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NOTES: fuck me Logan PLEASE. As always, I need him, so! Very short as always
WARNINGS: car sex, nicknames, Logan knows who you are before the deed but you don’t, getting folded in half by Logan (hope ur flexible), porn (technically) no plot?
Dofp!Logan is coming to find you the second he gets to his young selfs body. Okay, maybe not the second, he does still have to get Charles and Hank, but there’s a day in between events, where nothing happens and he’s not needed for the sake of the universe and he takes it. And when Charles and Hank ask where he’s going, he just tells them he has someone he needs to see.
Honestly it’s a little too easy to find you. And it’s just as easy to get you all folded up in the back of the Buick, his cock sheathed inside you with your heels scraping the roof, head nearly hitting the car window with each thrust. He was always too good at getting you right where he wanted. You didn’t even know each other yet, no, you and Logan don’t meet for at least five more years, but you’re younger and just a bit sluttier and you’re not exactly banging your hands on his chest after he asks to take you out back after an hour of laying it on heavy at the bar you were working at.
“Look at you, baby, so fucking pretty—mmph—and all for me, isn’t that right?” You nod quickly, skin sheening with sweat, clawing at his shoulders while you’re absolutely gushing around his cock. You might have been embarrassed putting out so easily if every word coming out of his mouth didn’t send a warm tingle down to your cunt.
Your ankles bob on either side of his head where he’s got his eyes craned down to look at where he’s pushing in and out of you, like he’s mesmerized. He pulls out half way, then pushes in half way, just to fuck with you—at least that’s what you think. You have no idea how much he’s savoring the sight of your pussy wrapping around him, how twitchy and pretty she is. He laughs when you writhe and buck beaneath him, but he’s got your hips pinned down to the seat, and god this guy is fucking strong. He growls—fucking growls—when he finally bottoms out, and he looks at you like he could absolutely eat you alive, “So perfect for me, just wanna feel good don’t you, sweetheart?”
It’s hard to answer, especially since he’s sinking over you now, bringing your legs with him, ankles on his shoulders while he’s leaning over you driving even deeper than before. The tinge of pain of being nearly entirely folded in half is lost in every thrust that knock’s repeatedly into the soft spongy spot inside you. His breath fans over your face, and you think he might kiss you but he just looks at you, and then turns his head to kiss the side of your ankle, “Sorry sweetheart,” he groans, “If I kiss you—mmh—there’s no way in hell I’m leaving ya.”
You think to ask what he means, but then he’s got a thumb on your clit and his cock is shoving impossibly deeper, and every one of your thoughts is immediately leaving your pretty little head.
Peter knew it was a bad idea to bring you to the lab. He had a hard enough time focusing when you weren’t around, plagued by the clock ticking the minutes away until he could see you, or the soft ding of his phone whenever you’d text, experiments and complicated chemical compounds meekly forgotten when your name lit up across his screen. It was a recipe for disaster. But you’d asked so nicely, fingers tugging at the tufts of hair at the base of his skull which made him dumbly agree to anything that came pouring from your mouth, which included a field trip to the lab.
“This is where the magic happens,” he’d told you upon entering, cluttered boxes lining the walls with complicated equipment your gaze lingered on, Boards of equations with written compounds, half of Pete's handwriting, the other half his older lab counterpart. “I just have to make some more web fluid—easier to get it done while the docs out. Should be pretty quick.”
It was meant to be quick. Peter was not accustomed to working under your watchful gaze, perched up on the seat only a foot away from him, smooth legs crossed, tiny belt of a skirt inching further and further up your thighs. Your ankle bounced, voice in a soft lilt as you asked questions, unperturbed by the stutter of Peter's explanations, trying with a great amount of effort to focus on the task at hand and not the way your top sunk into a low cut and the sliver of your hip that peeked out whenever you shifted for a closer look.
“How’d you learn how to do this?” you’d asked innocently, Peter’s eyes flitting over, swallowing under your pretty fluttering gaze.
“Lot’s of trial and error,” he tried to laugh, the sound coming out choked and gasp-like. “The compounds only work together in very precise amounts, a little but over or under the exact measurement I’m making web-soup. Or cement. It’s a pretty temperamental process.”
You hummed thoughtfully, scooting closer an inch, staring at the vial of milky white fluid, “So what’s it made out of?”
“It’s top secret. Can’t go spreading my secret weapon—it’s sort of my whole thing,” his lips curled into a grin when your fingers pinched his side. “But since you asked so nicely and pinched me relatively hard,” your teeth sunk into your lip as he began listing chemicals. The light of the lab desk shone off the soft arch of his throat which bobbed with each word, tongue peeking out to swipe across his lips, glasses perched at the edge of his nose. Your hand snuck across the space between you, settling on his knee, a sharp intake of breath halting his words before you urged him to continue.
“Uh, yeah, okay, well, there's salicylic acid, carbon tetrachloride, traces of potassium carbonate, and—uh,” a low groan revereberates into a sharp laugh as your hand sneaks up the thick ridgid muscle of his thigh, “Ethyl acetate and—something else I can’t think about—okay,” a exciteable shriek leaves your lips when Peter's hand grabs hold of your chair leg, metal screeching across the ground as he yanks you to him with ease, hand coming to close against the back of your neck to slot his lips against yours with a relieved sigh.
“Oh my god, Peter!” you moan, fingers clutching tight to the wide expanse of his shoulders hunched over your arching body. Materials clatter over the desk as Peter yanks your hips to the edge, hands cupping your backside to sink his cock deeper into you, nose pressed to the arch of your throat as you gasp, pants only tugged halfway down his thigh, the band of your panties pressing a line into the inside of your thigh. The ridged taut muscles of his abdomen clench tight when every sheathe of his cock, glasses fogging at the bridge of his nose, barely staring over the edge to watch your tits bounce with every jolt of his hips, spurring him on, white lab light dancing across your sweat sheening skin.
“Never gonna be able to focus in this lab ever again, y’know that?” he groans, lips sweeping up across your cheek to press his lips to yours again, tongue peeking to dip into your wanting mouth. The drag of his cock pulling in and out makes your breathing all tight and ragged, tongue sweeping against Peter's tongue with stilted movements, letting him lick into your mouth behind your teeth and deep into your mouth. “Gotta hurry,” he murmurs, hiking your thighs up higher onto his hips as he dips against you, “Don’t know when doc’s getting back. Not a lot of excuses to make for this position. Not—ah—exactly a technique we use in lab science.”
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to the person who sent the long bella swan ask about experienced!reader i want you to know i hold it very dear to me. being selfish and gatekeeping but i see u and i love u
Andy biersack needs to stop calling me. The sex was too good he knows I’m easy he knows I’ll come back please lord if you’re listening give me the strength.
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he knows he’s good with his tongue and knows he can use it to get out of the dog house. he’s offering head whenever he knows you’re upset with him and it pisses you off. Huffing and puffing when he’s pulling your legs up over his shoulders.
And the thing is he’s doing it for the love of the game. Got a knack for getting under Jack's skin when he knows the guy could use it, you’re just the most efficient option. The relationship between you two is complicated, despite the split Jack very much still acts like a husband to you, no matter how often you remind him that the title no longer applies. You don’t help, still having him over for drinks after work when rounds were tedious and long, never ending emergencies draining you to no end that lead to a much needed drink that more often than not led to more explicit activities. His body folded over yours, heavy chest pressing you down onto the cushions of your previously shared couch, scrubs doing little to restrain the hard outline of his heavy cock pressed to your inner thigh. Robby knows all about it, knows all about the frustration that lingers under Abbots skin when you deny him for days after, not so much as a prolonged glance in his direction being granted.
Which is why Jack really shouldn’t steal cases from right under Robby’s nose, it’s all too convenient how you meander to the nursing station right when Jacks got his hands full in a trauma room with a gaggle of medical students at his sides watching the attending work with much needed precision. It’s not subtle how Robby scoots over to where you’ve started charting, slanted grin on his lips, “Hey, there’s my girl,” with a hand creeping up your back, settled at the base of your neck. You and Robby are friends, always have been, so you don’t think much of his lingering touch or the prolonged conversation he seems dependent on holding, soothing a thumb against the slope of your throat, “Abbots an idiot for letting you, you know that? Tell him everyday, think he’s getting a little ticked off about it to be completely honest,” and you laugh, nudging your hip into his completely unaware of the hardened stare coming from trauma room 1, “Swear to god, come on, smart gorgeous women like you? I'd be kicking myself everyday.” “That’s why I never gave you the chance, Robinavich.” “Not too late, hm? I don’t think Jack would mind,” all while Abbot is glaring daggers over a steady chest rhythm.
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Just to reiterate though I feel it’s pretty obvious, everyone I write about is over the age of 18. I’m 22, I am not interested in writing for minors and in my young!character blurbs I am writing for a YOUNGER version of that character, which is anything 18 and up since most of the character I write for are anywhere from 30-50 or above. Please don’t ask if a character is being written underage cause that is never going to happen on my blog.
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