mothman-supremacy - Tumblr blog

mothman-supremacy · 2 days ago

Text

knuckle velvet

synopsis. he walks you home, then lets himself in.

pairing. logan howlett x f!reader. tags. [18+] dubious consent, vaginal penetration, female receiving oral sex, spitting. honey don't feed it, it'll come back type beat.

Some deep part of Canada, where everything was white. Snowstorms that swarmed through the sky, and the only warmth you could find came from the bottom of a bottle.

The wood floor of the sticky bar you worked in was soaked from frost covered boots – haphazardly scraped across the welcome mat, owners preoccupied with getting their first drink than keeping the place tidy.

You existed there, behind the bar that patrons lent against, like a metal cage with leering onlookers. They paid in drinks, but you took the money home as tips, your warmth stoked in a fireplace.

How you’d ended up there in that forgotten part of the world, you didn’t know.

Perhaps you’d followed a narrow path, one strung out with thorns and rubbish, but the money was okay.

When it got slow, and there wasn’t much else to do, your boss let you read a bit, too, while you sipped on your endless supply of Coca-Cola.

At the end of your shift, your teeth were fuzzy from all the sugar.

An easy existence, but some nights, the patrons got too friendly.

They were fresh off their trucks, looking for some place warm to bury for the night, but you weren’t offering.

So, you’d peer at them, watch them make a fool of themselves as they spewed putrid words in your general direction – alcohol and lack of sleep causing the floor to sway from beneath their feet.

It was always the new boys who would try it.

Risk it all for a chance between your thighs, unaware of the hound sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a whiskey and a vendetta.

The first time he fought for you, the air had changed. Gone cloudy with the chance of a brawl – that sixth sense that all bartenders have switching on.

“Lady said no, ain’t she?” he bellowed from across the bar.

The voice thick with smoke and alcohol, you recognised him as the guy who’d been drinking whiskey all night, but he was as sober as a nun. No stumble to his step, or slur to his cadence, either.

He was built like an oak tree. You noticed when you served him. Slid him his drink and gazed at the sheer bulk of him. At the weathered, handsome age to his face, to the spray of grey in his brown hair.

His thick arms were snugly buried under a button up shirt, and you didn’t see, but rather imagined, the way his muscular legs were stuffed into jeans, and the way his size 12’s rested against the hardwood.

His eyes though, were hiding something. Milky brown concealing his curiosity – easily done with the hard panes of his face.

You imagined letting him take you home, and you thought about being friendly, before a whisper in the back of your cranium told you to back off.

Perhaps safer.

You didn’t know where this man had come from, let alone where he’d been. So, you continued to serve him drinks, and tried to ignore the quiet hum of his presence, until the hum turned to a crash.

The patron was scorned. He paused, and turned to the end of the bar, where the brown eyed stranger was waiting. “What’s it to you?” he slurred.

But the man with the whiskey wasn’t looking to him. He sipped his drink, and said, “she said no. You don’t remember your manners?”

The bar adorned an eerie quiet. Nerves sat low in your belly, heart picking up speed. “This guy serious?” he asked you.

You went to say something, but he was already throwing words at the stranger.

“She yours or something?” “It matter?” “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” The stranger scoffed, and brought his drink to his lips, “whatever bub.”

“We got a problem?” the man uttered, stalking towards him, but his friend took him by the arm and whispered something in his ear, forcing him to deflate.

You wondered what he’d uttered. Whether there were rumours about the guy – a reputation you didn’t know about.

Brown eyes didn’t bat an eye when the man and his buddy slid out the door, cold filling the room before the door slammed shut.

The bar exhaled.

People went back to their business, and you thought about it, you really did. Thought about leaving him alone. Going back to your measly existence. Your home – the pit for all of your things.

But it didn’t win over in the end.

You topped up his drink. He took it, and glanced at you, brown eyes ringed with mystery.

“That happen often?” he uttered, voice a gruff grunt.

You put the bottle down, and looked away, thinking back to last week when you nearly fought a guy for staring for too long. You glanced back to him. “Sometimes.” “Your boss is an asshole for letting you work here alone.” “That so?” you laughed, shocked at his candour. He nodded and downed his drink, eyeing you from over the rim.

Finished, he put the glass down on the bar, and shrugged his jacket on. He got up to leave, and you felt a chasm begin to open up in your chest.

You went to say something. Anything, to make him stay. But he paused and looked over his shoulder.

His jaw was clenched when he tentatively offered, “be safe.”

When you locked up, he was waiting for you.

It didn’t scare you. Really, it should, but when you left the bar and saw him standing there, toking on a cigar in the cold, all it did was make you pause. He stood there, gazing at you, eyes clouded by smoke.

“You waiting for me?” you uttered, making it real, even if the light drift of snow was giving the world a dream like quality.

He shrugged. “Just waiting.”

You nodded, and put the bar keys in your bag, ignoring the chasm get wider. If he was going to rob the place, he’d have to get through layers of receipts and tissues to get in. But you knew the bar wasn’t what he was after. Something about his posture, the luring look in his brown eyes — curious, like he was trying to figure something out.

You began to walk past him, but when he didn’t follow, you paused. You peered over your shoulder, and he was still looking at you.

Taking you in. “Well,” you started, hitching your bag up your arm, “you gonna walk me home, or what?”

He followed you in comfortable silence.

Just you, the night, and the crunch of dirt under his boots. His cigar smoke drifted by, and it wafted through your subconscious, followed by pine, and crisp scent of the snow.

He sounded like the noise of the woods — ever present in these parts. A comfort, if one had adapted to its unpredictability. When you got to your familiar walkway, you opened the gate, but he didn’t follow you through.

Instead, he stood by the entrance, watching you unlock your door like he’d just dropped you off from a date. it was when you were halfway through that he spoke up. “You work every night?”

“Yeah,” you started quickly, looking to him. “Apart from Wednesday and Sunday.” He considered you, then gave you a sharp nod, and turned to leave.

That’s how you ended up with a wolf at your door.

Every night, he was the last one left, then he silently walked you home.

Some nights, you’d find him leaning against the entrance, and he’d quietly peel away from the door and follow you. At first, he simply walked closely behind, a looming shadow, until he began walking beside you.

Then one night, you let him in.

Made him a cup of coffee to fight off all the liquor he consumed, and he sat at your kitchen table, and drank every drop.

Watched you in the low, fluorescent lighting, and you did the same. Curiously studied him. He looked different in your home. In your kitchen. Looked a little softer around the edges, even if he couldn’t relax completely.

It went like that for a while. It was on one of these nights that he gave you his name, followed by a shitty cup of coffee. Sometimes two. Maybe a biscuit, or a piece of cake. Leftovers turned into home cooked meals. Sat at the kitchen table and watched him eat. Roast beef. Mashed potatoes. Lasagna. Sipped at your cup of tea as he slopped up his pasta, using the back of his hand to wipe the sauce off his mouth.

You left him finishing off his plate to get ready for bed, and it was when you were sorting your hair out, that he came into your bedroom and began taking his boots off.

You stood at your mirror and watched him place them near your door.

Then he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

One by one, you watched his thick fingers reach the bottom. He took it off, revealing a white tank off and broad chest, and hung the shirt up on your door frame.

Jeans next.

Popped the button and shucked them to his feet -- threw them with his boots and dragged himself towards your bed.

You went to say something. Anything.

But he looked so exhausted as he crashed onto your frilly bed, that all you could manage was, “You lock the door?”

Logan nodded. His eyes were already closed, and he was hugging the pillow when he uttered, “you coming to bed, or what?”

You let him stay the night.

Maybe it was raining, maybe he was too tired – it didn’t matter. All that mattered, was that he was warm, and sometimes, when you woke and felt the terrifying ache of being alive, he’d be there to quiet the pain.

Hush you with the soft swell of his lips and wandering hands.

You’d come with a hushed whisper, hot and sticky over his calloused fingers -- drowsy from how high he took you. Then he’d kiss you, fix your clothes, and go back to sleep.

Always the middle of the night. When it was dark and quiet out, and it felt as if you were the last people alive.

His skilled hands bringing you to the brink, a soft kiss, then back to bed.

You would wait for it. Watch him nurse his whiskey at the end of the bar, the night dragging with every drink you poured. Then, he watched you lock up.

Waited at the door for you, so you could walk home together, wordlessly taking the familiar trail.

He’d eat, you’d watch, then leave for your room.

Once, you woke to his head between your thighs. The night was quiet, room dark – slither of moonlight from your window cutting a line through your bodies.

You were slick with sweat, and as you flexed your taunt muscles, they fizzled and singed. Hot heat pushed low in your belly, rooted between your thighs.

Logan hummed, and you reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, whimpering his name to grab his attention.

He had palm fulls of you. Fists of your thighs, soft of your belly, leaving marks with his desire – desperation. The first thing he did was apologise. Muttered a hoarse, m’sorry, into your soaking cunt, but continued tasting you.

You used his hair as leverage, and hitched your hips up an inch, causing his nose to bump into your sensitive clit, and you hissed, as if in pain, but the sound trailed off into something similar to his name, and Logan grunted, moving your hips further up so he could twist a thick finger inside.

You took all he gave.

Moaned into the pillow beside you as you rocked your hips against his face, soaking his nose and mouth. Said shit you didn’t mean, but meant all the same, and Logan got off on it.

This mysterious man who had taken over your life, grunted your name like it belonged to him. Made you come on his thick beard and puffy lips, then made you taste yourself as he kissed you.

You hugged his sweat slick frame to you, fingers scratching his scalp, mindlessly grinding against his clothed cock. You were content to just kiss him, until he dragged his fingers between your thighs again.

You startled, gasping into his hot mouth, but Logan hummed, near smiling against your lips.

“’think there’s another in there for me,” he drawled.

When he fucked you, there was so much of him that you went blind with it. Eyes half lidded, delirious as he pushed inside, making himself fit. Stuffing you full, then pulling out, just to feel it all over again.

Again and again. You moaned his name into his soaked, scarred chest. Felt yourself leave your body, so hot, so wet, that it was all sensation. Just the slap of his hips against yours, the feel of his hands on your tits, in your mouth, telling you to open wide.

He spat, and when he missed, he smeared the mess off of your chin and rubbed it into your cunt.

Made you come, then filled you with his own. Leant back, and watched it drip out of you. You were so consumed by him, that you didn’t have enough energy to feel self-conscious.

No, when he had his wild eyes on you, you reached between your thighs and stuffed it back inside.

The next evening, and he was back at the bar, waiting for you to bring him his whiskey. When you placed it in front of him, those wild eyes were on you again.

Waiting. Always waiting.

Waiting to play out your usual routine.

masterlist | ask | reblogs appreciated endlessly

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mothman-supremacy · 11 days ago

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— the suit(s) stay on

[part iv of come on and show me | masterlist]

logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

rated e - 6.2k

tags: MMF threesome, dirty talk, triad poly relationship, holiday cheer, considerable filth with a side of feelings, yearning, double blow-job, frotting, hair-tugging, swallowing, come sharing/eating, reference to fisting, teasing, DVP/double vaginal sex, creampies

a/n: a belated halloween update, revised with a holiday theme 🎄💖

It’s torture, how good they look. How your eyes can’t help but wander at the holiday fundraiser - admiring the tight cling of their suits. Unable to help the itch in your fingers - all too eager to reach out and touch.

(or - you can’t wait to get your boyfriends home.)

You're not quite sure if you're going to be able to make it through tonight.

It’s definitely an exaggeration. Mostly. You're not that weak-willed. Or at least - that's what you tell yourself, as your eyes flick across the room for the eightieth time in the last fifteen minutes.

Almost missing the cup that you're adorning with sprinkles. A little "whoops" with a smile - the whipped cream covered in a dusting of glittering red and green, before it's handed off to the child in front of you.

Before your eyes snap across the room again.

It's just - Wade. The suit - it's been a while since you've seen him wear it for this long. Getting more comfortable in his skin without it, not needing the familiar cling to feel at home.

You think that has to be from Logan.

Logan, who's made progress as well - who no longer felt like he was letting the ones in his memories down, if he removed it. Who's figuring out how to toe the line between his old world and now - weekends slowly spent in warm flannels and worn, old jeans.

As much as it warms your heart - that you're glad, that you've been hoping for something for this - you still can't help the little flicker of appreciation.

The tight wrap of red leather and lyra. Even with his gaudy, cat-patterned 'meowy christmas' sweater - you had unfortunately had to veto "santa's favorite ho" and "jingle balls" - he looks good.

Too good.

And when he crouches down next to a boy in a reindeer sweater, the crinkle of his white eyes as he "oohs" and "ahhs" over the drawing clutched triumphantly in their fist - you have to resist the urge to sink your teeth into your fist.

Something soft and warm deep stirs inside you. Caught on the ease of his laugh - the way his head cocks at the kid chatters, leaning so casually and comfortably against your boyfriend’s shoulder.

You think your heart melts completely when you spot Logan at the next table over - grabbing another box from the floor, handing over art supplies. Yukio and Ellie on the other side - restocking the craft corner they set up.

The way you can see his mouth - lips curving at the corner as he leans over the barstool in front of him. Two smaller girls turning towards him, all four of them laughing at something he said - a marker pointed towards one of the drawings.

You don't know if you've ever been so happy. Or captivated, something about the gentle way they move, paired with the ferocity of the suit - what it means, the adoration that follows them - does something to you.

But, the holiday fundraiser at Sister Margaret's is still in full swing - you'll just have to get a hold of yourself.

An actual contribution to wayward girls at hand, and you have to admit that the place cleans up pretty well, once scrubbed.

The tables cleaned up, the low neon exchanged for the fluorescent lights above. Blood mopped from the floor from the last brawl - the chalkboard above covered by thick strings of garland, blotting out the names.

Filled with regulars and their families. Faces you recognize, friends of Wade’s. Friends you’ve gotten to know well - one of them slipping from the back of the crowd, making their way over to you.

"Hey."

Laura leans against the bar, where you've set up shop. Swapping hard liquor and shots for eggnog and cups of hot chocolate, spiraling towers of whipped cream.

"Hi," You smile, "You having a good time?"

She hums. Sinking onto one of the stools, her chin propped in the cup of her palm, "Good enough."

A slight smile, and you get it - she enjoys crowds as much as Logan does. You've gotten to know her more in the past weeks, especially as your and Wade's relationship with her father grew.

Became public, even - Wade unable to hold back the brag that the two of you had “finally cuffed this zaddy”, a thumb hitched towards Logan during another one of your movie nights.

But with the way you had seen him trying to hide his smile behind the roll of his eyes - you thought Logan hadn’t had minded.

Either that - or, he hadn’t understood a word Wade had said.

"Hot chocolate?" You wiggle a striped cup at her, and she nods.

"Logan seems to, too." Her head tips towards the table - somewhere in the last minute, he'd been coaxed to join. Elbows tucked close as he fits himself into an open space at the end, folded onto the old chair.

A beat - the milk still heating, as she adds, "It's... nice."

"I think so, too." Your smile only widens when Logan's head tilts your way, a hand raised - his ears must have been burning.

Laura waves back, as you beam.

"I don't remember my-," The words cut off, with a breath. A guilty look, as she corrects herself, "The Logan I knew didn't smile a lot. Not like this."

You never knew the Logan from your world. Knew of him - whispers, as you had gotten older. That door opening wider after you met Wade. Starting meeting his friends.

"I know he cared about you." You begin, carefully.

Her dark eyes turn your way - appraising. A small nod.

"I know that. I just mean..." Laura turns fully, then - the bar stool pivoting until she faces you, "You and Wade make sense."

The scoop hovers above the cup, as you frown. Unsure where she's going, and she must tell from your expression.

"But the two of you and Logan," She's quick to add on, "I think that makes sense, too. I think you both make him happy. And it's..."

Silence hangs again for a heartbeat, but this time, you understand.

"Yeah." It's good. It's a change - that tight tension easing from his shoulders. Smiles, like she said. Laughter, even if both still come slowly, they're still there.

"But you know that you have a lot to do with that as well, right?"

An uncomfortable look swims across her face. Not used to a compliment turned back around on her. Not used to seeing from a different points of view.

Even if it’s true. Even if you’ve seen the way her presence has affected him, the way he’s come to care about her much like the way this world’s Logan did.

"Anyways, I just wanted to tell you thanks." Her eyes drop, a brush-off of your earlier encouragement, "We're, I'm not that good at this-"

A little half-shrug, as her eyes flick back to yours.

"I know. You did great," You smile, lightly teasing, "And I still like you both, anyway."

In reality, it takes all your strength to resist the urge to reach across the bar and hug her. But you don't - don't want to scare her away. This had already meant more than you could ever say.

Instead, you swirl the whipped cream high. Letting your hand squeeze hers for just a second, as you pass it over.

From the way she smiles - you think she understands.

You almost make it home without an incident. Should have known by the way Wade’s hand swung in yours. Whistling a bastardized version of christmas carols a little too cheerfully - Logan’s knuckles brushing against his on the other side.

A block away from their apartment, before he’s eying you.

“So did you have fun, gorgeous?”

“Yes,” You answer, suspiciously, “Why did you ask it like that?”

“Dunno,” The whites of his eyes curve into half-moons, “Guess I’m just a little sore from you eye-pegging me every time I bent over.”

There’s a rough huff of a laugh, as your head whips to the side. Unable to help the smile, the roll of your own eyes.

“Was it the suit?”

His fingers flick at the cotton-balled end of the hat he still wears. The red velvet a deeper shade than his suit - a stolen memento from his brief stint passing out presents.

“Because if it was, Al’s car is parked right over there.” Wade’s voice drops, “Plenty of time for the ol’ Bad Santa and a hose-down before she gets home. Hell, if we get in the back seat she might not even notice-”

“Not from that suit.” Logan interrupts, his eyebrow lifting when his head turns your way, “You got a thing for leather, sweetheart?”

“Oh thank god.” Wade sighs, “You know I’ve met Santa? Tried to kill him, actually. Long story, it was for the children, but let’s just say he would not be happy about this impersonation.”

“It’s just your suits.” You clarify - turning to face them, as you stand at the entrance to the apartment, “But specifically, you in your suits. It’s just-”

Unable to help the grin, the shake of your head, “Ovary-exploding, really. Truly not fair.”

Logan’s look darkens, as heat floods through your cheeks, “That what’s had your heart racing all night?”

It distracts you, for just a moment.

You frown.

“How long have you been able to hear our heartbeats?”

Had he always? Did he spend weeks knowing how you and Wade felt about him - only to pull back, waiting?

The hungry edge sharpens - a sideways, lingering glance towards Wade.

“Just since I’ve started listening.”

Laura’s words burn through you, the memory of them melding with his look, settling low in your belly.

“Fuck.” You breathe.

Wade makes a sound of agreement, as he steps closer. Red pressing against yellow, as they cage you in against the front door.

“Seconded, babe. Clean up on aisle my pants.”

Logan scoffs, a glance over his shoulder - eyebrow cocked.

“That’s what did it for you?”

“What?” Wade shugs, “You know that emotional intimacy turns me on.”

A low growl as a red-gloved hand drops for an indulgent squeeze, before he’s reaching for the handle.

“Now let’s get inside before we make the naughty list for indecent exposure.”

“Is this what you wanted?”

Logan’s eyes are milky-white beneath the cowl. Jawline sharp with the cut of blue, framing the curve of his lips.

“You’ve seen it before.”

Snapshots of moments. Picking you up from work, as they’re on their way home from Sister Margaret’s.

Minutes snatched in the early morning - peeling away from a shared bed, letting you doze as they quickly suit up. Leaving the thoughts to burrow into your fantasies.

“Not like this.” You sigh, letting your fingers trace over his chest piece. Stepping close enough until you can smell the cling of leather and metal.

His strong frame even more broad, with the curved shoulder pads. Fearsome - and it makes your breath catch as your palm flattens over his heart.

“You want us to fuck you in our suits?” Wade’s voice croons in your ear - hand curling around your waist, tugging you back against him, “That what you’ve been thinking about?”

The lower-half of his mask tugged up, lips pressing against the soft space under your ear. Feeling what Logan hears - the hammer of your heart beneath skin.

“Yes.” You moan. Liking the feeling of being between them now, the chill of the leather and kevlar against your heated skin.

Unable to help the turn of your head. Meeting his mouth, the swipe of his tongue as his palm smoothes along your shoulder, down to your wrist. Fingers curling around, guiding your hand until it cups against yellow leather.

A command, breathed out against your lips.

“Then get him out and ready for us.”

There’s the sharp inhale of breath, a shift of Logan’s hips into your hand. You smile - lips touching down at the places your fingers linger.

His chin, the blue curve of cowl. Down the panels of his chest, the ridges that line up with the abs beneath.

A little frown as you thumb at his belt buckle, as you sit back on your heels. The red X fixed in place, the clasps still unknown to you.

“Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.” Logan husks, chin lifting as his hands curl around his belt - a nod towards the pretty clothes you wore to the party.

You bite back a grin, as you follow - matching his speed.

A sweater exchanged for the loosening of his belt. Rising up so you can shimmy out of a skirt, as his zipper lowers.

Letting it pool against the floor - your tights peeled off next - as he eases himself out.

“Fuck, gorgeous.” Wade breathes, just as your tongue peeks out to drag up Logan’s shaft, “You were hiding that away all night?”

The matching lace set you wear beneath. Not that you were planning *this,* but with Althea away for the weekend you had certainly been hoping.

Logan makes a rough sound of assent, as you take him between your lips. Velvet throbbing against your tongue as you moan around him - working him to full hardness.

Your nose brushing against the armor as his fingers trace along the strap at your shoulder. A low rumble in his throat, hips canting into the warm suck of your mouth.

Spit pooling on your tongue, as your hand curls around him - a slow pump as your head bobs.

“Get Wade ready, too.” Logan’s hand spans the back of your neck, easing you off him, “Gonna take both of us tonight, right?”

“Oh fuck,” Wade hands settle on his belt - pleased that Logan is playing along with your fantasy, “Yes. Thank you-”

But this you know how to do - a kiss against the heft of Logan’s dick before you’re reaching for Wade. Fingers replacing his, slipping against the hidden zipper.

Lips pressing against the bulge, his hips shifting forward. Hard and leaking when you work him free. A soft sound as your lips wrap around him, swallowing him down.

Eyes shut, as you feel the weight against your tongue. Trying to take him down to the root, his hand cradling your jaw.

Flicking back open to peek up at him - the now-bare lower half of his face, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

Teasing him, with the way you hold him in your mouth. Eyes shut as your tongue licks against the scarred skin, another lewd curse slipping from him.

Reaching for Logan again, your fist sliding against slick skin. He shifts closer, shoulder nudging Wade’s. A red-clad glove shifting to his ass again, but he only groans when you come back to him.

The old rug scrapes against your knees. Leaving a glossy print against their hips as you alternate the press of your lips.

Your hands wrapped around the base of their cocks. Angling them into your mouth as you lick and suck. Stroking, as your saliva smears against their skin, heat curling in your belly at the way they surround you.

Leaning into your touch, the familiarity of it. Skin apit-slick as the tip glides against your lips. Saliva pooling on your tongue, as you let it drip down his shaft.

Kisses peppered against yellow and red, as hands wander. The straps loosened on your bra, until they’re palming at your tits.

Low grunts melding with your sighs, as they shift closer. A slow shift until you’re fixed between them - a calculated look thrown their way before your fingers wrap around their shafts.

Another inch closer. Letting the tips nudge together, eyes half-lidded in fascination as spit strings between them.

Twin sounds slipping through the air, huffed breath and low grunts. Teasing them, before wrapping the curl of your hand around Where they touch.

There’s a growled-out “fuck”. A hand that cups the back of your head, easing you back to them. Your tongue peeking out to drag across each tip when your fist slides back.

A slow back-and-forth - hips pumping into the clutch of your hand, just off-sync from each other.

“Gonna make Lo come, gorgeous.”

It’s answered with a huff that comes out strangled.

Your eyes rove across him. Across thick thighs, the gape of his suit at his base and the dark smattering of hair beneath.

Up to the curve of Logan’s chest. Where his head tilts down, eyes dark above the broad suit.

Sharp points of his teeth, between parted lips.

“That right?” You coo, “Want you to. Look so good like this, baby.”

Reaching, your nails dragging against the yellow and blue. The slightest lean into your palm, as if he wishes it were against bare skin.

Logan makes a low sound - turning rough as Wade’s hand reaches across. Curving around his shaft, stroking. Tighter, rougher than you would - the leather creaking as his fist twists.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Wade hums, “Only took 24 years but it was well worth the wait, peanut.”

“You look good too, honey,” You can’t help but grin up at him, as your head turns. Tilting to press a kiss against his hip, as his hand keeps stroking, “Know I can’t never get enough of you like this.”

He laughs - a twist of his hips, the heavy swing of his cock as his tilts his ass towards you.

“Don’t have to butter me up, gorgeous. This thing is goddamn painted on and I thank Graham Churchyard every day for it.”

You laugh, before letting the curl of your tongue tease them again. Eyes tipping up to find Logan’s, as you let the tip slide against your lips again. Letting them part, as Wade tugs.

It’s too much.

There’s the sharp grit of teeth. Breath huffed out, a hand twisting roughly in your hair as you coo out his name.

You just manage to catch the low rasp of warning before Logan is spilling across your tongue. His release painting your lips, a smear across your chin before you’re able to take him into your mouth.

Swallow him down, as Wade works him empty.

If he were a lesser man, his knees would buckle.

Instead, he slips from you. Sinking down slowly, those blown-dark eyes on yours as he thumbs at his mess. Scooping the drip from your lip, feeding it back to you. Letting your teeth nip at his thumb, when it presses down against your tongue.

Mouth slotting to yours after, hands cupping your jaw. A hungry groan, with the soft swipe of his tongue.

Guiding you back to Wade, as he shifts behind you, your back pressed snugly against his chest.

“Come on, pretty girl.”

Wade’s fist is already working. The rough slide of leather-on-skin, lips parted with a groan.

He likes a show. Likes the way there’s still a hand around your neck. Another twisted in your hair, tilting your face up, though you need no coaxing.

Your tongue is already out. Pink and waiting, eyes set side-by-side as you and Logan both watch.

“Oh, baby girl.” Wade coos, a stutter in the flick of his wrist, “You belong on your knees, don’t you?”

Your eyes crinkle with your smile, head tilting back further. His eyes slide over your shoulder - a flash of teeth as he grins, too.

“Not leaving you out, Lo. I mean - raw, next question.” He tells Logan, “People’s Magazine knew their shit in 2008. Can’t say the same about now. I mean, Krasinski? I’m offended for you, frankly-“

There’s a rough hum, but there’s no bite behind it. Cozy in his afterglow, a shift of his hips against yours. The minute tightening of his grip, and if you didn’t know better - you might have thought he’d liked it.

Wade’s cock taps against your tongue.

“Tell me how much you want it.”

You can feel yourself clench at his words. Aching for something to fill you - tempted to drag Logan’s hand down.

“Wade, please.”

You can hear the whine in your voice. The need - throat flexing against Logan’s palm.

Wade’s white eyes narrowing. Teeth bared as he pants. Logan’s impatient huff, his voice coming low.

“Stop fucking around, Red.”

His hand joining - overlapping. Increasing the pressure as Wade groans, the tip gliding across your tongue, between your lips.

“Can’t a guy want a little praise, too?” Wade huffs, but you can hear it - how it slips from him, breathless.

Logan’s laugh is rough, “That right? Then be good, and come for us.”

“Jesus fuck-”

It slips from him as a rattled gasp, two more pumps and then he’s coming. Logan’s other hand keeping you in place, as Wade purposely makes it messy.

Against your tongue, lips, chin. Logan’s knuckles, dripping against the divots.

They’re offered to you. Brough up to your lips - your tongue dragging across each one, before Logan’s mouth presses against yours.

Groaning at the way you still taste like him. Like Wade, like you - deepening the kiss until you’re left breathless.

“Wish I could take you both.” It’s almost whined out. Eyes glassy, as his thumb swipes against your chin. Dipping between his lips, as Wade drops down to his knees to join you.

Unable to take them the way you want to. Frustrated with having to choose - a messy kiss that started at one shaft, ending at the other.

Logan chuckles - the sound a rough rumble in his chest, before he lets Wade taste himself on his tongue.

“Mm. I think we can manage that.”

This what you needed.

Not that you didn’t like before. You still shiver at the thought, the pinch of their fingers. Logan’s hand at your throat. The way Wade moaned. His words.

But you’re mindless, now. A lazy, figure-eight of your tongue. Jaw opening wide to suck, trying to see if they’ll both fit.

Propped up against a strong chest and abdomen, hardened with the armor. Your hazy concentration only marred by the wet drag of a tongue between your thighs.

You’re sure Logan’s working too hard. If he wanted to taste you, he only had to part his lips. Surely, you must be dripping for them.

“Goddamn. Hope y’all are hungry,” Wade coos, “because I am stroganoff this beef.”

You groan, as the curl of his thumb and finger - his grip stretched wide - flick towards the pink peek of your tongue.

It’s Logan’s idea, but Wade’s design.

A careful positioning, like before.

Funny how pliant Logan’s become, in these weeks since the beginning. Back when he was as stiff-backed as the chair he sat on. That crumpled paper in his fists. Snarling. Protesting. Denying.

Now, he let himself be pushed back on the mattress. Cock already half-hard with the prospect of more.

Narrowed eyes as Wade had nudged his thighs wider, settling between them, but he had only cooed.

“Don’t forget - gonna make you beg for it.” A kiss pressed against a knee, as Wade had patted his flank. “Only then, honey badger.”

“You wish.” It’s huffed out - paired with an eye roll, half-hearted and hidden beneath his cowl. His gaze simmering after, considering, as hands tug at your hips.

Guiding you into place - a low rumble when Logan’s gifted with your knees pressed into the bed on either side of his face.

All the better for you to taste them.

Twin sighs, when Wade’s bare hand had wrapped around - his teeth already sinking into the leather tip of his gloves, ripping them free.

Spitting into his palm, impatient. Your eyes fixed on how their skin grew slick, as Wade lined them up.

Pressing together. Fully hard by the time your head had dipped to taste them.

They slip against your tongue now, as a hand grasps at your waist. Using you as an anchor as Logan’s hips shift, chasing the sensations. Trying to tug you further against his mouth, dark eyes long closed in concentration.

Licking hungrily at your folds, the curl of a finger tugging your panties to the side. Stretching the elastic until it cuts into your skin, but it’s forgotten in the way the pleasure surges against the pointed flick of his tongue.

His cowl long tugged off, left on the side table. A hindrance, in his urge to bury his face against you - your hips rocking as you moan around their cocks.

Trying to take them deeper. Letting the drool drip from Wade’s cock down, to smear against the flushed shaft beneath. Your own fingers wrapping around, following Wade’s pace.

“‘s cute watching you try so hard. You should turn around, baby.” He coos - eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, “I know where we’d fit even better.”

Your rhythm stutters, as you catch up. You hadn’t been thinking about that. Content to take whatever they’d give you tonight, as many turns as they wanted to take.

But this - you must wear the consideration on your face, because Wade’s smile pulls wider.

“Think you could.” It’s murmured out, a soft challenge at the flicker of hesitation.

Another lick, before you're pulled back - head tilting, ��I did, remember?”

“Last chapter,” He huffs, “I know, but-”

And his hips shift forward in a lazy grind, “Don’t you wanna know? Think we would really fill you up, gorgeous. Give you what you need.”

There’s a groan against your cunt, the body below you shifting.

It’s hard to concentrate, with the swipe of Logan’s tongue. The lazy lift of his hips, keeping the slow sweep of his cock against Wade’s.

And you consider them together, for a moment. The curling heat inside you twisting, the flames fanning higher.

“Don’t think I can.”

It’s regretful, but Wade only hums.

“You took my fist.”

Logan groans into your cunt, as the heat rises to your cheeks.

“I, we-, we’d been drinking! We worked up to it!”

A crowning achievement during an anniversary week spent in Miami - the smell of coconut rum still makes you nauseous, even if the memories carry a hazy, golden glow.

His shoulder lifts, “We got all night, gorgeous. It’s your call.”

There’s a heartbeat of a breath. Logan going still beneath you, but you can feel the shifting pressure of his fingers against your skin.

You can’t deny that Wade was right. That you’re curious. Always had been, eager to push yourself to the limit just to see if you could.

And the thought of fitting both their cocks inside you, sharing the same space as they ruin you - something else new to experience with them.

Your nod is sharp, the look you send him heated.

Wade’s voice pitches low.

“Logan, work our girl open.”

His hand is already moving. Tracing along your hip, a thumb teasing at your opening,

“How many?” Logan rasps, as he sinks to the knuckle. Feeling how you already squeeze around him, wet and warm.

“Four.”

You’re left panting. A tremble in your thighs when the second fits in, Logan’s first two fingers nudged deep inside you. The careful stretch as he works you open.

Coming hard when he reaches three - crying out as his fingers crook again and again. So easy to find that soft spot inside you when you’re so full, when you’re angled so his tongue can flick against your clit. Letting you ride out the orgasm against his hand, the last lined up to slip in.

Wade’s hand slowing, but never stopping. A running commentary at just how “good you’re gonna take them both”, how he’s always thought that “two dogs in a bun looked right to him”.

The pleasure still thrumming inside you when Logan eases his hand free, his fingers shining with you.

Ones that slip between his lips as Wade flips you around - the cold kiss and chirp of ‘baby knife!’ against your hip, the lace panties cut from you as he settles your hips against the cradle of his. Coating their cocks with lube, snatched from the bedside drawer.

You can feel them slide against your folds, slick and heavy. Wade’s hand at your hip, layering where Logan held you. The other still wrapped around both of them, eager to guide.

“Hi,” You smile, as Logan’s hand cups the back of your neck. Tugging you down to kiss him, as Wade tugs your hips back.

The sweet tang of your release lingers on his tongue. A soft greeting rumbled back with the shine of his teeth, the grin pulling wider as they start to sink into you.

Swallowing the gasp that rips from your chest, eyebrows pinched with concentration. His other hand mirroring Wade’s on your hip. A soft pressure, easing you back.

Nudging the tips of both of them inside you. The dull ache from the stretch sings through you, your breath held as your eyes go wide. Logan’s thumb sweeping against your neck as he watches you take them, eyes flicking down to the shadows between your thighs.

Gently coaxing you to move - inching them deeper each time, your knees digging into the mattress as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you.

“I know,” Logan soothes, his voice low, “You can take it, sweetheart. Feels fucking incredible, you know that?”

His fingers pinching against your skin, as he hold himself back. Resisting the urge to bury himself fully in you - letting you set the pace.

Wade’s voice joining him, the sound rough “Mm, gonna give Nabisco competition with the way we’re double stuffing you, gorgeous.”

Not having the same restraint, his hips moving. Shallow thrusts, a ragged groan at the way you grip him, the slick drag of his cock against Logan’s.

An inch deeper, and then another. Wade shifting until his hand plants on the mattress, closing the open space between you.

Angling himself down, a needy groan when it increases the pressure of his cock against Logan’s. The slick slide against each other as he traps you between them, as they find their rhythm.

Logan’s thrusts shallow, though no less desperate than the grind of Wade’s hips. Teeth against your shoulder, panting breath in your ear as a broad hand palms at your tits.

The fullness before was not like this.

An indescribable pressure, how you stretch wet and tight and snug around them. Each thrust rubbing against spots inside you that leave you seeing stars. Pressed flush against Logan, your spit-slick clit grinding against the coarse hairs at the base of his cock.

It flushes any coherent thoughts from your head. Your face buried in his neck, trying to lift your hips to meet them. Sinking them just a little bit deeper with each slick thrust, until you’ve taken as much as you can.

“How’s she look?” It’s growled out, as your test your teeth against the leather collar of his suit. Barely-there imprints left behind - the suit as forgiving as their skin - as your moans are muffled.

The weight lifts from you, a hand braces between your shoulder blades as Wade leans back.

Heat curling inside you, rising to your cheek as the way he whistles - the grin you can imagine with his tone.

“Fucking perfect.” Two sharp thrusts with each word, and you clench with both, “Both of us inside you.”

Fingers trace where they fill you, as he hums with approval.

“That’s the way it should be. Don’t you think, baby?”

Your answering moan pitches high. Fingers curled where they grip on, cock-drunk and hazy. Pleasure licking inside you, and he can see the way you’ve gone tense in anticipation. Can feel the way you clench, and it only makes his hips snap harder.

“Know you’re close.” It comes out low, “Gonna make you squirt all over his suit. Make him wear you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Logan groans, as he babbles.

It works. It always fucking works and he always knows it - a pleased tone sinking in to the filth that pours from him.

“Fuck her, Wade.”

It’s snarled out, though not with anger, “Give her what she wants or I will.”

Fingers pinch at your nipples. The bed creaking with the lift of his hips - his pace slowed with the way both of you keep him pressed deep, resigned to the lazy pace Wade’s taken.

“So fucking bossy when you’re horny.” Wade huffs - the retort turning into white noise, as your focus narrows down to where you’re joined.

Each thrust taking you closer, and when he speeds up - grasping onto you, making you take it - it’s too much.

A warning is half-murmured out with panting breath, before your orgasm is ripping through you. Molten heat radiating down your limbs, as their hands roam. Tits and hips and the curve of your ass.

Wade leaning back, a hand cracking down against soft skin. Your shuddering moan as you clench helplessly around them, their cocks coated with your release.

He’s following soon after, pulled over with the tight clench. With the rub of Logan’s cock against his - a ragged groan, as he half-slips from you as he comes.

Words forgotten, as Wade shoots ropes of his spend inside you. Inching back to drip against your folds, the velvet shaft that still spears in you.

Logan’s hips jerk, pressing himself deeper. A low grunt as he takes over. Panting breath each time he tugs you flush, burying himself in the slick mess Wade left behind.

Pounding into you like he’s wanted to all night - fucking his boyfriend’s release deeper into you as you bounce on his cock. Jaw set as the air huffs through clenched teeth.

Wade’s hands at your waist, forcing the rhythm that starts to waver. His voice low in your ear, the devil on your shoulder.

“Tell him how good you’ve going to take his come, baby.”

A hand drifting, dipping down to rub circles against your clit.

“Gonna let him fill you up, isn’t that right? Sweet little pussy can’t get enough.”

“Please, Logan-” You whine, as the grip on your hips becomes bruising.

They make you insatiable, the way they tease and touch. The way they want you, can’t get enough.

It’s there in the way Logan’s eyes are on yours - tugging you down and flush as his orgasm rips through him, his cock throbbing deep inside you. It sets off your own release, squirming against Wade’s tireless touch, the rocking lift of Logan’s hips as he empties himself inside you.

Pulsing around him, a heady throb that radiates out from deep within - your moan melding with the low growl as he feels you come with him.

The grind of your hips slowing, as the pleasure slowly ebbs.

“Counting that as a joint effort, you’re not getting a point with the way you just laid there, pookie,” Wade’s lips press against your cheek, as you sag back against him.

Logan’s cheek twitches, liquid lead beneath you, “Always a fucking competition.”

There’s an affronted gasp.

“How dare you,” It comes out grave - Wade’s eyes narrowing, “A fucking competition is what brought us together in the first place.”

His mock-anger quickly forgotten, with a languid sigh, “Old Saint Nick can fuck right off because this is definitely what I wanted for Christmas.”

A sentiment that leaves you humming in agreement, as your hands brace on Logan’s chest. As your eyes drop - tracing the curves of armor, down to where he still spears into you.

Where his own already linger, where the yellow leather parts - the fabric slick and glossy. Stained with you. With them, where they drip from you, where you’ve been filled to the brim, and then spilling over.

You can’t pretend this isn’t what you wanted, as well.

You’re stretched out between them - bare skin between red and yellow. Drowsy in your fucked out haze. Leaning into the press of Wade’s lips.

Mouth, chin, throat. Teeth nipping, as his fingers drift across your curves. Down, until they’re slipping inside you. Swirling through the mix, melding their release together.

Logan’s chest pressing into your shoulder, as a hand hooks under your thigh. Opening you up wider, the lewd thrust of Wade’s fingers growing louder.

An inhale of breath, a low laugh against your neck. The mask tugged free from Wade’s face, lost in the tangle of the sheets.

“Just listen to you, baby.” He purrs, as his thumb rubs against your clit. Unable to help clenching around him, feeling how they drip out of you, “So fucking jealous, can’t remember the last time I was this full.”

There’s a low grunt from the other side.

“You really that desperate to get fucked, Wilson?” He drawls, fingers flexing against the hinge of your knee, “Just say when and where.”

“When.” Wade chirps, “Where.”

Logan laughs. Loose-limbed, a slow smile stretching across his face - stretching, as he yawns.

“Next time.”

Wade gives an aside glance.

“I’ll hold you to that, big boy.”

thank you for reading and for your patience! 💕 I have two more parts planned for them, and would love to have them up soon!

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