#wet jean wednesday

[nullcanary]

The murmurs of a ghost that haunts no one but you

[evie-sturns]

brat - Chris Sturniolo

summary: after a day of shooting chris bratty, and rude comments, he finally puts you in your place.

contains: brat tamer!chris, smut, overstimulation, choking, fluff, aftercare, dumbification.

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i grip chris's hand tight as we walk around target, "i want to go home chris." i state with a small pout,

"baby i told you we need to get stuff for the wednesday video." chris sighs, squeezing my hand.

"it's not like its my channel! i got dragged here by you." i bite back at him, chris's eyebrows furrow with a shocked laugh.

"don't fucking act like you weren't clinging to me an hour ago, you wouldn't let me leave the house." chris shuts me up pretty quick, i roll my eyes with a frustrated sigh.

he stops walking at looks down at me, "don't roll your eyes at me."

i scoff, chris raises his eyebrows at me as a warning before pulling me towards the checkout by my hand.

i wrap my arms around chris as he pays,

he hooks the several bags over his fingers before following close behind me as we walk out of the main exit.

chris and i walk towards matt's car which is parked in the parking lot, chris swings open the back door before jumping in,

"did you get the shit?" matt asks before turning the car on,

"yeah, most of it." chris replies before scooting closer to me in the backseat.

“chris!! you’re basically crushing me.” i whine, chris shoots me a warning glare as matt pulls out of the parking lot.

chris places a gentle hand on my thigh, i look out the window with my arms crossed over my chest.

“are you tired?” chris asks softly, i don’t reply, keeping my eyes trained on the passing cars out the foggy window.

i hear chris let out a small frustrated sigh, him and matt start up a conversation which continues for the rest of the trip.

-

i swing open the door to chris and i’s room, instantly flopping down on the bed. chris follows close behind me into the room and stands by the bed, just looking down at me.

i stare at my phone as i make myself comfy in his pile of pillows.

“y/n.” chris stares blankly, his voice low.

i ignore him, staring at my phone.

“i’m not gonna ask you again.” chris says under his breath before i feel 2 of his cold hands grip my ankles.

he tugs me by my ankles to the edge of the bed in one harsh tug.

“chris!” i whine,

“don’t fucking whine at me.” he mutters,

his hand finds its way onto my waist, in one movement he flips me over onto all fours.

i feel his hands tugs on the waistband of my sweatpants before he pulls them completely off of me

i look back over my shoulder at chris, adjusting my position on all fours.

he tugs my panties to the side, not even bothering to take them off completely,

“chris-“ i start, but i’m cut off by a harsh smack to my ass, hard enough to leave a mark.

i wince slightly, somewhat in shock from how chris managed to get me from my comfortable position on his bed, to on all fours wearing absolutely nothing from the waist down.

i hear the clink of chris’s belt hitting the wooden floor, followed by his jeans.

“gonna act like a brat, gonna be fucked like one.” chris says from behind me before tugging his boxers off.

“i’m not being a brat!” i protest.

just then i feel chris’s pink tip line up with my slit, wet with arousal.

chris slams into me full force, his tip bruising my cervix.

a mix between a moan, a scream, and a gasp exits my mouth at once, overwhelming pain but pleasure coasting through me.

his thrusts instantly start, giving me no time to stretch around him.

each thrust i feel him hit deeper.. and deeper.

“arch your back.” chris demands, placing a palm on my back and pushing it down.

i bury my face in the pillow, not wanting matt to hear my desperate screams.

i hear chris let out a low laugh from behind me as if his dick isn’t brutally abusing my insides right now.

“chris- chris slow down-“ i manage to babble out incoherently,

“you think you deserve it? for me to slow down?” chris spits back,

his hand collides with the plush skin of my ass again.

“do you?” he asks again, i shake my head frantically into the pillow.

“that’s what i thought, so don’t go asking me to slow down.” he mumbles with a small groan.

he continues to hit impossibly deep spots,

i let out a loud gasp as i feel chris’s cold hand shaking round to my neck,

his large hand takes a grip on my throat,

his other hand pulls my hair into a makeshift ponytail before he tugs on it, forcing my head out of the pile of pillows.

he grips my throat as he tugs on my hair, my back contorted into a deep arch.

tears well in my eyes from the intensity, not to say i’m not enjoying every second of this.

the only sounds in our room are skin slapping together harshly paired with my muffled moans.

my legs shake dramatically as i attempt to kick them, my hands grip the bedsheets for dear life as i feel chris’s cock against my walls.

with a pathetic scream of his name i clench around him, releasing all over his length. his grip on my throat tightens as i assume he gets close.

“i didn’t tell you to cum.” chris huffs,

“say you’re sorry.” he follows up.

“i’m- i’m so s-sorr…” i babble out,

tears are now flowing down my cheeks from overstimulation.

my eyes roll back as chris’s thrusts somehow quicken.

with a slick pop chris pulls out quickly, he paints my back with warm white streaks.

“oh- oh fuck- fuck…” chris groans as he strokes himself a few more times.

i face plant forwards into the sheets, chris collapses next to me.

chris lays on the bed for a few seconds before springing up, he tugs me onto his lap and wraps his large arms around me.

“no- no don’t cry love.” chris says with a nervous laugh.

“did i hurt you? are you hurt princess?” chris fires rapid questions at me, i shake my head no and i can physically see the relief wash over chris.

“no more tears,” chris breathes out, wiping my eyes gently.

“that was- so intense..” i breathe out with a small smile.

“i’m sorry baby, i’m sorry.” chris pecks kisses over my damp face.

he wipes my back with his hand, his face grimacing.

“i’m sorry.” chris whispers again, “chris.. it’s okay, i really.. really liked it.” i say with a shy grin.

“are you sure? i’m sorry, i think i just got worked up” chris apologies for the hundredth time.

“i’m sure chris, stop apologising.” i laugh, fixing his messed up hair.

he runs his hands through my locks, “did it hurt when i pulled your hair?” chris asks, visible nerves on his innocent flushed face.

“no chris.” i laugh, chris nods “okay thank god.”

chris picks me up as he stands up, holding me in a bridal position.

“what do you feel like wearing?” he asks, “maybe- just something of yours” i reply

“okay!” chris says, pulling out one of his sweatshirts and some of his sweat-shorts.

chris places me down on my feet, my legs wobble as i stumble over.

“oh-“ he picks me back up,

“my legs are like jelly.” i smile.

“sorr-“ chris starts but i clamp a hand over his mouth,

“no more sorrys!” i laugh.

chris shakes his head with a giggle.

he plops me down on the bed and tugs the shorts up my legs.

“arms up sweetheart.” chris says before pulling his shirt onto me.

chris stands up and walks over to his closet and pulls on some sweatpants.

“there we are.” chris smiles.

“you look good!” chris

“you look like a moron.” i state with my arms crossed.

i slam a hand over my mouth, realising i’ve just gave chris attitude.

“what was that?” chris laughs,

“nothing.” i purse my lips together.

“am i going to have to fuck that attitude out of you again?” chris asks

i shake my head, my cheeks now a deep red.

———

@gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @mattybsgf @stupid4sturniolo @lydi2718 @chrisstopherfilmed2 @flosslikeabosss @zturndq @skysturniolo @jetaimevous @sturniolo04 @luxy-nyx @aliceloveschris @livvy4realll @chrissturnsss @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae@sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall @raysmayhem-72 @mattlvrr @downbad4reid @austejasz @faygo-frog @certifiedstarrr @flosslikeabosss @mattybismyman @skysturniolo @jetaimevous

[queenxxxsupreme]

Ghost (Logan Howlett x reader)

A/N: this is my first attempt at a fic in a while, so please just bear with me. This takes place after the events of Deadpool and Wolverine. I feel like I am not too great at writing Wade’s character and I think I’m still learning how to write Logan so just please don’t hate me if anything seems out of character. I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: cursing, mentions of thoughts of suicide, nothing else out of the ordinary for a Deadpool and Wolverine fic

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: What happens when the man who broke your heart shows up on your doorstep with a weird man claiming to be from another universe?

As you were tying your robe into place, the sound of glass shattering in the other room caught your attention.

“Fuck.” You muttered before hastily making your way down the hallway. “Nugs, what the hell are you doing in here?”

The overweight orange cat meowed loudly from where he sat on the floor. Directly beside him was a pile of dirt and the remnants of your favorite flower pot.

“Nugget! Dude, we have talked a million times about you trying to get up on that shelf.” You shooed the cat away from the mess, then went to retrieve a broom. “You are far too big to be trying to climb up there. You could get hurt.”

He meowed again and rubbed against your calf, offering his own version of an apology.

You swept the dirt and plant material into the dustpan. As you were making your way towards the trash can, a firm knock came at the front door.

Nugget started meowing loudly. It was almost like he was trying to imitate a siren and warn you that there was someone at the door.

Cautiously, you moved towards the door. You weren’t expecting anyone, sure, but you also knew absolutely no one in the city, so why would someone be knocking on your door at 11:30 on a Wednesday night?

You pulled the door open to see an unknown man. He wore a trucker hat with the words ‘this is actually my first rodeo’ stitched on to it. He was wearing a gray hoodie and jeans. The skin covering his face was scarred badly.

“Can I help you?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Oh my FUCK! You didn’t tell me we were coming to see Y/N!” The man turned around to reveal Logan Howlett.

Your heart jumped to your throat at the sight of him, and the very thought of breathing went right out the window.

He stood with his arms crossed. The dark red flannel he wore stretched over his muscles. It was like the shirt was two sizes too small for him. The jeans he wore were dark and fit him snug. His hair wasn’t as poofy as you remembered it being, but it was still styled and spiked just like he had always done.

As you took in the sight of the Wolverine, you realized he didn’t look as unkempt as you so vividly recalled him being the last time that you saw him.

“Uh, hi, Y/N.”

Hearing him say your name almost made you vomit right then and there. It had been years since you last heard him say your name.

You snapped out of your trance, the tension and nerves in your stomach twisting into anger.

“What the fuck do you want, Logan?”

”I know it’s a long shot, but we need somewhere to stay for the night.”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying. What made him think he had the right to ask you for anything?

You started to close the door but the man you didn’t know stopped you, placing his hand on the door.

“Hold on just a second, Y/N! We have some wild— and I mean wild —stories to tell you.”

”I don’t know you, fuck nuts.” You snapped. Your irises disappeared as the entire eye turned black. “Now if you two don’t get the hell away from my apartment—,”

”I know you don’t owe me anything, Y/N.” Logan paused, taking a second to admire how stunning you looked. You stood there in nothing but a soft pink robe with little cherries all over it and your hair was wet. You even smelled the same. “We’re doing some…. work nearby and we need somewhere to stay.”

”Go fuck yourself, how about that?” You tried to close the door but this time Logan stopped you. His hand was firm and steady as he held the door open.

“I-I just want to talk to you.”

You held his gaze, your eyes returning to their normal Y/E/C color.

Perhaps if he hadn’t looked so different from the last time you saw him, you’d slam the door in his face. But he didn’t look broken, his eyes weren’t empty. The Logan standing before you was more like the one you fell in love with years ago, rather than the one who had broken your heart.

“When was the last time you had a drink?”

Logan let out a heavy breath and almost rolled his eyes.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. It was, like, forty-five minutes ago. But it was just one drink.”

”He’s seriously been cutting back on the alcohol.” The stranger nodded his head. “But if you ask me, I’d rather him be loaded with that shit. Makes him more tolerable.”

Logan elbowed him harshly in the ribs.

”It’s a good thing I didn’t ask you then isn’t it, buddy?” I raised my brows at the stranger.

”Yikes, you are just like I remember you being. All sweet and mean and shit.”

“Please, Y/N.” Logan pulled your attention back to him.

With a sigh of defeat, you stepped back and held the door for the two men.

“Yes! Thank you, Y/N.” The stranger happily entered your home. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see what your place was like. The you from my world banned me from her place a long time ago. We wear the same size shoes, you know. And apparently, she doesn’t like to share. Said I stretched out her Burkins. And her nighties.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you listened to the man ramble.

“Who in the fuck are you?”

”Wade Wilson.” The man turned around to face you, holding his hand out. “You might know me as Deadpool.”

”No, actually. I don’t.” You crossed your arms over your chest, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Where the hell did you get this guy, Logan?”

”Uh, it’s a long story.”

”I can explain it all, momma. Let’s have a seat.” Wade gestured to your kitchen table and then pulled a chair out.

***

You stepped out onto your balcony, pulling a carton of cigarettes from the pocket in your jacket. Your eyes flickered out over the city.

Never in a million years did you think that Logan Howlett would show up at your apartment looking like a kicked dog. Never in a million years did you think he’d be able to dig himself out of the hole he tried to bury himself in ages ago. And never in a million years did you think he would have the guts to stand in front of you asking to stay for just the night.

He needed somewhere to stay for the night, somewhere to rest in the midst of whatever the fuck he was doing. And with him came a strange man by the name of Wade Wilson.

The air was cool and a gentle breeze blew through your hair. The faint sound of car horns kept you from being too absorbed by your own thoughts.

Out of the corner of your eye, something moved. It was Wade.

You took a puff of the cigarette and then offered it to him.

“Oh, no thank you. I’m trying to limit my oral intake of carcinogens.”

You nodded, finding it best not to question him, and moved to sit down at the little table.

“Sometimes I think things couldn’t get any more crazy. The man who broke my heart and made me contemplate offing myself shows up at my front door out of the blue with a man claiming to be from another universe entirely. How am I supposed to react to that?”

Wade opened his mouth to answer your rhetorical question with something sassy, but he stopped himself. He could see that your eyes were glossy and your breath was shaky. Your hand trembled as you held the cigarette up to your lips.

He slipped into the seat next to you, racking his brain for something to say.

“Did you know that?” You asked him, your eyes finding his. “That when we broke up, when he…. When Logan decided that he was done…. I thought about killing myself.”

”No, I didn’t.” Wade spoke softly.

”We were together for years. Almost a lifetime. And he just…. He just couldn’t take it anymore. After what happened at the school.” You paused for a moment. “He couldn’t move on, but he couldn’t die either. Everything just turned him into someone I— someone I didn’t know. Don’t know.”

Wade watched you in silence. His chest began to feet tight, like it was hard for him to breathe. Seeing his best friend— or at least his best friend in his world —so torn up, so genuinely hurt, made Deadpool feel bad.

“In my world, you two were together until his dying breath.”

Your eyes snapped over to him, unsure that you had heard him right.

”What?”

”Wherever you were, he was not too far behind. You two were inseparable. Practically joined at the hip.”

You gazed at him for a few moments, giving yourself time to process his words. An ache began to stir in your gut, the same ache that you fought every single minute of every single day to suppress.

“He-He died? In your- In your world, I mean.”

”Yeah. Oh, yeah.” Wade rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “It was a real dark time for everyone. I never even got to team up with him before he croaked.”

You flicked the ashes from your cigarette into an ashtray. You leaned back in your seat, taking a deep breath.

“Your Logan, was he like this one?”

“Very similar. This one gives off slutty vibes. And he’s more drunk than the one from my world.”

“Was I happy with him, Wade?”

The Deadpool looked at you for a while. It was so weird to him that you were questioning your happiness with Logan Howlett. In his world, all you ever did was talk about Logan, about the memories you had with him.

“Happier than anyone I ever knew.” He nodded his head softly. “Look, I don’t know your situation with him in this world, but I think you should let him talk to you.”

You took a deep breath of the cigarette. The back of your throat burned.

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. Just let him talk and explain himself. Make him feel like a dick for what he did. Then have the hottest makeup sex ever. Lovers-to-enemies-back-to-lovers sex is the best. Or so I’ve heard. I haven’t had a chance to experience that yet. Still on my bucket list.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me before. What makes you think he’ll listen to me now?”

“In our little journey we’ve had, I think I’ve been a good influence on him. I got him to smile, like, three times.”

You wanted to believe him, to trust the words he was telling you and the grin on his face. But you couldn’t stop thinking back to the Logan you remembered.

The cigarette between your fingertips disappeared beneath your touch, the gentle breeze taking away the particles of what was left of it.

You looked down at your hand, a shaky breath leaving through your lips.

“I don’t know, Wade.”

“That’s okay, momma. That’s okay.” He put his hands up. “It’s late and it’s been a wild and odd day for you. Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

“Yeah.” You nodded your head, standing from your chair.

He stood to his feet and looked down at you for a few moments. Then his arms wrapped around you and he pulled you in for a tight hug.

“Oh, uh–,”

“Shhh. Just let me hug you.” He whispered.

You were confused and shocked a little bit, but you hugged him back nonetheless.

“You smell just like the Y/N from my world.”

”Alright, okay.” You pulled away from him.

“I’m gonna go see if the princess is done with her shower yet.”

“Goodnight, Wade.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You watched him walk back into your apartment and he disappeared around a corner.

You stood there for a few moments in silence. He was an interesting man. You almost enjoyed how much he constantly annoyed Logan.

“What a fucking day.” You rubbed your temple with one hand as you moved to return to your seat.

The cigarette pack was pulled from your jacket pocket and you took out a second cigarette. You put the stick between your lips, then reached back into your pocket to pull out a lighter.

Someone cleared their throat. You turned your head to see Logan standing in the doorway. He was in a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hair was damp, a telltale sign that he had just gotten out of the shower.

You said nothing to him for a few heartbeats.

“Your friend is strange.” You nodded to the seat beside you that Wade had previously sat in. As Logan sat down, you held out the pack of cigarettes for him.

“Thanks.” He muttered, taking the box and pulling a cigarette out. You took it back from him and tossed it down onto the table. “He’s…. He’s not too bad.”

You lit your cigarette, then passed the lighter to Logan.

”When’d you take up smoking?” He placed the lighter down on the table next to the pack of cigarettes.

“Couple years ago.”

Logan wanted to look at you, to see how much you had changed in the years since he had last seen you. But he couldn’t bring himself to see the way that you looked at him. The sadness. The grief. The anger. So instead, the Wolverine focused his gaze on the skyline ahead.

The two of you sat there in silence for what felt like ages. Part of you didn’t know what to say, but the other part of you didn’t feel like it was your job to be the first to speak. That was on him.

You finished the cigarette with one final deep breath, then you put it out in the ashtray. The silence was getting to be too much, and you contemplated getting a third cigarette.

“Why did you come here, Logan?” You crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

”I wanted to…. I guess I just wanted to see you.” He blew a cloud of smoke from his lips. “The whole way here, I was trying to think of something to say, of what I could say to apologize to you, to show you that I am sorry. But nothing is good enough. Nothing sounds good enough.”

You turned your head to look at him, tilting your head to the side just a little.

“Start with an actual apology, Logan. Tell me that you are sorry. God knows you’ve never fucking done that before.”

Logan pressed his lips together tightly. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, not yet at least.

“I am sorry, Y/N.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the breeze blowing over the balcony made your damp cheeks feel cold. You turned away from him, hastily wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket.

“I am— I’m so, so fucking sorry for everything.” Logan’s voice was quiet.

“I thought about killing myself, Logan.”

It was his turn to look at you. His brows were drawn together and his lips parted.

“What?”

“I had no one left. The Professor was gone. Storm, Jean, there was no one fucking left for me to go to.” Your voice trembled as you said each name.

“I’m— Y/N, I’m sorry. I just…. There was a lot going on and I—,”

”You don’t think I didn’t fucking see what was going on, Logan?” You cut him off. The sadness and grief you felt quickly turned to anger. “I wanted to help you. I did everything I could to try to help you! And you just shot me down like I was a fucking nobody to you. Like we hadn’t spent the last fifteen plus years together!”

”I didn’t know how to process everything!” He raised his voice. All the emotions from all those years ago came flooding back to him. “You couldn’t fix everything, Y/N! You couldn’t just make things better with a snap of your fingers! I was an asshole. The biggest fucking asshole in the world. And I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You stood to your feet. The thought of just sitting idly while you felt the white hot anger of a thousand suns under your skin made you want to vomit.

“Fuck you, Logan. Actually and genuinely fuck you. To think you have the right to find me and just waltz in and try to apologize for fucking being the absolute biggest dickhead in the entire—,”

Logan cut you off by wrapping his arms around you. He pulled you into what was perhaps the tightest hug you had ever had in your life. He buried his face against the side of your head, his hands pressing firmly into your back.

You were frozen in shock for the first few seconds. What was he doing? What was he trying to do?

”I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

And just like that, you melted around him. Your arms wrapped around his torso. You buried your face in his chest.

Sure, you weren’t completely accepting of his apology. There were still plenty of conversations the two of you needed to have to work through your issues. But you would be lying if you said you hadn’t been dreaming about this moment for years.

You stood there for a long time, probably too long, holding him as tight as you possibly could. Your tears dampened his hoodie at the center of his chest and you were sure you could feel his own tears making your hair damp.

When he finally felt that he had held you for long enough, Logan pulled back. You looked up at him, taking in a shaky breath through your lips. His large hands came up to cup your face, thumbs brushing the tears away.

”We should go to sleep.”

”Yeah.” You nodded your head, stepping away from him so that you could gather yourself quickly. “Um, yeah. I think Wade said something about sharing the guest bed with you.”

”Oh, great.” Logan rolled his eyes.

“You can always sleep on the couch if you want.” You offered, moving around him and into your apartment.

You stopped in the kitchen to watch him. As he stepped into the dim lighting of your home, you found yourself staring at him once more. It felt like you were dreaming, like maybe this was some sort of coma dream. Maybe you fell down the stairs in your apartment and this wasn’t real.

”Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Logan.”

[hysteria-things]

i REALLYYY need a sub matt fic plsss i read the one when he gets hard from seeing her in a bathing suit but can u do one where the triplets are like filming a video and she like like bends down to get something and sees how flustered it makes matt so then she just continues to do stuff like that like stand in front of him and "accidentally" backing up into him yea like stuff like that u know the rest 😁😁😁 (if so could u pls add a little bit of a mommy kink obviously if not that's totally fine)

PLEASE ME

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sub!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while filming a video with the sturniolo triplets, you notice matt acting strange so abruptly. when you realize what it’s about, you want to take advantage of it.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FILTHY, unintentional teasing lol, handjob, p in v, mommy kink, begging kink, praising, a little degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex (don’t do that!), breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 912

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: these requests are literally all the same LMAO

i’m sorry if the mommy kink isn’t RAGING for some reason typing that out makes me cringe a little😭

EDIT: hi second anon i’m very sorry i forgot to put the tata sucking that’s so my bad💔

matt couldn’t help but stare. the boys decided to go roller skating for fun and film for wednesday’s vlog. currently, matt’s at the booth you guys picked out to rest while his brothers are still on the floor.

you wanted to rest your feet as well, so for now, you’re in charge of filming the two over the loud music and other people.

he watches as your body is hunched over the wall dividing the rink to the main area, your skirt lifted ever so slightly. you look so attractive to him, his pants tightening as he looks in your direction.

“that’s good for now, thanks y/n!” chris says as he skates by, giving you a thumbs up.

your giggle fills matt’s ears, his hips having a mind of their own. he thrusts softly into the edge of the table, whining lowly.

“are you alright?” you question, now standing in front of his face.

his eyes are wide like he’s scared. you have a look of genuine fear on your face because he’s been acting fine all night until this moment. “holy shit, matt. seriously, are you okay?”

“i-i need to use the bathroom.” he stammers, quickly getting out of his skates and speed-walking to the other side of the building.

“matt, hold on!” you call out, but he ignores you. you stumble to get your skates off, sprinting after the boy.

catching up to him as he’s about to enter the boy’s room, you grab his wrist and turn him around. his eyes are tearing up as if he’s about to start crying or something. “matt, what the hell?”

“it hurts.” he pouts, looking down at the ground.

face visibly confused, you try to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “what hurts?”

he slowly removes his jacket from in front of his pants, revealing the raging boner through his jeans. “oh.”

his lip quivers, still avoiding eye contact from the embarrassment. “it hurts so fucking bad.” he whines louder.

honestly, you feel bad for him, but that doesn’t mean you still can’t help… right?

before his brain can comprehend what’s going on, you push him into the restroom and lock the door, laying him down on the ottoman that’s in the center of the spacious room.

biting your lip, you bring your hand down to the inside of his pants, palming him through his underwear. he moans desperately, a wet spot forming from the pre-cum.

he’s so sensitive that he’s twitching already, and that’s your sign to wrap your small hand around his dick, moving up and down.

“what a pretty boy, you are.” you coo, his eyes fluttering back with a positive hum. taking your thumb, you move it on his swollen tip. his poor dick is aching for a release, or even better, to be inside of you.

you feel him tighten, moving your hand faster and faster with each pump. squirming rapidly below you, he sticks his tongue out from the pleasure. “i’m gonna cum!” he moans.

you tut. “ask.”

he mewls, eyes closing shut while panting uncontrollably. “please let me cum, mo—”

you smirk amusingly, knowing damn well what was going to fall past his lips. “who?”

sniffling, he now looks at you with a pleading face. “can i cum, mommy?”

giving permission, he spurts his hot liquid down his shaft, but you don’t stop. you keep pumping, hovering over him and slipping your panties to the side with your free hand. “such a good boy.” you praise.

he loves that.

matt hisses once you start to bounce slowly on his cock, still feeling stimulated from his high. it hurts him, but it feels too good at the same time.

his mouth hangs wide, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you start to gradually get faster.

whines and whimpers echo along the walls. thank goodness the music is so loud outside, otherwise people will be able to hear how pathetic he sounds.

you moan too, but not as loud as he is. his voice mind as well be gone by the end of this.

the way your walls engulf him perfectly rubs him the right way, biting his lip and whining nonstop. you whisper praises into his ear, knowing that it gets him closer.

“mo-mmy.” he says high-pitched. “please let me cum i-inside you. please, mommy.”

the begging has you clench, lips ghosting his. “you’re so pathetic right now, i love it.”

eyes crossing, he spills deep into your cunt you can feel it in your stomach. he shakes his head frantically. “e-enough. it hurts too good!”

“come on, baby.” you kiss him sloppily, hands tangling in his hair and tugging at it in the process. “you don’t want mommy to milk you dry?”

tears start trickling down his cheeks, and cries and sobs of pleasure enter your mouth as he tries to kiss you back.

the previous orgasm still leaks, but another one comes rushing in. he’s cumming so much to the point where you’re full, and the rest smears out of the sides of your pussy.

moaning one final time, you release what you were holding around him.

he twitches at the slightest touch, eyes still crossed from the ecstasy that flowed through his body in the short amount of time.

it’s crazy to think about, but you were best friends at the beginning of the night. now the night ended with you pumped full of his cum.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mattsdollie @catalina-island @mbsbaby @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo

[xoxochb]

when he’s so 75 degree weather, august, beach, sun kissed skin, ocean blue, 6x6, 5pm, light blue jeans and converse, sunrise, sunny day, 80% charged phone, brown birks, wet hair, golden retriever, wednesday/sunday, school sweatshirt, english class, taylor swift 1989, new york, airpod pros, sea green

[toxicanonymity]

Good Morning precious, I hope you have a blessed Wednesday<3 could I possibly have a lil request of Dad's friend Joel miller X fem reader who's attracted to Joel but he's same age as her dad and feels queasy at the thought but couldn't help herself so one day when Joel was in her dad's house talking and her dad slipped out for a few hours she grabbed his belt by her finger and started to kiss him..🤭 thank you angel for blessing me with you blog every day!!💗😭ilysm!!😭💗

ohhhh yeaahh 🥵 love it!

Coming onto Joel when your Dad leaves

master list | CW: 18+ NSFW unsafe PIV sex, dubcon kiss?

When you pull up to your dad's house and see Joel's truck, you get butterflies. Joel is old, too old, but painfully hot. Your dad has to pick up some supplies across town. Joel stands at the front door, jeans as tight as always. He rolls up his sleeves as you walk up the driveway, then holds the door open, but not all the way – your skirt brushes up against him on your way in. You smell his aftershave and sweat, and the butterflies in your stomach migrate South. It feels weird if you think too much about him being your dad's age, but that fades entirely when he says your name as he greets you good morning. There’s something intimate about how he says it.

As soon as he closes the door behind you, something comes over you. You've never needed anyone so bad. You drop your bag on the floor and turn to face him, getting just a few inches away. He looks back and forth between your eyes and his brow furrows. The air is electric between you. You slip your finger into his brown leather belt and pull him into you.

"Whoa, sugar" he says, and swallows. "What are you-"

You cut him off with a kiss. He's minty. His salt and pepper beard pleasantly prickles your chin. It takes him a second to reciprocate, but when he does, that kiss is spring-loaded with need, even before your tongues meet. He moans, “mmmm," into your lips. His tongue invades your mouth and he sucks the air out of you. You breathe through your nose. Your hand slides down to massage the front of his jeans and a bulge hardens into your fingers. You unbuckle his belt, frantically unzip him and plunge your hand into his jeans. He grunts into the side of your mouth as his hard package swells into your hand.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks between heavy breaths. He kisses your neck and gropes your ass.

“Nothing yet, that's your job," you say as his large hands slip under your skirt to knead your naked cheeks clad only in a thong.

Joel groans and pulls your body closer against his. A surge of arousal floods you when you feel his hard cock through your skirt. Keeping your body close against his, he walks you into the nearest room and pushes aside all the home renovation plans he and your dad were looking at. He pins you up against the table and hikes up your skirt. His hand travels down your crack and hooks under your body, finding your crotch from behind. Two fingers slip under your moist thong.

His breath deepens as he grinds his arousal into you from the front and rubs your warm wet folds from the back. Your clit is pounding and your body is begging to be filled with his. You wedge your hand between your bodies and free his cock. It’s thick, rock-hard, and weeping.

"Fuck," he breathes. He forcefully turns you around and bends you over the table, pressing the small of your back with one hand and holding his raging erection in the other.

You tilt your hips, spread your legs, and your thong is pushed out of the way as he nestles the tip at your entrance. You can hardly stand to wait another second. The head nudges inside you and the gentle stretch makes you gasp. You push back onto him at the same time he plunges inside you. Your mouth falls open with a moan.

“God damn,” he says. He stays there for a moment and you twitch around him before he retreats and plunges into you once more.

He buries his length in you again and again, and you push back, sheathing his cock with your tight warmth. He gropes your breasts and his breath is littered with moans as he continues to fuck you. He says your name, and the tension in your core begins to release.

“Joel, I’m–” your words devolve into a groan as you come. He fucks you hard through your climax. Your walls clench around him with every wave, then you feel him pulse inside you. He sighs loudly in relief as he pumps you full of his cum.

-

-

Megan, you have some of the best asks 🖤 I'm honored to receive them. Have a great day!

[ladysomething]

I forget, is it snippet wednesday or full chapter wednesday today?

hi!

it is snippet Wednesday, and I did post one last night, but after the day we've alll had .. fuck it, lets have another one.

this one will also be heavily edited before it makes it's way to ao3, so that's exciting! yay for seeing the process!

“You can talk to me,” Max murmurs, voice so endearingly awkward and unsure. “If you want. I—I’ll listen.” 

He’s so nice. He’s always so nice, always just wants to be kind to him, but Charles doesn’t think he deserves it. 

“Why would you do that for me?” Charles asks, sniffling loudly. 

It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. 

“You know why,” Max answers, a little helplessly. 

Charles’ heart squeezes, so painfully it makes him whimper. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Max, and his unwavering loyalty, his dedication to keeping Charles safe even when he was being such a dick. He definitely doesn’t deserve to still have Max’s love, even when Charles can give him nothing back.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says, but it comes out almost as a sob. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so mean to you and now you’re stuck with me forever and I can’t even . . .” 

“Stuck?” Max asks, clearly bewildered. Charles doesn’t blame him—he’s just as confused at his own behaviour. It makes him cry harder, because Max is being so gentle, even though Charles is acting crazy. “What on Earth makes you think I feel stuck? If anything, you’re the one stuck with me.” 

“You are,” Charles cries, fists tightening in Max’s shirt. “You’re so nice, and you always defend me, even though Lando was right, because I can’t make any food and you always have to do it and maybe I can’t have kids but everyone keeps telling me that you want them! I’ve ruined everything. I ruined your life, and my life, and what if I can’t even win the Championship? What if I’m not good enough? And—and—Kelly! What about Kelly? Jean-Luc is here, all the time, and not with Kelly and Penelope and it’s all my fault, I’m so stupid, I don’t know why all of you would do this for me! I’m not worth it, I’m not, Max, I’m so stupid.” 

Max rubs gentle, soothing circles on his back as Charles sobs desperately into his neck. He doesn’t even know where half of that came from, which just makes him cry more. 

What is he even saying? What is he talking about? He really is so fucking stupid—

“You’re not stupid,” Max whispers fervently. “Don’t even say that. You’ve been put in an awful situation and you tried to make the best of it. That doesn’t make you stupid.” 

Charles sobs loudly, rubbing his wet face against Max’s shirt. 

“Don’t be nice to me,” Charles whispers desperately. “I don’t deserve for you to be nice to me.”

[nullcanary]

I know you, at least I did. But all the time, I feel you missing.

[sytoran]

𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐩𝐭.𝟐 ⌇ natasha romanoff

summary: you need some stress-relief, and the continuance of natasha's willingness is there to solve it all.

☰ PAIRING: sub!secretary!natasha x dom!ceo!reader

☰ REQUEST: hellooo can i req a secretary/assistant natasha x boss/ceo reader with any exhibitionism? maybe r has had a stressful day and is using nat to let off steam n they frgt to lock the office door, a bit similar to ur prev nat ficc. the other details can be up to uu. tyy :D

☰ NOTE: i decided to turn it into a sequel to my previous fic, office hours. it has alot of similarities, and i don’t want my works to feel repetitive. hope that’s fine with yall. enjoy this one! 

☰ TAGS: office!au, smut, exhibitionism, dirty talk, stress-relief sex, risky sex, rough fingering, marking, slightly possesive behaviour, horniness, a lot of it

part 1 / masterlist / requests are open

needless to say, that wasn't the last time you and natasha got caught up in similar shenanigans.

on some days, flaming red hair was the last thing you saw before you got forcefully dragged into a cramped storage room by your tie, then pulled into a kiss so passionate it made your head spin.

on other days, you just couldn't help but slip wandering fingers under plaid skirts during office meetings, the room dark enough to hide steady thrusts, but quiet enough to make your secretary squirm.

and on your favorite days, natasha basically pounced onto you before you closed the door to your office, panting and whining and pulling down her panties to reveal a soaked cunt, one that you devoured with heated fervour.

yes, it was a risky game you played, considering natasha was getting bolder and bolder, and you were craving her more and more.

but maybe the breaking point was something you dared to test the boundaries of, on one particular wednesday evening.

"oh, please! fuck," natasha cried, whines spilling from divine lips, as you plunged two fingers up inside her. 

it was just another regular tuesday, of work left undone and lust unbound. 

you grunted in response, recklessly hiking up her skirt. today had been a shit day, and it was probably wrong to use your secretary as an outlet to relieve stress, but if natasha wasn't complaining, neither would you.

“you’re mine,” you panted, littering kisses all over her collarbone. natasha was sitting on your lap, facing you, desperately grinding on the coarseness of your jeans. “you’re all mine.”

before your secretary could utter another word of easy compliance, footsteps could be heard along the corridor. 

natasha’s breath constricted in her throat, freezing in your arms. you stilled your movements for a moment, letting out a slow puff of warm air that raised goosebumps along natasha’s neck.

the voices didnt seem to stop, almost as if they were chattering right outside your office door. dimly illuminated by a streak of light that sneaked in, your subordinates would be able to catch sight of your doings with just a simple push of the door that was minimally ajar.

amidst the tensed silence, your tongue found the delectably bare skin of natasha's neck. slowly trailing it up the narrow column of the back of her neck, her needy gasp hardly stifled.

"w-wait," natasha breathed, core clenching when you left a wet kiss at that soft spot, under her earlobe and above the jaw.

natasha bit her lip fervently to prevent moans from spilling out. feeling wetness pool in her drenched panties, she tried to grind against your thigh.

natasha could still hear the voices from outside very well, only heightening her alert senses, making it all the more arousing when your hands found solace up her skirt, roaming over the expanse of milky thighs.

"so needy, hmm? can't even wait for a second," you rasped softly into her ear, nipping at her earlobe.

your secretary squirmed under touches so soft yet so inviting. god, she was dripping down her thighs, clit throbbing with need. it was so hot, you teasing her to no end even though there were people just right outside.

you could still hear the voices outside very well, the conversation becoming more casual, a cacophony of loud laughs.

seizing the opportunity, you slid two fingers into natasha's pretty cunt, her cry of pleasure overrun by the hearty laughter.

you shifted her to face the slightly open door, thighs spread wide to expose her dripping cunt. you smirked at her flushed features, natasha evidently incredibly turned on.

you began rocking your fingers at a steady pace, not the most brutal but enough to make natasha bite into the flesh of her palm to stop from letting out a string of russian curses.

"you'd let me fuck you stupid right here, hmm? when anyone could just walk in?"

thumb brushing against her swollen clit with every thrust, natasha felt the fire building up all too quickly, nodding dumbly.

your fingers felt so good, scissoring all the spots inside her that made natasha go wild, flexible enough to reach spots she didn't even know existed within her.

it took a sheer lot of willpower to stay quiet, eyes wide with alertness as she stared at the ray of light sneaking past the open door, just waiting for someone to catch you two in the act.

but knowing you, you probably wouldn't stop fucking her, let whoever watch you fuck your dumb little secretary stupid, let everyone know she was yours and yours only.

and you'd make her cum, over and over and over again, then forcing her to suck your fingers, and maybe if she was good you'd let her take the strap.

"doll, my pants are ruined. look at you," your low whisper jolted natasha out of her wild fantasies, the redhead now very aware of how soaked she was.

her panties were haphazardly pushed to the side, bare cunt facing the slightly open door, two of your fingers were buried in her, your other hand clamped over her mouth as she panted and drooled.

"gonna cum again? need me to help you to be quiet?" you asked lowly, a low thrum barely noticeable amidst the louder noises outside.

natasha nodded, eyes glassy and unfocused. you bit back a groan at her state of duress, only urging you to make you hers.

maybe it was your frustrations from the job of stark industries' CEO, or maybe it was the voices outside, or maybe it was just your wonderful secretary, but you decided to curl up your fingers harshly right as natasha was about to cum, shattering every last fragment of secrecy there ever was.

the near scream natasha let out, despite your hand shoved up against her pliant mouth, made you bite into her shoulder, leaving a bruise.

she was yours, she was yours, she was-

and then the door swung open, and standing there with his jaw dropped, was tony stark.

well, if you ever lost your job, it would've been for a good cause.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats

if u wanna join the taglist, feel free to drop an ask or a comment <3

i spent so long on this PLEASE TUMBLR DON'T DO THE NAUGHTY

masterlist

[trashmouth-richie]

CONFESSION

eddie x fem! reader

TW: no minors, heavy degrading themes of the Catholic Church, smut, corruption kink, virginity loss, Eddie posing as a priest. Slight daddy kink, rosaries not used properly. Umm yeah it’s smut p in v, cum eating. Etc

a/n: I have no words, I’ll see you in the crimsoned room of hell, or purgatory— in that case, please pray me out.

Trudging with untied boots the thud of his clunky soles echo loud in the steeped ceiling of St. Mary’s. He stubs the lit end of his joint out in the holy water, sizzling and emitting one last pathetic puff of smoke. Dipping a tattooed middle finger into the holy water he makes a lame excuse for the sign of the cross, flicking whatever remnants of moisture left into the open air. Keeping his middle finger high for the man on the cross. 

  Every Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday nights at 7 o'clock on the dot, he had come to the brick built and heavily waxed wooden floored church to repent. 

  Father Hopper had gone easy on Eddie when he found him trying to hot wire his car. Punishing him to thirty confessions stretched over two months time.

Father knew Wayne Munson was on the verge of a thin line of patience, and Eddie was on his last strike with Hawkins PD, next step was prison. A shared cell with the other Munson and ex resident of Hawkins currently known as inmate #89432. 

  Fuck it, I’ll go to jail what the hell do I care? Eddie spat at the rickety table in Father Hopper’s poorly lit kitchen.

  “Son,” Father began, sipping a bitter cup of coffee, thumb nails scratching against the ceramic mug, “you don’t want to end up like him.” 

  “Well. I sure as hell ain’t gonna end up like you. White robes and that cardboard dog collar you wear— yeah fuckin’ right.” 

  That was back in May. What started as a desperate plea to steal a car and possibly sell it to get enough money to  skip the prying eyes and whispering licks of gossip tongues about how he hadn’t graduated, again, — ended with him getting assigned the confessions. 

  A stuffy little closet with Hopper’s coffee breath stenching through a grated screen. The dark walls seems to close in on him as he confessed to petty crimes and sex on Sundays. 

  Leaning against the desk that held glass orbs of candles, he spits in the nearest one. The flame sizzling out. And that’s when he hears it. 

  A small giggle from the pew nearest him. 

  He had seen you around school. Clutching your school books to your chest as you were shoved into walls and lockers. A ghost among the popular chicks and dicks. But never to him. 

  He himself was an outcast and truth be told he didn’t remember the time he hawked a lougie into Jason’s milk carton and stubbed a cigarette into his hamburger after Jason had purposefully knocked your lunch tray out of your hands. The cheap plastic tray hitting the tiled floor with a clank. 

  He might remember but you remembered the way his smile pearled big and pretty, his long lashes dusting the tops of his cheeks as he winked your way, and the way your panties clung with wetness at your heated lips. 

  His whiskey dark eyes bore into your head as he says your name slow, like reciting a prayer. His long legs swing as he struts cockily towards you. Middle of the summer and he’d shed his leather armor. Red flannel open revealing a tanned tattooed chest. Sleeves cut off showcasing muscly trailer park strong arms.  Jeans hacked off above the knee. 

  His smirk danced across his lips, tongue poking out to wet his lips. He had trouble written all over him. And damn did he wear it well.

  “Don’t tell me you’re here to confess the sins committed against our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?” 

  Your legs cross and thighs rub together. A pulse awakening between your legs. 

  “Amen,” you giggle nervously, hiding behind heated cheeks. 

  Leaning his long frame against the edge of the pew, he throws a worn heavy boot over onto the seat, next to your clenched thighs under the white sundress. 

  He leans down, over his knee, his long curls dancing with his gesturing head, he’s leaning close and you can see the reds fading his eyes and the skunked smell of weed. Still that smile has you melting. 

  “So what are you in for? Forget to genuflect before sitting down last Sunday?” 

  His joke earns a smile from you and seeing your lips pull your cheeks up has him twitching in his jeans. 

  “No,” you roll your eyes in a girlish way, batting your lashes, “it’s not that.” 

  “Ah!” Eddie says jumping up, “no bother, I don’t think Father Hopper isn’t gonna show anyway.” 

  You don’t mean to frown and Eddie almost laughs out loud at your pout. 

  Strict as your parents were, they were demanding that you needed to confess for your sins. They were already pissed you skipped out on college, might as well take 10 years off school, you’ll never go, they hated your job, hated even more that you didn’t really have friends outside of the “weird Buckley girl.” 

  By the end of this month you’d have enough money saved up to move out, and oh how you couldn’t wait. 

  The dirty word slips before you catch it. Hands covering your mouth quickly, the heat on your cheeks burning deeper. You peer at Eddie with big eyes.  

  He cracks a slow smile and leans forward. Licking his chapped lips again. He’s so close to you you can see every eyelash in high definition. 

  “That’s another sin, one more and the floor will open and we’ll both be engulfed into the fiery pits of hell.” 

  “Actually I think it’s purgat—” 

  A ringed finger is placed vertically to your lips, shushing you from finishing. The satin feel of your lips on his rugged finger makes him ache against the teeth of his zipper. 

  Tracing your face with his eyes they dip down the slope of your nose and past the curve of your lips, the delicate pink rosary is hung on your neck with such daintiness it’s almost in open invitation. 

  He about chokes when the goosebumps rise on your throat from his stare, a bead of sweat trickling in between your tits. 

  Dark eyes swim into yours, and his smile is impish, full of wicked delight, “Let’s go.” 

  His hand snakes down your shoulder and he grabs your wrist in a light but thick grip. Beckoning you with a sinful smirk. 

  “To where?” You manage after peeling your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

  “Time to confess for that dirty mouth.” Eddie says matter of fact, turning his head and dragging you to the confessional booth. “C’mon I’ll act as Father.” 

  Eddie pulls you into the small wooden door in the back of the church opening it for you in a gentlemanly manner ending in a bow. 

  He rushes you in with snapping fingers and a growl making you squeal. 

  Sitting behind the screen where Hopper usually sat Eddie beckons you to sit in his usual assigned seat. 

  He makes a backwards sign of the cross with his left hand and folds his fingers, clearly his throat and using a deep baritone voice, “tell me your sins, sweet girl.” 

  When you giggle, Eddie flicks the screen, “this is serious shit— confess to me.” 

  You begin the way your parents had you rehearse at home. 

  “Bless me Father— wait, should I call you that?”

  “Daddy works best,” Eddie says without missing a beat. And your pussy clenches around nothing. 

  “Bless me,” you hesitate on the word, but Eddie raises his eyebrows to encourage you so you start again, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. 

  “B- Bless me, Daddy, for I have sinned, my last confession was 10 weeks ago.” 

  “That’s a long time ago,” he tsks, berating you, “have you not sinned in these last 10 weeks?” 

  Fingers threading the hem of your dress you answer, “I- I have.” 

  Eddie palms himself at your innocence. “Well?” 

  “I— Eddie—” 

  “Excuse me? My title in this confessional is Daddy please do not make me correct you again,”

  “Sorry, Daddy.” 

  “Good girl,” Eddie purrs. Sending shocks to your clit. “Continue.” 

  Clearing your throat you stroke the beads of the rosary hung against your neck. Counting ten, a small skip, another bead, then ten more. 

  “I was.. experimenting.” 

  “Drugs?” Eddie asks, chuckling in genuine shock, he didn’t think a girl like you would smoke, “yes the devils lettuce is tempting.” 

  He flicks his lighter open and lights another joint he had tucked in his pocket for the ride home. 

  “But we must stop these temptations before they start, plus who are you buying from because I need to know if I have competition.” 

  You move your head to the side and continue thumbing the pink pearly beads in your fingers. The clack of your nails against the beads fill the quiet smoke hung room. 

  “No… it wasn’t drugs.” 

  Eddie’s mind flips like a magazine. 

  “Oh yes the alcohol, another temp—”

  “Wrong again.” 

  Eddie’s frustration peaks, “well I’m not a fucking mind reader so do you wanna explain yourself?” 

  “I— I was.. I was touching myself.” 

  “Oh fuckin, Christ..” it’s mumbled and breathy but you hear it all the same, sending a slick to your pussy from your admission and Eddie’s shock. 

  He’s rock hard. The zipper on his jeans scream, begging for any sort of release. He needs to know more. 

  “Do explain,” he says intrigued, leaning forward, his hands folded under his chin. 

  Adjusting yourself in the wooden chair you cross your legs, and Eddie barely witnesses the white cotton snug between your thighs, the sneak peek having him swallow hard. 

  Taking a breath you go into detail about the videotape you had gotten from the adult section of Family Video. How you had only watched it once and the volume was muted, but you couldn’t get it out of your mind. 

  The way the woman’s mouth curved into an “O” when the man was pleasuring her. The size of the man’s penis and the way it slapped against his stomach when released from his jeans. How the woman’s perked nipples were firm but looked soft against the man’s tongue.  

  Eddie’s drool is wiped from his mouth at your explicit confession, and he starts to palm himself over his jeans when you explain how you had started rubbing yourself over your underwear at night. 

  Thinking you were about to have your first ever orgasm but weren’t able to finish because your mother had walked in on you, legs spread wide on your comforter, toes curling. As you were using the barrel of a curling iron to rub at your clothed clit. 

  The embarrassment from repeating the story to Eddie made your cheeks heat, and you hid behind your hair. 

  The silence is speaking volumes. The only noise is the cream of the wooden seat as you shift again, a flutter in your stomach as Eddie thinks of his punishment for you. 

  “Sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, a hiss on his tongue as he moves from behind the screen, wedging himself between you and the wall, his long frame leaning against the mahogany. 

  Ringed fingers tapping along the plump of his lips, his hard cock outlined through his jeans, “You are a filthy, naughty girl.”

  You scoff, “I am not!” 

  “Oh baby, you are,” Eddie says, boxing you in, “but, I know just the thing to…cleanse you of your sins.” He licks his lips again and stares you down. And you're certain you're looking into Satan’s eyes. 

  “Wh—” you stutter, having to clear your throat, swallowing thickly and dabbing at the sweat on your neck, “what do you have in mind?” 

  Eddie’s wayward curls skim the top of your chest as his lips curve around the shell of your ear, he smells like cigarettes and laundry soap, “bad girls get spanked.” 

  Gasping, he laughs at your shocked face. “I don’t make the rules babe, ok I made that one up, but this is for you swearing in the house of the Lord, now,” he gestures a thumb over his shoulder, “get up, you’re gonna need to be on my lap.” 

  You do as you're told, standing chest to chest with Eddie. Only this time it’s you licking your lips. One stretch up on tipped toes and your lips could connect with his. The faint mark of a nicotine stain paints his bottom lip. You wonder if it would taste like it. 

  He grabs your hips and swivels you around, his rings dig into the soft cotton on your dress, his nails scratching the fabric as he takes his seat. The wooden chair groaning on the sudden weight. 

  Leaning back in the chair he smiles wickedly, legs spread wide, he rubs his lap, tapping for you to come closer. 

  When your body is laid flat against him, you pull at the hem of your skirt to keep your modesty. 

  “This punishment is just for the dirty words,” Eddie explains. His ringed fingers walk along your spine, trailing down your back and up the fat of your ass. 

  He lays a warm hand on your cheeks and rubs it gently. Squeezing every so often. 

  Eddie's cock is hard under your ribs and your pussy flutters at the size of him. He hums and jiggles your ass before explaining his rules for your indiscretion, “you are going to recite The Lord’s Prayer while I spank you. Understand?”  

  You nod dumbly and whimper when his left hand tickles up your thighs. 

  “Start.” He grunts. 

  You begin the Lord's Prayer just like you were taught, standing before joyful cheeked families in a similar white dress on your First Communion day. 

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be th—”

  A large hand comes down hard with a thwap! on your ass cheek, sending you forward and hitting your head on the wall. 

  “Oh,” Eddie whispers, not hiding the smile in his voice, “if you mess up— we start over. So don’t. Unless this naughty girl enjoys being spanked by daddy? Hmm?” 

  You nod again and continue. Trying hard to remember where you were. Hallowed be…

  “.. Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done. On Eart—”

  Two hands smack your ass at once like sticks beating a drum. The hem of your skirt is lifted past the sheer white panties you are wearing. Reaching for the end of your dress to pull it down Eddie grabs your wrist, putting your hand back where it belongs he issued another spanking. 

  This time he lifts your dress fully and groans at the sight in front of him. Your plump ass has all but swallowed the see thru fabric of your panties. Eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth and places his left hand in the thick of your thighs, warmed by the heat of your arousal, his thumb rubbing small circles. 

  Thy Kingdom… shit. 

  “Thy Kingdom c—” the hardest slap yet has rained down on your nearly bare skin, and it springs tears from your eyes. 

  Eddie smooths over the red mark left on your skin and his tone is irate when he spits, “you already said that sweetheart, start again.” 

  His fingers snake further up your legs and he groans at the feel of your soaked panties on his fingertips. 

  You start again. And the spankings Eddie delivers are swift and merciless. The harder he spanks the more you cry out. 

  Sweat pools between your thighs where Eddie’s hot hand is wedged, his thumb teasing the outline of your panties and pressing soft circles into the fabric. 

  Tears cling to your eyelashes as your punishment comes to an end, welts forming where his rings stung and clipped you. 

  Words of reassurance fall from his lips after every slap and harsh whack of his hands. When Eddie leans over to catch a rogue tear from your cheek before it hits the carpet, your thighs slam together tight with a snap. 

  The groan he lets out is guttural and low. His cock twitches underneath you again. 

  “..and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil Am—- ow!” 

  Quick, hot tears sting your eyes. A jerk of your head reveals a sight you would never imagine seeing… let alone in a church. 

  Pearly, and oddly straight. The calcified and slightly sharp teeth pull out from the red, irritated skin on your ass.  

  “If you want to repent for your sins, you need to put your trust in me, can you do that baby… hmm? Can you listen and give yourself to me? It’s the only way you’ll be forgiven.”

  A perfect dental record sunken in deep, small droplets of blood weep from the pierced flesh from his canines. 

His lips are pulled back in a snarl, dark eyes gleam with a feral intensity so ferocious you’re instantly terrified. He looks like a wolf fighting for a meal. 

  Paralyzed with fear, your lungs spasm in shock as he flicks out his tongue, running the wet tip of the muscle along the pattern of his teeth grooved into your skin. 

  Each pass of his slicked tongue deepens the arousal in your lower stomach. His lips curve around the mark, kissing it better, his hooded eyes never leave yours. 

  You moan when the purpling bruise he’s sucking into your skin is greeted with the same poked teeth that bit you earlier. 

  His thick middle finger had your panties pulled to the side and your arousal is coated thick on his finger as he pushes past your puffy lips. A blunt fingernail sharp against your inner walls. 

  “Fuck,” he groans, dipping his finger into the impossibly tight well of your sweet pussy. 

  Eyes rolling into the back of your head, you mimic his moans and bite into your cheek. Hungry for the look of a broken gasp as your walls flutter and tighten around him. 

  World spinning and head rushing, Eddie has you upright and straddling his waist. when you start to question him he shushes you. 

  Taking the same finger he had plunged into your molten slicked pussy, he rubs the pad of it around your lips. Like a tube of chapstick during a cold winter, he coats them again and again, licking his own, his other hand is tight on your knee and gently skirting closer to your hip under your dress. 

  When he's satisfied with his art on your plump lips, he finally dives in, his breath hot on your skin and you part your mouth in a welcome for him. 

  But he only laughs. 

  A throaty chuckle that mocks you, as you wait for him to kiss you, wait for him to press his pinked lips to yours. Waiting for his tongue to devilishly lap at the corner of your mouth. 

  But all of his attention is zeroing down on the rosary around your neck. 

  Each bead is slick with sweat, warm to the touch against his thumb, as he counts them in his head, your throat gasping on each inhale. Whimpering and moving your hips against him.

  Grabbing the rosary in his fist he pulls you closer to him, biting the fleshy lobe around the small gold hoops in your ears, his dick aches when you whine his name. 

  Huffed whispers tickle your ear and send shivers down your spine and flood your panties, “Such a dirty fucking girl, practically begging for me to fuck you.” 

  Another whine from your mouth and he’s bucking his hips into you, strained denim against wet lace. 

  “Is that what you want?” Eddie demands. His snake-like tongue tickling behind your ear, “all you have to do, is ask.” 

  “Please,” you beg, fingers curling into the flannel of his shirt, head thrown back as he circles your neck and paints hickies with his tongue.

  “Not good enough, baby. Tell me how bad you want this little virgin hole filled.” 

  His hand finds it way under your skirt to the desperate slick of your panties, his fingers sliding around and making slow figure eights against your clit.

  Tits bouncing as you move against his hand, hopelessly with no words you beg him with your body to give you relief. You whine again embarrassed to ask for what you craved, the sin that brought you here to begin with.

  When you don’t say anything he retreats his hand. And you try to chase it as it slips away, you whimper pitifully again, and finally succumb to his demands. 

  All embarrassment gone as you beg him, plead for his cock, “Eddie, please.. please.. I’ve been so good,” you oughta be ashamed of yourself but you couldn’t care less— if he could make you feel this good by barely touching you, you’d be on your way to that glorified “O” in no time, and you can practically hear the Hallelujah chorus.  

  He chuckled cockily at your pleas, but shushes you as he unthreads his belt, and almost chokes when you gasp in awe at his thick veiny cock, slapping up to his belly with a thump and the pearling bead of cum seeping from the slit. 

  His thick ringed hand pumps himself as he lines himself up with your swollen pussy. And when you sink down he slams himself home and you clench around him, a scream escaping your slack mouth.

  He groans low,  trying to even out his breathing around your pretty gasps and breathy moans. 

  “You’re gonna keep my cock warm before I fuck you like the slut you wanna be for me,” he chides, concentrating hard on on anything other than the tight walls of your pussy gripping him. “This is the rest of your punishment… you pray a Hail Mary and warm my cock, no whining, no moaning.” 

  You whimper as his cock stretches you out, practically biting a hole in your bottom lip as you taste yourself from where he painted them with your own arousal earlier. 

  A loud slap to your ass and you’re jolting forward, your rosary tight in Eddie’s fist as he brings you down to his lips, “start praying or I’ll go home.”

  “Hail Mary,” you begin, the same way you started before, only this time the pressure was never lifted, your pussy full of him, and his tongue hot and feverish on your neck, teeth grazing your skin ever so lightly. 

  He’s teasing you and trying to get you to break, he thumbs over your nipples until they’re peaked and sore in his pinched grip. 

  When you get halfway through the sacred prayer, your pussy aches and drips down to his balls. His tongue is lazily working a red and purple ‘E’ into the fat of your tit, one hand still holding the rosary tight against your neck. 

  You’re on the verge of breaking when you suck him in deeper, pushing your walls around him and kegeling him in a death trap. He mins and curses the lord’s name, and he finally snaps. 

  Bangs slicked with sweat and stuck heavy against forehead, he grunts, “Holy Mary Mother of God.” And you’re hiked upwards. 

  The screen you confessed your sins to with Eddie on the other side only a half hour ago, is now pressed tight against your ass as Eddie hammers his cock into your slicked and aching pussy. 

  The moan you elicit is toe curling, borderlining pornographic as the thick head of his clock slams into a spot you were unaware of reaching again and again. 

  “Pray for us sinners… fuck this pussy is so tight… now and at the hour of our death,” Eddie whimpers into your shoulder before biting down hard. 

  And when you yell out an amen your fluttering gummy walls spasm with joyful relief. Coating you and Eddie both with hot arousal as it seeps from you. 

  And the lips you’ve been staring at all night finally touch yours. 

  A bruisingly, sore puncture of lust filled kisses that would have your lips resembling a baboon’s ass for days. 

  He’s babbling now as your feet are wrapped right around his waist, his hands wiggling into his curls and yanking harder sends him over the edge. 

  He drops you onto your knees and opens your mouth with a press of his thumb on your bottom lip, when your tongue is out, and waiting for his cum, he jerks his cock once more and shudders when the hot ropes leave him and drip on your tongue and lips. 

  “Body of Christ,” Eddie says with a smirk, shutting your mouth for you and watching you swallow his load. He expects you to gag, possibly spit it out at him like the other girls would. 

  But when you lick your lips and utter a seductive, “Amen.” Eddie knows he’d never get out of confession for the rest of his life. 

😅hmmm yeah ily there will be a part 2

[httpscomexe]

Runaway 6

Summary: After Logan is locked away somewhere in the mansion, you’re no longer safe.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Gore, fire, kidnapping, drugging, needles, mind control, blood, crude descriptions of death (Individual warnings per chapter)

Word Count: 4309 (Find all chapters here) CH7

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again

“It’s just not safe for her anymore.”

“Well we can’t leave her with Logan.”

“Well she also can’t be here.”

“Okay then what do we do? Drop her off on the sidewalk?”

“No, we gotta find someone else that can take care of her.”

“I’ve already called someone, they are going to take care of her.”

“The Avengers? They’re gonna ruin her.”

“They’ll teach her to fight.”

Their voices eventually become nothing but white noise, drawn out by your brain as you stare at the little bumps of paint on the walls, your ears folded down your head, and your tail tucked between your legs as much as it could be. Obviously, they were talking about you. The sorry looking animal sitting on the floor in the hallway outside of Xaviers room, still spotted with Scotts blood. The realisation makes you shiver, and only then do you suddenly feel disgusted. It wasn’t the first time you were covered in a friend's blood, considering your past, but it was the first time you’ve witnessed your friend kill a friend. More over your owner, killing a friend.

Logan was now locked up somewhere in the mansion. They hadn’t told you where because they didn't want you to look for him, which you understood. You also however didn’t believe that Logan would ever intentionally hurt you. You know he loves you. You just wished you knew why he attacked Scott.

“She can stay here until Wednesday, but then she needs to leave.”

And that was your que to stand up. You look through the little window of the door into the room they were in, none of them noticing you as you walk away through the halls, searching intentionally for the kitchen. You just wanted to wash off your face already.

You make it to the sink in the kitchen, quickly turning on hot water and washing your hands and face of Scotts blood, the water turning a faded pink as it runs down the drink, making little images of Scotts body pop into your head, a single tear falling from your eye at the memory as you splash your face with water, trying to wash the image from your brain.

“Fuck.” You curse under your breath, your hands gripping the counter as you let more sink water run down the drain, the white noise of it calming your brain, a deep breath leaving your lips.

“Bambi?” You whip your head around at the voice, and there was Jean standing there in the doorway, putting her phone into her pocket.

“Hey…” You mumble, your wetted face hiding your tears.

“Do you know why… why Logan did that…?” Her voice shakes a little. She tried to make it out as if she was horrified, but you sense her anger. She was pissed. If it was possible to kill Logan, she surely would’ve done it already.

“I- I don’t know. I heard them fighting so I went into the bathroom… And then-” You try to recall is as best as possible, your throat knotting at the memory.

“But he didn’t hurt you.” You don’t know how to respond to that. Her face was staring straight at you, and you weren’t even sure she expected an answer. It felt like it was more of a statement than a question, which made you shiver.

“No he uh… He was a little too focused on Scott…” You turn your eyes away from her, and everything in your head tells you to turn back around and face her again, fearing she’d pounce at you like a jaguar, but you don’t. She didn’t seem threatening, just angered. If she wanted you dead, she would’ve already killed you. Surely she knew it wasn’t your fault, that you had nothing to do with it. You had no control over the situation at the time. If anyone did, it was her. But she decided to separate from the group. Don’t think like that. You squeeze your eyes shut, the sink water still running and you bite your lip. Now wasn’t the time to blame someone for the death of their own boyfriend.

The sink water stops running, and that's what makes you open your eyes again, Jean has her finger tips on the handle of the sink, and she is staring down at you now, both of her hands returning to her middle to cross her arms.

“How are you feeling?” You look up at her, and she doesn’t respond for a minute. You see her swallow, staring down at you with some sort of hatred.

“I just watched my boyfriend get gutted in public… I’m not very sad though… Xavier says it’s just a ‘defence response.’ But I think it’s pretty reasonable.” In other words, yes, she was blaming you. She wanted to do something about it, but there was something deep inside of her that knew she wasn’t being logical.

“I’m sorry…”

“For what?” You look at her a little stunned, her tone didn’t sound logical.

“For what happened to Scott…”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know I just-”

“It’s fine.” She cuts you off, leaning off the counter, her arms still crossed as she continues to stare down at you. “Did you hear the conversation in there? I know you were listening to most of it. We can’t keep you here for too long.”

“Yea I uh… I heard that part.” You sniffle a little and turn around to lean back on the counter and face her. “What uhm… What are Avengers?”

“They’re a team. Like the X-Men, but people love them.”

“What makes them different?”

“They weren’t born with their powers… They were abused into them.”

“Like Logan and Wade?” She seems to stiffen up at the mention of Logan's name.

“We lost this universe's Logan for a reason.” She shuffles on her feet, preparing to leave. “Wade should have never brought that one here.” She moves to the snack cabinet, grabbing a chocolate bar before leaving without even saying bye.

You take another deep breath, rubbing your hands down your face with some pressure as you try to collect yourself. You brush your hands down your clothes, a little bit of the pressure of your hands on your body calming you down, and for some reason you think that Logan's touch would be so much more comforting now. You run your hands through your hair, your fingers getting a little caught in some tangles. A groan leaving your throat. Normally, Logan would be there to brush your hair every night before bed, but tonight was different, considering he was locked up somewhere inside the mansion and probably knocked out on drugs.

You finally find it in yourself to walk forward, turning off the light of the kitchen before heading up to the rooms, heading straight to Logan’s room, knowing the scent of him would at least bring you back to yourself.

You wake up to the sound of a few different people running outside of your door, stretching in bed a little. Logan's bed of course, you wouldn’t have been able to sleep without his scent.

You sit in the bed, your ears twitching as you listen for more movement, the clock on the bedside table only reading as twenty seven past three. What the fuck were they doing up so early? You swing your legs over the side of the bed, shaking your head of your sleep a little, ears making a flapping sound as you do, standing up from the bed and stretching again, another group of feet across the wooden floor boards making you even more curious.

You grab a brown sweater that you earlier threw to the floor and a pair of slim jeans, tossing on the hoodie quickly and stepping into your jeans as you walk up to the door, but the second your hand touches the handle, the hair on your arms has goosebumps, and your ears and tail automatically go into defence mode. Something was wrong, and even though you couldn’t see it, you could feel it.

Then there's a scream. It’s not directly outside of your door though, you can tell it came from somewhere downstairs. Normally a scream wouldn’t be too surprising in the mansion. It would normally mean someone who can’t control their powers accidently lit something on fire, or a playful scream as some younger children run down the halls. But this wasn’t the case. The scream wasn’t playful. It was long, and drawn out, shaking with fear and cries like the girl was crying before being abruptly silenced.

You quickly run to the front of Logan's bed, kneeling down to grab his bag full of weapons out from under, but it isn’t there. It’s still at Wades. “Shit.” You curse outloud and run into his closet, opening and closing drawers, praying you’d a dagger or even a box cutter for fucks sake, anything to take with you before you went to inspect the scream.

As you stand up after checking the last bottom drawer, ultimately finding nothing, your head knocks on the edge of the dresser, making your hand shoot to your head in pain, but it fades quickly when you hear the top of the dresser close. “What the fuck?” Your hands quickly grip the lip of the dresser, where you would normally set things like books or shoes, and it lifts. A dagger set underneath. The same dagger you had found before with the wolverine engraves on one side, the deer engraved on the other. Both of your names engraved next to each other.

You take a deep breath, closing the top of the dresser where the dagger was hidden, and you quickly move back to the door, listening for a moment before swinging it open, a few younger kids being led by some adults, the only movement you see before they disappear around a corner. Other than that, everything was silent. You didn’t like it. You knew the halls were quiet at night, but there was always at least one room in every hall where some older kids were having a ‘sleepover’ in one of the rooms, watching a movie or playing some games, failing to be quiet.

With your first step forward, the wood creaks under your lightweight, and it makes you tense a little, the air seemingly getting thicker. You step forward again anyways, your steps slow at first before quickening, leading yourself downstairs to where you think the screaming had come from. The entire walk it had felt like an external force was trying to drag you away. Like your spirit was walking behind you but your body was stepping quickly ahead, ignoring and pushing away your soul's warnings. It made you shiver, and quite frankly, you wanted to cry. But you wouldn’t, you couldn’t cry. Especially when you were trying to be quiet.

I could really use Logan right about now. You tell yourself, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out softly before peeking around the corner of the meeting room. Everything seemed normal. The couch was in the centre of the large space, slightly crooked from older students pushing it back a little every time they would throw themselves down on it, the lamp slightly off centred from the end table and turned on, casting a soft light throughout the room, just enough to see. But there were two things that really were sticking out for you. That was the broken TV, shattered beyond repair like something heavy was thrown at it, and the glass coffee table, bent and also shattered. So there was a fight, you tell yourself. And you calm down just a little as you notice the bit of white hair sticking over the back of the couch, and you take one step forward. Obviously, in your rush, you hadn’t put on shoes. Figuring you wouldn’t be leaving the mansion. But after taking just one step forward, you freeze a corner of the carpet coming into view. Originally white, but now stained red, and your eyes trail along the floor. Bloody shoe prints leading into the kitchen. There wasn’t much space between each step, meaning whos ever it was, they weren’t running. They were walking as if having blood stained on the bottom of their shoes was normal, and suddenly you weren’t so sure if you wanted to approach the couch, and to see who you assumed was Ororo, sitting down quietly on the couch.

Not that you had a choice.

You don’t know how you didn’t hear them approaching, not when everything was quiet, but it was probably because you were lost in your thoughts, distressed about the girl sitting on the couch.

You heard a single footstep, directly behind you, but just before you could whip yourself around, the bottom of a heavy boot comes in contact with your back, making you fly forward, your hands shooting out to catch yourself on the floor, your grip tight on the dagger you were holding still quickly loosening as both of your palms catch a handful of glass each, the stabbing pain would be unbearable if your animal instincts hadn’t already kicked in a barrel of adrenaline, making your blood slippery hand grip around the dagger only tighter again, and quickly get to your feet just before the man grabs the collar of your sweater, slamming your back against the wall, his own hand wrapping tightly around your wrist, slamming your knuckles against the wall behind you with an unrelenting force, your held back tears finally coming to bay at the pain as you feel your bones crushing with each pound against the wall, your grip on the dagger ultimately failing as it clatters to the ground, a cry of pain coming from your lips as you try to flex your fingers, two of them refusing to even move.

You try to look up at the man before you, your eyes watering as you clench your jaw, gritting your teeth as you struggle to see through the salty tears clouding your vision. Then you feel his large hand gripping around your face, his palm easily larger than your face as he begins to pound the back of your head into the wall, your hands wrapping around his wrist quickly, one of them painfully as it felt like a thousand tiny needles were moving, stuck under your skin. You groan, crying out again as the the feeling becomes worse, just before his own hand wrapped around one of your ears, your eyes dilating with fear immediately, a fear you didn’t have before, and he throws you to the ground onto your hands and knees again, quickly moving to stand above you, his fingers lacing through your hair to pull your head back, your back against his front, and the second you feel the edge of a blade to your throat, is the second you needed to fight back, throwing your elbow back against his side and making him flinch just enough for him to give you enough space to crawl away, your knees pressed down against the glass shards on the floor but you ignore the pain as you stand to your feet, immediately tossed back down, flying into the couch, landing on Ororo, and as he approaches you again, your head throbbing with pain, too focused on fighting back with the fight you’ve never had in you, you pick up the lamp yanking the lightbulb out of its place and smashing it to the side of his head, making him stumble back, giving you enough time to stand up from the couch, ignoring the pain on your bare feet as more glass entres your skin, and you feel some of it graze the bone of your heel, causing another pained moan to leave your lips, and you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, not covered in glass, wiping your tears to clear your vision.

And there she was.

Ororo…

Her mouth agape, blood leaking from her mouth, most of it dried by now, her eyes open, also leaking blood from the corners, the sight making you wince. Your eyes trail down her body, and you realise the darker skin around her neck, some loose skin from the crushed bones inside of her body, making her throat look like a sagged rotten fruit, she was strangled. His grip had been tight enough to break bones. He wasn’t normal, he was a mutant.

“You fucking bitch…” You choke out, and he runs at you again, giving you just enough time to duck down and avoid his grasp this time, almost falling to the floor from the slip of blood under your still bleeding soles. He reaches for you again, his chest huffing in annoyance, goggles and a mask covering their face when you look up to determine their identity, rendering it useless. “What the fuck is wrong with you…?!” You shout as he lashes out a knife, twirling it in his hand skillfully before trying and succeeding to slash at you with it, the thick skin of your arm cutting  like rubber easily under his blade, and you resist the urge to cry out this time, quickly sliding to your knees again, the blue jeans you’re wearing quickly becoming brown with the mix of your blood and the colour of the fabric. The thick material matting and sticking to your skin like a wet rag covered in glue, and your hand finds the dagger again, gripping it tight. He leaps forward again, tackling you to the ground and you manage to slit his arm, the sound of the fabric ripping on his arm was like music to your ear before he turns you around, pressing your chest to the ground, his hand crushing your head almost against the solid floor, but with your hands and arms free to move, you quickly stab the dagger into the side of his thigh, a bit of his structure crumbling in pain as he loosens his grip, giving you time to crawl out from under him, his hand gripping your ankle just before you can get away, making you turn, facing him as his own knife slices through your jeans, leaving a gash in your thigh, another scream leaving your throat before you scoot forward just enough to let your knee collide with his jaw, causing him to let go of you so you could spring up to your feet and run, legs pumping quickly for you as your body leads you down the mansion, the layout not exactly perfectly remembered considering you weren’t living in the mansion for too long.

You manage to run into the infirmary, catching yourself between the door frame as you look around, hoping you could maybe even find a hiding place, but your thigh was bleeding out quickly, you needed stitches or you would die regardless.

You turn and look down the hall, once you see no one is close behind you, you break into a limp, quickly moving to a nurses desk to sift through her drawers, hands looking for what you needed to keep yourself alive. You eventually find some thread and a needle, not bothering to waste any time looking for numbing spray as you make your way into the back, where they keep students who are sick or angered with their powers.

The room is dark as you shut the large door, some lights turning on from your movement as you stumble over to a nearby chair, and you rip open the packet with the thread inside with your teeth, hands shaking like crazy as you try to slip the thread into the small pinhole of the needle, but the sound of something shuffling in the room with you makes you shoot up from your seat, the needle being your own weapon clinking quietly to the ground with the sound of a pin drop, and your ears perk up, expecting to hear footsteps behind the door.

“Bambi?” The voice is quiet, and it makes you whip your head around. “Bambi…?” The voice comes a little louder, sort of strained and your eyes squint in the darkness at one of the holding cells. Stepping closer, keeping your distance from the glass thick enough to withstand an elephant, you see Logan.

You didn’t want to admit, but part of you was believing the mansion's attacker was Logan. This only proved you entirely wrong as he stood up from the concrete floor, eyes tracing over your wounds, which were still bleeding profusely.

“Bambi, what’re you doing?” You run to the wall, yanking a fire extinguisher from his place before running back to his cell, blowing off the pain in your feet as you let the butt of the red container crash against the class, barely even scuffing it. “Bambi-” You do it again, the sound of the metal against the glass surely giving away your location, but you didn’t care, if you could just Logan out of the fucking cell, you would be safe. He can’t die, and you know the attacker can. You cut his arm, he didn’t heal. “BAMBI!” He yells, making your ears fold and your face contort in a mixture of fear and sadness.

“Logan-!” You sob.

“No! Bambi, honey, you need to leave. Now.”

“He’s gonna kill me…”

“Baby he’s not trying to kill you…”

“What- What do you mean…?”

“Jean gave him instructions to take you, not to kill you…” You freeze at his words, your grip loosening slightly on the fire extinguisher still in your hands, and you blink a few times as if you were blind to his words.

“J- Jean… What-?” You stutter, your voice cracking.

“She thinks you’re the reason Scott is dead… She won’t fucking listen to me, so she told me she would hire him to take you and torture you.”

“Why not just kill me?”

“She wants you to suffer, Bambi, and that’s why you need to leave. Right now.”

��I can’t go without you Logan, I won’t be fast enough…” Your grip tightens around the red can again, and your muscles tense a little as you prepare to swing it.

“Bam-” Crash! The red metal clashes with the glass again, barely scratching it this time as you swing at it and hit it with the butt of the extinguisher relentlessly, his words falling on deaf ears as your sensitive eardrums are numbed with the sound of the metal hitting the glass.

“BAMBI!” You’re thrown to the ground, the fire extinguisher rolling out of your hand and across the tile floor, pain shooting through your body as you land on one of your elbows, and the large hand tugs at you ear again, a cracking sound filling your hearing as he breaks the cartilage, pulling you up to sit on your heels, and your feel the cold metal of his knife against your throat again, making you swallow.

“Hey!” Another voice fills the room, and you open your eyes to see Jean walking in like she owned the place, staring down at you on your knees in front of the man who was still gripping your ear with one of his hands. Then she smacks you, the back of her hand colliding with your cheek and you’re simply too exhausted to react, only turning your head at the force. “I told you, I don’t want her dead, how hard is that to understand?” She talks cruely to the man holding you still, his hand moving from your ear to gripping your hair now, exposing your neck more as your head was turned, and you can see Logan behind the glass, along with your reflection. Your brown ear is limp and bleeding a little. Broken.

“Jean-”

“No!” She looks back down at you so quickly you almost wished her neck would’ve snapped. “You’re the reason my Scottie is dead…” She crouches down in front of you. “And I’m gonna make sure my little friend here has his fun with you…” You keep your eyes on the reflection in the glass, Logan staring down in fear for you, and you notice the dagger still lodged inside of the man's thigh, and you waste no time in using your elbow to hit it, making him double over in pain and he throws you at the glass, the only thing keeping Logan from keeping you safe, and it cracks even further as your back hits it, all of the air leaving your lungs and putting you into a coughing fit as you watch the man yank Logans dagger out of his thigh, tossing it somewhere else in the room.

You take the moment to look the man up and down. You swear you recognise him, but you can’t be sure from where. His long black hair, covering his face a little, and the lower half of his face covered by a black mask. He was wearing a vest, along with a leather jacket and tight black jeans, not a dot of colour in his apparel, guns and knives scattered along his thighs and his sides in their holsters and sleeves. But then your eyes find his arm. A metal arm.

“It's nice knowing where the world keeps one of their most dangerous weapons…” Jean approaches you with an evil grin. “It’s easy to mindwash someone… put them back into the program they were made for…” She crouches next to you, and you’re too weak to move at all now, staring at her with your lips slightly parted, slowly catching your breath. “Bambi… I hope you like your new friend…” She uncaps a syringe, one you hadn’t bothered to look at, and she sticks it in the side of your neck, the world immediately feeling darker.

“The Winter Soldier…”

🏷️ @shybluebirdninja @rebeccawinters @atomicheartbroken @hazydespair @kindazombie @themaidenofdarkness

Also a bit of an honorable mention to @officiallymakingthechimichangas for giving me inspiration when I was freaking the fuck out about writing this.

[unknownperson246]

Can you please do smut for Izzy like where he has you bend over the table and he’s whispering things into ur ear 😩🙏 (ong someone take my phone away from me)

hiiii I hope you enjoy it 💋💋

Where We Eat

words: 696

warnings: *smut* *p in v* *cum eating* *cum play* *cussing* *dirty talk* *slight degrading*

⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧

You and Izzy are at home moping around on a Wednesday night. You are trying to sleep and rest because you have a long day tomorrow. Izzy is lying on the couch on the opposite side of you. You are half asleep and Izzy comes and hovers over you.

“Honey I have a surprise for you,” Izzy says. 

You get up from the lazy position you were lying down in. Izzy grabs you by your hips he is behind you not letting you escape his firm grasp. He drags your body to the kitchen table. You're facing the front on the edge of the kitchen table. Your back is facing Izzy as he pulls your skirt down. He notices that you aren't wearing any panties. 

“You're not wearing any panties for me right?” he has a devilish smirk on his face as he chuckles.

“Yeah Iz” you reply as you smirk.

His pale hands go to the button of his jeans followed by the zipper of his pants. He unzips his pants and they fall off completely. All he is covered by right now is his boxers. His hands are still on your bare hips. His hands leave your bare and naked hips and they slowly slide to your waist until his hands slide under your shirt. He starts to play with your tits. He abandons his tender hands from your soft tits. He lets his cock spring out from his pants. He takes a glimpse at your pussy that was so wet for him.

“So wet for me Y/N. Do you like what I do to you? You like the idea of me being inside of your quivering pussy?.”

“Yeah Iz,” you say as you try so hard not to let a moan slip out.

He starts to rub his erection on your bare ass. 

“Oh Iz please just fuck me I need you” you wince as your body is growing impatient for him.

Izzy finally positions his cock at your wet pussy. He forces his throbbing cock inside of you. Your front bends onto the kitchen table and it feels cool against your skin. 

“Fuck Iz you feel so good baby” you moan. 

Izzy keeps shoving himself inside of you as his hands still are holding your bare hips firmly. Izzy keeps hitting your soft spot over and over

“Baby you're doing so good for me you feel so good today” He groans as he whispers as his front side leans over on your back.

He removes the hair that is covering your ear so you can hear his husky voice more clearly.  

“Come for me slut” he groans.

“How does it feel doing a dirty deed where we eat? Does that feel good to you my slut? Answer me!” he says as he smacks your ass as his throbbing cock is still inside of you.

“Yeah Iz I love when you do me on the table” you moan 

You start to scratch the edge of the wooden kitchen table. 

Your pussy starts to tighten around Izzy's hard cock. 

“It's happening” Izzy smirks as he shoves inside of your needy pussy faster and faster.

Izzy's eyes start to roll back into his head at the same time your eyes start to roll. His grasp on your hips starts to get reinforced. 

“Fuck baby you're so tight” he groans.

“Iz go faster please” you whine.

Izzy starts to go even faster. His big cock slides in you easily. It was like his cock and your tight hole were made for each other. He finally releases his pearly white liquid into your pussy that was pulsating for him. You let out your come on his dick and it covers your thighs. Izzy lets himself out of you. 

“That was good. That felt amazing babe,” Izzy says as he smiles. He pulls his dark boxers and his pants up.

“Yeah Iz” you chuckle as you forget to pull your skirt up.

Izzy leans down to your thighs and starts to clean your cum covered thighs. 

“I can taste you Y/N you taste so good,” he says softly 

“You taste pretty good too Izzy” you chuckle.

[munsster]

cropped

A/N: if i had a boyfriend i would simply cut off the bottoms of all of his shirts. it’s not toxic, im just a girl (gif creds: @lomlkeery)

Pairing: Walter “Keys” McKey x GN!Reader

Summary: You convince your easily flustered boyfriend to put on a crop top. 0.7k words

Warnings: a little bit of physical insecurity, fluff, kissing, pet names (sweetheart)

"Keys, get your cute butt out here! I wanna see."

Oh, but he's groaning through the door already. You had burst into the apartment parading an overzised bag full of soft cottons and light denim, dropped it at his feet, and declared you bought him a new outfit. And that he must try it on. You picked it out special for him after all.

"Really? I mean, it fits great, I just..."

You've been pining over his midriff since he yawned one wednesday afternoon, arms stretched high above his head, shirt riding up just enough to expose his navel to your wandering eyes. So, of course, you warmed him up to the idea of shorter shirts. Crop tops, to be specific. You know, like the kind Johnny Depp sports in Nightmare on Elm Street. Or Mark Wahlberg in that cheeky Calvin Klein ad.

Keys wasn't sure for a while, but he noticed the way your face lit up at the mere thought, and figured why the hell not. But now, he's staring down at the crop of this particular top and thinking this whole thing might've been an oversight on his part. The light grey tank is loose around his ribcage, the graphic on the front some generic athletic slogan.

I don't want you to realize you wasted your money on an outfit that's a little lackluster now that I'm wearing it, he thinks. Which is silly, and he knows that you like anything he has on simply because he's the one wearing it. But the thought still creeps in. He startles when you knock on the master bathroom door.

"You okay in there?" you coo, tapping your fingers gently across the wood.

"Yeah," he sighs, "yeah, I'm okay. Just..." Worried he'll disappoint you. Maybe he could try and squeeze through the bathroom window before it's too late.

"Can I come in?"

He gulps, tugging on the droopy waist of the jeans one more time before turning the lock on the door. You gasp.

"Baby, you look..."

Silly?

"Delicious!" you squeal, pawing at his waist and latching your lips onto his neck almost immediately. Your thumbs sink into his sides when you pull away, pupils blown and mouth just barely ajar. "You're a total stud!"

"You think so?" His ego's a little out of wack when you nod wildly.

"Keys, you're so yummy," you tease, "Just like Marky Mark." You grab his hand and tug him into the bedroom, stopping short of the bed, much to his dismay. It gets him all hot and bothered the way you cling to his hips and kiss his cupid's bow. You're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, and you're treating him like he's made of molten gold.

He can barely get a word out without a stutter. God, the way you make him blush should be illegal. He's complete mush in your adoring palms, wishing you'd never take your hands off of him lest he combust. Then, you slip your fingertips just under the waistband of the jeans and he hums.

"Sorry," you snicker, knowing exactly what you're doing to him.

"Shut up," he grumbles.

You draw your hands up the curve of his back, tracing the valley of his spine until he shivers. His cheeks are glowing hot as he pecks wet kisses across your jaw and cheek and forehead. You giggle and drag your nails down to the small of his back with a contented sigh.

"Thank you for trying," you admit. Your head bows low, suddenly shy under all the glory of his honeyed scrutiny.

"What d'you mean? Of course I tried, sweetheart. I'd try anything for you," he says. You pout.

"Mean it?"

"Hell yeah. As long as you ask nice enough," he says, holding your jaw and pressing his soft lips to yours in a chaste kiss. You curl your hand around his wrist like a darling threadsnake kissing his fingertips.

"So much access to your mid section," you say, voice frenzied and eyes wide staring hungrily at his faint happy trail.

"What happened to our anti-objectification economy? What about our morals? Our ethics?" he says. Clearly, he's joking but his doe eyes twinkle dastardly behind his glasses. You wind your arm around his waist and smack his ass.

"What morals?"

"Touché, sweetheart."

masterlist

[catboyartist]

Wet Jean Wednesday

---

Sorry I didn't post I was busy doing this ^^^

(As in lying depressed and uselessly on my bed looking hot instead of doing art. It will happen again.)

Here's a low effort Jean as an excuse

[brotherblaze]

double black —wednesday addams

▹ wednesday addams/gn!gorgon!reader

▹ synopsis: Wednesday’s hands are cold. They’re a pleasant balm for aching wounds and sore limbs when she follows you to the back of a grocery store to dab the blood from your nose.

▹ content warnings: mentions of violence

▹ word count: ~1,5k

▹ part 2

“Do you think your habit of flirting with girls who have partners could be because you’re afraid of rejection from the person you have feelings for? So you supplement the pain you think you’re going to feel from Wednesday’s rejection with guaranteed rejection by targeting people you know are in a relationship.”

“Isn’t that a legitimate thing called ‘rejection therapy’?” You lean back in the beige armchair. It’s comfortable. You make a note to ask where she bought it from—once you graduate from therapy. Dr. Kinbott frowns at the question you shoot back at her. She laces her hands together in her lap.

“How are things with Wednesday?”

“Oh boy.” You stand from the beige armchair, smoothing out the wrinkles in your jeans. “We’re so not doing this.”

You grab the jacket from its place draped over the back of the beige armchair and shrug it on. The collar of your hoodie strains from the new weight of the jacket and you attempt to adjust it to give yourself some room to breathe. The leather strains and whines.

Dr. Kinbott calls out your name when you turn to leave. When you turn around, fingers curled around the dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose, Dr. Kinbott’s eyes are already closed. She’s standing now, her body turned towards you. You let your sunglasses slide down the bridge of your nose slightly.

The horned snakes in your hair hiss, their forked tongues flicking out of their mouths. You slowly close the space between yourself and Dr. Kinbott, placing one foot in front of the other, like a predator circling its prey. A snake extends, its tongue flicking against her cheekbone. She only steels her resolve.

“How about we continue this next Monday? After Parents’ Weekend?”

You narrow your eyes at her, a displeased hum escaping your throat. The snakes withdraw to their braided position on top of your head. One pushes your sunglasses back up the brudge if your nose with the top of its head. Its tongue flicks at your cheek.

“Yeah, whatever.”

The door slams shut behind you and for a moment you consider going back to apologize. Instead, you rush down the stairs, hands frantically rummaging through your jacket pockets. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter, the sweet taste of mint-scented herbal cigarette between your lips, gray smoke curling into the air.

You step onto the chilly street.

Wednesday is standing at the cash register in the small grocery store. She stares at the baby in the stroller in front of her, her lips turned into a frown. It’s giving her a toothless smile.

The bell above the front door jingles and draws her attention just in time. You rush into the store, leaping over the low magazine rack. The thud your heavy boots make reverberates through the store and the weight tips your balance. Your shoulder collides with the wall and a broken wail escapes your throat before you take off towards the back of the store.

The bell jingles again and a small group of boys flood in. Immediately the woman at the cash register hisses at them to leave. The security guard Wednesday had spotted upon entry emerges from the bread aisle. Suddenly, there’s an edge in the room. She doesn’t hear what is said but the gaggle of teenagers leave with loud swearing.

The cashier shakes her head, adding a few choice words of her own under her breath. When she reaches for the marshmallows on the counter, Wednesday snatches the pack.

“I forgot something.”

Wednesday makes her way down the long aisles of the store. She spots a shelf of wet wipes and grabs it.

You’re hidden at the very back of the store, sitting on an unopened crate of Coca-Cola. There’s an ache in your ribs as you attempt to level your breathing and a burn in your throat from the cold spring wind. You remove your sunglasses, staring at the cracked lens with a frown. Shit. These things are expensive. The world is bathed in a dim green glow and you swear under your breath.

Wednesday stops just before she can turn the corner of a tall shelf to face you. She peers over the items stacked onto the shelf at eye-level: you’re sitting on the other side, dark sunglasses in hand, staring at the shelf like you know she’s there. She observes the faint green glow in your eyes, the tightness in your jaw, the blood dribbling from your nose. So, she leans forward enough to put the baby wipes into your line of sight. Your shoulders drop and you lean back to rest against the exposed brick wall, eyes sliding closed.

She’s clear to approach.

Wednesday places her bag on the floor and crouches in front of you. Her fingers brush the rich red blood from your lip and she takes a moment to examine it. Then, her gaze snaps to your face. A split lip, bloody nose, left cheek marred and caked with fresh blood.

“Which one of them did this?”

You sniff at the feeling of wetness on your upper lip and wince when you inhale. The scent of metal is almost nauseating and the taste is even worse, tangy and bitter on your tongue. It only spreads when you swallow.

“Some jackass thought I was flirting with his girlfriend ‘cause I asked to borrow her phone and she smiled at me. So, he grabbed all his sad little friends to gang up on me.” You shrug your shoulders. “And they call us the savage freaks—what a fucking joke.”

Wednesday stands, ripping open the wet wipes packet. She lets the opened pack drop onto your lap and leans down slightly to run the wipe over your split lip. It’s cool against your skin, or maybe it’s Wednesday’s cold hands. Either way, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Your ribs ache.

Wednesday is hovering over you, dabbing the drying blood from your nose and lips. You reach for the open packet on your lap and re-seal it. She pauses for a moment and you can clearly imagine her scowl. You grin widely, teeth stained with blood.

“It’ll dry out.”

You bet she’s rolling her eyes as she continues dabbing the blood away. Her touch is gentle, her cold fingers tipping your chin upwards slightly. A silence lingers, the only sound so far back being the shop’s radio blaring music over your heads.

“So can I open my eyes yet? ‘Cause staring at the darkness is boring.”

“I don’t know, will you turn me into stone?” You can feel her breath hitting your lips as she speaks.

“I think you’d make the most gorgeous decoration in a mausoleum. Or next to one, if you want to spend your eternity with rainwater corroding you.”

“Isn’t that the dream?”

Wednesday’s eyes rake your face again, finding a new wound on your hairline. She takes a fresh wipe from the packet, making sure to re-seal it loudly, and moves to the cut.

The snakes in your hair curl away from the injured spot and towards her, their tongues flicking out of their mouths as they sniff Wednesday’s hand. One bumps its forehead against the side of her knuckles and she pivots from cleaning to wound to scratch the snake under its chin.

She spots a snake just hanging there—right next to your ear. Another one bumps it when it approaches her for chin scratches and Wednesday realizes the body does not have a head. It only abruptly ends. It hangs next to your ear, limp and lifeless. Your hand rises to brush it behind your ear.

Wednesday tucks away the image of a limp snake to ask about later.

Rapid footsteps, the clicking of heels. You grunt, face scrunching up. More rich red blood from your nose. Wednesday presses the wet wipe in her hand under your nose just as headmistress Weems rounds the tall shelf. Her lips are pulled into a tight smile and she thanks the man in the store’s gaudy yellow shirt before her gaze settles on you.

“In my defense, all I did was ask to borrow a girl’s phone ‘cause mine died. Literally zero flirting this time.”

Larissa Weems takes a deep breath and exhales it after a few short moments. “Let’s go.”

You huff and stand, the crate of Coca-Cola groaning under your movements. The packet of wet wipes is clutched tightly to your chest, broken sunglasses hanging between your fingers. You linger until Wednesday has grabbed her bag, now slung over her shoulder, and she takes hold of your upper arm to help guide you to the car. Her hands are cold.

(You prefer them that way.)

“Hey, Larissa—“

“It’s headmistress Weems.”

“Can I go to the movies next weekend, since I don’t talk to my parents—ergo, I can’t go to Parents’ Weekend?” You lean your head back and open your eyes. The glare from the bright overhead lights hurts.

“No.”

“C’mon, it’s Morbius! It comes out on April 1st, the jokes write themselves!”

[akatsukinolola]

𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗦┊𝗘. 𝗠𝗨𝗡𝗦𝗢𝗡

ఌ︎ p. Eddie Munson x f!reader // g. fluff + nsfw

ఌ︎. cw. pet names (pretty girl + princess), Eddie cleans his sheets (which is #NOT canon), breast play(?), allusions to sex, no use of y/n— let me know if i missed any!

ఌ︎. wc. 0.4k

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

ఌ︎. a/n: i'm easing myself back into writing on here, so here's something short and fun! i hope you guys like it!

Eddie was in heaven. Your tits in his face as you ground your panty covered cunt over his jeans. You could feel his cock stiffening, becoming harder and harder with every fluid motion of your hips.

A soft moan passed through your lips as your boyfriend took one of your erect nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the nub as he rolled the other in between his calloused fingers. Eddie was lost in the valley of your breasts when the sound of his zipper opening woke him from his sex-clouded trance. He pulled the cups of your bra back over your breasts and moved you off of his lap.

“Hands to yourself, princess,” his voice was stiff.

You looked at him, confused by his behavior. Why was he acting like he hadn’t blown your back out just yesterday afternoon?

“Okay?” You were about to get up and throw on one of his shirts when he pulled you back by your waist and pinned you underneath him. His legs on either side of your hips, practically sitting in your lap as his hands began to roam over your exposed skin.

“Eds, you just said—“

“I know, I know,” he said absentmindedly, his hands never stopping their devotion. Placing your hands on top of his, you halt his movements.

“What’s happening in that odd brain of yours, hmm?” You quipped, amused at his state. It’s as if he’s having an internal battle and his self control is losing.

“I have had to change my sheets three times this week and it’s only Wednesday,” he huffed.

“Why the hell—“

“Because they smell like pussy— your pussy, and I can’t concentrate on anything when I can smell you ten feet away without you even being here.”

You clenched your jaw and blinked at him as you tried to hold back your laughter. A humorous puff of air left your nostrils, “Well they better smell like my pussy,” there was an accusatory tone to your statement, your eyes narrowed playfully.

“You’re making fun of me? Wow,” he said incredulously, feigning offense.

“Yes, because you’re a goofball,” you laughed a full belly laugh.

Eddie’s hands resumed their wandering over your body. His cocoa-colored eyes darkened as his body moved to hover over you, his free hand planted beside your head.

“Well what are we gonna do since you’re just so disciplined?”

“Don’t worry,” his fingers trailed up our inner thighs, tip pressing into the wet spot on your panties, “I’m still gonna fuck you stupid, pretty girl,” he grinned, lips attaching to your neck.