding you deeper and deeper into the mattress

-and the mouth on him was FILTHY

-“can’t wait for everyone to see who you belong to.” “You’re gonna keep taking it until it takes, and then I’m gonna make you take it some more.” “Gonna look so pretty with that tummy all round with our baby.”

-he would make you cry and see stars in the absolute best way possible

-and then it took and all of a sudden he was more gentle than a… idk gentle thing? 😭

-the duality of man I tell you

-he’s gets so cuddly and it’s absolutely adorable. He’s always been one to lay his head on your lap of snuggle into you but now?? He’s always pulling you into his lap, his hand is always on your belly

-he loves how soft and squishy you’re becoming, especially your thighs and your breasts

-when you’re achey he’s quick to massage you, when you’re feeling sick he’s right there to hold your hair

-did I mention the cooking? Listen this man is really bad at cooking but he’s trying so hard with Martha Stewart and Gordon Ramsey videos. You can hear him calling himself an idiot sandwich when he fucks up, and it’s hilarious. Meanwhile you’ll be on the couch with one of your pregnancy cravings foods, pad thai with curry from two restaurants from two separate parts of town. Yes, Logan went and got it for you. 🥹

-he literally gets anything you want too, he’s wrapped around your finger. A miniverse, marshmallows and pickles? He’s got you. That very specific lip gloss that tastes really good? Done. Literally anything you want he’s getting it without question.

-he even watches whatever you want with minimal complaint

-he’s also already spoiling the child and it hasn’t even been born yet, the nursery has everything you can imagine. Toys, books, stuffed animals, games, legos, wall decor, literally everything

-and you guys don’t even know the gender so you both just threw a dart at a color wheel and themed the room after whatever color it ended on

-he wants to give this kid the life he never had, and there’s no doubt he will

-Logan Howlett is going to be a wonderful father, and he’s so excited to love on your child just as much as he loves on you

-<3

If you want your own set of headcanons or blurb fic, hit me up!!

#wolverine fluff #wolverine headcanons #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett headcanon #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine #logan howlett

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 11 months ago

Text

Logan Howlett has been humbled a great many times in his too-many years of living.

But nothing could have humbled him more than pillowprincess!reader telling him “okay.”

Minors do NOT interact.

Let’s back it up: you’ve been dating Logan for a couple years. You guys have the most loving, sweetest relationship that either of you could ever hope for. He loves coming home to you more than anything else in the world, or when you come home to him. Seeing you so at home, snuggled in a blanket and watching a movie which he is surely going to disrupt. Cooking with you- rather, bothering you while you cook- and just talking about each other’s days. Doing a craft or hiking with you… all of it. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Not to mention the sex- sex definitely isn’t the defining or most important part of your relationship, but that’s not to say it isn’t mindblowingly good.

Logan fucks. And you, being a pillow princess, are more than happy to take it. He can do whatever he wants to, bend you however he wants to as long as he’s the one doing all of the work. It’s not that you don’t reciprocate- you do love him and you do like sex with him, but you’re just a pillow princess by nature. And besides, he gets off on knowing that you want him-need him, even- to make you feel good.

And he loves that, he really does. He loves pounding your little cunt while you can’t do anything but take it, tears of pleasure welling up in your eyes. But just like in every other aspect of your relationship, he has to try to annoy you.

One day he had you in his lap, lifting you up and down on his cock as he did. Your eyes kept rolling back as you whined for him, consumed with pleasure. You were so, so close, but then-

You just stopped moving. Sat on his lap, filled to the brim. You opened your eyes, giving him a questioning look.

“You’re not cumming unless you do it yourself,” he explained, a smirk plain as day on his face.

You were already a bit aloof from the stupor he'd fucked you into, so you just sat there for a second, staring into his blown out caramel eyes. You were just barely conscious enough for the notion of (gasp) actually having to do the work to turn you off, and just as he was about to follow up you simply said “okay.” Got off of his lap and everything.

He was so stunned that it took him a solid five minutes to recover, in that time you were already in your pjs and putting on Arrow in your bedroom. He lumbered in eventually, completely humbled, and just looked at you. Not mad, not offended, nothing. Just simply confused. “Okay?” he asked, parroting what you had told him. You shrugged. He couldn’t even smell your arousal, you hadn’t been playing around.

He came and sat by you, head on your stomach. You instinctively started playing with his hair as he looked up with little doe eyes. “Okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, a little bit embarrassed with yourself by that point.

He started laughing, which was not the answer you were expecting. “No, don’t be, I’m not mad… I’m just… you’re such a pillow princess, y’know that?”

You blush at that, giving him a little “yeah” and smiling at his fit of- were those giggles?

“I love you,” he grinned, reaching up and kissing your nose.

And sure, he was incredibly humbled by that day, but he also really loved how you just stuck your ground. Because the thing is, he knows that if he were to need it, you would gladly take care of him. Even in the bedroom. But on normal days, on most days… at least you know what you like. And lord knows he loves being in charge anyway.

If y’all want more blurbs like these feel free to leave an ask! I don’t bite! And they don’t have to be nsfw if you’re feeling fluffy!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 11 months ago

Text

Sore

Logan Howlett x Reader

Minors, do NOT interact.

A/N: More of my Wolvie because my creative side rests in him atm. Based on the fact that my back literally is brokeback mountain and my legs feel like I took that cowboy up on his offer for five hours after saving his horse atm 🤣 also, domestic smut is SO underrated.

Anyway, all interaction, especially commentary is heavily appreciated! Enjoy!

Cw: Logan’s helping you feel less sore, things get steamy. Fluffy and spicy, domestic!Logan.

P.S: Want more of Logan? Check out my headcanons and/or feel free to submit an ask for a Drabble or Ficlet. :> You want daddy dom Logan? I gotchu. You want Logan to watch, idk, Cars with you?? I gotchu. Just nothing too dark or too crazy, please. Anonymous or not, feel free to drop your thoughts/thots!

****************************************************

You had flopped down on the your big ass bed the moment you’d gotten home from the gym. For whatever reason you had thought it would be a good idea to overdo it both today and yesterday, and now your legs and back were suffering the consequences.

So here you are, lying face down, starfish style. You barely remembered to kick off your nasty shoes and socks. Haven’t showered, haven’t pulled the comforter down. Just lying there in your misery as the pain in your legs chooses to linger.

You had to have been lying there for about ten minutes when you’re finally ready to get up, but then you hear the door open.

“Y/N?” Logan calls, having just got home from work apparently. It’s about eight at night, this is very early for him.

“Bedroom,” you call back weakly.

You hear his light footsteps pattering towards you. If you hadn’t been together as long as you had you wouldn’t be able to hear him because of how stealth he is.

“Aw, sweets, what’s wrong?” he asks as he walks into the bedroom.

“Sore,” you mumble, giving him another one word answer.

“Why?” he prods, in a somewhat lilting tone that implies he knows exactly why.

“Cause I overdid it,” you say begrudgingly. He was the one who warned you not to, and you could all but sense the smirk that had to be on his face right now. “If you say ‘I told you so’ I’m going to smother you,” you threaten as a follow up.

“Do it with that pretty cunt of yours and we’ll call it even.” Cheeky, as always. You groan in response, and not in a sexy way, even though his dirty words don’t fail to make your core feel a little warmer. “Alright alright. Can I try to make you feel better?”

“Please.” Your voice is slightly whiny as the ache in your legs is starting to get unbearably annoying.

“Aww, sugar,” he tuts, kissing you on the top of your head. “Just give me one second.”

He disappears momentarily, reappearing with some Advil and lemonade for you to drink it with. He sets the pair on the nightstand.

“I’m gonna sit you up, okay?”

“Wait-“ you protest, before gasping ‘ow!’ as he uses his trying arms to hold you up, resting your back against your plush pillows and headboard. He sits in front of you, draping your calves over the tops of his thighs.

“Here,” he hands you the lemonade and Advil.

“Thanks. Wait- tell me about your day,” you prod, before swallowing the pill and the drink down.

“Oh, you really are sweet on your old man, ain’tcha,” he grins, flattening out the random wisps of hair that had escaped your updo. You smile sweetly at him, before downing the rest of the glass.

“Well, I went to stop some guy from stealing an old lady’s purse, but by the time I got over there she was smacking him over the head with it.”

“What in the Tom and Jerry?” you laugh incredulously.

“I swear it! In my too-many years I’ve never seen anything like that.” God, you could never grow tired of seeing Logan like this. Giggly, tired, relaxed. It’s so nice.

“It’s the thought that counts, I guess,” I offer.

“Yeah, until Granny knocks it out of you,” he quips, and we both laugh. “So, where are you hurting?”

“My legs and my back. Shouldn’t have done the extra set of the one where you close your legs on the thing,” I tell him.

“What’re you wearing under this?” he asks, motioning to you. You’re wearing a sports tank and shorts, and underneath…

“Girl’s boxers and a sports bra.”

“Attagirl. Mind if I strip you down to those? Less layers makes it easier for me to dig into you.”

“You ask that as if you don’t fuck me almost every night,” you quip, the affirmation plain in your voice.

“And almost every morning and afternoon, but who’s counting?” he retorts with a mischievous grin. This is true- even after so many years of being together the two of you still can’t keep your hands off of each other.

“Don’t forget about evenings,” you add.

He gasps melodramatically, -“I could never.”-before tugging off your shorts. You sigh contentedly, glad to be free of your fabric confines. He then gently eases off your shirt so that, true to his word, you’re only in your undergarments.

“Can you lay on your stomach for me?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you slowly move from your spot amidst the pillows, slowly but surely. The pain doesn’t get enough time to build as much as before, and just rests at the same throbbing as before. You hear Logan rummaging in the nightstand.

“Shit, sorry, baby. I thought I had bought more of that lavender oil, but I forgot,” he says apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it, your hands are more than enough already,” you tell him.

“Oh yeah?” Logan turns any words he can into a double entendre, it’s his sense of humor.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a rabbit mutation,” you laugh, referring to his persistent and ever present horniness.

“Do I look like a rabbit to you?” he asks gruffly, still joking. You feel the bed dip from behind you under his weight.

“You are pretty cute,” you tell him.

“But a rabbit?” he asks, incredulousness in his voice.

“Mayb-ohh,” your words are broken off as his surprisingly gentle hands start kneading your calves.

“Ohh,” he imitates, pressing deeper. God it feels good- hurts on contact, but then completely alleviates the pressure.

“Shut up,” you try to say through your soft moans of pleasure.

“That’s gonna be a no, sugar,” you can hear the overconfidence in his voice, and it doesn’t even bother you because of how much better you’re feeling.

“Ow-,” you whisper as he presses on a particularly painful spot in the inside of your leg.

“That’s it, huh?”

You meekly hum in response as he takes initiative to continue pressing on it, digging into it with his thumbs.

Eventuakly he has you feeling like putty, all comfortable until…

“Oh, come on!” you say indignantly as he flips you over. You feel the dull pain in your legs ignite again, and you already know what he’s about to make you do.

“I know, but you know you need to stretch,” he chides, sitting on his knees between your thighs. He has a shit-eating grin on his face, because he knows damn well how inflexible you are, especially when you’re sore.

You stick your tongue at him to no avail. He grabs your thigh, squeezing it before beginning to push it back. The dull pain immediately intensifies.

“F-fuck you!” you squeak as he pushes your thigh back further, your knee nearing your shoulder. You clutch Pookie as tight as you can to your chest. The words are directed more to the pain than him, but he can’t help but tease you, naturally.

“Is that nice?” he chastises lightly, the smile plain on his lips as he holds you in place. You can feel your muscles screaming from the soreness, but the position does seem to be alleviating the pressure some.

“No,” you pout guiltily, not wanting to seem ungrateful to him.

“I’m kidding,” his voice softens as he presses my leg back further.

“Ow!” you whine, the additional pressure making your leg impossibly more sore.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he reassures me, massaging the back of my thigh as he holds it in place. He grabs the lone stuffed animal that rests amongst your too-many pillows and blankets. It’s an okapi, his name is Pookie. However, Logan calls him ‘Abomination,’ because the first time you showed him a picture of one that’s what he called it. You always get miffed about him calling it that, so he adamantly makes sure to do so, even though he’s the one that bought it for you on a whim. Go figure.

“How about you hold A-Bomb? Will that make you feel better?”

“It will if you call him by the right name,” you tell him, sass in your voice. He grins- for whatever reason he finds it extremely amusing to annoy you.

“But his name is Abomination,” Logan insists, momentarily distracting you from putting down your leg before picking up your more sore one.

“No it’s not,” you protest, before literally squeaking from how bad it hurts to have the other leg pushed back.

“Fine, it’s not,” he says gently, handing you the stuffed animal with his free hand as he keeps your leg pinned back. You squeeze it as he pushers further, holding it for what feels like fifteen years but in reality is probably all of fifteen seconds.

Slowly you start feeling better, that is until he drops your leg and grabs both this time.

“Logan, no, I’m already stretched out, I feel better-,” you try, but as always, he knows better. He lifts both legs up, and however much better you were feeling is immediately ruined because your lower back is being added to the equation.

“Ow!” you whine, trying to wriggle free from his grasp to no avail. Damn his super strength. Your back is all but shrieking at you now.

“I seem to recall you being able to do this,” Logan says smugly. And you immediately clench on nothing, because you know exactly what he’s referring to.

“Well you’re not exactly dicking me down right now, are you?” Usually when your legs are over his shoulders like this it’s because he’s ploughing into you like it’s your last night on earth. And the memories are vivid- he always makes damn sure of that. The sweat on his brow, his filthy vocabulary….

Okay, you’re wet now.

“Dicking you down?” he laughs. “What are you, Wade?”

“Suddenly I’m not turned on anymore,” I roll my eyes. The Merc with a Mouth may just about exclusively talk about sex, but somehow it’s never sexy. Maybe it has something to do with the fact he still has the brain of a thirteen year old. Who knows.

“Mmm, let’s see about that,” he murmurs, tossing your stuffed animal to the side and dropping your legs down, to your relief. He tugs at your boxer shorts, looking you in the eye for consent. You nod, and he takes no time at all to slide them down your pretty legs. “Looks pretty turned on to me,” he says gravelly as he looks at your cunt.

“Mhm,” you agree, your voice wanton and low.

He knows exactly what you like, and neither of you is surprised by the shiver your elicits from you as he runs a knuckle through your slick folds.

One of the things about being with Logan is anything can be sexy, and by association, turn into sex. You don’t mind at all- you match his freak, if you will- but it is easy to marvel at how random it can be.

Some days it’s just your morning chatter- you’ll be talking about who knows what, maybe a movie you’ve seen, maybe your plans for the day. And then you’ll straddle him to get him to focus on you, because he’s always sleepy and slow in the morning. Before you know it he’ll have his hands on your hips, easing you up and down on his cock.

Other times it’ll be you two silently reading on the couch, legs crossed over one another because you can’t go a second without touching. Once one of you gets bored, it’s over for the other. If it’s he who gets bored but you’re still invested in your book, he’ll have you cockwarm him and finish your book. Sometimes it’s the other way around, but because you’re so needy you’ll usually be bouncing on him before he can finish and who is he not to do as you wish?

It’s always something. And one of those somethings apparently him helping you stretch,, which is a new one because usually you pass out after he contorts you like that.

After getting you ready for him, which really doesn’t take long since you’re almost always wet for him when you’re in his vicinity, he pulls down his sweats and his own boxers just enough to expose his dick.

But, because he’s Logan, and he’s annoying, he grabs the backs of your thighs with a mischievous grin, and before you even realize what he’s doing he presses both of your legs back. It really doesn’t hurt as bad, especially when he leans down to kiss you so passionately and all-consumingly that your mind clouds over.

“You ready f’me?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know that you are.

“Yeah, baby. Yeah,” you breathe. “Just go slow, please.”

“I promise, sweet girl,” he kisses you again, aligning himself with your entrance. “God, I love you,” he whispers as he watches himself slide into you with ease.

“I love you too,” tell him through a gasp, kissing his nose. “Please don’t make me more sore.” You have to reiterate that you want him to be slow, because while Logan is the sweetest, most considerate lover you could have, sometimes he can’t help but overdo it.

He laughs, not one to deny your imploring. “I’ve got you.” He bottoms out slowly, resting inside of you before pushing just a little bit more, hitting a spot that feels so good that it brings tears to your eyes. You’re so, so full of him, you can feel every twitch. This angle, painful as it may be, lets him get so wonderfully deep inside you. It’s a wonder you hadn’t tried this sooner.

“Oh, Logan,” you breathe, leaning into his touch as he kisses over your collarbone.

“Good, huh?” he says somewhat cockily, slowly pulling out of you before bottoming back out, hitting that impossible spot again. It feels so good that you can’t even think of something to say in response. “Thought so,” he smiles, kissing you on the nose. His voice has gonna somewhat breathy, but he still continues his steady, slow pace. The sounds that fill the room are gentle, with soft sighs and grunts and the occasional moan of one or the other’s name. And it’s perfect.

It feels so good that you feel tears slipping down your cheeks, and he leans down to kiss them away. “I know, sweet girl. I know.” His tone is soft, and it prompts you to further bury yourself in your fluffy comforter and pillows as he slowly coaxes a release out of me. He kisses you, slow but passionate as his fingers start to circle your clit in the way you like. The circles are much faster than his thrusts, and the sensation of the contrast in paces is absolutely delicious.

Logan loves having you like this- soft and sweet, in no rush. Your legs strewn haphazardly over his shoulders, squeezing him every time he nudges the head of his cock that extra inch inside of you. He loves to kiss you, to talk you through it. He loves you.

“You’re taking me so well, beautiful. You always do,” he coos, adding more pressure to your sensitive bud. You only whimper in response as your orgasm starts to build. He can feel it, hell, he can smell it. That sweet smell that’s so uniquely yours, that he’s so addicted to. “You gonna cum f’me? Make a mess all over this big dick?” he asks, knowing full well how much of a mess his dirty words make of you. You nod ever so slightly, you’re entire body on fire from how good it feels.

Your legs tighten around his head as you cum, and it’s perfect. The pleasure is immense, intense enough to make you close your eyes as he keeps his same pace, drawing it out longer than ever. “Logan?” you whisper once you catch your bearings.

“Yeah?” he asks, still moving slowly and hitting that perfect spot. His voice is slightly strained, you can tell he wants to cum.

“Cum in me, please,” you ask with your best doe eyes.

“Gladly, sugar,” he kisses you again, coming with just a few more thrusts as you clench around him as tightly as you can. “Fuck,” he mumbles, biting the juncture of your neck and shoulder and darkening what may as well be a permanent mark from him. He always bites in the same spot. He lets your legs down but stays inside you, panting as he holds you close. Eventually he pulls out, and you whine from the loss of contact, feeling your mixed releases slip out of you.

“You feeling better?” he asks, laying on his side as you do the same.

“Yeah. Thank you so much,” you tell him.

“Anything for you, gorgeous. I’ve heard that a good orgasm releases tension.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah,” he grins.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” he hugs you close.

“Waiiiit I need to shower,” you complain, trying to push him away.

“In a minute,” he counters, nuzzling his face in your neck and squeezing you tighter.

That’s definitely the biggest lie he could have told you, because you both knew damn well it would be more than a minute. And even when you do get out of bed- sorry, Pookie!- there’s always room for showers and post-shower sex. You don’t make the rules, it just happens. And with your luck you’ll probably be sore tomorrow, and you’ll probably have asked for it.

What can you say? You’re just a girl, after all. A girl who loves her guy, whose guy loves her.

Fin! Xx.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine fluff #wolverine smut

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