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forsworned · 5 months

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I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY'S WATCHING ME ft. LOGAN WALKER

Warning(s): Sexual Content, Solo Sex (f.), Usage of Sex Toys, Voyeurism, AFAB!reader,

Author's note: @keegansshark because you inspired me!!!!

Being the Walker brother's third roommate is awfully quiet. In fact, half of your time here is spent apologizing about any ruckus you might be causing them whether it be your music, the loud clattering in the kitchen, or having a friend or two over. But they insist that it's fine. Giving you grand, boyish, heartthrob smiles that make you melt like a popsicle on a hot pavement.

Unlike Logan, Hesh is more outgoing, and talkative, and not staring you down from across the room when you're attempting to complete your work. He's asking you about your day, telling you to tag along with him and his brother when they go gyming and somehow is always sitting on the opposite end of the table when you're going out to eat, leaving you next to Logan every time.

And sometimes there's a sneaky, mischievous glance sent Logan's way followed by a pained expression that's stifled with laughter on his older's brother face.

But that was neither here nor there. However, upon finding out that the Walker brothers were going to spend the weekend out camping, you took it as an opportunity to be as noisy as you wanted. As much as you adored them, you felt relieved not having to walk on eggshells around them when it came to your sonorousness.

A deep exhale leaves your chest as your body hits your mattress. It had been a long week and you wanted nothing more than to unwind. Unfortunately, you didn't have a boyfriend to fuck your brains out so you settle for the vibrator in your locked drawer. You fish out the keys from your pocket and unlatch it. It wasn't a stellar collection of sex toys, more like just the essentials.

You decide upon your favorite, old reliable, first Eve's thruster and tug off your shorts and panties, tossing them carelessly to the side of your bed. It's a little depressing that you have to resort to such methods, but it was going to be a long weekend, so what better way to start it off then with some solo sex?

You turn it in and slowly work yourself up and the image of Logan flits into your mind. How good he would feel between your legs right now, filling you up with his cock and gazing down at you with those pretty hazel eyes of his. It's hardly been a few minutes before you feel yourself sopping at the mere notion of him touching you, and you're sliding the vibrator past your folds imagining that it's him inside of you.

His name spills from your lips over and over again, so sticky sweet, and delectable to the ears of any man if they had the pleasure of listening in on you.

So luckily for Logan, he's back at the apartment complex, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door after Hesh had forgotten to pack propane fuel. It isn't a huge deal, certainly not enough to sour his mood. An earnest mistake that Logan is more than willing to make up for for his older brother.

Too entranced by your own euphoria, you don't hear the door unlocking, nor it opening and the footsteps that follow, but Logan certainly hears your wanton breathy moans, reverberating into the hallways leading to the living room. He halts dead in his tracks and he's pondering about how he should approach the situation. He's thinking that maybe you happen to be watching a movie with a sex scene and it will pass at any moment. But it's past five minutes now and he's thinking otherwise.

His heart thuds against his chest as he stands there completely paralyzed, but his body isn't the only rigid thing. If it weren't obvious to you yet, Logan had a raging crush on you, and Hesh would be happy to take any opportunity to tease him about it. So the sound of you moaning is definitely getting him riled up. His eyes dart to the propane that sat on the kitchen island where stupid Hesh had left it and he's quietly making his way over to grab it and leave without alerting you, but then he hears you calling out his name. And then, again, and again and again.

As each passing second ticks by, the urgency in your whimpers intensifies, and Logan's legs seem to act autonomously, losing sight of their original purpose. He silently stalks to the ajar door of your bedroom and his eyes ream at your sopping, wet pussy out for display, hammering away at it with your hot pink, dildo that's thrusting into you. You're throwing your head back in pure rapture and his dick fully bricked up on sight. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, swallowing thickly as he absentmindedly palms at his dick.

It's so fucking wrong. And he's so aware of that, but it doesn't stop him from burning the image of you getting yourself off to him in his mind. His desire to step into the room is magnifying by the minute, but he holds himself back. The way your mouth is parting as you reach your climax is so, so, so delicious. The salacious sighs that escape you drive him wild and honestly, he could cum right now. It wouldn't even take long. One touch from that pretty mouth of yours and he would be coloring you a pretty, ivory white.

And just when you're about to orgasm, the creak of your door jostles you, stopping you mid-thrust and you could almost die when you see Logan's form leaning against the doorway. The blood drains from your face as you take in his unbuttoned jeans, undone zipper, and his hand slipping into his boxers. His hazel eyes might just be as wide as yours and the embarrassing sound of your machine is still going off and you practically rip it out of you, but your unexpected orgasm reels you in for a moment. It halts you as your bach archs and you gasp out in a fervent daze. It's humiliating as you gawk at your pulsating, drenched pussy in horror and you're scrambling to get up and somehow apologize??? But by the time you can even catch your breath to pull on your shorts, you hear the front door slam.

You make a dash for the window to see, Logan climb into Hesh's truck and they seem to be having a brief conversation before they're back on the road. The blood is rushing to your face as you watch them pull away. Oh God. What were you going to do!?

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forsworned · 4 months

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Crush ft. BlueCollar!Logan Walker

Synopsis: Heavily inspired by the song, Crush by Ethel Cain. Logan is a blue-collar welder employed at his father's metalwork shop located in the downtown area. Reader, who is an artist, experiences frustration with her metal sculpture that is to be showcased later in the month and desperately seeks the help of a professional.

Warnings: AFAB!Reader, Not all the lyrics are depicted in the story, BlueCollar!Logan x Artist!Reader, Mentions of Violence, Guns, Drug Trafficking, and Sexual Content, Logan is a Retired Marine

Author's note: Getting way too invested in Logan lately no thanks to @keegansshark , da realesttttttt

His window's already passed, so he's shooting at the glass Keeping guns in his locker, and he denies it Like it's actually important, but he lied 'cause I sure did watch him Showing up wearing black, and he knows that

Sharp, acrid, chemical-like fumes dizzy your mind as you step out of your garage and lift up the cover of your welding helmet to wipe the sweat off your brow. Smoke and dust collect in the air from the galvanized stainless steel that you had been working with for the past two hours and you're realizing that maybe you bit off more than you could chew. Your DIY metal sculpture has not been going as well as you had thought and you're starting to reconsider that taking a trip downtown to recruit some help from your local metalwork shop might be your best bet. It's a straight shot, seven minutes away from your neighborhood, but you really do not want to admit defeat.

You sighed as you card your fingers through your hair and grab your keys, stuffing the fucked up metalwork into the passenger seat and hit the pedal to the metal.

The bell rings as you push open the door and the metallic, pungent smell of multiple fumes clogs your nose. To your right, a man is stuffing his light-wash denim Levi jacket into a blue-rusted locker. His hair is a sandy blonde color cropped down into a grown-out buzz, and his taut arms are littered with tattoos. His black tee is tucked into his jeans and he adjusts his holster to reveal the handgun that's stowed away under his leather belt.

He turns to you and his eyes widen, brows raised as he quickly shuts the door to his locker, but you have already caught a glimpse of the guns that littered the small space. And as alarming as it may have been, you were only fixated on how pretty his hazel eyes were.

"Can I help you?" He treads to the desk that sits right in the middle of the small lobby area, and you suck in a small inhale before approaching him.

The metal sculpture you have been working on clatters on the wooden counter.

"Need some tips and tricks for this piece that I'm doing for an art show later this month, would you be able to service me in that?"

He raises a brow at you. "I don't typically take freelance commissions."

You huff. "Please? I'm desperate."

His eyes flicker to you, giving you a once over and a small smile adorns his face.

"Alright."

His daddy's on death row, but he'll say it with his chest, though His friends move dope, he hasn't tried coke But he's always had a problem saying no His older brother bagged the valedictorian His mother, steady, screaming he should be more like him

A shiver runs up your spinal column when a chilly gust sweeps into the open garage. For May, it's certainly a bit too chilly. But you ignore it as you study how he perfects the fissure you attempted to weld over earlier. A small puff of air leaves your chest and Logan sets down the welder and glances over at you.

You cross your arms. "What?"

He stifles a laugh, scratching the stubble on his cheek with his soot-covered fingers. "You're huffin' and puffin' over there."

"No, I'm not." You mimp at him.

He snickers at your pursued lips. "You are."

In the short time that he has gotten the pleasure to know you, he realizes how short of a fuse you have when it comes to your own artwork. The meticulousness of your piece and how high-strung you become when you can't implement the same technique as him because, duh, he's a professional welder with years of experience under his belt. But regardless, you're throwing your little tantrums and don't think he doesn't notice it. The little finger taps on the metal table whenever your penetration isn't properly bonded, or the eye rolls when he fixes the undercuts you created. It's cute and admirable how passionate you are about your craft and honestly, it really turns him on. Especially when you spend hours perfecting your fusions, even staying after closing time.

But then it's after midnight, and Logan forgets that his friends transport their red tops through the facility in the later hours to pick them up in the morning. You always knew the shop was a little sketchy, so drug trafficking and money laundering had definitely crossed your mind at some point. And yet, you're silent and minding your own at the company that huddles in the large expanse of the garage. A wink is sent your way from the gentleman with pretty wintry hues and you give him a meek smile. You only recognize his older brother Hesh who gives you a good-natured grin while he carries a duffle bag with money sticking out the corners of the zipper.

"Dude, you said nobody would be here." Hesh chides in a low voice.

"My bad." Logan's tone is blase and the sound of Hesh's tongue clicking echoes.

Logan leans against the wall, pushing a cigarette between his lips before he lights it. "She maintains focus on her own assigned tasks."

You narrow your eyes at the statement, sensing that, strangely, it carries enough weight to influence the intimidating group of men. There's an awkward silence until his older brother clears his throat and the palpable tension in the room dissipates.

You continue to make yourself busy, manipulating metal sheets into flower petals. Hesh does a once over at you before he pushes past his younger brother and toward the back, but he can't stop himself from leaving him with a snide remark:

"Make sure it stays that way."

Can you read my mind? I've been watching you (You know it, you know it, you know it's true) Couldn't fight to save your life, but you look so cool Camo' jacket, robbing corner stores Hard odds to beat when you're on all fours Good men die too, oh, I'd rather be with you, you, you

Fortunately for you, you were good on your unspoken rule of minding your business. So much so that you were beginning to befriend their little clique. But they're lingering a little too long around your liking, distracting you when you really should be getting toward the final pieces of your sculpture.

It's hard when they're flexing your taut muscles while showing you their tatted arms and fresh ink under their Saniderm patches.

"What is it?" You cock an amused brow at Keegan.

He gives you a wolfish grin. "A pansy."

You chuckle. "Cause you're a fuckin' pansy?"

He joins in on your laughter. "Hell yeah."

You don't really like prying so you laugh it off knowing there is some deeper meaning behind it. The sound of Logan's throat clears and an icy glare is shot toward the retired Sergeant's way to which he only rolls his wintry hues and pokes your side on his way out. You jolt at his playful gesture and swipe at him, narrowly missing by a few millimeters, as he jogs towards the break room.

Logan leans against the welded steel workbench, sucking on a blue raspberry ice pop as he ogles you. "Should be workin' on your piece 'stead of flirting."

You snort, as you position the sheet metal on your sculpture but it slips out of your nimble fingers and clatters loudly on the ground. A vulgarity leaves your lips as you fumble around to get it, but Logan is quick to pick it up and perfectly welds it on the shoulder of the sculpture.

And for once you're kind of relieved that he's intervened. You quietly inhale, leaning against the workbench as you observe how he sets down the welding tool on the table. A primal sense of jealousy and possessiveness seeps into him as he glances over at you with darkened eyes.

"Your deadline's comin' up."

"I know." You mutter, eyelashes batting up at him with desire.

You notice how his camo compression shirt hugs his physique and you feel the sweat begin to form at the nape of your neck. His eyes glance over at your lips and they involuntarily quiver. The tension is unbearable--palpable even.

He moves closer to you, closing the gap between your forms as he reaches out his calloused hand to gently grasp at your neck. Your breaths mingle against one another while they inch closer, brushing the pillowy flesh of your lips before he devours you. His lips hotly slot against yours and it's dizzying the way he kisses you so feverishly. You waste no time kissing him back as he clears the workbench and lifts your form to sit atop it. The cold steel presses against your bare thighs, but the warmth of his soot-covered hands creates a pleasant contrast as they glide over the flesh of your spine. His other hand threads through your hair and tugs it just right, eliciting a moan as your tongues collide.

Your hand moves to his chest before gently pushing him away, your lips only connected by a string of saliva and your breaths draw ragged. A smirk adorns your dulcet features as you move back to the welding table, and Logan feels captivated by the person he's starting to see.

"Gotta get back to my work."

I owe you a black eye and two kisses Tell me when you wanna come and get 'em I only want him if he says it first to me I wanna, uh, him in the back of his mom's Mercury He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro Reds

Logan has been missing for some days since that night. Hesh on the other hand has been more than happy to fill in the void that his younger brother has left.

"He's been on a business trip." Hesh nudges you as he helps you remove the slag on your sculpture to reveal the clean beading underneath. You perk up at his voice.

"Who?" Although, the both of you know exactly 'who' he was referring to.

Hesh chuckles as he wipes his blackened hands and sets the microfiber towel down to sit on the wooden stool across from you. His emerald eyes are glimmering in the sunlight that reflects from the garage windows. One thing about the Walker brothers is that they shared that coquettish, boyish charm that you couldn't resist. It is brimming with mischief and playfulness with a roughness around the edges.

He glances at his watch. "In about an hour or so."

Your heart drops to your stomach and you feel a yearning pain for his enigmatic presence that is always luring you in for more. Your fingers absentmindedly brush at your lips and the retired Lieutenant narrows his eyes at you.

You're quick to notice that Hesh picks up on your subtle gesture and you swiftly excuse yourself. But he can only snicker to himself when he sees how you hurry off to the courtyard just outside the garage. Your brain inattentively searches for the scent of Marlboro red's. It's a distinct smell; strong and robust in comparison to the menthol's that the other smoke. And you don't know if it's your imagination, but it wafts into your senses. Unthinkingly, you follow it and your eyes ream at the unexpected arrival of the inscrutable man who cooly, draws smoke from his lips, and it unfurls into the air before it evaporates.

His intense hazel eyes never leave yours and you're caught up in them. They're dark, alluring, and spellbinding in the shade of the canopy of the courtyard. He sports medium-wash denim jeans adorned with distressed patches at the pockets and thighs, secured by a simple black belt, with his slate grey tee neatly tucked in. The fabric of the sleeves tightens around the muscle of his taut biceps and you have to thickly swallow to conjure up some strength. Strength to not throw yourself on him and jump his bones.

"Thought you'd be here in an hour or so." You murmur, slowly striding toward him. He takes another drag before offering it to you. You smooth over the lipgloss that lacquers your lips before you pluck the cigarette out of his fingers and slowly inhale. When it leaves your mouth, the creases of your lips brand the cigarette paper and he licks his cracked lips as you hand it back to him. He doesn't waste any time wrapping his mouth over your strawberry-flavored lipgloss, remembering how you tasted the last time your lips touched.

"Wrapped up early." He replies, with the cigarette fixed between his lips. He turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Why? Did you miss me?"

It makes me so, uh, and I can't get enough of it Something's been feeling weird lately There's just something about you, baby (there's just something about you, baby) Maybe I'll just be crazy (I'll be crazy) And piss him off 'til he hates me Low slung bad bitch, baby, come and get you some

And in the blink of an eye, it's the showcasing of your art exhibit and you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. That Logan isn't exactly the most predictable of humans, but Hesh assures you they'll all be there. In fact, they're thrilled to have an excuse to wear a suit and attend an event where they can showcase their metalworking skills and be recognized for their talent.

"He'll be here." Keegan pulls you out of your stupor. He's peering over the rim of his champagne glass at your trepidatious expression and how your eyes dart across the room looking for him; overgrown blonde buzzcut and the heavy aroma of iron oxide, tobacco, and his father's passed down Jean Paul Gaultier. You can't quite imagine him in a suit either, but you aren't disappointed at how well the retired Marines turned blue-collar workers clean up. Clean-shaven with a few dabs of aftershave, dressed in crisp navy suits, and wearing their finest tap dancing shoes, they were set for the night.

They don't even look out of place either, and yet you did. In a crowd full of people who adored your art, and every second of your night being spent talking to art collectors, admirers, and socialites--you were utterly alone. And you knew that you shouldn't rely on a man to fill that void, nevertheless, here you were, doing just that.

"I'm gonna go to the restroom." You mutter and down the rest of your champagne before heading off. The sound of Keegan's phone ringing is faint, but it manages to catch your attention. You lean against the wall for a moment in hopes of capturing who he was speaking to. In hopes of it being...

"Logan! Where the fuck are ya, kid?"

And your heart drops to your stomach. You felt like you already had your answer. Something about a shipment taking too long to process with their wholesale dealer and that was something you didn't want to stick around to hear. You had some hope that this time would be different. That maybe he would push aside whatever shady business he had going aside for you, but you were a fool to think that he would change for you.

The rest of the evening drags by. You're no longer glancing at your watch or rummaging through the room for him. The little words of encouragement and smiles from his friends and brother had become mere background noise to you by now. Time is like a hazy blur of conversations about your artwork, countless glasses of Armand de Brignac, and mindless gossiping about gallery politics and exhibit guests.

And soon enough it's past midnight and your social battery is running low. Your guests have long left the premises, but thankfully your welding companions stay behind to help you pack up your remaining props and pieces into their truck that could probably fit ten bodies in the trunk alone.

You let out a sharp exhale as you observe Merrick scolding Hesh and Kick for not preparing the cargo net. Sometimes it was talking to a small herd of teenage boys, nonetheless, you were grateful for their help.

The final pieces remaining in the exhibit were delicate and, moreover, the ones Logan had been most involved with. When you headed back inside to load them into your car, you immediately felt a pit in your stomach as soon as you entered the gallery.

There he stood, with a mussed-up, overgrown buzz, and unkempt facial hair, clad in soot-covered work trousers and a white tee stained with what appeared to be dried blood, admiring the work you both had collaborated on.

"Man, she's a real beauty—really outdone yourself, [name]."

He turns to you and you feel yourself crumble. You tremble with anger, and his face softens as he takes in your expression. He knows he fucked up big time. The worst part about it is that he looks unbelievably sexy, but your rage is bubbling within you as you take another stride toward him.

He's careful with how he approaches. Careful to not make any sudden movements as if you would pounce on him and tear him limb from limb.

"I'm sorry..." He breathes out, observing the way you slowly circle him.

"Oh, you're sorry?" You hissed.

He swallows thickly, feeling a shudder travel up his spinal column. "There was a hold up..."

He clenches and unclenches his fist reflecting on said "hold up" that caused him to be so tardy. It's not like he didn't know how important this was to you, but he also wasn't obligated to show up in the way you were expecting him to.

You stop in your tracks and pinch the bridge of your nose. It's hard to stay mad at someone whose tongue was shoved down your throat just a few days ago.

Logan is debating whether his presence is even worthy of being around you, but he reaches out to hold your wrist anyway.

"Get off of me." You tug your wrist away, but he has a firm grip on you.

"Let me make it up to you." His hazel half-lidded gaze holds yours and your anger begins to melt away.

"How?"

His hands suddenly find themselves around your waist and you yelp as he lifts you, setting you on the bar. Your little black dress rides up your thighs and pulls them apart only to find that not only are you not wearing underwear, but your pussy is glistening in the dim exhibit lighting. He gives you one final glance as if to ask for permission, but you're already tangling your fingers into his dirty blonde hair.

He doesn't even waste any time devouring your sopping, wet pussy. One long stripe and then he's losing himself in your saccharine taste that he cannot get enough of. He had no idea how he withheld himself from such a heavenly taste and those sweet, milky moans.

All those long nights they spent working together in the shop he had to hold himself back from slipping down your shorts, bending you over the workbench, and taking right then and there. It all amounted to this moment—his tongue deep in your cunt and you were lost in the euphoria he was bringing you. The notion of the others walking in on you is tossed away to the backlogs of your mind.

His fingers dig into the supple flesh of your thighs, holding your writhing body still as he sucks on your pillow clit. You tremble against him feeling yourself nearing the edge, but he's torturing you. Withdrawing his tongue from the sensitive nub, kissing around your inner thighs, but you're not having any of it.

Your fingers pull at his hair and lead his tongue back to where you want it, bucking your hips against his mouth. His hazel hues flicker up to you and he's smirking at your domineering energy. You're taking charge as you grind your pussy against his tongue and lolling your head to the side as you feel your orgasm coming on.

"Fuuuck, 'm gonna..." You moan out in pure ecstasy as your eyes drift to the back of your head and your back arches away from the counter.

And he's definitely not stopping his efforts in bringing you there. In fact, he's probing his fingers between your velvety folds and curling his fingers to that sweet spot that drives you to your climax.

"Logan...!" You whimper out as you ride your high and he drowns in your soddened pussy. "Oh fuck..." You breathe out as it dissipates slowly but surely. He licks one last stripe to your shimmering folds as he withdraws his fingers, observing the way your arousal clings to his fingers and lapping them up.

"I have no fuckin' clue how I held back for so long." He cups your cheek, lips lacquered with your cum, and you hotly slot your lips against his in a feverish kiss. Being pressed up against him in the building where you hosted your long-awaited art exhibit feels like one of your reoccuring wet dreams.

Your hands fly to his belt to unbuckle, but the sound of footsteps grasp your attention and your caught redhanded, but his cheeky older brother, Hesh.

"Oh—" He grins at your tangled bodies against the bar. "as much as I hate to break up you two lover birds, security is rounding us up to see us off.”

You feel the embarrassment creeping up on your flushed cheeks. “R-right.” You fix your dress and Logan casually buckles his belt and helps you down from the bar as if you two weren’t going to fuck each other dumb.

As Hesh grabs the last few items and exits the area, Logan comes up from behind you and squeezes your ass as he murmurs against the shell of your ear:

“I’ll follow you back to your place?”

Good men die too, so I'd rather be with you, you, you rather be with you, oh Oh, I'd rather be with you, oh 'Cause good men die too, so I'd rather be with you

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