owl

He continued—agonizingly patient—ringing each tight peak until they ached, flushing dark against gooseflesh. Meltwater pooled in the hollow of your waist, then spilled sideways across ribs, licking cold paths your body begged him to follow with heat.

When the sphere dwindled to a fragile shard he pressed it to your lower lip. “Open.”

You parted for him, mouth yielding like prey baring throat as he slid the remnant inside.

His eyes crinkled ever so slightly, pleased. “Good lamb,” he murmured. “Obedience suits you.”

“Now, suck.”

Your tongue curled greedily around it. Mineral-sharp sweetness dissolved against the roof of your mouth while you glanced up at him through damp lashes—wide-eyed and doe-soft, the very picture of innocence even as your pulse hammered at the base of your throat.

Hannibal tilted his head, ink-pooled eyes tracking every flicker of muscle, every swallow, practically cataloguing the mechanics of your hunger. He remained utterly composed—posture impeccable, breath measured—yet the fine wool of his slacks betrayed him: the thick, insistent outline of his cock strained against the fabric, a small dark bloom of pre-cum already darkening the tip.

He was starving. Not for food. For that frantic little pulse beneath the wool.

Another sphere. This one he dragged in one unhurried line down your midline—past navel, over the soft rise of your mound, then lower. His free hand nudged your legs apart until you spread completely exposed for him, your cunt slick and hot with no dignity left to hide behind.

The ice met your clit with a mean push. Shock lanced through you as soon as contact was made there, hips snapping upward before you could cage the reflex.

“Agh—- Hanni- too cold!…” Eyes squeezed shut, a wince.

His palm flattened over your lower belly, thumb stroking just above the cold press where muscle knotted tight from need, anchoring you like territory thoroughly claimed.

“Breathe,” he said, kinder now, yet edged with command. “Let the chill carve itself into you… right here.”

He punctuated his words with a press, circling your hypersensitive bundle torturously, admiring how your cunt pulsed and wept in spasmodic answer. Arousal mingled with meltwater in obscene, shining trails down your folds, soaking the sheet beneath as you squirmed.

The sight earned a hum out of him—deep and delighted. “Such eager little contractions. Your body blooms beautifully under duress.”

He nudged the next chilled sphere shallowly inside you—just the tip—then withdrew, leaving your sex fluttering around emptiness, walls clenching at the ghost of intrusion.

Your knees quaked nonstop, mewls splintering into fevered gasps as lungs mutinied. “W-Wait,” you swallowed, throat working around the word. “Please…”

Hannibal paused, the ice hovering a cruel millimeter from your swollen labia, his dark eyes flickering up to meet your teary ones.

“Yes?”

“It’s… intense. I-It’s too much.”

A small, genuine smile touched his lips, making your stomach twist with equal parts fear and want. “That’s precisely the point, my love.”

Gently, he set the bowl aside, kneeling between your thighs, lowering his mouth.

Warmth after frost was devastating. His tongue swept along the full length of your slit, gathering the mingled chill and juices in a series of greedy swipes that made your toes curl.

His lids fluttered closed for a heartbeat, savoring. “You taste even sweeter thawed.” he noted, features flickering with amusement. “How delightfully predictable.”

His thumbs pressed your folds wider, holding you open while he feasted in a way both unabashed yet deliberate—flat, broad laps over your clit that built into tight, lethal flicks, then sealing the puffy bud between his lips. A delicate, testing pull at first… then harder, a deep suction that locked your fists bone-white into the sheets.

A shattered cry ripped out. “Hannibal!—-”

You bucked against his face, the sculpted ridge of his nose rubbing ruthlessly into your nerves as his jaw worked, hips chasing the delicious pressure on instinct.

“Mmm… my greedy little pet,” he purred against you, vibration curling fresh lightning through your core. Fingers laced with yours, grounding you while his tongue plunged in further, skilled strokes gliding along each hidden ridge—relishing how his little lamb thrashed for the wolf’s mouth alone.

Your moans rang off the high ceiling as you finally came apart on his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his shoulders, flooding him in tremor after tremor. He drank you through it all until you collapsed in a sheen of sweat, glittering and spent.

Hannibal rose smoothly, lips gleaming in the candlelight, his breath measured except for one shallow pull he made no effort to disguise. Even he allowed himself a moment’s indulgence.

He moved over to brush a strand of hair clinging to your brow, studying the shivers still passing through you and the disarray he had authored.

“Beauty in extremis,” he said quietly, words heavy with near-reverence. “You fracture so exquisitely under pressure. It is a rare privilege to compose such ruin.”

Still trembling, you managed a breathless laugh. “That mouth of yours is going to kill me one day.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, satisfied rather than apologetic, thumb smoothing along your temple as if calming a startled animal. “Rest assured, I have plans that require your continued… vitality.”

He then kissed you slowly, feeding you the taste of your own ruin straight from his tongue, a move so brazenly possessive it felt like etiquette in reverse.

He withdrew just enough to look at you. “Shall we proceed? The ice remains, and the night is still young with untasted potential.”

You reached for him, aching readily for the next cut despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

His fingertips ghosted the glossy evidence the ice had left across your thigh, cruel in its restraint. “Impossible?” A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “No. Merely inevitable. You invited the wolf in… now, you must feed him.”

He leaned in, the grip on your flesh suddenly tightening. “And I find myself quite famished for the sound you’ll make when you break again.”

֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ 

𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 & 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated!

Fingers digging into both of your cheeks, holding them in place with such force that your eyes don't dare to move. Keeping contact with Hannibal's, his hips thrusting, fucking you into his desk.

Moaning in his face, exchanging hot breaths, looking into each other's eyes. Watching Hannibal's face melt, brows furrowing, mouth opening slightly only to be bitten closed, holding back the reward of louder moans. Gelled hair thrown out of place, swinging, touching your forehead with every thrust.

Attempting to look down, wanting a glimpse of his cock in you, but only receiving a strong thrust. Throwing your eyes back into his, noticing Hannibal's head tilted back as if warning you.

Locking back into his brown eyes, getting lost in their commanding ocean. Face heating up, pleasure prickling across your skin, the fabric of Hannibal's expensive suit rubbing your skin raw as his cock does the same to your insides.

Eyes rolling back, receiving harder thrusts that push you more and more towards the end or beginning of the night. Removing a hand from the edge of the desk, digging your fingers into the meat of his hand, stabilizing yourself in the present moment.

Thrusts turning long, hard, and deep, hips circling with every slap to your ass. Moans escaping from your squished lips, mumbling his name, fueling his ugly hunger.

Body shaking, growing weak in his firm hold, crying out his name once again, feeling your atoms spin under his watchful gaze. The sight encourages his cock, twitching within you as he tilts forward, pushing you back.

Creating a loud slap with his final thrust, echoing off the many books lining his office walls, as ropes of cum decorate yours. Fingers tighten on your jaw, brown eyes still just as intense, brows only melting, opening like his mouth, allowing moans to sing from his lips.

Legs closing around his hips, wanting the moment to last forever, even as he releases your cheeks. Seeing pride bloom across his face, looking down at your sore face, imagine your cheeks red, imprinted with his fingerprints.

Catching your breath, lying back on Hannibal's desk, watching as he removes his handkerchief from the chest pocket of his suit. Softly cleaning while your nerves still fired off, holding one of your thighs open, knowing they would close around him given the chance. Being a rare treat, your dear Hannibal fucks you in his office, let alone on his desk, gazing into his beautifully demanding brown eyes.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

TAGLIST: @bimbo-bunni @sophieissleepy @reidsbookcase @writtenbyhollywood @lokis-right-femur @call-me-a-fool

KINKTOBER TAGLIST: @flow33didontsmoke @slutforhotdilfs @little-lizardzzz @georgiannwilson1 @proximitysworld @aleck-cross @paigerzz @dariequeen @lovecoatedwords

DIDN'T WORK (PLEASE RESUBMIT): @wolerinesgirll @schlangering

NSFW

The first few times you had sex, Satoru refused to cum inside even if you asked him to do so. Yeah sure, you had gotten your surgeries and you've been on T for a few years now... But what if?? He's more than happy to adopt a child with you but he, as a man, can't imagine what it would be like to be pregnant and he does not wish that on you either. Until you finally find a way to convince him that it's completely safe and everything will be okay – until then, he's more than happy to draw a heart with his cum on your back. With his dick as the brush. It would've been a turn off if he wasn't Satoru Gojo.

He loves helping you get your t-shots. Of course he does! He's an amazing boyfriend, he'd do anything to make sure you're happy and comfortable. But it's also because you get so incredibly horny each time and he loves to take care of you in more ways than one <3

So once that time of the week comes, he's lying on his back, hands holding your hips in a strong grip as he helps you fuck yourself on his dick. He's just that good of a boyfriend, you know? His man is feeling horny, he's gonna let him use his cock... It's only logical!

He lovessss sucking your dick. Like it's not even funny anymore because at some point he's just doing it for his own entertainment and not your pleasure. Maybe he has an oral fixation or something idk cause he literally BEGS you to let him suck you off every time he gets bored of a movie or during the night. He enjoys receiving, sure... But well, he definitely prefers giving in that department.

"Oooh fuck, just like that, sweets." His way of affirming your identity comes out at the worst times. "Look at that cock, shit– soon it's gonna be bigger than mine, huh? But don't worry, you'll still have my cock anytime you want, baby~"

Stu? Not so much.

He trailed behind you with all the patience of a kid on a sugar crash, his arms swinging lazily at his sides. But unlike a bored boyfriend, Stu didn't know how not to touch. His fingers brushed the hem of your shirt when you reached overhead. His palm pressed low across your back when you moved to another rack. When you stopped to compare the sleeves of two jackets, he took the opportunity to slide up behind you, nudging your hips with his lazily.

“God this place is a gold mine,” 

“Looks like a gold mine for your ass, babe.” stu muttered, pressing a hand against the small of your back, then lower, until his palm cupped you through your skirt. You swatted his hand. “Stop it.”

“I am helping. Feelin’ for texture,” he teases, leaning close enough that you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Might need to try this one on…in private.” you gave him a quick glare over your shoulder, but you were too distracted flipping through a pair of jeans to stop him when his hands slid around your waist. He pressed himself behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, swaying you both slowly with the music playing in the background. His fingers slipped under the hem of your sweater, just barely tracing the skin of your stomach.

You were mid sentence about color palettes when you felt his hand squeeze your ass, casual as anything. And his other breaks the band of your skirt. 

“Stu,” you warned under your breath, swatting his hand away without even turning. “Stop.”

“What? Just seeing if these pants have…uh…” he asked, voice lower than necessary. “Stretch.”

“Yeah right, you idiot.” 

He snorted and backed off only slightly, but you could still feel his gaze tracking every movement you made as you grabbed a few pieces off the rack adding to the pile you were going to take to the dressing room. You pulled a corduroy skirt from the rack and held it against your waist, inspecting the length in a nearby mirror. He leaned against the wall behind you, watching. “Cute. Bet it looks better off.”

You ignored him. He didn't stop touching you the entire way through the racks, hips bumping yours, fingers brushing the top of your thigh, a palm at the base of your spine that stayed just a little too long.

He moved again, closer this time when you stopped when something caught your eye. When you reached for the hanger, his hand brushed against your bare hip, just under your shirt. His thumb dragged slowly along the waistband of your skirt. You stiffened, but he just leaned in and murmured.

“Can I help you change?”

“Not a chance.”

He grinned. “I'm really good with zippers. Come on, babe. Let me supervise.”

“No.” 

“I could just hold the hangers…”

You turned, pressing the armful of clothes into his chest. “You wanna be helpful? Carry these.”

He made a dramatic groan but took them anyway, following you toward the dressing room like a dog on a leash.

“You better stay out here.”

“Mhm. Sure thing, babe.”

When you slipped behind the curtain, he waited a beat…and then you heard it, the soft scrape of rings against fabric. And suddenly, he was in there with you, eyes already dark with mischief.

“Stu-!” 

“Shhh,” he pulled the curtain shut behind him, pressing a finger to your lips. “Public place. Try to keep it down.”

“Were in public.” you said. He looked around the tiny dressing room like he was judging it. “Barely.” 

Your jaw dropped. “Get out!”

Your mouth opened to scold him again, but he was already pressing close, hands grabbing your hips and spinning you gently around, “Nah. I think I'll stay. You looked way too hot flipping through those sweaters. Got me thinking.” he said, already closing the space between your body and the full length mirror behind you. The tiny room felt smaller with him inside it. His presence swallowed it whole. You gasped softly when he did so, one palm on the glass beside your head, the other slipping down your thigh again. “Thinking what, exactly?”

Roaming his hands everywhere, one large hand settled at your hip. The other slid beneath your sweater, fingers brushing bare skin, nails grazing lightly. “That maybe you should try something else on.” he whispered, and kissed your neck slowly. “Like my mouth.”

“I was shopping.”

“And I was watching. So technically, we were both doing our favorite things.”

You shoved at his chest, but he didn't budge, lips catching the side of your neck again.

“Bet no one even comes back here.”

“Get out-”

“Nope.”

And then he sank to his knees like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath caught. “Stu-” you whispered, panicked, but your thighs tensed when his hands slid up under your skirt. His fingers were tugging your skirt up, bunching it at your hips as he looked up at you, tongue wetting his lips, pupils blown wide. “Gimme a taste,” he muttered. “Swear i'll be good.” he whispered, dragging your panties down in one smooth motion, lips brushing your skin the whole way up.

He did not stay good.

He kissed the inside of your thigh like it was routine, like this was a normal thursday afternoon. His tongue dragged slowly over your skin as he nudged your legs apart, lifting one onto the bench for better access. Your panties hit the floor. Cold air kissed your skin.

Then he leaned in, and nothing was cold anymore.

He moaned as soon as he tasted you, loud enough that your hand flew to slap his head in panic and then over your own mouth at the same time. “Shh!” you hissed. But he didn't care. If anything, it spurred him on, he just smirked against you, devouring like he didn't hear a thing. His mouth was messy, open, tongue flattening and curling with fast, filthy strokes. He devoured you with no restraint, like he needed it.

His tongue was fast, eager, curling and storking in ways that had you shaking almost immediately. The cramped room, the distant murmur of shoppers outside, the mirror rattling behind you every time your back shifted, all of it felt surreal and dangerous, and so good. Your fingers dug into his hair, your legs quivering around his shoulders.

You struggled to keep quiet. The dressing room floor creaked under the shift of your weight. The mirror behind you clattered softly as your back pressed into it. One of your hands gripped his hair, the other white knuckled around the edge of the wall.

“Fuck…Stu-” you breathed out, already trembling.

He didn't let up. He groaned into you, and the vibrations made you clench. His hand splayed across your thighs to keep them spread open wider as he fucked you with his mouth, his other hand slipping up to tease at your enterance while his mouth stayed locked on your clit teasing you in little cirlces while his tongue worked lower, slow, then fast, switching patterns right as your knees buckled. He knew what he was doing, and he loved that you were struggling to stay quiet.

Then someone walked by just outside.

Your heart stopped, but Stu didn't even flinch, he groaned into you, like the risk only made it better. His fingers slid in slow and deep, his tongue flicking in quick circles now, building your orgasm with maddening precision.

You were close, embarrassingly fast, but it wasn't your fault. He was relentless. Loving the way you struggled to stay silent. His tongue flicked just right, and suddenly your whole body locked up. You felt the pressure burst like lightning,  your body twitching as the wave hit you hard, heat blooming low in your stomach and tearing through every limb. Your body pressing into the mirror as waves of heat rolled through you. You bit down on your fist to muffle the whimper that almost escaped. You nearly knocked over the bench trying not to cry out.

Stu kept going, he held you, licking you through it,  tongue lapping up everything, fingers still stroking slow, moaning softly like he was enjoying every second of your aftershocks. He only pulled back when your legs were shaking too much to stay standing.

When he stood, his mouth was wet, his chin glistening, his expression smug as hell like he just won a prize at the fair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and licking the rest off his lips.

“Y’know,” he said, breathless, “I deserve an employee discount for that.”

You were still trying to breathe.

He reached for your sweater, smoothing it down with infuriating care, even tucking your panties into your purse like some twisted trophy. Then he kissed your cheek like nothing had happened.

“Wanna head back to mine?” he asked casually. “I think I forgot what your scream sounds like.”

You stared at him, flushed, ruined.

“Let's go.”

He grinned wide. “Atta girl.”

You barely made it out of the thrift store without crumbling. He had that look in his eye, like he wanted to finish what he started right there in the parking lot. You didn't trust him to behave, but the fastest way out was to get behind the wheel and drive. So that's what you did. 

Big mistake.

Not even two minutes into the ride, he already had his seat leaned back, one arm draped over the headrest behind you, the other resting on your thigh like it belonged there. His fingers were not still. They traced slow, lazy patterns over the inside of your leg, dipping higher with every red light.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice pitched low and husky, lips dangerously close to your ear, “you should get an award or something.”

You glanced at him, tense. “For what?”

“Walking out of that dressing room without begging me to fuck you in from of the flannel section.” his fingers slipped higher. “Real restraint. I'm impressed.”

You gritted your teeth, eyes back on the road. “Hands to yourself.”

He laughed quietly. “Nope.”

He let his fingers dip between your legs, over the fabric of your skirt. You clenched your thighs reflexively and that only made him grin wider. “Sensitive still?” he whispered, his lips ghosting over your cheek. “God, you were shaking. Could feel it in my mouth.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Stu…seriously.”

“I am serious,” he said, dragging his fingers slowly up your thighs again. “Serious about how fuckin’ good you taste. Serious about how I can still smell you on my face. Wanna crawl into your lap and finish what I started.”

“While I'm driving?”

“Wouldn't be the first time I made someone swerve off the road.”

You shot him a warning glare. He smirked, leaning in closer, and kissed just below your ear, soft, wet, and intentionally slow. “I can be nice,” he whispered, voice gone silk and sin. “Wanna rub you just a little. Over your panties this time. Let you soak through another pair.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, trying not to press your thighs together. “You already took them off in the dressing room.”

He paused.

“Oh fuck. That's right.” you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Thats so fucking hot,” he muttered, sliding his hand beneath the hem of your skirt again. “Driving with nothing under this pretty thing. All fucked out and flushed. You're gonna let me touch you, aren't you?”

You didn't answer, you knew what you were going to say anyways.

His fingers found bareskin, and you gasped, hips twitching slightly as he brushed over your slit, already warm, still sensitive. He groaned softly like he was the one being touched.

“Oh, baby.” he breathed. “Still dripping. Can't believe I didn't just bend you over the hood.”

You hit another red light, and his fingers took full advantage, circling your clit lightly, just enough to make your eyes flutter and your jaw clench. You jerked slightly in your seat. “Focus,” he teased. “You wouldn't want to crash.”

“Stu.” 

“I'm being gentle.” he whispered, his lips grazing your neck. “Wait til we get home. Gonna ruin you on every surface I own.”

He dragged his fingers down again, slow and teasing. “I'm gonna make you scream so loud the cops show up.”

You groaned, exasperated and turned on and just barely keeping it together as you hit his street. He leaned back smugly. “You're soaked. Look at you.”

“Your fault.” you said, breathless, pulling into his driveway.

He undid his seatbelt with a little click and leaned in one last time. “Not yet,” he whispered in your ear, palm sliding possessively over your thigh again. “But it's about to be.”

You watched as he jumped out of the car and ran over to open your door and his hands back on you like they never left.

He yanked you toward the house, fingers laced tight in yours, walking backward with that crooked smirk like he was already planning five different ways to break you. “Get inside,” he muttered. “Right now. I'm done waiting.”

You weren't sure your legs were even working properly, your thighs still slick from what his fingers had done in the car, heat pulsing between them, your breath caught somewhere in your chest. The second the front door slammed shut behind you, it was on.

His hands grabbed at your waist, spinning you into the wall with a solid thump. His mouth was on you, wet, open, needy, kissing you like the car, the store, the dressing room hadn't been enough. Like he needed to devour you just to breathe.

“I've been hard since you picked up that first damn sweater.” he growled against your mouth. “Watching you bend over like you didn't know i was about to fuck you stupid.”

You gasped as he pushed his thigh between yours, grinding up into your still sensitive core. “Still wet for me?” he asked, voice all low heat and smug breathlessness. “Felt it soaking through the seat. You're a mess, baby. Look at you.”

You tried to say something, some kind of retort but your words melted into a moan when his hand slid under your skirt again, rough fingers pressing directly against your clit. “No panties still,” he whispered with a sharp grin, teeth grazing your jaw. “You came to my house like this?”

“I drove-”

“And I touched you the whole way.” he pulled back just enough to look you over, eyes blown and dark. “You should've pulled over and let me eat you out on the hood.”

You didn't have time to answer before he was dragging you toward the bedroom upstairs. The hallway blurred. Your clothes didn't survive the trip. He tugged your sweater over your head halfway through walking up the stairs, tossed it somewhere off the railing over a lamp. By the time you made it into his room, your skirt was hanging off one hip, your bra strap twisted down your arm, and he was already kicking the door shut behind him. His shirt hit the floor next then his belt.

He pushed you onto the bed, and you bounced once, catching yourself on your elbows as he climbed over you, taller, flushed, already rock hard through his jeans. “Lie back,” he ordered, voice rough and low. “Legs open.” you hesitated for half a breath. His head tilted. “You wanna be a good girl now, right? After teasing me all day?”

You dropped back, breathing shaky, and spread your legs for him. Stu groaned. Groaned. He knelt between your thighs, kissing the inside of your knee. “That's it. There she is” then his mouth was on you again.

He didn't ease in this time, he devoured. Sucked your clit into his mouth with a groan like he was starving, tongue flicking hard and fast. His fingers dug into your thighs to keep you still while he worked, and your entire body jolted with overstimulation.

“Fuck, stu-” you gasped, hips twitching. He moaned into you and kept going.

Your thighs shook as the pleasure ripped through you, your second orgasm of the night hitting fast, messy, almost too much. You writhed under his mouth, grabbing at the sheets, his hair, anything. When your voice broke on a gasp, he pulled back just slightly, his mouth wet and swollen, chin glistening, the smirk still firmly in place.

“You gonna pass out on me?” he whispered, teasing, draggin his fingers through your slick and rubbing slow, taunting circles over your clit. “That’d be so hot.” 

You barely managed a dazed glare. “Oh, you're still with me?” he licked a stripe up your thigh. “Good. ‘Cause I'm not even close to done.”

He yanked open his jeans, shoved them down just far enough to free himself, and grabbed you, flipped you over effortlessly, dragging your hips up into the air and lining himself up without hesitation. And then he slammed into you. You let out a full broken scream into the mattress as he buried himself to the hilt in one thrust. “Oh fuck yes,” he moaned, already moving, pounding into you hard and fast. “You feel that? Feel me stretching you out? So fucking tight still, Jesus-”

The bed creaked beneath both of you, the headboard slamming once, twice, rhythm syncing with his thrusts. He wrapped his hand in your hair, pulled your head back, and growled right into your ear. “I want them to hear you, baby. No more quiet. No more holding back. Scream for me.”

You did.

You were so loud you barely heard your own name as he chanted it under his breath, over and over, like a prayer and a curse. His hand slid up around your throat, not tight, just grounding, and you thrived under it. He slammed into you harder, every stroke deeper, filthier. “You take it so fucking good. Look at you. My perfect little mess.”

He leaned forward, angling his hips just right, and you shattered.

You came with a sharp cry, eyes rolling back, your body shaking so violently your elbows gave out, he groaned deep, hips stuttering before he came right after you, hot and thick, grinding into you with a final thrust as he filled you, panting like he'd run a goddamn marathon. The room went still except for the sound of your ragged breathing. Then stu collapsed half on top of you, arm slung across your waist.

You both laid there, completely fucked out, skin sticky, chests rising and falling like you’d survived a war. After a long moment, he murmured, lips against your bare shoulder. “...Think they heard us?”

You huffed a weak laugh into the pillow. “If they don't, they’re deaf.”

He chuckled, breath still uneven. “I'll test that theory on round two.” you groaned and turned your head just enough to glare at him. He looked down at you, flushed, glowing, hair a wreck, and smiled like he'd never been more proud of anything in his life.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly, heart still racing. “Yeah. you?” 

His grin widened. “Never better.”

The bedroom still pulsed with heat and the faint scent of sweat and sex when Stu pushed his face into the curve of your shoulder and murmured, “Come shower with me before I drag your ruined ass back into round one and call it round two.”

You were already limp beneath him, but the way he said it, low, raw, still riding the high, had your stomach clenching all over again.

Before you could answer, he was already pulling you upright, leading you toward the bathroom with that loose, hungry confidence in his stride. He didn't even check the water temp, just cranked the handle all the way to hot, steam filling the space before you stepped in. the moment the first cascade of heat hit your skin, stu was on you.

You barely had time to blink before your back hit the tile wall, cool contrast to the hot water pouring over your chest. His mouth crashed into yours, breath damp and open mouthed, tongue claiming your mouth like he had something to prove. Water streamed off his hair as it hung around his face, dripping onto your collarbone as he pressed every inch of his soaked body against yours.

“God, you taste like heaven,” he growled against your lips, licking your bottom one, then biting it gently. “Bet your whole body does right now. Let me check.”

You moaned as he dropped to his knees, right there in the tub, water hammering over his shoulders as he grabbed your hips and yanked you forward like he owned you. One leg was slung over his shoulder before you could brace yourself, and his mouth was back on your pussy like he'd missed it the second he pulled out of you earlier.

He groaned loud, loud enough to echo.

“Still so fucking sweet.” he muttered, tongue already flattening against your clit in long, practiced strokes. “You can't not be ready for me, huh? I ruin you once and your cunt’s still begging.”

You whimpered, bracing both hands against the slick wall behind you, struggling to stay upright. The steam made every inch of your skin hypersensitive, from the heat on your chest to the cold of the tile against your back to the maddening friction of his tongue. Stu ate like a man on death row, greedy, thorough and filthy. His lips latched around your clit, tongue flicking in a quick rhythm while one hand held your thigh and the other snuck up to rub slow, teasing circles around your entrance with the tip of his finger.

“You're gonna cum in my mouth again, aren't you?” he said between licks, voice shaking with heat. “You're gonna give it to me because you can't help it. So good. So fucking easy for me.” 

You were shaking. The water rushed over you, hot and relentless, cascading down your breasts as your thighs trembled around his head. He slipped two fingers in without warning, thick, deep, curling perfectly, and your moan cracked apart as your back arched hard against the wall. “Stu-”

“I got you,” he whispered, lips slick against your clit. “Come for me, baby.” your orgasm hit like a wrecking wave, all consuming, toes curling, hand slamming against the tile for support. Your entire body jerked as the pleasure tore through you, liquid heat pouring down your spine and locking your thighs around his face. He moaned like it turned him on just as much and didn't stop until you were twitching from overstimulation, panting, drenched inside and out.

He stood slowly, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone, all the way back up to your lips. “Still alive?” he murmured against your mouth. You nodded weakly, and that's when he caught you in his arms, spun you, and pressed your front to the wall. “I'm not done.”

You gasped as he pressed his hips flush against your ass hard again, impossibly, achingly hard. He reached down, grabbed himself and dragged the head through your folds, groaning low. “Still so warm for me,” he muttered. “You're insane.”

“Youre the one that- fuck!”

He thrust in without warning, deep and hard, burying himself in one stroke and punching the breath out of you. His hands braced your hips as he started to move, rough, water slicking both your bodies with every stroke. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them against the wall above your head, mouth at your ear. “Take it,” he growled. “Fucking take it.”

You moaned for him, loud, the wet slap of your bodies bouncing off tile as he rutted into you like he wanted to carve the shape of his cock into your body. His rhythm was punishing, his breath hot against your neck. “Mine,” he gasped. “Mine. Say it.” 

“Yours…yours- fuck, yes..” 

He groaned, slamming in harder. “Cant ever let anyone else hear these sounds. You get that?”

You nodded, head banging lightly against the wall as he pushed you closer to the edge again, impossibly fast. His hand snuck down between your thighs, fingers fast and messy against your clit as he panted at your ear, body shaking with effort. “Come with me. Right now.”

Loud and unfiltered, full body tremors gripping you as the orgasm tore through you, walls fluttering around him. His own release hit a second later, with a strangled groan and one final, sloppy thrust that buried him as deep as you could take him. Both of you stood there, breathless, dripping, wrecked. The water kept running. Neither of you moved.

Finally, he collapsed against your back, forehead resting between your shoulder blades. “Next time,” he panted. “Im just going to fuck you in the car. No waiting.”

You laughed, ragged and wet, out of breath. “Next time,” you whispered, “I’m not letting you touch me in the store.”

He kissed the back of your neck. “You say that now…” then he slowly pulled out, gentle this time, and helped you turn around into his arms. He cradled you against his chest, both of you standing under the stream, the world outside fogged away in the thick curtain of steam and silence. For a few seconds, there was just breathing. 

The water shut off with a cough of pipes and steam still curling around both of you like fog in a horror movie. Stu’s hand immediately slapped to the wall, his chest rising and falling like he'd just outrun something. You barely had the strength to move, but he already had the curtain pulled open and turned around to face you, grinning through wet bangs.

“Still standing?’ he asked, stepping out like a dripping menace. “Because I might need you to carry me if my legs stop working. I saw heaven for a second, no joke.” 

You rolled your eyes and followed, bare feet hitting the bath mat just as he threw a towel around your shoulders. His hands immediately went to drying you off, but his version of ‘drying’ was mostly groping disguised as affection. “Oh my god, look at this.” he murmured, dragging the towel over your ass with slow fingers underneath. “Look at you. Fuckin’ glistening. Like some fresh outta the lake slasher babe. Like you just walked out of a scene where you survived and everyone else died because you were too hot.”

“Stu,” you warned, but your voice was weak. 

He snorted. “What? I'm complimenting you. Jesus, don't punish me for having eyes.” he worked the towel down your legs, kneeling as he went, completely naked and not caring at all that his hair was dripping onto your thighs. When he stood, his hand dragged along your stomach on the way up, fingers brushing under your tits like it was accidental.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I'm gonna make this a trilogy. You want a part three, final girl edition? Huh?” you didn't answer. He grinned. “Thought so.”

You reached for your clothes from earlier. He made a noise like you just stepped on a puppy. “Babe, no. Nooo. those are dead to me. Those clothes got thrift store stink and shame on them. You think I'm gonna let you walk around in that when I've got like-” he yanked open a drawer, “a whole drawer of oversized t-shirts that would look way hotter on you than me? No. put this on. Put this on right now.”

He threw a black shirt at you. It hit you in the face, you peeled it off, smirking. “What is this? Its got blood on it.”

“Yeah. Sexy, right?”

You pulled it over your head and it dropped down to your thighs. He stared like he forgot what words were. “I-” he blinked. “Nope. Nah. You… uh-uh. That's not allowed. You cannot be walking around in my shirt like…like that. Thats so fucked up. You trying to make me propose?”

You laughed. “Youd propose over a T-shirt?”

He looked you dead in the eyes. “If you look like that in my shirt, ill get on my fuckin’ knees.”

He followed you into the kitchen like a cursed man, barefoot, still damp, towel barely holding onto his hips, muttering nonsense under his breath while watching your legs as you walked. When you opened the fridge, he groaned behind you. “Dont bend over. Dont-oh, come on! You're doing that on purpose.”

“I'm literally grabbing a drink.”

“Yeah, and I'm grabbing your hips in two seconds.” hands planted firm on your waist as you stood, tugging you back into his chest. He nuzzled your neck like it was instinct. His fingers slid under the hem of the shirt, just brushing over the back of your thigh. He didn't even try to hide it. “Fuck, youre warm,” he muttered, voice low. “You smell like me. You're wearin’ my clothes. Im..babe.”

You snorted. “So no food, then?”

“Oh no, i'm starving,” he said, spinning you to pick you up and put you on the counter like it was nothing. “But I figured I'd feast on you first. Just a little taste. Starter course. Appetizer. Treat.”

You laughed as he pushed between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs dragging warm against your skin like he couldn't stop touching you. His face was all flushed, pink from the steam and exertion, hair curling as he leaned in close, his nose brushing yours.

“Im serious,” he whispered, barely. “You're not leavin’ tonight. Ill block the fuckin’ door. You're staying, and I'm waking up to you in this shirt tomorrow or I'm committing crimes.”

You whispered back, “Yeah?”

He nodded, “And if you're not still wearin’ it, you better be naked. Either way, i win.” he kissed you, hot, open mouthed, no hesitation, all teeth and tongue like he didn't know how to be gentle for longer than three seconds. When he finally broke the kiss, panting against your lips, he just stared at you. Still holding your thighs. Still pressed up between them. Still shaking a little from how badly he wanted to start again. 

“Yeah, nah. You're mine now.” 

You had a decent amount of piercings, you guess. You had your septum, the array of ears, eyebrow, angel bites, navel, and nipples. Lately, you’ve been considering others; a tongue ring, bridge, other lip piercings but you weren’t sure. At least until your friend had suggested you come with her to get her tattoo at your typical studio. You figured, why not. You had some spare cash, enough for a piercing and if you felt like it, you’d get one. 

The studio, a little hidden place tucked above a barber shop and a hair salon, had a couple of services. They did tattoos, waxing, piercings, and sold items for all three in the front of the shop. While your friend was getting herself situated, checking in for the appointment and paying while you scanned the piercing shelves, hoping something spoke to you. 

And boy did it. 

Under the new section sat a wide selection of hero-themed jewelry. It had all the major ones, including Superman. He seemed to be the more prevalent one, considering you were in his city. But in the vast assortment, you couldn’t help but be drawn towards the nipple bars and belly rings. 

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” Your friend asks, leaning against the glass as she looks down at the piercings. “Oh, score! They got Wonder Woman, might get the septum one.” The cashier drifts over and you get the three goods been eyeing while she decides not right now. Her septum isn’t healed enough for her to change out the jewelry. It wasn’t a lot, all things considered, less than the spare change you had in your pocket. 

The two of you moved to the tattoo booth, her tattoo artist and she began talking while you eyed the jewelry. 

Clark was probably still at work, he’d get home around five if there wasn’t someone who needed saving. And fuck, you can almost picture his reaction to seeing you wearing his logo. 

While they were still talking about placements, you quickly excused yourself to the bathroom to put them on. Half sure that this is safe because why wouldn’t a tattoo and piercing bathroom be sterile and safe but also half driven by the idea of a pent-up Clark. Sue you. 

— 

As expected, Clark got home exactly ten minutes after he clocked out. The front door was opening as you were lounging, looking for something to watch. 

“Hi, I’m home, sweetheart!” He calls before he can even see you. 

“Hey, baby! How was work?” The door closes and locks, he’s working on his shoes at the door. Shifting on the couch, you get rid of your shirt and stand up to meet him in the hallway. 

“Uh, good. I started working on an article about the number of lead pipes in the city, it’s been approved. What about you? How did Gen’s tattoo go?” His black oxfords get placed neatly on the shoe rack as you wait at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall for him to look up. 

“Eh, good. She has another session tomorrow. It’s looking cool,” As he stands to his full height, his eyes fall on your face. He smiles at you, already getting his tie off. You’re a little upset he doesn’t look you over immediately but you’ll forgive him because he’s mid-step, about to say something when he finally notices. 

“Christ, is that—?” He’s in front of you faster than you can process, his hands on your hips as he looks at your nipples and then your navel. 

“Like them?” You ask, grinning. He looks at you through his eyelashes, licking his lips. 

“Like them?” He echoes, dragging his left hand up to your nipple and rolling his thumb over it. He’s breathing loudly, in through his nose and out through his mouth, his focus on the way your nipple hardens next to his symbol. Fuck, his symbol. “I love them,” He mutters while you hold his forearms, eyes half-lidded because he brings his right hand to do the same to your other nipple. It perks up just like the left one and soon enough, you moan a little at his actions. 

He groans before he picks you up, his hands now firmly planted on your ass. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you undo his tie, tossing it to the ground, hoping Krypto doesn’t destroy it if he ends up finding it. 

You’re on the bed soon after, the door shut and locked as if Krypton had grown thumbs and could open the door that way. Clark makes a point of turning the light on, slowly stalking to the bed as you lay there, your new jewelry shining in the light. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” He drags out, climbing onto the bed from the end. 

“Am I?” You tease, looking down at him, now propped up on your elbows. He groans a nod as he climbs on top of your legs, his hands planted firmly on either side of your thighs. Opening your legs, you watch as his eyes dart down, catching sight of your navel piercing again. It dangles, flipped over to the side without his symbol isn’t showing and that simply won’t do. 

He looks up at you as he flips it over, making sure you watch as his hand ghosts over the piercing and down to the waistband of your boxers. Clark ignores it completely, dragging his index and middle finger down until he reaches your slit. 

Once he does, he opens the flap on the boxers and grabs your t-dick, giving it slow strokes. “Fuck,” You whimper, your back arching a little as he does. Grabbing his head, you grip his hair and fall flat on your back. Carefully and without removing his hand, Clark climbs further up on you until he’s eye to eye with your nipples. You watch as he leans down, his tongue slowly dragging from his lips before they latch onto your nipple. 

His teeth graze over it, his canines catch in the metal bar enough that it tugs. The pain is that awfully good pain that you need to chase, pressing your chest closer to his face. His hand ghosts over your scars, reaching up to give your other nipple the same attention. 

“Clark,” You shudder. 

“Kal-El,” His voice is an almost whimper of a plea. “Fuck, call me Kal-El, please.” His eyes meet yours and you nod. You’ve heard his birth name countless times, it’s not typically something he wants you to call him. But you have, and usually always get the same reaction— save you’re not calling him while injured. 

“Kal-El,” You breathe as his lips return to your perky nipples. He groans, fisting the bed sheets, and humps the air aimlessly. “I need you, Kal-El,” 

“You have me,” He promises, detaching and going over to your other nipple. He gives it licks between his words. “My mind, my body, my soul, my future— my everything.” His eyes focus on his symbol, his family crest stuck on your body unless it was deliberately removed. His home and his hope, inside of you. 

“Fuck,” He groans and raises to his knees, his care for his shirt gone out the window as he literally rips it off, discarding the fabric to the floor. He does the same for his pants and boxers before he looks at you for approval. Chewing on your bottom lip, you nod and lift your hips, watching as he easily tears your boxers off as if they were paper. 

He leans down, slowly sliding his middle and ring finger inside of you, the rest of his palm covering your t-dick. Your thighs quiver at the feeling, clenching around his wrist as Clark keeps eye contact with you. 

“Kal—“ You gasp, feeling him work your insides. He nods, egging you on as he continues to finger you, his free hand working on pumping his already hard cock. As your chest heaves, his eyes switch back to your stomach, watching as the dangling charm bounces with each shaky breath you take. “Kal-el, please.” You manage.

He speeds up, his fingers quickly getting drenched and the room filling with wet, sloppy noises. “That feel good?” He asks and you nod wildly, your moans not letting you get a word out. 

“So good,” You clench around him, the same way you do when you’re about to cum and he slows down before pulling his fingers out from you. “No, please Kal-el,” Grabbing his wrist, you try to pull him back inside but he laughs, pulling his arms behind his back before leaning down and kissing you. Kissing him back, you grind down on him, trying to get that high back. 

Clark pulls away from the kiss, his lips dragging down your chin and neck while he keeps his eye contact. “Be patient, sweetheart,” He says while grabbing his dick, rubbing it up and down your slit before he slips the tip inside. With his free hand, he presses your stomach to the bed, keeping you in place as you whine. He has the audacity to laugh at you, slipping the tip in and out just to see you try and chase him. 

“You’re being so mean,” You frown. “Please, baby.” Deliberately, you run your hands up your chest, flicking the metal bar that makes the S symbols on the end bounce. When his eyes zero in on the bar, you know you’ve gotten him and grind down again. This time, he slips past the tip and you let out a low moan, your eyes fluttering closed. Slowly, Clark rolls his hips, watching as he disappears inside of you, watching how your legs move and twitch with each slow, hard thrust. 

It doesn’t last long though, as his eyes return to your face and he starts to pick up his pace. He leans down, kissing and sucking along your neck while you struggle to find a grip with the new pacing. Clark’s not faring any better, he’s a whimpering mess in your ear. Pathetic noises that leave him are like music to your ears. 

You’re holding onto the headboard with one hand, the other is scratching at his back as he pounds into you. “You feel so good,” He slurs into your neck. “Taking all of me, like a good boy.” Your back arches up in the air as you struggle to make coherent sentences, tears budding in the corner of your eyes. 

When you tighten around him, he looks at you, his wet eyelashes clumping together in a way that makes your toes curl and- for the first time- you squirt. He looks down, seeing his pelvis wet from it, and it rolls off of him and onto the bed. The feeling, the sounds, and the sight make Clark moan loudly, spilling into you. Despite it, he keeps himself inside of you, his dick slowly getting soft as his cum slowly seeps out. 

He pants, rising up to his knees. His dick pulls out from you with a small pop and you twitch, staring at the ceiling. “Are you okay, baby?” He hurriedly asks, scooping you up. Blinking, you lick your lips before looking at him. 

“Holy shit,” You chuckle, messing with his curls. “I should’ve gotten those sooner.” He snorts and picks you up properly, carrying you into the bathroom where he prepares a nice bath after cleaning you up. 

It starts as all your great plans do. By impulse and a touch of chaos.

“Hey. Can you get me a beer since you’re in the kitchen?”

You don’t even look up at the sound of Logan’s voice. You know he’s talking to you, but you make him say it again before glancing over at him. “Hmm? You want what?”

His eyes narrow. You know he can tell you’re up to something. “A beer. Please.”

You almost do it. Just for the addition of the please. But the chaos in you wins out. You turn away again. “Do it yourself.”

Then, just to add fuel to the fire, you add, “Old man.”

Silence. You revel in it. It’s not everyday you can get him like this.

After a few moments of you continuing to not get the beer, he stands up and gets it himself. Muttering, “Fucking brat,” on his way back.

You know you’ve gotten off lightly, but that’s not what you were wanting. No, you want to see him all riled up and pissed off. He always fucks you rough on those days.

You do it again on a mission.

“Hey, kid, can you pass me the—“

“No.” You hate it when he calls you kid. It makes you feel small. A little too young. And he usually remembers that.

“Please, can I have the—“

“Nope. Go fetch, old man.”

You can feel how much he wants to spank you. Smack you across the ass and growl out that you need to behave.

But you’re around others, so he just grunts angrily and goes to get it himself.

The final blow is when he’s in the mansion garage. It’s late. Everyone’s in bed except for him. And you, but only because you spent way too long waiting for him and now you’re pissed enough to go find him.

You lean against his workbench, watching him intently. You know he knows you’re there, but he only acknowledges you with a grunt.

Then, “Pass me that tool, will you?”

You know which tool he’s talking about. It’s literally right next to you. But you hold his gaze as you speak. “No. Get it yourself, old man.”

His jaw clenches. After a moment, he steps back from his motorcycle and brushes off his jeans. He turns to face you, gaze dark and unyielding. “You know, I’m getting real sick of your fucking attitude.”

His tone sends a thrill down your spine. All dark and growly and low. You’re not surprised to feel slick gathering in your boxers.

But he pauses. Sniffs the air. When he refocuses on you, his gaze is hungry. “So, this is a game to you, huh? You’re being a brat on purpose.”

You cross your arms, still holding his gaze. “And what if I am? We both know you can’t handle me, old— Fuck!”

He scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder with ease. You squirm; half in discomfort, half because it’s so fucking hot. You know he knows, but still you protest. “Logan, put me down! I’m not a fucking kid!”

“You sure act like one,” he snarls back, striding purposefully through the dark halls. His hand coming up to grip your ass. “Sassing me and giving me that crap attitude. Can’t even act your fucking age for once. Gotta make me do all the goddamn work.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know exactly what you meant, you little devil.” His fingers dig into your ass, a subtle warning. “You meant to have some good old fun with me, didn’t you? Maybe get me all riled up so I’ll fuck you all nice and angry like.”

You keep your mouth shut this time. He knows you a little too well.

At your lack of an answer, he spanks your ass. Hard. You yelp and squirm, not expecting the blow at all. “Logan!”

“I asked you a question. Answer it.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s what I was doing!” You whimper a little. Maybe if he wasn’t carrying you, you’d give him more attitude. But in this position? You’re practically defenseless.

Not to mention, the puddle of slick in your boxers is getting uncomfortable with your pants on.

So you keep quiet, letting him carry you without issue to his room. As you pass, you’ve never been more grateful that Logan’s room is the furthest in the mansion. You can be as loud as you want without disturbing too many of the teachers.

Some of them will just have to suffer.

Logan opens the door to his room and enters. Shutting it behind him.

“You little motherfucker,” he growls, tossing you on the bed. “Strip. Now.”

You scramble to obey before you even realize you’re doing it. Pushing your pants halfway down your legs before it occurs to you to argue.

He can sense your hesitation. He lets out a low growl, eyes narrowing. You resume taking off your pants.

“That’s a good boy.”

A part of you preens at the praise. The other part wants to snark back. You just pull off your shirt and keep quiet.

Your boxers are sticky with slick. Sticky and uncomfortable. You need them off, and soon. You don’t know if you can go another moment without Logan touching you in some way.

As if on cue, Logan reaches over and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your boxers. He yanks them down, making you squirm from the sudden rush of cool air against your sensitive body.

“Logan… don’t be—“ You stop. Now is not the time for whining, especially not with that look in his eyes.

“Don’t be what?” His voice is low, a dangerous challenge. “Don’t be what, pretty boy?”

You squirm and fight back a whimper as he forces your legs up and apart. Pressing your knees to either side of your chest. Exposing you to him.

When you don’t answer, his hand comes down. Hard, right on your aching parts. You yelp, words bubbling out of you. “I was gonna say don’t be mean! But— Then I remembered—“

“You want me to be mean.” He growls, low and deep. “Fucking greedy little thing. You’re never satiated, are you? Always whining and begging after me for more.”

His hand comes down again, the wet slick coating your thighs only making the sound worse. You jolt this time, blinking back prickles behind your eyes. You know he’s trying to get you to cry. But you’re not going to give it to him so easily.

Even if you really, really want to.

His fingers swipe along you, gathering up your slick and circling around your throbbing dick. You shudder at the pleasure, whimpering softly. It feels so good after the pain.

He pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking the slick from them. He groans softly, eyes darkening at the flavor. “You taste delicious. If you weren’t so damn bratty, I’d consider feasting on you. But you had to go and be a little bastard.”

His hands move to his belt, unbuckling it and letting his pants drop to his ankles. He steps out of them, stripping out of his boxers as well.

Your mouth waters. He’s already hard, so thick and long you can practically feel him in your guts already. You wanna suck him off so bad. Make him see you could be a good boy.

But the desire for him to fuck you is even stronger.

“Please, Logan,” you whisper.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

He smirks. “Since you asked so nicely…”

He lines himself up, leaning over you. He pins your hands down, gripping your wrists firmly in one hand. “I’m going to fuck the brat right out of you. And if it doesn’t work the first time, I’ll do it again and again until you’re too cockdumb to argue.”

The threat sends a thrill down your spine. You open your mouth to say something snarky, but he pushes in. Slowly working his cock deeper and deeper into you. Splitting you open.

Your words die on your tongue, replaced by a whiny moan. You clench hard around him, making him growl and dig the fingers of his free hand into your hip.

“That’s— fuck— much better.” He grunts, slowly rolling his hips to push his cock further into your leaking hole. “God, I love the sounds you make. So desperate and needy.”

“Fuck, ahhh! Logan!” You clasp your hands together, squeezing tightly as your body takes him. It feels like heaven; being split open until you feel like you can’t possibly take any more.

He finally bottoms out, allowing you a moment to adjust to his size. Then he pulls out and slams back in, making you arch and babble. He does this a few more times; slow, strong thrusts that split you apart and go so deep you swear his dick must be reaching your stomach.

Then he picks up the pace, and your mind turns to mush. You can’t think, can’t moan, can’t do anything but babble out cries of his name. You’re arching, writhing, squirming desperately to be able to hold onto him.

But he keeps your hands pinned firmly down. Speeding up until he’s fucking you roughly. Like you’re nothing but a thing for him to use.

“That’s my good fucking boy,” he snarls out. “Taking me so well.”

You can feel your orgasm mounting. Building and rising until you’re begging, pleading, and finally sobbing for him to let you cum. You know better than to cum without permission, especially when he’s all riled up like this.

“Cum for me, you little brat. Cum for me like a good boy.”

You clamp down on him, squeezing him as your orgasm hits. You arch and cry out, your vision going fuzzy.

A moment later, you relax into a puddle. Melting into the sheets as he continues to fuck you. Making you whine softly from the shocks of pleasure and warmth seeping through you.

With one last big thrust and a snarl of your name, Logan pulls out, cumming all over your dick and hole. He pants, releasing your wrists to drag a hand down his face. “Fuck.”

He sounds out of breath, but his eyes smolder with embers of heat. “You did good.”

You give him a lazy grin, stretching a bit. “Wanna clean me up? Or am I still too much of a brat for that?”

He huffs, a low growl in his tone. “Oh, I’ll clean you up alright. I’m making good on my promise. I’m fucking that attitude right on out of you.”

For a moment, you’re sure he has to be joking. You’re already weak from the strength of your first orgasm. He’s not really gonna make you go again, right?

But as he moves to lay between your legs, a couple things become clear. One, you’re in for a long, long night.

And two? He looks way too good between your legs.

Rick's cock buried deep in your pussy, his teeth biting and sucking at the skin. Your fingers ranking through his hair begging, crying out.

"Shit, so fuckin needy...couldn't even fuckin wait." his voice muffled as a free hand slipped under your shirt letting his thumb rubbing over your nipple, squeezing your breast.

A cry tore from your lips, heads turning into your direction as you did your best to match his thrusts not caring that people were staring. Rick not paying no mind as his thumb rubbed your clit letting you ride out your orgasm.

He could feel your nails digging in your skin, feel your walls clenching tightly around his cock.

He wasn't done with you....far from it.

He was going to fuck you until you could no longer scream.