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teamred · 2 months

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any other way

✩‌ logan howlett/wolverine x reader | fluff | 1.8k

SUMMARY | in which your good friend, wade, ditches your planned movie night, but his roommate offers to watch one with you instead. however, logan ends up falling asleep on your shoulder.

WARNINGS | drinking, kissing, swearing, gets a little steamy/handsy

RATING | teen+

NOTES | it's funny... i've been a big x-men fan for a while, but i never really fell for logan until d&w. if this pops off, maybe i'll write more for him!!!

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“Wade, hurry up and let me in! A girl can only hold freshly popped popcorn for so—oh.”

Instead of your dear, annoying friend, it’s his gorgeous, rugged roommate who answers the apartment door instead. Your eyes sweep over him, taking a liking to how his brown plaid button-up drapes over his white tank top. His clothing choices compliment his sturdy frame and strong pecs. His facial hair is perfectly groomed and—

And it doesn’t help that you have just the teeniest, tiniest crush on him.

“Logan, hey!” you exclaim, a little too enthusiastically. “I didn’t know you were going to be here for movie night too.”

“Wade’s not here, bub,” Logan says, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms and a sympathetic half-smile.

“What?! That little shit said he’d be free tonight…” You sigh, shaking your head. “Well, it’s all good. I’ll just—”

“Did you want to watch a movie with me instead?” Logan offers. You think you hear a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Since you came out all this way?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother you. I’m sure you’re—”

“Darlin’,” he interrupts with a soft chuckle. Your heart stumbles at the sound. “I have never been more free on a Saturday night. You’re welcome to join me, but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Now your heart is melting over his kindness. You smile warmly. “I always feel comfortable around you, Logan.”

He returns the smile and gestures for you to come in, offering to take the popcorn and if you want anything as you remove your shoes.

“I got it, but thank you. A beer would be good,” you reply, settling in on one end of the couch in the living room. You glance around curiously. “Is Blind Al not home either?”

“Yeah,” Logan calls from the nearby kitchen, bending towards the open fridge to grab the drinks. “She’s getting, in her own words, ‘turned up’ at the casino tonight.”

You snicker as you browse through streaming services to pick a movie for tonight. Logan returns with a beer in each hand and you’re surprised when he takes the middle seat next to you. You catch a whiff of his scent and it is intoxicating–a blend of woody notes, perhaps leather and pine.

“So what’s the movie for tonight?” Logan asks, taking a sip from his bottle.

“Well, be honest with me here: Wade promised that we could watch this new movie that just released a few days ago, but it’s a romantic movie, so—”

“Of course,” he cuts in with a roll of his eyes, tossing a kernel into his mouth. “That’s his favourite genre.”

You deflate a little. “Okay, with that tone, I’m assuming I will have to change the movie choice.”

“No! Don’t change it because of me,” Logan quickly interjects. “We can watch whatever you want. I’m genuinely content to just sit here and do something other than watching reruns I’ve seen a million times before.”

You study him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he reassures you, nodding and flashing another smile. You will yourself to calm your racing heart and focus on finding the movie. Once you select it, you press play and relax into the couch cushions.

Out of nowhere, Logan places his arm around you, his hand slightly hovering above your shoulders. You stiffen at the unexpected move, unsure why he’s doing it. But then he quickly pulls back, shuffling a bit away from you.

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed. “It’s out of habit when I watch stuff.”

“You can leave your arm there,” you blurt out. You don’t even register the words coming out of your mouth. Where was this boldness coming from?

He quirks an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod fervently, rushing to grab your beer to steady your nerves. Taking a long sip, you try to force your body to relax again.

The first few minutes of the movie starts quite slow, but your eyes are glued to the screen to ensure you don’t miss the exposition. Just as you reach for the popcorn, so does Logan, and the back of your hands brush against each other.

“Sorry,” you both mumble, glancing at each other in awkwardness and something hanging in the air. He juts his chin out with a subtle smirk, gesturing you to go first. You grab a handful, and as he follows suit, his fingers graze against yours, causing you to shiver.

The air in the room is electric, and you wonder if the tension is just in your head or if Logan feels it too. The movie continues, but your thoughts are consumed by the warmth of his body so close to yours and the possibility of what might happen next.

Later into the movie, you freeze as you feel Logan leaning in closer. You turn your head, ready for what might happen–

But then, he goes completely lax, slouching into your shoulder and resting his head in a comfortable position.

“I should’ve chosen a different movie…” you think, shaking your head.

It’s hard to focus on the movie with this gorgeous being asleep on your shoulder (and the movie doesn’t seem to be that great anyway). Towards the end of the movie, your attention drifts completely and you indulge in how Logan sleeps. His soft snoring. The gentle squeezes he gives your shoulder as he dreams. The steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in and out.

Suddenly, Logan stirs and lifts his head, almost snorting up air cutely. He blinks groggily. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, gorgeous. Did I sleep through the movie?”

You hesitate, hung up on the fact that he called you gorgeous. Your cheeks prickle as you search for the right words to say.

“Yeah, you did,” you whisper with a small smile. “But it’s fine. It wasn’t that great anyway.”

“Mm, figures,” he mumbles. “Did you wanna watch another movie or—”

As he straightens up, you instinctively lean towards him, closing the gap between you two. Your noses practically touch.

“Or did you wanna do…” Logan’s voice is low and gravelly. You hold your breath and hold his gaze. “...something else?”

You barely nod, and he drags you into a searing kiss. His hands cup your cheek and neck with urgency. Soon enough, his tongue dips into your mouth, sending a jolt to your core.

Logan cradles your body and carefully positions you lower onto the couch. The weight of his body pressed up against you sends you into overdrive. His hands dive underneath your shirt, exploring your soft skin. The pressure of his body against yours leaves you breathless. Not only the pressure of his body, but also his—

“Winner winner, chicken dinner!”

Wade’s booming voice cuts through the front door like a tornado, forcing both of you to scramble away faster than opposing magnets. However, it’s too late; Wade has witnessed everything.

“Oh, my God, Blind Al, my plan worked! It fucking worked!” Wade squeals, jumping up and down.

“Oh, no. Are they butt-ass naked on the couch? Times like these, I’m grateful to be blind.”

“No, they’re thankfully fully clothed. But they were just dry humping the shit out of each other though.”

“You ditched movie night on purpose, you asshole!” you screech.

“Hey, you should be thanking me,” Wade retorts with a wink. “You and Wolvie always have had palpable sexual tension every time you were in a room together. Hell, even Laura agreed it’d be a good idea to set you two up.”

Logan and you exchange a sheepish smile, acknowledging the truth in Wade's words.

“Blind Al and I will just be basking in our casino winnings with a few drinks and then we’ll be out of your hair in a few. And then you two can carry on and fuck each other freely on the couch.”

“But keep it down, please,” Blind Al adds with a hint of desperation.

“I probably should get going now,” you chime in, eager to avoid the awkwardness. Logan quickly follows behind, walking you to the front door.

“I’m sorry about all this,” he says in sincerity.

You wave him off. “You never have to apologize for them. They’re like family; I’m used to them.”

“I didn’t know where the night was heading, but—” He turns around to check over his shoulder, lowering his voice and leaning in slightly. “—I’m glad Wade set us up.”

“Heard that!” Wade calls out from inside the apartment.

“Damn it,” Logan mutters, making you giggle. “Anyways, would you let me take you out on a proper date tomorrow night?”

You beam as you reply, “I’d love that.”

“Great, I’ll call you later.”

Logan steps outside of the apartment and closes the door behind him, pulling you in by your waist for another kiss. Innocent at first, but then he presses you up against the wall and his hands grips at your waist, extracting a few moans from you.

“Either get back inside or just go home with her rather than wall-fucking her outside of the apartment!” Wade’s muffled voice echoes through the thin walls.

Logan retreats slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. He keeps his voice low. “And not trying to put pressure on our date tomorrow, but if—”

“If things get heated, let’s go back to my place,” you finish his thought with a soft promise.

His eyes light up with a relieved smile. “You read my mind. Thank you.”

You smile into one last kiss, the world fading away as you savor the sensation of Logan’s mouth on yours.

Until Wade pops his head out through the door like a whack-a-mole you’re dying to hit. “Okay, seriously. I will offer you my bedroom, if you’re really that horny, you guys.” He calls out your name. “Also, did you know he can smell how horny you are?”

“I—what?” you stammer, blinking in confusion.

“Wade, shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps with gritted teeth. He faces you again with a gentle smile. “Have a good night, gorgeous. I’ll call you as soon as you get back home.”

Logan’s a man of his word, almost calling immediately as you stepped foot in your apartment (with Wade providing unnecessary commentary in the background, as always).

Later, as you get ready for bed, you can’t help but admit how grateful you were for Wade’s set-up. If it wasn’t for him, neither of you would’ve made a move; it would’ve progressed at a glacial pace.

Lying in bed and looking up at your bedroom ceiling, you think to yourself how tonight truly was perfect, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Smiling, you drift off to sleep, dreaming of what tomorrow’s date might bring.

ENDING NOTES | thank you so much for reading and giving some love! part two can be read here!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fluff #logan howlett fluff

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bi-writes · 5 months

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what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

4K notes · View notes

malavera · 1 month

Text

Peaches: “Would you be so kind in lending a hand?” (18+) — Logan Howlett

summary: the friendly old man neighbor of yours is helping you with your wash day

warning: the setting of this one-shot is AU no correlation to Wolverine & Deadpool, SMUT! MDNI, fingering, female oral receiving, age gap (legal), no use of Y/N, the use of pet name peach, sir kink, squirting

wc: 3.5k (well it's a full shot not a drabble ehe)

creds: i forgot where the divider is from, creds to the creator!

dedicating this one to my favorite authors!

@velvrei @wolverinesleftclaw @stark-ironman @lovelybucky1 @cyber333angel @dollverine @joelsgoldrush

peaches masterlist

The day had finally come when you decided enough was enough. The laundry had been sitting there for three days, staring at you from the corner of your room like a silent accusation. Today was the day you would conquer it. Armed with your resolve, you hauled the overflowing basket to the laundry room. But as fate would have it, the universe had other plans.

The washing machine, that steadfast appliance you’d trusted for years, chose this very moment to betray you. The once familiar hum was replaced by a groan, a sputter, and then—nothing. You stared at it, disbelief turning to frustration as you realized the mountain of clothes in your arms was going nowhere. Your favorite pair of undies, buried somewhere in the pile, would have to wait.

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the machine, its cool surface doing little to soothe your annoyance. Arms crossed, you dialed your father’s number, hoping for some semblance of a solution.

“Dad, the washing machine broke,” you said, half hoping he’d have a quick fix, half dreading his response.

There was a pause before he spoke, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Ask Logan for help, he’s pretty handy with stuff. I won’t be back until 8 PM tonight, buttercup.”

You nearly dropped the phone. Logan. Of course, it had to be him. The very thought of knocking on his door, asking him for help, sent a thrill of anxiety coursing through you. Why did it have to be him?

Logan Howlett—the man who occupied your thoughts far too often, the man who was the face of your wildest dreams. Just the mention of his name made your heart race. And now, you were supposed to ask him for help? The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor.

You ended the call, staring at the washing machine like it was some cruel joke. The burnt toast theory, they called it. Sometimes, when things went wrong, it was the universe’s way of steering you toward something better. But as you stood there, contemplating the inevitable encounter with Logan, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a blessing in disguise—or a test you weren’t sure you could pass.

Logan Howlett had been a fixture in your mind for five long months, ever since he moved into the neighborhood. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried himself with that effortless confidence; it was the way he seemed to have slipped so seamlessly into your life. Your dad, always quick to befriend a fellow drinker, had taken to him immediately. They were practically inseparable, sharing beers on the front porch, watching games in the living room, and even lingering over meals in the dining room.

And there you were, sneaking glances every time Logan was around, feeling that unmistakable flutter in your chest whenever he caught your eye.

Today, though, was different. Somehow, you found yourself standing on his porch, heart pounding as your fist hovered in mid-air. What were you thinking? Asking Logan for help—it felt too forward, too direct. But here you were, ignoring every ounce of self-doubt, raising your hand to knock on his door.

You barely had time to second-guess yourself before the door swung open. And there he was, the embodiment of everything that had been haunting your thoughts for months: tall, effortlessly sexy, his dark hair tousled just right. He was wearing a white shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, tucked into denim jeans that fit him perfectly. You couldn’t help but notice how the summer sun cast a warm glow on his skin, making the moment feel almost surreal.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice broke through your reverie, casual yet deep enough to send a shiver down your spine. He squinted against the sunlight, his expression shifting into one of familiarity. “I was about to come over. Your dad called and asked me to check on something.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind raced. “Yeah, the washing machine broke. Dad said you could help… Would you be so kind in lending a hand?”

You could hear your own voice, slightly strained as you tried to strike the perfect balance. Not too high-pitched, not too low. Not too eager, not too aloof. But before you could overthink it any further, Logan flashed you a small smile, one that made your heart do a little flip.

“Yeah, sure, Peach.”

And there it was—that damn nickname that never failed to turn your insides into mush. It started innocently enough, the day your dad brought home a bag full of peaches and peach-flavored drinks. Logan had been there, chuckling at the sight, and ever since, he’d called you “Peach” with that easy, teasing tone. Now, every time he said it, you couldn’t help but melt a little, even if you tried to play it cool.

As you turned to lead him to your house through the backyard, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of pushing you closer to the man who had taken up residence in your thoughts.

“It made a really loud noise and it was shaking really bad, the sound was a bit scary,” you admitted, your voice tinged with worry. “And also, can you check if my clothes are alright? Did it tear them off or something?”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, a low hum of consideration escaping him as he surveyed the situation. “Where did your dad put his tools?” he asked, his gaze already scanning the room.

“Oh, it’s right there,” you said, pointing towards the shelf against the wall. Determined to be helpful, you stood on your tippy toes, stretching to reach the toolbox. But before you could grasp it, Logan moved past you with ease, his hand already closing around the handle.

“Careful, Peach. It’s pretty heavy,” he murmured from behind you, his voice close enough to send a subtle shiver down your spine. His presence loomed over you as he reached up effortlessly, the scent of his cologne mingling with the warm summer air.

You stepped back, feeling a mix of flustered and grateful as he handled the heavy toolbox with ease, making you feel small and protected all at once.

“O-okay.” The stutter slipped out before you could stop it. Seriously? Get a grip, you scolded yourself internally. Trying to regain some composure, you quickly added, “I’m just—gonna… fix you something to drink.” You gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen, hoping to retreat before you embarrassed yourself further.

Logan nodded absentmindedly, his focus entirely on the washing machine that seemed to be on its last legs. He didn’t even glance your way, which was both a relief and a disappointment. You took a nervous step back, then another, finally turning and heading to the kitchen, hoping a moment away would help you steady your nerves.

Leaving his presence created an unfamiliar ache in your chest, a tug of reluctance you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if some part of you didn’t want to leave his side, didn’t want to be apart from the quiet strength that Logan exuded. The thought of retreating to the kitchen, of putting physical distance between you and him, felt wrong, almost unnatural.

You wanted to stay. You wanted to watch him work on the broken machine, to see those skilled hands in action, to listen to the steady, assured way he moved and spoke. But at the same time, you knew you couldn’t trust yourself around him. Not when your heart raced at every little interaction, not when just being near him made you feel so unsteady.

You didn’t have the confidence to be casual, to act like you weren’t hanging on his every word and gesture. And you certainly didn’t have the strength to face the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you every time you were close to him. So instead, you sought refuge in the kitchen, hoping the distance would help calm the storm inside you, even as it left you aching for more.

Twisting the faucet, you watched as the water streamed out, the steady flow almost hypnotic in its simplicity. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the gentle rush of water hitting the sink. You leaned forward, letting the coolness soothe your heated skin, and splashed your face with the cold water, hoping it would bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts.

For a moment, the shock of the cold jolted you back to reality, away from the overwhelming thoughts of Logan that had been swirling in your mind. You closed your eyes, letting the droplets drip down your face, trying to steady your breathing and collect yourself. It was just a broken washing machine, just a neighbor doing a favor.

You swung open the fridge, your hand instinctively reaching for your favorite peach-flavored soda. The cool metal of the can felt reassuring against your palm as you pulled it from its place. With a satisfying hiss, you cracked it open, the sweet, fruity scent immediately filling the air.

Reaching for a tall glass, you filled it with ice, the cubes clinking softly as they settled. Then, you poured the bubbly soda over them, watching as the fizzy drink cascaded down, swirling and dancing around the ice. After inserting a straw into the glass, you carefully picked it up, the cool condensation forming on the outside of the glass. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way back to where Logan was.

"Here you go," you announced, placing the glass on the nearby table. Logan turned his attention from the washing machine to you, his eyes briefly darting to the drink you’d set down. A smile curved on his lips, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Peach.”

“Ehe…” You offered a nervous smile in return, your cheeks heating up at the casual endearment. Trying to steady your fluttering nerves, you grabbed the straw and shoved it into your mouth with a little more force than intended. It was your way of silencing the awkwardness bubbling inside you, a desperate attempt to keep any embarrassing sounds from escaping.

“So, your dad’s going on a date later today, huh?” Logan’s voice was light, but he noticed the nervousness you were trying to mask. His intention was to ease the tension with casual conversation.

“Y-yeah, he’s working now, but that’s what I’ve heard,” you replied, nervously fiddling with the straw. You decided to sit on the edge of the table where Logan’s drink was, adjusting it carefully to avoid spills.

Logan glanced at you, then back at the washing machine, his smirk widening. “You okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you responded, a bit defensively.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve never been too thrilled about him dating. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of Logan’s question pressing on you. Taking a deep breath, you decided to let your guard down. “Well, it’s just… I’ve always felt like I have to compete for his attention. It’s silly, I know, but it’s hard when you’re used to being the center of someone’s world.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he gave you an understanding nod. The moment of connection hung between you as Logan turned his attention back to the washing machine. He worked with focused precision, his hands moving deftly as he made the final adjustments. The clinks and whirs of the machine were soon replaced by a steady, rhythmic hum.

“There we go,” Logan said with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The washing machine was back in action, its gentle whirl now a reassuring sound.

You let out a relieved sigh, watching the machine function smoothly. “Thank you so much, Mister Howlett. I really appreciate it.” you said, your gratitude sincere as you adjusted from your sitting position to stand up. You set down your now-empty glass on the table, the slight clink of the glass breaking the brief silence.

Hearing you address him as "Mister Howlett" sparked something within Logan—an unfamiliar, yet undeniable feeling. It was a sentiment he had been trying to avoid, one that stirred within him despite his best efforts to keep his distance. The formal address seemed to intensify the feelings he had been wrestling with, making them more pronounced.

You're not the only one who has a crush, he does too.

From the moment Logan had closed the trunk of his truck while moving into the neighborhood, you had been on his mind. He remembered the day vividly—watching you step out of your car in a beautiful white sundress that hugged your upper body and flowed gracefully. The way the dress accentuated your figure, combined with the ease of your movements, had captured his attention in a way he hadn’t anticipated. As you came knocking on his door with your dad beside you to welcome him into the neighborhood, those peach-flavored pie you brought had been lingering in his mind ever since. He wondered if you smell as good as that pie where he devoured in one full bite that night. And here you are, wearing the same white sundress that's gotten him obsessed with.

As Logan took a step forward, you instinctively stepped back, forgetting about the table behind you. Your hips brushed against it gently, causing a small jolt. Logan had intended to reach for the glass of your beverage, but his proximity brought him uncomfortably close.

With a casual yet deliberate movement, Logan took the glass from behind you, his body nearly brushing against yours. He lifted the glass in front of you, tilting his head slightly with a smirk. “Thanks, Peach,” he said, his voice low and warm.

Without breaking eye contact, he chugged down the drink, his gaze locked onto yours. The act was both confident and intimate, making the moment feel charged with unspoken tension. The shared space between you seemed to crackle with a newfound energy as you both stood there, the air thick with the lingering effects of the brief but intense connection.

You cleared your throat, feeling a flush of heat spread across your cheeks as you managed to wiggle your way out from the proximity of Logan. You made your way toward the washing machine, watching it work through the glass as your laundry tumbled inside.

“Tell me, Peach,” Logan’s voice came from behind, smooth and deliberate. “Is your taste as good as this peach soda?”

Your breath hitched, and your mind raced. Am I hearing this right? Is this a dream? You thought, trying to process his words. Despite the possibility of it being a dream, you couldn't bring yourself to face him. Instead, you leaned against the washing machine, the rhythmic vibrations grounding you.

“Um—W-what do you mean, s-sir?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely more than a whisper.

You could feel Logan’s presence closing in behind you, the air growing warmer and thicker as he approached. The vibrations from the washing machine seemed to pulse more intensely against your torso, amplifying the sensation of his proximity. Each step he took made your heartbeat quicken, your senses acutely aware of the space between you shrinking.

Logan’s shadow fell over you, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath, though not yet touching your skin, was close enough that you could sense its warmth.

“You wanna know what ‘m thinking, Peach?” He mumbles behind your ear. You wished he didn’t hear your shuddered breath and the swallowed saliva down your throat from the way he makes you nervous.

“I don’t think so, Mister Howlett.” you managed to reply, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to maintain your composure.

“Naw, why? Afraid you might like it?” You could feel the smirk slowly forming in his face.

“I-”

“I’m thinking of bending you against this washing machine, lift up your very short sundress and get on my knees. Slowly taking my time smelling that scent… of arousal from your pussy, where I know, she’s dying to be touched, to be fingered, to be fucked, by me.” You gasp once you feel the bulge from his rough jeans, teasingly grinding against your ass earning a chuckle from him as he continues,

“Oh yes I know, Peach. I know how much you want to feel this cock inside you. Should’ve known better to close your blinds at night when your delicate… fingers desperately trying to reach that high, because I’m always watching you, Peach. Even though you’re such a pain in the ass with that, Peach flavored pie, and that fucking beautiful smile. I wanna turn those smiles into tears… Tears of pleasure from me, fucking this cunt.” You gasped loudly as Logan roughly thrust his bulge against your ass, hitting you against the washing machine.

“L-Logan,” you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

“Call me, Sir,” Logan’s tone was laced with full authority, each word deliberate and commanding. You choked back a swallow before you corrected yourself.

"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about." You stood on your ground.

"Yeah? Let me remind you how it feels then, this time, with me." Logan grunted in your ears before you felt a rush of cold air blowing against your damped panties resulted from Logan lifting your skirt up. You whimpered once you feel his fingers grazing against your soaking wet cunt, earning a mocking tut from Logan.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Your cunt says otherwise, Peach." He rubs you through the panties before ripping them off of you, the sound piercing through the room.

Logan crouched on his knees, proving his promise to you the one where he'd like to take his time smelling you from down your legs up to your thighs, dragging his warm tongue on your delicate skin upwards earning a moan from you. Logan hummed once he connected his lips to your glistening pussy lips, his tongue swirling and lapping your gushing juices.

You feel like god had just granted you your wishes into doing this sinful things. You finally can experience the feeling of his tongue against your throbbing cunt that keeps on gushing. Logan moaned, while he laps your juices up like a dog. "You taste just as I imagined, peach-flavored cunt." He murmured against your pussy.

A rosy hue crept across your cheeks hearing his statement. "Come on, Peach. Gimme more." Logan breathed out, his two hands that were gripping your thighs pushed and lifted you upward attempting you to bend over more over the top of the washing machine. Spreading your legs wide, you moaned out loud once you feel his tongue crazily lap your pussy like a dog in thirst.

"S-sir.." You squeaked, feeling yourself close.

"Hmm, yeah, give it to me, Peach." Logan grunted, burying his face even more.

"Ngh, I'm gonna-" Before you could finish that sentence, you froze as you heard your dad's voice calls out to you.

"Buttercup! I'm home, have you managed with the laundry yet?" He hollers from the other room. You gasped while Logan didn't even budge, he kept resuming his action.

"Y-yes, Dad! Everything's good now!" You holler back, holding yourself back from moaning.

"Do you need any help, darling?" You heard the sound of footstep, your eyes widened and hurriedly answer, "No- No, Dad! Everything's good, I'll be coming in a second." Logan smirked.

"Okay darling, I'm gonna get some rest." Your dad holler back as his footsteps fading away. You sighed in relief before you gasped when you feel Logan entering two fingers inside your cunt.

"What a naughty little girl, she needs to make herself cum before she gets back to being the dotting daughter huh?" You whimper to his words.

"Please, sir. Don't stop, it feels so good.."

"Yeah? Wait till you feel my cock." Logan vowed. He curled his fingers inside you, effortlessly flicking your g-spot before he stood back up on his feet, leaning against your back. He gently guide you to stand on your feet even though it's impossible for you as you're still in daze from his fingers still working their magic.

Logan whispered all kinds of filthy things in your head to get you to reach your high. "Is this just like what you imagined, peach?" — "Feels so good yeah?" — "Yes it does. Are you gonna cum for me?" — "Yeah come on, almost there, I know," — "Make a mess on my fingers, baby."

As you choked a loud moan, Logan's other hand went to silenced you while you came gushing down on his fingers. Your whole body shook while Logan holds you in place as you're coming down your high.

"There you go, good girl." You panted once you've gained your strength to stand on your own, you turned around and to find him smirking, a notable wet droplet covered some parts of his jeans as you now just learned, that you squirted on him a little.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, his gaze never leaving yours as he tasted what's remained of you on his fingers.

"Hmm, taste just like a peach."

let me know if you want me to start the journey for Logan & Peach 😉

#Malavera #Logan and Peach #Logan howlett smut #logan howlett smut oneshot #logan howlett series #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #deadpool x wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine #hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut

2K notes · View notes

nanaslutt · 7 months

Text

It's not a wet dream

cont: fem reader, somnophillia, pre-established consent, oral(m!r), dirty talk, Geto has sensitive balls, teasing, deep throating, overstimulation, cum eating

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

You winced when Suguru's door made a loud creek as you pulled it open, slipping inside his room slowly. You turned the doorknob all the way down before pushing it back, closing the door. You were enveloped in darkness once more, save for the small orange lamp in the corner of Suguru's room. He must've been too tired or drunk to turn it off last night.

Suguru was out until almost 4 am celebrating Gojo's birthday with Nanami and a few other friends of theirs. Nanami said he would keep an eye on Geto and make sure he got home and an appropriate time, but when you heard the two men drunkenly stumbling their way through yours and Geto's apartment in the middle of the night, you surmised that Nanami had gotten pressured into drinking more than he said he was going to.

You were almost impressed. After all, it took a lot to knock Nanami Kento out. You had to be careful making your way through the living room and into Geto's room, trying not to trip on the rug and fall to the ground, afraid of waking Nanami.

You sighed a breath of relief when you made it to his room without making a sound. You weren't sure about Nanami, but Suguru was a heavy sleeper. He could sleep through the end and rebirth of the world. Which made your little plan perfect.

It was a little earlier than you normally get up on weekends, but a certain dream about your long-haired boyfriend woke you up with a burning fire between your thighs. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous though. You knew Geto had told you he was okay with this kind of thing, his exact words being, "You can do whatever you want to me pretty girl, I'm okay with anything as long as it's you." but even with that, you had made no attempts to try anything.

You shook your head remembering his prior words from weeks ago, your face heating up at the thought. Your eyes immediately found his strong body, sprawled out on the bed. Suguru was only clad in his boxers as he lay on his back, one knee bent and leg hiked up, one arm by his side, and the other underneath his head, cradling it.

His hair was down completely, the dark strands falling gracefully down his shoulders and on the white sheets underneath him. He looked so peaceful, handsome face completely relaxed and tipped to the side, revealing his strong jawline and the perfect strong slope of his pointed nose.

You swallowed hard, you were starting to see the appeal in this. He was completely at your mercy, and he liked it. You released a shaky breath as you dragged your eyes across his chiseled body, completely bare for you to look at. You couldn't tell if Geto had a boner or not, you could see the outline of his impressive cock from where you stood at the end of his bed, but unless you felt it, you wouldn't know. He always was a shower.

You bit your lip before crossing your arms over your body and grabbing along the bottom of your shirt, pulling it off of your body. Your tits laid bare into the air of the room, the bottom half of you only clad in a thin pair of black panties, basic, Suguru's favorite.

You carefully placed your hand on the end of his bed and crawled onto the sheets, going as slow as possible to not wake him so soon. If he woke up once you had his cock in your mouth, fine, but you had to have some fun with him first. His legs were spread just enough to give you the perfect spot to lie down between them. Your tummy and chest rested on his soft comforter which had been shoved down the bed, only covering half of his shins and his feet.

The thought of Geto kicking off his sheets in his sleep because of the heat made you smile. His face probably looked so grumpy and uncomfortable.

You tentatively placed your hands down on his hip bones, rubbing your thumbs in small circles against them. Geto stayed completely still, making you release the breath you didn't even know you were holding. You decided to test your luck further. You extended your arms, rubbing up his naked torso while you rested your head against his thigh, watching your hands move over his porcelain skin.

Your fingers traced the indents of his abs all the way up to the bottom of his paks before you started slowly sliding them back down, this time caressing the side of his body, over his ribs. You noticed his cock jump behind the confines of his boxers as you touched his burning skin, making a mischievous smile grace your features.

You dragged your fingers down and down until you reached his sharp v-line. Adding a little more pressure, you traced the deep indents, resulting in another twitch of his cock. You bit your lip, dropping your eyes down to his crotch which was eye level with you. It was steadily stirring to life as you ran your fingers along the hem of his boxers, teasing him.

Suguru had the sexiest happy trail that started just below his belly button, you couldn't get enough of it. You lightly scratched your nails down the trail of hair, going past the hem of his boxers and over the material, ever so slightly grazing the head of his cock before you dragged them back up, repeating that process a few more times.

Suguru's abs tightened before relaxing, his cock throbbing in tandem. He was starting to feel it. You raised your head off of his thigh and leaned forward, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the shaft of his dick. He wasn't fully hard, but he was getting there.

With that, you tucked your fingers underneath the band of his boxers and started sliding the material down far enough to where his cock and balls were out. His cock twitched heavily against his thigh when you exposed it to the air, removing him from his confines. Suguru turned his head to the other side of the room, his eyebrows ruffling almost unnoticeable before his relaxed expression was back on his face.

You kept a watchful gaze on his face as you reached out to grab his twitching cock. It was stirring like it had a mind of its own, eager for relief. You wrapped your hand around the midsection of his half-hard cock and slowly stroked your hand down his shaft before going back up. A bead of pre-cum dripped out from the head, smearing on your hand as you stroked him off, easing the slide.

Suguru's abs tightened repeatedly before relaxing each time you jerked your hand up and down slowly. You paused your movements, grabbing him at his midsection before you released your thumb from him and started rubbing tight circles around his frenulum. Geto's breath hitched, his eyebrows furrowing again made you wonder if he was going to wake up, but he stayed knocked out.

"Good boy." You whispered, sliding your hand up to jerk off his sensitive tip, focusing all of your attention there. A soft grunt left your boyfriend's throat, the corner of his lip twitching with it. You couldn't help but cross your legs over one another, bringing some relief to the burning heat between your thighs.

Geto was stirring more now, legs and abs flexing, more soft, barely there sounds leaving his throat. He wasn't going to stay asleep for much longer. Geto was now fully hard, his thick cock straining strongly agaisnt your hand as you rubbed his soft tip, making more pre-cum spill from the tip. Squelching noises rang in your ears, making your heartbeat speed up. The sound was so lewd.

Sliding your hand down to the base of his cock, you grabbed his hip with your free hand and angled his cock slightly down to your mouth. You stuck out your tongue and let your hot breath tease his cock, making it twitch harshly before you gave it a few soft taps against your tongue, the small taste of it alone making your tastebuds erupt with the salty-sweet flavor of his cum.

Wasting no more time, you took him into your mouth, wrapping your lips around his cock. Geto's body jerked violently at the feeling of you instantly taking as much of him into your throat as you could. You bobbed your head up and down on him, using the grip you had around the base of his cock to smear your saliva onto the rest of him.

Suguru groaned when his tip hit the back of your throat, the feeling making your eyes water as you fought back a cough. You pulled off of him completely, your hand jerking him off quickly and smoothly with the added wetness as you dropped your head down to his balls. You took one of his balls into your mouth, rolling your tongue around it softly the way he always begs you to when you suck him off.

You should've guessed this would be what woke him up. Geto's bent leg straightened out as he stirred from his sleep, the dark-haired man almost immediately feeling the pounding in his head from his awful hangover. But there was something else along with that sensation, something that overwhelmed it in a positive, pleasureful way.

Geto rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand while the other went down to grab his cock, or at least try. He was met with the feel of hair against his hand, his fingers splaying out along the top of your head. "Oh fuuuuuck, baby?" Geto groaned, his hips thrusting shallowly into the air, fucking his dick into your hand. Geto dropped his head down to look at the scene that was unfolding below him.

There was still sleep flooding his eyes, making his vision slightly blurred but he couldn't mistake the sight of your gorgeous face, sucking on his balls while you jerked him off. "Oh baby, oh fuckk..." Geto groaned, his jaw falling open at the sight before he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

You unlatched your lips from around his sack with a wet popping sound, turning your head right away to face him with a dopey, cock drunk smile. "Good morning Sugu, how are you feeling?" You asked, not giving him a second to answer before you replaced your hand with your mouth. You took his cock into your throat with ease, your hand that was jerking him off splaying out on his pelvis around the base of his cock as you sucked him off with no hands.

"Holy fuck, oh fuck, so tighttt" Suguru groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair at the feeling of your hot mouth around him. You kept your eyes on him as you bobbed your head up and down, humming around him. The vibrations were getting sent straight to his balls, already readying to spill his seed. "Good now baby, s-so good, ohmygod so good." Suguru groaned, trying to answer your question but getting swept away by the pleasure.

"I fucking love you so much, holy shit." The man groaned in his deep, sleepy voice. You had to fight back a smile, not wanting him to feel any teeth as you sucked him off. "Keep going, s-suck my balls again baby, please." He begged. His voice was so much deeper than usual, it was so raspy and needy, it made you grind down into the bed, rubbing your clit against the inside of your thighs pressed so tightly together.

You released his cock from your mouth with a cute "ahhh-" sound before you were leaning down again to suck his balls into your mouth. Geto's eyes rolled back in his head as he released a long groan, his hand pressing you harder against them. He caught you off guard when he wrapped his hand around yours that was jerking him off, speeding up your pace.

His hand was shaky and jerky, and it had no rhythm, Suguru just needed to feel like he was doing something because he was feeling so much. He was so overwhelmed with pleasure, and so early in the morning after drinking so much the night before- you couldn't blame him for being so overstimulated and disoriented.

"Yeah baby, yeah baby, yeah baby, harder, suck 'em harder-" Geto slurred through his teeth, lips pursing around them. His hand stiffened over your own as his body went rigid, almost on the brink of his orgasm. You moaned around him, unable to keep your own pleasured noises down from how good making him feel good felt. Geto's thighs pressed together around your body, the muscles under the skin starting to tremble as his nails scratched against your scalp.

His head thrashed back and forth against the bed, his eyes squeezed tightly together, eyebrows knit with them. His back started arching ever so slightly with his impending orgasm, his groans turning into short gasps as his mouth dropped open and closed like a fish out of water.

"Don't stop pretty don't fucking stop, 'm gunna cum, c-cumming cumming!" Geto whimpered out his words, the last word being your name coming through his lips cracked and ruined before you felt the first hot rope of his cum land on the side of your face.

You moaned around him, sucking harder and squeezing his cock tightly as you worked him through his orgasm. Geto groaned as he released his seed, his hand stilling over yours which kept jerking him off, milking all the cum out of his cock. "T-thank you, baby, ohhhh fuck- thank you-" Geto groaned through his high. His balls clenched and throbbed in your mouth as he released his seed, even more so as you ran your tongue over them, encouraging him.

Geto's, and your own hand was covered in his cum, as the last few spurts of his seed had been weaker, merely dribbling out over your fingers from his tip. Once Geto was throughout done cumming, you detached from around his balls, letting them rest empty and wet against his thighs. Geto was still fighting to catch his breath, his hand on the back of your head falling to the nape of your neck as he no longer had any strength left in his body to hold you tight.

Releasing his cock, his hand falling off of yours, you wiped his cum on the bedsheets next to him. Crawling up his body, you straddled his hips, your panties undoubtedly getting soaked with his leftover cum as his softening cock pressed agaisnt your cunt. Suguru's unfocused eyes found yours, his jaw open and a pretty deep blush spread across his cheeks.

Smiling, you swiped your fingers across the cum on your face, pulling them away to look at his mess. Suguru watched you carefully, knowing exactly what you were planning to do even despite his fucked out state. You brought your fingers to his mouth, to which he eagerly accepted. He took your cum coated fingers into his mouth, his tongue licking off his own seed and swallowing greedily before he released them, letting you pull them back.

"How did that taste Sugu?" You asked teasingly, holding his chiseled cheeks with both of your hands, wiping the long stray hairs off of his face that were stuck there by his sweat. "Fucking delicious." God he was so shameless, it made your cunt throb with need. "How did I end up with such a dirty man?" You asked, fighting back a laugh as you shook his limp head back and forth, a dopey smile on his lips.

"You love how nasty I am, get's 'ur pussy all wet," Suguru said, his words slurred together and ridden with sleep. "Damn right it does," you answered, leaning in to kiss him softly against his lips before you pulled away, sitting up on him.

You placed your hands on his chest, letting your cunt rest firmer against his spent cock, an action that made him groan deep in his throat. "You gonna help me out too? Gonna let me sit on your face for waking you up so nice?" You whispered, teasing the skin of his pecs with your nails.

Suguru licked his lips and tipped his head to the side, his hands finding purchase on your thighs before he gave them a squeeze, his eyes squinting as he smiled. "Of course princess, come up here 'n give me a taste."

5K notes · View notes

latenightdaydreams · 5 months

Note

Please write about curvy reader with her 3 inches dick husband, Konig is reader's neighbor then helps her what's real sex feel like with his 10 inches cock😩

Can you imagine to difference😮‍💨 I'd want to cuck my husband🤭🤭🩷🩷

Let Me Love You Right (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, oral, p in v, cheating

2.9k word count

You’ve been married to Chris for eight years now, you both got married young and he’s your first and only. To say sex has been lack-luster… would be kind. You both waited for marriage, Chris’s idea. That meant you fell in love with him FOR him. You try to remind yourself that every day since finding out Chris only has a 3-inch cock.

Every time you have sex, you lie there looking at the ceiling while Chris moans loudly and gets off in six minutes. He doesn’t know where the clit is either and his finger game is weak. He just isn’t good in bed. The fact you catch him staring at a very slender woman online adds to it all, you’re a thick and curvy woman. He makes you feel rejected so it’s hard to enjoy anything with him. At some point you began to question if maybe you’re truly asexual because you became so turned off to sex and to him.

Then one day, your new neighbor moved in. You were sitting on your couch sipping coffee as you watched a moving truck pull in. You thought nothing of it and went on with your day. Your husband left for work so you decided to go outside and water your garden. You haven’t worked the last three years; you both have been trying for a baby, but nothing has happened yet. You’ve learned how to fill your time with small hobbies.

You got dressed in comfortable clothes and went outside. You turned the water on and began to pull the hose. As you pulled, it got stuck. Assuming you were outside alone, you began to curse the water hose, bending over to fix it and struggling. Just then you heard the sexiest Austrian accent from behind you.

König was about to go on a walk when he saw you leave your house, wearing tight black biker shorts and a tight white t-shirt. Your body was…perfection. He stood watching your breast bounce slightly with every step you take. Your hips sway so gracefully side to side. He picked the right house to move into. Hearing your struggle snapped him out of his lustful day dreams and began to approach you.

“Do you need help? Miss?”

He looked down at you, his eyes traveling over the curve of your plump ass. Imagining how soft it would feel to squeeze. When you turned to face him, his eyes dropped to your breast. Again, his mind went to imagining his hands squeezing them. He’s a man with big hands, and your breasts look like the perfect size to fill them.

As you turn your eyes meet the most beautiful sleepy pale blue eyes you’ve ever seen. The man towered over you as if you were a tiny ant. His body is massive and solid looking. His blonde hair was shining in the bright morning sun. His face is handsome, rugged, with some scarring. You felt yourself get turned on for the first time in years.

“N- no, I’ve got it. Thank you.” You caught his eyes wandering over your body.

“I’m König, I just moved in next door.” He held his hand out for you to shake.

“I’m y/n.” You put your hand in his, it looked so small. “The accent, are you German?”

“Austrian.” His thin lips pulled into a small smirk.

“Oh, sorry.” You chuckled from embracement.

“It’s okay, the accents sound similar.” He chuckled as well.

You both stood there for a while just letting your eyes drink the other in. You could cut the tension with a knife. His blue eyes returned to yours and he gave you a small smile. The rest was history. Everyday after your husband leaves for work, you’d see each other. Drink coffee together, he’d help you garden, just talking about your personal lives. Nothing sexual. That was until today.

Sitting at his kitchen table with him as you sip your coffee and chat just like you both always seemed to do. Today was different though, you both being more outwardly flirty with one another.

“Your husband is a lucky man Maus, I’d love a curvy housewife.” His eyes travel down to your cleavage before back up to your eyes.

His comment makes you blush, you playfully nudge his arm. “Yeah right.”

“No really, I bet he is all over you.”

“Not really,” you tap your nails on the mug in your hands.

“No?” König tilts his head, he’s aware that he’s prying but he can’t fathom a man having you and not being obsessed.

“Nope…” You look into his eyes. You debate on whether or not you want to disclose all of your marital issues to him or keep it light.

“May I ask why?” His eyes drop to your fingers tapping. He reaches his hand out and grabs your off the mug, caressing your soft skin with his thumb. “You can talk to me.”

“Promise you won’t judge or laugh?”

“Promise, Maus. You have my word.”

“So, when we dated, we never did anything sexual past kissing. Like traditional and all.”

König nods his head along, listening to your words as he sips on his own mug of coffee. His eyes follow your lips as you speak.

“When we actually… you know…fucked,” You and König chuckle, “He pulled it out and was incredibly small.”

König raises his eyebrow with curiosity, “Small?”

“Small,” you nod, “like three inches small.”

König sat with his jaw dropped looking at you in disbelief. Three inches? He’s bigger than that when soft. No way three inches can get past how thick you are…

“And how was that?” His hand squeezes yours slightly.

“Terrible. I didn’t feel anything. I’m pretty sure I’m still a virgin because it barely went in…” You chuckle slightly at how embarrassing this is. “We’ve been trying for a baby for YEARS now and nothing because I just have no sex drive. On top of all of this, I catch him gawking at skinny women constantly. Women that look nothing like me.”

You take a deep breath, feeling like you’ve been ranting. König still caresses your hand with his thumb.

“I think you’re beautiful. Perfect just the way you are.” He says in a soft and tender voice. “I also think it’s a shame he doesn’t please you sexually.”

You give him a warm smile before your eyes move to your hand in his. You look at the drastic size difference between both of your hands before looking back up to him.

“Why don’t you leave? Find someone new? Someone compatible?” König means himself.

“He’s all I’ve ever known.”

“Don’t you think you deserve romance? Passion?”

You can feel your face getting hot as he asks you this. You do want it. He is the reason the spark of desire was reignited in your life to begin with, but you can’t just tell him this. You can’t just have sex with your neighbor.

All the while you are inside your head, König looks at you. He takes in your features, the way you rest your head in your palm, how soft your lips look.

“Maus?”

“Hm?” You look up after being lost in thought. “Oh, I guess. I actually had a period of thinking I was asexual because I just didn’t have that desire or drive.”

“Do you still feel this way?”

“No,” you look back down at your hand in his.

A short period of time passes before König speaks up, “Do you find me attractive?”

Your eyes shot up to his shocked he was so forward. You hesitate for a while because you’re still married. Saying the truth might open up pandora's box, but you feel stuck, stagnant.

“I do…” you respond meekly.

“I think you’re attractive too.” König lets that linger in the air before continuing. “I desire you, and I think you feel the same.”

König tightened his hand around yours. He reached out with his other hand and caressed your face. You both look at each other for a while before you speak up.

“I do.” You lean into his hand that caresses your face.

“I don’t mean to cross lines, but I think I could love you better than your husband. I could appreciate your body better. I could fuck you better.”

His hand moves from your face to the back of your head, his fingers combing through your hair and grasp firmly. He tilts your head back slightly as his eyes roam down the curves of your jawline and neck. You felt a heat rush over your body.

König stands and walks closer to you, leaning in and kissing your neck tenderly. The warm sensation of his lips sends a chill down your spine. You don’t stop him even though you know you should. This would break your husband, but you don’t care.

Kissing up your neck to your ear he whispers, “Let me worship you, bitte.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

You’re still worried that it’s a you problem. What if you just don’t like sexual encounters?

König chuckled, “I can make you cum. Don’t worry.”

Your cheeks go hot as you laugh nervously. He pulls away and gently pulls you by your hand, “Komm mit mir”

You stand and follow him through his house to his bedroom, his bed a massive king size bed. The bedsheets are a dark gray color with a black comforter. He gently guides you to the room and lays you on the bed. Leaning over you, his lips find yours as you share a deep passionate kiss. His lips made yours actually tingle; you’ve never felt that before. His hands begin to trace the curve of your waist to your hip before moving up to your breast and squeezing.

König breaks the kiss and moves off of the bed. He gently takes your shoes off your feet and places them neatly by the bed. His eyes traveled over your body before pulling his shirt off to expose his physique to you. He can see the desire in your eyes, causing him to smile.

As he went to reach for the waistband of your leggings, you stopped him.

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

“I’ll love it, trust me.” He reassures you in a low soft tone.

Nodding your head, you let go of his hands and let him take them off. His eyes glide over your juicy thighs and the light blue cotton panties you’re wearing. Your legs are a little stubbly, you weren’t expecting to do this. You feel slightly embarrassed by the hair, but König doesn’t seem to mind as he glides his hands up your legs once they’re bare. His lips kissing from your calf up to your soft thighs; once there he begins to nibble on the soft flesh.

“Mien Gott, you’re so soft.” He whispers as he rests his kisses on your thighs more.

“I’m sorry I didn’t shave-”

“It’s natural. I don’t mind hair Maus.” He smirks.

You relax back on the bed as his hands go up to the elastic band of your underwear and pull it off. His eyes falling on the small bush between your legs as he smiles. He can’t wait to bury his face in it.

“Are you okay?” König asks as his eyes meet yours.

“Yeah,” You look down at him as he begins to spread your legs apart. Your heart beat is pounding and, in this moment, you begin to think about the life you wanted to build with Chris but then, oh god. You drop your head back on the bed.

König sticks his tongue out and begins to lightly flick over your clit. Instantly your legs begin to tremble and you moan loudly. Your hands find his hair and comb your fingers through it. You can’t believe oral sex can be this good. König stops licking your clit to suck it.

“No, no, please lick it.” You look down again, begging in a pathetic voice.

König nods and goes back to flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit. You had a long morning of sweating so your natural musk is strong and König is savoring the smell. Listening to your loud moans he slowly moves his finger to your pussy and teases the entrance. Slowly slipping his finger in your gasp. He loves the reactions you’re giving. It’s insane to think you’ve gone your whole life without feeling this pleasure.

“König,” you moan out loudly as he begins to pump his finger in and out of you quickly, your back arching. A new sensation consumes you as you scream out, your body trembling. König closed his eyes, smirking, and enjoying hearing you orgasm.

He pulls back and moves his finger once you relax. You prop yourself on your elbows and look at him, wondering why he stopped.

“Take your shirt off, Liebling.” König’s voice dripping with lust.

You sit up and pull your shirt over your head before reaching behind you to take your bra off. König watches eagerly to see your breast for the first time. Watching them full and heavy, come out from your bra makes his mouth water even more. He can’t believe how perfect you are.

König begins to pull down his jeans and you watch, jaw dropping once you see the outline of his erection. He pulles his boxer briefs down completely and you see his hard cock full for the first time. Not only is it thick but it's long. You can’t help but to stare and König notices.

“Don’t be scared, I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.”

“How…how big are you?”

“Uh, ten inches, I think. A little over. But don’t worry, I won’t push you.”

“Ten?”

König laughs and walks to the bed and lays beside you. He moves his body so that you’re resting close to him while he is on his side. He leans down and kisses your breast, slowly making his way to your nipple to suck on it while he is lifting your leg up with one hand, and moving his cock to rub your pussy with the other.

“Are you ready?”

“I am.” Your voice is weak with pleasure of him touching you.

Moving his mouth from your nipple he begins to kiss your lips. He rests your leg over his body to keep your legs spread as he wraps that arm underneath the back of your head. He breaks the kiss to look at you as the other hand still on his cock slowly pushes into your slick tight cunt. König’s breath goes shaky from the pleasure it’s giving him. He slides his hand up your leg and holds it up for a better angle.

You look back at him and your hands grasp whatever they can find, his pillow and his forearm. Your eyebrows knit together as you moan out his name. His cock pushing deep inside of you like you’ve never felt before. Your walls clench tightly around his fat cock as you feel stuffed for the first time ever.

König begins to thrust into you quickly, his eyes traveling to watch your breast bounce with the motion. Panting hard as his body begins to glisten with sweat. Your sweet moans and sopping wet cunt driving him to his breaking point.

“Y/n,” König moans as he leans down to kiss your lips.

You move your hand from his forearm to his jaw eagerly pressing his lips into yours harder. Moaning into his mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips and begins to circle around every corner of your mouth.

You feel the same overwhelming feeling of pleasure, you know you’re about to cum. You try to turn your head to let out moans but König moves his hand from your leg to your face to keep you kissing him, his tongue dancing with yours as you begin to orgasm.

Without warning König pulls out and steps off the bed. Your body is still trying to calm down. You look at him as he grabs your legs and drags you to the edge of the bed. He rests your legs over his shoulders as his hands grasp your hips. He slips his cock back into your needy pussy and begins to thrust as hard as he can.

Your back arches and you reach out grabbing the bed sheets as you loudly moan König’s name. König has sweat dripping from his forehead as he looks down at you not being able to handle his cock.

“You can take it, Maus, I’m going to cum.”

“Please, cum. Please fuck your cock is so- big.” You moan now looking up at him. Your face contorted from the pleasure.

“Beg for it more.”

“Please cum, please cum in my tight little pussy.”

“Oh, fuck ja, mehr!”

“Please cum in me.” You whimper out as his thrust picks up even more, the sound of his hips slamming into your ass fills the room.

König listens to you beg, watching your eyes glaze over with a lustful look. He nods his head as you beg him to fill your precious little pussy full of his cum. He does.

“Y/n! Fuck!” König moans out, dropping his head back as his cock throbs deep inside of you.

“Hey sweetie, did you have a good day today?” Chris asks as he walks to you and kisses your cheek.

“Yeah, I did.” You sit still thinking about König, excited for tomorrow.

“Did you do something different with your skincare routine? You look like you’re glowing.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, whatever it is, you should keep doing it.”

“Oh, I will.” You smile, holding your secret.

1K notes · View notes

peachdues · 4 months

Note

That tengen picture unleashed something inside me-

His fingers knuckle deep inside while he listens to your symphony of moans..

After he's done he licks them clean but he isn't done, nights still young after all

bestie, we are on the same page. And because I’m feeling a certain type of way, enjoy this scene from Tengen’s upcoming installment of Tell Me to Stop

VIOLENT DELIGHTS — NSFW SNEEK PEEK

bodyguard!Tengen x Assassin!Reader • enemies to lovers AU

A/N: giggling and kicking my feet rn.

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • fingering • edging • Tengen referring to Reader as a villain (affectionate) • rough sex • alley sex

“You’re a bastard.” But the ferocity of your insult is weakened by the way your back arches against the rugged stone of the alley wall; how you widen your thighs, a soft moan vibrating on your lips as Uzui sinks another finger into your wet heat.

The silver-haired asssassin only smirks as he leans in, close enough that the slightest movement would mean his lips would brush against yours.

He stills, leaving less than a millimeter between your mouths.

“But I am yours,” his breath is sweet and warm as it fans over your face. “And I’ll make you mine, even if I die trying.”

It is difficult to focus on anything but the hand between your thighs, pushed down the front of your trousers that he’d hastily untied when he’d cornered you in this dark alleyway.

Thick. The Sound Assassin’s fingers are so gods’ damned thick. He’d had you whimpering from just one, sliding in and out of your honeyed warmth with ease, your damn body betraying your desperate hunger for his.

The presence of the second finger stroking along your inner walls with each languid push of his hand has you gritting your teeth as the pleasure he bestows becomes edged by the faintest hint of discomfort.

It is maddening, how easily your body gives into his cursed touch. So much so that it sinks into your skin, ignites an itch that grows more incessant with each heaving breath.

You seek to take out some of your frustrations on his mouth. You stretch up on your toes, biting back a whimper at the way the tension in your legs and the new arch in your body pushes those wretched fingers deeper into your body.

Your hand seizes the nape of his neck and tries to jerk him down toward you.

Uzui tenses for a moment, his eyes widening before his mouth settles into a smirk, and he pulls back.

Those damnable magenta eyes flash with amusement at your responding snarl as you try and pull him down again, all to no avail.

“If it’s my lips you desire, then you’ll have to beg for them, sweet devil.”

The rough cobblestone of the wall scrapes against your back as you push harder into him. Your fingers twist harshly in his hair and you yank his head forward. “Kiss me, you damn brute —“

Your legs spasm as Uzui crooks his fingers inside you until he’s pressing directly on that rough patch of flesh deep inside your innermost wall — the one that had made you sob as he’d bullied it with the thick head of his cock weeks ago, when you’d thrown him down and taken him under the stars.

“Ah ah,” Uzui tuts, and the smug set of his mouth threatens to boil your blood. “Beg nicely.”

The slow, torturous massage of his fingers against that damn spot forces a trickle of drool from the corner of your mouth. Your tongue grows far too swollen, you head far too fogged, to even try and form the request he seeks.

Uzui, it seems, does not care that his hand is fucking you into a dumb stupor.

“Is your pride so great that you cannot muster a simple ‘please?’” He jeers, his eyes flashing with both lust and challenge.

He smirks, revealing a row of pearly white teeth as your thighs begin to quiver around his hand, your inner walls fluttering around each measured stroke of his fingers.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re about to come, aren’t you?” And his grin widens at the way you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, desperate to hold in the soft, breathy moans he knows you want to make. “Yeah, you are.“

His fingers wrench cruelly out from between your legs, leaving you with nothing but the ache of a rapidly fading high. But before you can howl you protest, before you can curse his name and his mother for the insult of his birth, Uzui flips you around and slams you into the alley wall.

His hand forces space between your groin and the stone, and without warning, he plunges his fingers right back into your soaking heat, clenching heat.

The moan rumbling in your throat feels distant and foreign as your eyes roll back. Uzui resumes his messy, hurried movements as though he hadn’t broken pace to begin with, and soon, your legs are vibrating where they’re pressed against the wall.

A sharp prodding against your backside brings you back down to earth long enough to realize Uzui is grinding wantonly against you, the rotation of his hips matching each thrust of his fingers.

There is no where for you to go; no where to escape. Not when your front is mashed against the alley wall, pinned in place by the heavy, suffocating mass of the Sound Assasin at your back.

Uzui’s teeth catch the lobe of your ear. “I know you, my darling nemesis. I know your body better than my own.”

The rational part of you screams to bite back; to fight, to show him exactly how he doesn’t know you at all, and how he’s an idiot for believing otherwise. But then, Uzui adds a third finger inside you, and the resulting stretch and burn between your legs is nearly as great as it had been when you’d first impaled yourself on his cock, all those weeks ago.

It was a sensation you’d been chasing ever since, only to be bitterly disappointed upon realization that no tavern boy, no cocky palace sentinel, could ever compare to the sheer mass of the King’s closest guard.

Resigned, you brace one palm flat against the stone wall, willing the bite of the rock against your skin to keep you grounded even as the silver-haired guard’s fingers threaten to send you free falling from some internal ledge. The other grasps wildly behind you in search of him, clutching at his hip and pulling him closer.

Uzui groans his approval into the side of your head, and he allows his great weight to smother you against the wall as he leans forward.

“Do you think I could have forgotten how it feels to have you climax around me?” His thumb swirls that bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs as his fingers continue to pump steadily in and out of you. “Do you truly think I don’t spend my nights imagining you, perched atop me, using my cock the way you desire? That the memory of your face screwed up in pleasure — the feeling of your divine cunt wrapped around me — doesn’t haunt my every waking thought?”

He plunges his fingers inside you, all the way to his third knuckle. “You must answer for the torture you’ve inflicted, you cruel, wicked creature.”

You cry out right as Uzui strokes that inner spot once more, your hips twisting and grinding desperately against his hand as the thumb working your bead increases its pressure.

The bulge pressed right against your ass is rock-hard, and the thought of what lies beneath his trousers makes your mouth water.

The coil in your gut begins to tighten once more, this time more quickly than it had when you’d been facing him. Its pull is stronger, and the way his thick fingers keep grazing that sweet spot on your innermost wall all but guarantees you’ll be turned to liquid right there in that seedy alleyway.

You need his lips — otherwise, your screams will alert everyone within a fifty-meter vicinity of exactly how capable the Sound Assassin was of breaking you.

You try and warn him. “Uzui —“

“All you have to do, my sweetest torment, is beg.”

Your walls pulse violently around his fingers, a warning that you are mere seconds away from succumbing to brutal pleasure. Your hips begin moving on their own, grinding and checking desperately into his hand as the rough stone wall bites and scrapes against your exposed hips.

The need for him — for his lips — burns hot in your blood. It is maddening, this desire for his intimacy, and yet, try as you might, you cannot squash it.

You need it — need his kiss, need him to consume you whole.

“T-Tengen.” It slips out before you can stop it, your mouth forming the syllables with a startling ease.

Behind you, the Sound Assassin freezes, his hand stilling its maddening exploration of your core.

Never before had you called him by his given name; normally, you were in the habit of calling him every derogatory insult under the sun. At best, you’d called him Uzui.

Though you are turned away from him, you can feel the shift in him; the dark lust that settles over him, clouds whatever common sense he claimed to possess, replacing it with base need.

“That counts,” he growls in reply, and then the hand between your thighs resumes its task with more vigor than before, which the other snares in your hair and wrenches your head back.

The strain in your throat amplifies as Uzui roughly claims your mouth with his. He does not bother to wait for your permission before deepening the kiss; instead, he only tightens in hold in your hair, forcing you to gasp into him. The moment your lips part, his tongue sweeps past, branding you with each lick at the roof of your mouth.

You suppose it’s a good thing Uzui has smothered your moans with his feverish lips and demanding tongue. For the second his hand pulls away from between your legs, right as you’re on the precipice of cumming to pull that thick, monstrous length of his free from his trousers, you surely would’ve cried out in protest.

And that wicked mouth of his also manages to swallow the scream of pleasure that follows as Uzui enters you in a single, deep plunge, as well as your subsequent groan as you climax around him, just as he begins roughly fucking you against the alley wall.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tengen uzui #kny #kny x reader #kny uzui #kny fanfic #kny tengen #tengen x reader #demon slayer uzui #uzui x reader #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer smut #kny smut #uzui smut #tengen smut #kny hashira

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ariestrxsh · 1 month

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⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, corruption of innocence, (slightly rough) oral, light hair pulling, lots of praise, daddy kink, fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, threesome, belly bulge, creampie, squirting, manipulative!matt, manipulative!chris, innocent!reader

📝 author's note: 📝 this is part three of 'playground love.' 💖 here, you can read parts one and two. i must insist you read these first bc this shit is too good not to read in order. 💖 enjoy.

✍️ Summary: ✍️ You're an innocent virgin, and you've fallen into the hands of Matt and Chris, who want to know who you think has the prettiest cock.

'playground love' part three

"Yeah, we're each gonna take our cocks out, and you're gonna tell us which one of us you think has the prettiest one. Okay, princess?" Matt cooed, stroking your face. You innocently nodded. "Get on your knees for us," Chris ordered you, and you did.

You were completely naked, kneeling on your soft, pink rug while Matt and Chris towered over you, removing their shirts. You admired their lean, slightly muscular builds, and your eyes danced to the suggestive 'v' lines leading down the front of their pants.

You heard the sound of Matt fiddling with his belt and unzipping his zipper while you took in the sight of Chris pulling down his sweats and underwear, his cock springing out of the fabric that previously strained it. Your jaw dropped, and your gaze made its way to Matt's cock revealing itself as he took off his jeans. You'd never seen a man naked in person, and now you were seeing two.

Their bodies looked scultped by the gods, carefully curated for your viewing pleasure. They looked better than the porn Matt had shown you. You stared up at them in awe as if they were engulfed in a halo of white light. Their well-groomed cocks stood at attention for you, and they sat at eye level, giving you a really good look.

They were both big, however Chris was a little longer while Matt was a little thicker. They each had bulbous tips that matched the color of each of their lips, and they both leaked a clear substance you knew nothing about yet. Matt had a few prominent veins that stuck out on his shaft, and Chris had a few more.

The only other notable difference was that Matt's cock curved slightly upward, and Chris' hung slightly towards the left. Other than that, they looked more or less the same. They were both engorged, throbbing, and silently begging to be touched.

The two of them peered down at you, and the way you closely examined their packages, your expression saturated in amazement and curiosity. "Why don't you hold them in your hands?" Matt suggested, smirking at you.

You reached up, gently taking Chris into your right hand and Matt into your left, almost as if you were afraid of hurting them. They felt strange in your grasp. They were hard, but the skin was soft, and you could feel them twitching against your palms as you held them.

"You can be a little rough with it, princess," Chris assured you, smiling at how cute you looked, handling them each so delicately, and so you gripped them each a little more tightly "Try moving your hands back and forth, sweetheart," Matt suggested, taking his lower lip in between his teeth. You did as he recommended, and both of their expressions softened as you started stroking them. You noted how the skin felt while you moved your hands back and forth a bit faster, your hands caressing every vein.

"That's it, sweetheart," Matt said in a breathy voice. "What's that stuff leaking out of you?" You naively asked, examining their tips and narrowing your eyes at Matt and smiling. "Why don't you taste it and find out, sweetheart?" Chris responded, smirking at you.

Your eyes flicked over to Chris as you hesitantly leaned in, placed your mouth on Chris' tip, and slurped it up while his eyes rolled back, and he smiled at the sensation. "It's kinda salty," you giggled, secretly loving how responsive Chris was to your lips.

Then you moved over to Matt's and did the same, slurping up his mystery liquid while he gently placed his hand on the back of your head, letting out a soft whimper and looking into your eyes. You felt yourself becoming wet again from their reactions to you tasting them.

"Well, now I know how it tastes, but that doesn't tell me what it is," you chuckled with both your hands still on their dicks. "It's called precum, and it means you're doing a really good job, princess," Chris smiled at you. "Can I keep doing it? I really like it," you innocently whispered, licking your lips. "Yes, of course, baby girl," Matt replied, loving your response.

You took Matt's head between your lips once more and continued to suck on it while you jerked them both off. "Try moving your head back and forth while you do that, and make sure you to keep your teeth out of the way. Oh, fuck. Yes, pretty girl. Oh my god, just like that," his voice started to trail off while you did as he told you.

You felt so powerful making a strong man whimper with your mouth, and you relished in the way he sounded, the way he looked, and the way he tasted. You could only hope you were making him feel as good as he'd made you feel with his tongue.

He held eye contact with you the same way he had earlier while he was going down on you, and you absolutely adored it. He put his hand on the back of your head again and started gently rocking his hips back and forth until most of his length had disappeared behind your lips. "Good girl," he whispered in between moans. His mushroom-shaped tip fit perfectly in your throat like it was meant to be there.

"You're making me jealous, princess. Come here and give me some attention, hmm?" Chris whispered. You moved your lips from Matt's cock and transferred them over to Chris', but you kept your left hand on Matt's and continued pumping it back and forth. Your lips engulfed his tip, your tongue brushing up against his shaft, and you bobbed your head the same way you had with Matt.

"Your pretty mouth feels so fucking good," Chris cooed, throwing his head back and letting out a seductive groan. You gently suckled on it, your tongue dancing across his sensitive nerve endings. "Fuck yes," he whimpered. He was a little more expressive than Matt and his satisfied sounds were a bit less restrained, and you really liked that. You loved that you could almost feel his pleasure vicariously through him while your mouth worked its way down his shaft.

"Daddy's gonna fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, okay, princess?" Chris cooed, smiling down at you. He grabbed onto each of your braids and pulled your mouth down further onto him. He started to buck his hips slowly at first, but his pace quickly sped up. You started to lightly gag while he gripped your pigtails and pumped his cock back and forth into you.

"Such a good girl. Taking daddy's cock so good, aren't you, princess?" He muttered, enjoying every inch of your mouth. You throbbed at the way he spoke to you. You couldn't speak with his member filling your throat but your eyes, looking up at him longingly, told him how much you loved it.

Matt's voice broke you out of your trance, "I miss your mouth, princess. Please give me more attention," Matt begged in a needy tone. How could you resist? How could you not give him what he wanted when he sounded like that?

You pulled your mouth from Chris, and it found its way back to Matt, whose eyes were pleading with you to give him what he needed. "Thank you, baby. You treat my cock so good," he smirked while your lips satisfied him. You watched the way he responded to the flick of your tongue against his slit as more precum flowed out. He bit his lip to suppress a moan and he looked at you with glazed over eyes that begged you not to stop.

You used a combination of the techniques you'd seen in the porn videos Matt had shown you and the way Matt's body responded to your mouth to find what he liked. He liked it rather slow, but passionate and messy. His eyes would roll back anytime you'd suck and move your tongue in circles around the head at the same time. The stimulation drove him crazy.

He looked down into your big, doe eyes and the way your lips were wrapped around his cock, and whispered, "I'm about to cum, princess. I'm about to make a mess in your mouth. Will you make sure to swallow it for me?" You nodded, eager to do whatever Matt asked of you.

You admired Matt while he became unraveled before you, cock pulsating in your mouth, a slew of profanities passing through his lips, and a warm, sticky, gooey liquid painting your tongue while he finished. His hips gently rocked forward and he watched you intently while he came. You delighted in every one of your senses that Matt filled, gulping down every ounce of his sweet juice.

"Oh, sweetheart. You did so good for me. Swallowed every last bit," Matt breathlessly praised you. You smiled at him, proud about having made him cum.

"Come give daddy some, princess," Chris muttered. You couldn't wait to feel him tug on your tigtails again and talk all sweet to you. You focused all your attention on the brother you'd just met, your mouth enveloping his dick while he mischeviously grinned at you. You moved your lips up and down his rod, sucking on it while you did. Chris, once again, clutched both of your braids and started to fervently move his hips, making you take more of him. You started gagging a bit again.

"If I'm being too rough, princess, just tell me, and I'll be more gentle," Chris smiled at you while he relished in the way looked and sounded while he used your throat. You didn't want Chris to be more gentle. You loved the way he bucked his hips, the force with which he tightly grabbed onto your hair, and the way he made you lightly choke. You couldn't get enough.

"Good girl. You like when daddy's a little rough with you?" Chris cooed as if reading your thoughts. You weren't sure why, but every time Chris referred to himself as daddy, you felt a throbbing between your legs. All you wanted to do was please him, hear him moan your name, and make him cum on your tongue.

Chris could sense your eagerness, could see the twinkle in your eyes as you peered up at him, and he watched the way his shaft disappeared behind your plump lips. He loved that he and Matt got to be the first ones you gave head to. He was thinking about your innocence and your willingness to let them teach you, along with how intuitively you understood what to do with your mouth and your hands without much direction. He couldn't wait for him and Matt to take your virginity if you'd let them..

Suddenly in the midst of his thoughts about you, he let out a few guttural moans, and his cock began to twitch against your lips. "Be a good girl and swallow for daddy," he smirked, exploring his teeth with his tongue while he looked down lovingly at you and all the amazing things you did with your mouth. His cum pooled onto your tongue, slightly thicker than Matt's and a bit more tangy, and you hungrily devoured every drop.

His hips slowed to a stop once he was finished, he released your pigtails from his grasp, and he thanked you over and over again for how good you made him feel. Matt leaned down, helping you to your feet, wrapping you in your blanket and handing you your glass of water back.

Once you gulped it down, Chris offered to go downstairs and refill it, and you took him up on it. "Hey, Chris wasn't too rough with you, was he? He can sometimes get a little carried away," Matt whispered once Chris had left the room, and the two of you were sitting side-by-side at the foot of your bed together. "No, I liked it. If I didn't like it, I would have told him to stop," you reassured Matt, looking into his eyes.

He appreciated that despite how shy and pure you were, you knew what you liked and didn't like, and you knew how to vocalize it. He leaned in and kissed you, cupping your face and moaning against your lip. "You're so beautiful. Thank you for sharing your body with us," Matt told you, kissing your forehead.

Chris re-entered your bedroom, glass of water in hand, and he smiled at how cute you looked curled up in your blanket while Matt rubbed your back. "How do you feel?" Chris asked you, handing you your water and caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. "Good. I feel so safe with you guys," you told them, glancing between each pair of blue eyes and taking a sip from the glass.

"You know, princess. We've done a lot today, and I understand if you're overwhelmed and if you wanna stop. But there's just one thing we haven't done yet," Matt started to say. "Sex?" You innocently bit your lip.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Matt replied as he pushed the blanket off your shoulder and started tracing your collarbone with his fingertip. "I-I don't know," you stammered, recoiling. You were intimidated by how big they both were, and you weren't sure how they were even gonna fit. Chris helped Matt push the blanket off of your naked body while they both stared hungrily at you.

"It'll only hurt for a sec," Chris sympathetically responded. "We'll be real gentle. Take good care of you," Matt promised. "If you need us to stop, just say stop," Chris reassured you.

They were both on either side of you on the bed again. A nervous excitement welled within your stomach, anticipating pain but wanting sex with them both so badly. You began dripping down your thigh while they both had their hands on you, gently running their fingertips over your flesh. Goosebumps stood up all over your body, and Matt was whispering in your ear, "Lay back, sweet girl. Let me take care of you," and you did.

You rested your head back on your soft, fluffy pillow while your eyes rested on the glittering chandelier on your ceiling. Chris planted a few kisses on your breasts again, taking your sensitive nipples between hips lips, sucking, licking, and humming against them while Matt's hand traveled down to your heat. He ventured your folds, relishing in how easily his fingers slipped around against your clit. You bit your lip and your eyes widened as he brushed against it.

"Wow. Wet already, princess?" Matt cooed, making slow circles on your sweet spot. "Mhmm," you hummed. "Any particular reason?" He asked, dying to hear you say it. "From putting my mouth on you guys," you innocently whimpered.

"Who knew you'd like sucking cock so much, huh?" Chris grinned up at you, relishing in your answer. Although he could tell by the way your eyes looked while he pumped himself in and out of your mouth earlier how turned on you were getting bringing the boys pleasure.

Matt rubbed your slit up and down a few times until he approached your hole. "Deep breath, darling," he told you before he pushed his finger in. You let out a pained whine as he filled you, gently pumping back and forth while you got used to how big his fingers were.

Like Matt had told you yesterday about the line between pain and pleasure being a fine one, you experienced that phenomenon firsthand as your soft cries turned to full-bodied moans.

Chris continued to kiss your chest, your neck, your jawline, and he watched as your eyes rolled back. "Deep breath again, sweetheart. Here comes the second one," he warned you a few seconds before pushing another in. You let out another discomforted noise before you got used to the feeling again, and they felt you relax underneath their touches.

"Good girl," Chris whispered against your neck. "Fuck, princess. Your little cunt is so tight," Matt sighed, his cock twitching at the thought of how good you'd feel wrapped around him. He reveled in the fact that he was the first pair of fingers to venture your sweet pussy besides your own.

He couldn't get enough of your innocence, so much so that he almost thought about calling it all off, just to preserve your purity for his own sick satisfaction. But more than that, he couldn't wait to ruin that innocence, to stretch you out, and show you what your body was really capable of.

Once you were completely used to his fingers, he put a third in, and it took even less time for your pleasure to wash over you until you were in a tranquil state. Matt let you enjoy the feeling of his fingers for a few more minutes, but he was secretly dying to take it further..

He removed his fingers, and he positioned himself so that he was between your legs. "Ready for me, hmm?" Matt asked, lining his member up with your entrance and gently pushing down on it. You silently nodded while you looked into his gorgeous blue eyes.

His cock disappeared into your hole, and you let out a yelp as he took your innocence. You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you while he slowly pushed it in further. "Good girl, princess. You're taking it so good," Chris whispered, watching the way Matt slowly stretched you out.

The thing about Matt was that he was always going to put your pleasure first and leave his own on the back burner until later, so no matter how hard it was for him to keep his movements controlled, slow, and subtle, he was going to in order to keep from hurting you.

"The painful part is almost over, sweetheart," he soothed you with his words. After a few more strokes, your suffering subsided, and it started to feel delightfully good. Matt watched the shift happen before his eyes, nearly getting off on it.

He peered down and saw the outline of his cock moving around in your stomach, and Chris soon noticed it, too. They both stared down at the belly bulge, starstruck by the incredible sight. "See that, princess?" Matt delightfully sighed, pushing down on his imprint. "That's me inside of you," he smirked, licking his teeth and grabbing ahold of your gaze with his own.

He started to fuck you a little faster, making a clap clap clap noise against your skin. Your breath quickened and became more shallow and so did Matt's. Your back began to arch. You'd never felt better than you did in this moment.

Matt drilled into you while you laid back and took it, accepting him into you and loving every inch of the way he felt. Chris was sitting to your left, caressing your face and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. He kept finding reasons to playfully tug on your pigtails and reasons to gently stick his fingertips in your mouth, moaning and smiling anytime you'd suck on them. They loved tainting your innocence with their perverse nature.

The combination of the way Chris was interacting with you and the way Matt was railing you sent you over the edge. They pulled an orgasm from the deepest part of you, and it was more powerful than the others you'd had. Matt felt you squirt your liquid all over the length of his cock while you thrashed beneath him and cried out in sheer desire.

Matt couldn't help but cum as well when he realized he'd just made you squirt. He pumped you full of his seed while he pulsated inside of you. "Holy shit, princess," Matt breathlessly whimpered after the two of you came and he was slowing his hips to a stop. "What was that?" You asked, wide-eyed, wondering what made that orgasm so much more special than the others.

"Holy fuck. You just made her squirt, Matt," Chris looked at you, his expression steeped in amusement and awe. "What does that mean?" You wondered, biting your lip while you looked between the two of them as if you could find the answers written on their faces.

"It means Matt just gave you the most powerful kind of orgasm you could ever give a girl," Chris told you. You beamed at learning this information, blushing at how good Matt was in bed and how badly you wanted him to make you squirt again and again..

"Daddy's gotta have a turn with your pussy now," Chris whispered, pulling you on top of his lap. "I need you to ride me, okay, sweet thing?" Chris asked in a daze, his face flushed just from watching you and Matt.

While you kneeled and hovered over his aching cock, he teased your hole with his tip. You gasped as you slowly descended onto him. He gripped you by your hips while your cunt gripped his dick. "I wanted you on top so you could control the pace and show me what you like," Chris grinned, looking up at your cute face as you tried to hold it together.

Since Chris was not as thick as Matt, he slid in easily, but since he was longer and more curved, once his length has disappeared into you completely, it reached a special place inside of you that no one had before, and you shuddered as the tip of his cock grazed this wonderful spot.

"Daddy, I want you to set the pace," you bit your lip and innocently looked at him. "Yeah?" He asked, delighted to hear you call him that while you gave him permission to be in control of you. He held you by your waist, keeping you still in place while he bucked his hips up, slowly at first but then at an incredible speed.

The thing about Chris was that his stamina was a force to be reckoned with. He could fuck you like that for hours if you needed him too. No matter how tired he'd get, he wasn't going to stop until you were gushing all over him and screaming his name.

Matt sat beside the two of you, and the two of the brothers watched as your perky, little breasts, and your pigtails bounced around while Chris worked himself in and out of you. "Wow, look at her," Matt whispered, admiring the sight.

You couldn't hold on very long. The way Chris was stimulating you was almost too good. "Be a good girl and cum all over daddy's cock," Chris urged you through his breathlessness. That feeling arose in your tummy again. Your favorite feeling in the whole wide world.

You came undone once more while Chris bounced you up and down on him, hitting all your hard-to-reach places, and causing you to scream out, "Daddy!" You squirted once more onto Chris' staff this time, sending him over the edge shortly after.

His arms were completely wrapped around your waist and his face buried in your breasts while he looked up at you before his eyes rolled back into his head. He pumped you full to the brim with his thick, milky substance, and your riding soon came to a halt. You collapsed onto the bed beside him, exhausted and buzzing from the high you felt.

After the three of you took in the experience and talked about the things you liked about sex with them, they asked the question again. "So, whose cock do you think is prettier? And who made you cum harder?"

The truth was, you couldn't choose. Part of you wanted to say Matt because you had a crush on him. Another part of you wanted to say Chris because he had surprised you the most. But they had both satisfied you equally and both had gorgeous-looking dicks that you couldn't get enough of.

"I can't pick. Maybe we should do it again to refresh my memory," you half-jokingly said. They giggled, secretly hoping they'd get to do it again as well.

The three of you showered together, and you all fell asleep that evening curled up on your couch downstairs in the glow of the television light while you drifted off to the movie Catch Me If You Can.

You all woke up to your alarm a few hours later, the one you'd set to warn you that your mom would be ending her shift soon. The two boys each kissed you, told you how much fun they had, and slipped out the front door before your mother could return home and catch you.

You fell asleep on clean sheets that night, having put yours in the wash after your shower to destroy any evidence of the manner in which the boys had their way with you.

The memories of earlier that day swam around in your head while you smiled up at your chandelier that reflected a few shafts of light that poured in from the streetlamps outside. And soon you dwindled off into a dream..

part four posted here 💖

taglist: @bsturnzmtt @sturniolo-girl @munchingmini @butterbean-01 @coolasice01 @theyluvme-2315 @zariyam @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @miss-ykwho @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @schlutt4matty @sofieeeeex @matts-myloverboy @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsfavbigtitties @new2024cats4life @witchofthehour @slutforsturnioloss @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @sturnrc @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @alexisxena @matthewsturnsgf @willowrites @blahbel668 @mattslolita @freshlov3 @2muchofaslvt @wonnieeluvvr @fratboychrisera @envykaulitz @slxtformatt @winnie13 @pip4444chris @littlebookworm803 @weirdratperson @watchu-mean-baby-keem @lydi2718 @chratts-left-ball @sturniolo-fann @caasiluvsnickstromboli

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dreveel · 4 months

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Murder in the Big Top Collection:

{Credit} - {Credit} - {Credit}

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wesstars · 5 months

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crush

cairo sweet x fem!reader (no pronouns used)

summary: when cairo goes home, what comes to mind are thoughts of you. wc: 2.3k tags: explicit, minors DNI!! all characters 18+. university au. masturbation, smoking, non-linear narrative. reader is cairo’s teaching assistant, reader described as masc presenting. a/n: let me know what y’all think :) for the vibes

masterlist

“Is Professor Miller not coming?” Winnie had just dropped into her unassigned assigned seat next to Cairo, two minutes before Greco-Roman Literary Theory started. The flipping of pages punctuated the chatter of other students waiting, a comfortable sound.

“He said he’d be gone today,” Cairo replied absently. “There’s a ‘guest lecturer,’ our teaching assistant.”

“Oh, right. Who’s that?”

Cairo shrugged. “Who knows.”

As if on cue, the door swung open. Cairo didn’t even look up—Miller mentioned that he kept a handful of research assistants that would be there to help with the advanced reading. But honestly, Cairo wasn’t sure what they could tell her that she didn’t already know. A melodic hum fell through the air for just a moment, a chorus.

“Good morning.” At your lilting voice, rough with the edge of 10am, Cairo started. She watched you set your messenger bag on the desk. Your white shirt pulled over your shoulders; there was a glint at your collar, a necklace peeking through. A thin watch adorned your wrist. Winnie, along with some of the class, echoed your greeting, and Cairo blinked.

Late spring afternoon draped across the furniture in Cairo’s room, the quickly waning light giving easy way to a blue hour. Dropping her bag at the door, she tore off her shirt and skirt with the confidence of one standing before a crowd. Running a hand up from her sternum to her neck, she stretched languidly, sinking down onto her bed. After so many uneventful days—when she applied to Yale, she didn’t think that there would be any uneventful days—she finally had a story to turn over in her mind.

You. You were a mystery. Even as you had started the class with an introduction, telling Cairo you’d graduated from a middle-of-nowhere college in California and sought a writing career in Vermont before delving into research, she longed to lay out the details and pull them out from under the rug. Where did you learn to teach? Did you like to drive, or be driven? Mountains, or the sea? Where did you grow up? Was there coffee or tea in your cupboard? Cairo’s stomach burned to know. Her dark eyes burned the ceiling with smoke signals, searching for you even though you were god knows where in that seaside state.

Arching her back, Cairo let her hand travel down, palm flat against her stomach, to trace the seam of her upper thigh. As the class had progressed, your keenly observant nature did not elude Cairo. Maybe listening was something that your pedagogy instilled in you, but the way you held each student’s question in the cant of your head, an answer in your crinkling eyes, listening seemed to be in your nature. It was meticulous, the way you picked apart the class text, weaving in references and tying it all in. In that two hour lecture, Cairo learned that you watched the same way you listened.

Balmy as it was, the humidity made her dark waves cling to her skin, and she shivered as she brushed them back, thinking of a different pair of slim hands. Your scrutiny of each student had an intention that she couldn’t quite place; a determination that thrilled her. Cairo imagined that you’d observe her the same way, that she would be the one you were most fond of. It was only natural that her own attention would draw yours onto her. Holding the weight of your envisioned gaze made Cairo’s core twist, a pleased little flush that she prayed you could see. Your affected impartiality didn’t bother Cairo—in fact, it pulled her into your shadow. In her bed, she rolled onto her stomach then her knees, shaking her hair out.

Her hands were steady as she reached for her bedside table, thumb rolling on the wheel of her zippo as she held the cigarette to her lips. Cairo took a drag, blowing out neat smoke rings as she settled back on her heels. The skin of her own fingers was cool against her lips, and when she took the smoke away, she studied the pattern of her lipstick on the white paper as she had so many times before.

She’d watched, unabashedly and unafraid of being caught, as you drummed your fingers on the chalk tray. Would your fingertip be soft or work hardened if it pressed down her tongue? Would your skin carry the stain of her red lip as deeply, as obediently, as the malleable wrapping paper?

“Alright, class,” you cleared your throat, turning slowly around the room to make eye contact with each student. “As you know, Jonathan’s away on a conference today. I’ll start with a bit of roll, just so I can learn your names. Not many of you come to my office hours, I know.” You smiled easily. It was so guileless, Cairo mused, nearly childlike. You had the class go around the rooms with names and majors, a circuit that Cairo gave no attention to other than your lilting rhythm of hums, the tapping of your foot on the floor, the way you flicked the corner of the role sheet with your thumb. Your gaze was soon on hers, waiting expectantly. She looked right back with a blink.

“Cairo Sweet. English major.”

“Cairo.” Her name rolled off your innocent little grin, making her cock her head. “Wonderful.” Fascinating. Would you whisper midnight black desires in her ear, so deep and dark they might be murmured into the ink of your own empty room?

You continued, circling back to the front and easily transitioning to the lesson plan. You had an awfully effortless way of grasping the class’ attention, holding gently and never forcing. It wasn’t like Professor Miller, who always seemed to hasten through the lecture so he could return to his research. She could tell you liked the woods of the text, to fall down into the depths of each word, feeling its weight in you and letting it rock. Just like Cairo.

She sighed into the warm air prickling up her skin, the curl of your voice around her name making her nipples harden in her bralette, even in retrospect. Exhaling around her cigarette, Cairo brought her hands up to palm her breasts, feeling the drag of her rubied nubs on her palms. Was it the high of the nicotine, the blur of smoke ridden air that made her float straight up into the lofty space you’d created in her mind? Though the feel of her own fingers scraping the lace against her skin was familiar, she found herself keen to think of your soft or callused hands. She was wet already, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten wet so fast.

The weight she imagined of your touch on her flushed skin was completely, deliciously foreign. Unbidden but intimately welcome, Cairo wished that your caress would find the map of her chest as familiar as a classic, something you had searched a million times over yet always managed to find something new. Shamelessly, Cairo trailed her fingers down her stomach, nails catching on every rib as she arched her back in the spilled moonlight. The mystery in the crossing of your long legs as you’d leaned back on the desk climbed up her belly, curling in the thump, thump, thump, of her heart. The uneven roll of your sleeves clung to the corners of her eyes, eidetic and oh, so, tempting. She had watched you so ardently—did you like to watch? Would you watch?

The space between her thighs was achingly empty, craving the set of your narrow hips. She was comfortable there, and she remembered the taut stretch of wool as you dropped into your chair and set one ankle over your knee. There was something endearing about the way your trousers had pulled up to reveal slouchy black socks, and darker her mind went as the material pulling creases around your lap made her shudder and—she reached behind to pull one of her fluffy pillows under her, smoke billowing into the air.

Cairo gave her hips an experimental roll, imagining it was the soft fabric of your slacks against her aching cunt, and grinned around her cigarette. Unlike the pillow, you would be ever so solid under her, grabbing for her thighs like a dog yearns to please. Were you more likely to bruise her skin, yanking her into you without care for blood—or would you guide her gently, make a home in her innocence and hold her more dearly than life ever could? Either way, your desire for Cairo would be so apparent that you couldn’t help yourself.

The dip of your tongue in her navel, the little smirk you’d undoubtedly wear as you went down further—would you go for her throbbing clit first, or would your lips press so warm—she didn’t know. She didn’t have to, content with all those different versions of you unfurling before her. In her bedroom, each time she moved her hips, it became easier to imagine you guiding her actions, the bump of your nose on her folds, damned if not addicting.

Cairo grinned as she fell onto her forearms, hips pushing into the soft pillow without abandon. The slide of her panties soaked with slick against her sensitive clit felt like the delicate press of your splayed hand on her desk as you’d passed, eyes occupied by the text you were holding. It had only been a split second, but it was enough for her to memorize every crease, every vein. Cairo let out a whine, a demanding little sound, as her movements grew erratic. Looking up into the heaven where you must be, she imagined that you’d murmur to her, “I’m here, I’m here, how could I be anywhere else but here?” as you traced the dip in her back. Her arousal took her down every sullied path she’d ever dreamed of, but her mind stuck on one gesture that made her mouth go dry.

She remembered the way your shirt got just a bit untucked when you stretched during the class break. You’d instinctively tucked it back in, quick as you surveyed the class. Cairo thought that you’d dress yourself back up the same way after you bent her over the desk after class, pushing her skirt up and shoving your fingers into her, painting bruises onto her hip bones with how tight you held her.

The two of you would share a mutual understanding that she wanted this, wanted it bad enough for you to take it whenever you saw fit. Cairo decided that today, this time, you’d be as rough as you pleased, a cup of pens clattering to the ground as you pushed her down, forearm across her shoulder blades. Your necklace would be cold on her warm skin, would it be cold on her tongue? You’d put two, three fingers inside, humming in that absentminded way you did. She thought you’d nuzzle into her ear, all lips and sharp teeth, asking if she’d sprayed your favorite hair mist of hers because she hoped you’d notice—she did—and take her, break her, whatever you wanted.

You’d send her plummeting down towards a deeper hell (or was it higher, up to your majestic heaven?), already knowing everything that her body needed. Cairo imagined herself coming so helplessly around the stretch of your fingers, so high strung from nights of trying to mimic the press of your touch on her clit, unable to reach the same heights you sent her to. As she held back tears, eyes on the ceiling in reverence, feeling herself drip to the floor, you’d sigh as your mind wandered to other things already, carelessly running a hand down her back.

Cairo gasped, dropping her nearly finished cigarette in favor of gripping the bed sheets. The white fabric wrinkled around her fingers, reminiscent of your shirt creasing as you’d rolled your sleeves up. This was something new you could show her, just how fast she could come and just how wet it made her. It was a marvel, feeling the fabric cling to her cunt, almost as good as how you’d feel. Resting her forehead in the crook of her elbow, she murmured your name over and over again, a little susurrus of a litany, so similar to your preoccupied hum. Panting, Cairo giggled in her bliss, soft and bright as Californian oranges clinging to rich leaves. You were dark enough to be tucked into the wrinkles in the soft pillow, dark enough for Cairo to love, as a journal loves a secret.

Sated, Cairo grabbed her phone and typed your name in. The results spilled out, and she scrolled, looking for all of the details in the background of your social media posts, curiously drunk on the year’s gap in your CV. Cairo noticed the perfect little circle where the cigarette had burned when she dropped it, and she brushed away the remnants. The gesture smeared the ash on the sheets.

—

Walking into your office with barely a knock, Cairo took in the familiar room of an academic, but with your unfamiliar knick knacks around the place. A lighter, a leather wallet, glasses and wired headphones. You didn’t look surprised as you glanced up from your laptop. Instead, you smiled.

“Cairo, isn’t it?”

A flush of pleasure shot straight into her—you remembered. She nodded. Your shelves were covered in books and stacks of reviews, the morning’s leftover cup of coffee sitting on one of the ledges. Did you smoke before, or after your coffee? The terrible, terrible want to replace the taste of smoke on your tongue with the taste of her gave Cairo just the confidence she needed.

“What can I do for you?”

Cairo leaned over your desk, watching the way your eyes dropped to her burgundy lipstick. “Would you be able to help me on the Aristophanes reading?” She pushed her copy of The Clouds towards you. “I can’t seem to grasp it.” Your eyes met hers. “Of course.”

a/n cont'd: can you read my mind, i’ve been watching you… there’s just something about you, baby… ♪ / hope you enjoyed @woewriting :)

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