warning_ p in v, tit sucking, unedited, finishing inside
synopsis_ peter hears more than he should after his
senses got stronger, like whats happening next door
hiii!! more? -> masterlist
you cant get out of his head, in the worst way possible. the clear sounds of your bed creaking each time the stranger thrusts into you, muffled breaths and moans escaping your mouth. he could tell your face was buried in a pillow, ass up and slapping against someone’s hips while that dick is deep inside your pussy.
peter leans against his desk, covering his ears as hard as he possibly could, closing his eyes shut. he hates the thought of you being fucked by someone else other than him. moreover, he despises how much he could actually hear you being fucked. peter didnt want to only be your average friendly next-door-neighbour, he wanted something even more, your lover. but there was something to be relieved about, you didnt cum at all. that was when he knew he could treat you better. you didn’t enjoy it, it probably wasnt even that great. he thought, a grin forming across his face.
he was ready to get his chance later that night. he waits until he hears your front door opening and unfamiliar footsteps walking out. a mission popping up on his phone? whatever. he doesnt give a shit about that anymore, only you. peter jumps to his feet and swiftly walks next door to your apartment.
“oh, peter! do you need any—“ you smiled and leaned sideways towards the door frame, hair messy with eyeliner smudged from the sex. he cuts you off with a sudden kiss. his eyebrows furrowed, almost looking needy. one hand around your neck and the other around your waist. he pushes you to your living room, stumbling backwards while he closes the door behind. this wasnt the shy awkward peter you knew, he was eager, hungry, starving, maybe even confident. he needed to show you what he was capable of.
you had no idea what was happening, but damn, you were turned on. your hands found its way to his chest and muscled back, roaming around endlessly and feeling his body under his shirt. no sooner, your back meets the wall of your apartment. peter slips off your clothes and his shirt in an instant, revealing your plush breasts, nipples hard and your bear shoulder while he breathes into your neck. lips traveled down passed your collarbone to your tits. he sucks on your nipple, swirling and flicking his tongue. small shocks of pleasure scattered throughout your body.
you reached down to unzip his pants and peter’s thick, hard cock sprung out instantly. oh, he couldn’t wait to get inside of you. he lifts you up effortlessly like you weighed nothing. your legs wrapped around his waist tightly afterwards, his tip already brushing the entrance of your pussy. “so wet for me already, hm?” he whispers into your ear.
“please… peter i need you,” gripping his large arms. and he didnt hesitate to fill your walls like a glove with his cock. the sensation overwhelms you. his hips move back and forth as your tits bounced to the rhythm. scratch marks from your nails surfaced on his back, intense pleasure overwhelming you.
each thrust made your soft panting escalate to moans of his name. “c’mon peter, faster… youre gonna make me cum so hard for you.” your hands gently patted his back. and boy, does he listen to you. he picked up his speed right at your order. moreover, your pussy’s practically dripping on the sides from his cock from how wet you are. “you like this? you like how i fuck your tight cunt?” he teases, gripping your ass with one hand and spanking the other, making you whimper as you nod quickly in agreement.
shortly after, your orgasm starts to hit. your legs began to shake like jelly and your toes curl in satisfaction. peter goes even faster, causing you to roll your eyes back. you were too brain fucked to even form a single thought. “im gonna c-cum—“ you muttered quietly. warm liquids shot up into the walls of your pussy, groans of your name from peters throat barely audible. he slows down his pace to a stop and his white from your entrance drips passed your thighs to the floor. before long, he kisses you deeply on your lips, tongues entering each others mouths as you both fade from your orgasms.
“did he fuck you as well as i did?” he smiles teasingly, admiring your gorgeous features as he carries you tenderly to your bed. your eye widened in confusion. “oh god, peter— you were jealous!” rolling your eyes as he rests you on the bed, cleaning the mixed cum on your thighs with his fingers. “how did you hear all that anyway? it wasnt even that loud…”
“i guess my ears got better,” he collapsed on the bed right next to you.
ugh hes so fine cant wait to see him in doomsday… IF HE EVEN IS IN IT :(
sukuna may be the scariest, but his wife could be even worse 𓂃🪶
he’s in the middle of a full-blown tantrum because uragaume burned the roasted boar. he’s got two of his hands gripping the poor curse’s head, ready to pop it like a grape, and he’s screaming, veins bulging on his forehead. "useless! worthless! i should turn your insides out!"
you slam your book shut. the sound echoes like a gunshot. "oi!" you bark, your voice cutting through his noise like a cleaver. "i paid good money for that boar! and you're going to waste what's left of it by making a mess on my clean floors? sit down and shut up." sukuna freezes, all four eyes snapping to you. the rage on his face falters, replaced by pure, startled instinct. he drops uragaume, who scrambles away. "i— it was ruined!" he tries to argue, but it comes out as a defensive grumble.
"and now you're ruining my peace!" you yell back, striding over and poking a finger into his chest. "you think your little tantrum fixes the food? go to your corner and cool off before i decide to season you instead." he actually shuffles backward, a low grunt of submission rumbling in his throat.
another time, he’s bragging to jogo about some brutal feat, his chest puffed out. "…and then i tore his spine out through his mouth! a truly magnificent display," he boasts, looking to you for approval. you're painting your nails a venomous shade of black and don't even look up. "you got blood all over my new cushions," you state flatly. "the ones i specifically told you to keep clean. your 'magnificent display' cost me a fortune in silk. was it worth it?"
jogo looks horrified, waiting for the explosion. sukuna’s mouth opens, then closes. his boastful demeanor deflates. "…the stains will come out," he mumbles, like a scolded child.
he tries to command you, once. it’s a bad day. he points a finger and uses his 'king' voice. "woman, bring me a drink. now."
you slowly turn your head, your eyes narrowing to slits. the air gets thick. "what did you just say to me?" you ask, your voice dangerously quiet. you stand up, and you're not as tall as him, but you seem to loom. "you have four hands, you have two legs and you know where the kitchen is. are your limbs broken? shall i break them for you so you have a real reason to be waited on?"
sukuna stares, his bravado evaporating. he looks at your face, at the genuine promise of disproportionate retribution in your eyes. "…forget it," he mutters, turning to get it himself. "i'll do it." he decides your shared space needs a 'statement piece'. you come home to find a massive, grotesque statue made of fused bones and weeping faces installed in the main hall. he’s standing proudly beside it. "behold, a testament to my glory."
you take one look at the dripping, moaning sculpture. "it's leaking on the tatami," you say, your tone utterly devoid of awe. "and it stinks, take it outside. my house is not a trophy room for your ego."
"you dare dismiss my art?" he snarls, all four arms flexing.
"i dare dismiss the puddle of cursed fucking poop on my floor," you counter, thrusting a mop into his hands. "clean it, now. the 'glory' can reside in the garden." he blinks, looking from your unimpressed face to the mop. with a disgruntled sigh, he takes it. the statue is relocated by sunset.
his anger is a wildfire, consuming everything. yours is a scalpel, aimed precisely at his ego. he might scream about destroying a city. you'll scream right back about how he tracked ash and debris onto the pristine floors of his own domain. and the crazy part? he’ll actually look down at his feet, a flicker of guilt on his face, because your roar about domestic trivialities is somehow more terrifying than his about annihilation. he is the disaster, but you are the architect of his peace, and your displeasure is the one cataclysm he genuinely fears.
warning_ p in v, tit sucking, unedited, finishing inside
synopsis_ peter hears more than he should after his
senses got stronger, like whats happening next door
hiii!! more? -> masterlist
you cant get out of his head, in the worst way possible. the clear sounds of your bed creaking each time the stranger thrusts into you, muffled breaths and moans escaping your mouth. he could tell your face was buried in a pillow, ass up and slapping against someone’s hips while that dick is deep inside your pussy.
peter leans against his desk, covering his ears as hard as he possibly could, closing his eyes shut. he hates the thought of you being fucked by someone else other than him. moreover, he despises how much he could actually hear you being fucked. peter didnt want to only be your average friendly next-door-neighbour, he wanted something even more, your lover. but there was something to be relieved about, you didnt cum at all. that was when he knew he could treat you better. you didn’t enjoy it, it probably wasnt even that great. he thought, a grin forming across his face.
he was ready to get his chance later that night. he waits until he hears your front door opening and unfamiliar footsteps walking out. a mission popping up on his phone? whatever. he doesnt give a shit about that anymore, only you. peter jumps to his feet and swiftly walks next door to your apartment.
“oh, peter! do you need any—“ you smiled and leaned sideways towards the door frame, hair messy with eyeliner smudged from the sex. he cuts you off with a sudden kiss. his eyebrows furrowed, almost looking needy. one hand around your neck and the other around your waist. he pushes you to your living room, stumbling backwards while he closes the door behind. this wasnt the shy awkward peter you knew, he was eager, hungry, starving, maybe even confident. he needed to show you what he was capable of.
you had no idea what was happening, but damn, you were turned on. your hands found its way to his chest and muscled back, roaming around endlessly and feeling his body under his shirt. no sooner, your back meets the wall of your apartment. peter slips off your clothes and his shirt in an instant, revealing your plush breasts, nipples hard and your bear shoulder while he breathes into your neck. lips traveled down passed your collarbone to your tits. he sucks on your nipple, swirling and flicking his tongue. small shocks of pleasure scattered throughout your body.
you reached down to unzip his pants and peter’s thick, hard cock sprung out instantly. oh, he couldn’t wait to get inside of you. he lifts you up effortlessly like you weighed nothing. your legs wrapped around his waist tightly afterwards, his tip already brushing the entrance of your pussy. “so wet for me already, hm?” he whispers into your ear.
“please… peter i need you,” gripping his large arms. and he didnt hesitate to fill your walls like a glove with his cock. the sensation overwhelms you. his hips move back and forth as your tits bounced to the rhythm. scratch marks from your nails surfaced on his back, intense pleasure overwhelming you.
each thrust made your soft panting escalate to moans of his name. “c’mon peter, faster… youre gonna make me cum so hard for you.” your hands gently patted his back. and boy, does he listen to you. he picked up his speed right at your order. moreover, your pussy’s practically dripping on the sides from his cock from how wet you are. “you like this? you like how i fuck your tight cunt?” he teases, gripping your ass with one hand and spanking the other, making you whimper as you nod quickly in agreement.
shortly after, your orgasm starts to hit. your legs began to shake like jelly and your toes curl in satisfaction. peter goes even faster, causing you to roll your eyes back. you were too brain fucked to even form a single thought. “im gonna c-cum—“ you muttered quietly. warm liquids shot up into the walls of your pussy, groans of your name from peters throat barely audible. he slows down his pace to a stop and his white from your entrance drips passed your thighs to the floor. before long, he kisses you deeply on your lips, tongues entering each others mouths as you both fade from your orgasms.
“did he fuck you as well as i did?” he smiles teasingly, admiring your gorgeous features as he carries you tenderly to your bed. your eye widened in confusion. “oh god, peter— you were jealous!” rolling your eyes as he rests you on the bed, cleaning the mixed cum on your thighs with his fingers. “how did you hear all that anyway? it wasnt even that loud…”
“i guess my ears got better,” he collapsed on the bed right next to you.
ugh hes so fine cant wait to see him in doomsday… IF HE EVEN IS IN IT :(
your boyfriend always gets flustered when you kiss his neck
megumi is incredibly touch deprived, especially so around his neck and throat.
obviously, you love using that fact to your advantage.
and as much as he protests that he hates it, he and you both know that he loves it.
the other night, you two were laying in his bed as he went on a nerdy rant about pokemon. his arm was loosely wrapped around your waist, your head resting against his chest.
despite how much you love hearing him talk about subjects he was passionate about, you were growing a little bored of his chatter and decided to tease him a little.
you tilted your head up, pressing soft, slow kisses to the side of his neck, and the sensitive spots around his ear.
“so it’s- ah.. i mean, th-the water types and fire types- uh..” megumi stammers quietly, entire train of thought completely wrecked.
he feels you grin against his skin, amused with yourself. “quit it.” he mumbles.
you hum, innocently glancing up at him. “mm, sorry. what were you saying?” you ask, smiling sweetly.
“you don’t care.” he grumbles, not looking at you.
“don’t say that.” you lower your head to his neck again, gently mouthing at his soft skin.
he releases a soft, shaky breath, voice low and controlled. “… if you wanted me to pay attention to you, you coulda just said.”
you don’t reply, continuing to gently suck at his neck, trailing down to his collarbone. he shivers, bringing a hand to the back of your head, keeping you there.
“feels good.” he murmurs, voice a low vibration in your ear.
you just smile, satisfied in knowing that your boyfriend would melt for you at such an easy touch.
Hey guess what i saw this a few days ago when i was in an absolutely scary slump and then i spoke to my counsellors and did what they told me to do and now i feel so much better. So this is true. Reblogging for more good luck
Logan Howlett/Reader, Clark Kent/Reader, Scott Summers/Reader, Remy LeBeau/Reader, 2K
a/n: got a request for virgin!reader that i uhhhhh ran away with; NOTE I believe that virginity is a construct and tried to avoid that portrayal in this fic. Enjoy!
cw: smut/18+ only, reader is a virgin/inexperienced, all men are supportive and loving, makeouts, ambiguous genitalia, gn!reader
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
Your man makes a discovery about you that he's eager to help out with.
Marvel/Virgin!Reader, DC/Virgin!Reader (18+)
Logan Howlett
He’s got an instinct for these things. Considering that he’s able to distinguish the heartbeat of a doe in the quiet of the woods, the bull-rushing wind that ghosts through the trees, the flap of wings as they take to the sky—it makes sense.
This is why he pauses in the descent down the meter of your body, the heat of his mouth loitering over the dip of your navel. His tongue scrapes against the divot as his eyes search you, admiring the way that your brows twist up. He appraises how your face wracks in delighted pleasure—but is also restrained with an element of anxiety.
“What’s wrong?” He murmurs, audible enough that you are distracted from the thrill of his explorations. Your eyes alight down to him too-quickly, caught out and without any proper defenses.
“Ah—”—You begin with a stammer that can’t be smothered in your voice—“—Nothing—”
“Haven’t done this before, have you?” He asks, and his voice is a corrugated rumble that snakes through you from your abdomen out. His hands seize around your bare waist, fingers clasping into the flesh, his eyes lancing through you with a deep, proprietary need.
You cannot lie to him in this most crucial of moments. Anything less than the truth will result in the cessation of this pleasure. Pleasure that even his body draped out of you produces.
“No,” You confess, your eyes askance to the bedsheets tangled in labyrinthine knots beneath you. If your body scalded with the torment of pleasure he coaxed out of you, this embarrassment is even more excruciating.
But you have little time to dwell on it before you feel the lap of a tongue up your stomach. Your vision drags to the obscene sight that he makes, his arms drawing you further under his implacable grip. His eyes are rolled over dark with a need to satisfy what you have yet to receive.
“You’re not—mad—”—You try to ask, but the inquiry is choked as you feel the sink of his teeth into the flesh of your thigh. Still his eyes refuse to deviate from you, drinking in every subtle reation that he can encourage from your lips, from the twitch of your body below him.
“Not at all,” He growls into the throbbing pulse where your legs meet, “Just means I gotta make sure I ease you into it.”
When his tongue laps at the heat of your body, making you curl your fingers into the meat of his arms—his groan couples beautifully with your own.
Scott Summers:
You cannot deny that you expected Scott to have a specific type of reaction when you confessed this to him. But the way that he draws entirely still under you, his hands adjusting down the slope of your waist, making further navigation down the cleft of your ass—
You don’t know if you expected this.
“Scott?” You ask, unable to discern the emotion that lurks underneath those opaque lenses. “Please say something.”
“I—”—He bows his head in humble incline, allowing you to see the knit of his brow as he makes a resuscitative noise you realize is a cough.
And this allows you to realize that he’s blushing, a ruddy dusting of color that spreads from the apple of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You don’t realize that there’s a smile growing on your face, a coalescing of disbelief and amusement.
“It’s not—bad, is it?” You ask, affecting your voice to a low whisper as you look up to him. You take careful visual inventory of him through the fan of your lashes.
And he’s quick to respond, with an instinctiveness that is motivated by the need to reassure, to keep you in the span of his broad fingers. You can’t see the quality of those eyes, but you do the brows that twist in a worried desperation, a mouth expressionless with fear. That communicates volumes.
“No!” The syllable is expelled quickly, his fingers supplement to the veracity of his statement—they drape up the small of your back, ambling up you with needful obeisance to assuage your worries. “Not at all.”
He clears his throat again, though it does little to diminish the color that is still rising with the precarious quality of the situation. There’s something endearing. Something awkward—something shy.
“I just want to make sure that you don’t feel rushed into it.” He says, his voice low, deliberate. “I want to make sure you feel ready.”
There’s something that pulls tender, something in the way his hands rest on the ridge of your shoulderblades. He holds you as though you are precious—as though you are sacred.
There is a twist of longing in the caging of your ribs that matches with the beat that thrums between your legs; you can’t help but buck into the bulge that is still growing with nascent interest against you.
“I’m ready.” You tell him, staring at the lenses that are angled directly towards you. “I don’t want to do it with anyone but you.”
Scott’s jaw sets, a taut swallow makes descent down the column of his throat. Something grows firmer, harder still against you—and you chuff out a flustered breath, averting your eyes.
“Can we just—”—You reorient yourself in the clasp of his arms—“—Take it slow?”
His lips are on the slope of your shoulder, an oath of his fidelity, of his gentility. “Of course.”
His mouth makes slow journey up your neck, summoning tight shiver through the grit of your teeth. And his hands make warranted journey back to the heat of your body.
“Let me know if you want to stop, okay?”
“Okay,” You gasp as the rough scrape of those fingers continue lower—you know that you won’t.
Remy LeBeau
“You tellin’ me,” Remy asks next to you—and you’re trying so hard to not focus on the close proximity of his body to yours, “You never been with a man before?”
“Never been with anyone before,” You confess with a shyness that you wish you didn’t bear, shifting uncomfortably in your seating. You’re too focused on the weight of your admission to notice how his eyes draw in particularity over your body, nor to notice the crook of his mouth as he watches you.
“I know,” You continue, still ignorant to the gears that are turning in his mind, “It’s embarrassing—”
“Non,” He corrects with a an alacrity that makes your eyes dart up to him, look at the unexpected neutrality of his voice, “Only mean you gotta find the right person to do it with.”
He inches further down the limited real estate between the two of you, letting you see the clench of those muscular thighs as they flex nearer yet.
“Yeah?” You ask, your heart trapped in the housing of your throat, complex words clotted past articulation. “Like who?”
“Someone you know, chere,” He advises with a drawl that sends a thrill of adrenaline through your veins, and heady want in the pit of your abdomen. “Someone who treat you right—”
His arm slinks down the back of your chair, close enough to make tactile contact with you. You have to grit your teeth to resist the shudder that is trembling up your body.
“—Someone who make you feel good.” His eyes glow with an unspoken fire that scorches you the longer you share his gaze. But you want to feel the heat—perhaps this is why you near closer. Why you ask what you do next.
“Know anyone, Remy?” You ask him. When he chuckles, it’s a confident, arrogant noise. But it carries with it the weight of someone who knows how to fulfill a responsibility given.
“Maybe I do, minou,” He murmurs, and when his knuckles drag up your jawline, you don’t flinch—his touch fits perfectly against your face. As though you have been waiting for his hand to find your body.
His mouth is needy, it is eager to taste your own. To lick the salt from your tongue and to scrape against the back of of your teeth. His hands slink under clothes that are rapidly becoming unnecessary with each passing moment.
You help along the way as you buck your hips into the heel of his palm that grinds against you, that sends a shock of pleasure through your body. That makes him chuckle into your mouth, his teeth catching on the full of your bottom lip.
When he presses his tongue against it, draws it against his soft palate, and sucks, hard—you can’t help but moan. And his hand is eager to convince more from you as his fingers search in between your thighs.
“You gonna enjoy this, minou,” He reassures you as his breath ghosts over the crook of your neck, as his tongue marks territory that he will claim upon further inspection. “I promise you.”
You can only whimper into the shell of his ear. You think that he’ll make good on this guarantee.
Clark Kent:
To your relief, he takes your confession in eager stride, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It does little to disguise the heady flush, the shyness that you find taking bloom over his face.
To your surprise, he makes further revelation to you as he shifts, letting you settle more fully from where you’re seated on his lap. You both are in various undress, so it falls to reason that goosebumps dart up your arms, your legs as he presses you against him.
“I am, too,” He informs you.
There’s something hopeful, something fearful in the slant of his eyes as he looks to you in worshipful manner. To you, to your altar that he has been given opportunity to lay sacrifice to, to give ample tribute to—with your permission.
“You are?” You ask in incredulous manner—there’s something difficult to believe about this, as you look at the wall of muscle that he makes under you. At the delicious display that he is under the spread of your arms, all power and sinew and warmth—all yours.
“I find that hard to believe,” You inform him as you run your fingers down the swathe of his chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath, of barely suppressed pleasure. Something down the descent of his body, pressing against you, speaks for the rest of him.
“I never got around to it,” He admits in hushed delivery, moving those wide hands up your body. Still, he touches you in hallowed meter, as though the privilege of your body will be rescinded at any moment.
“I always wanted it to be with the right person.”
“And am I the right person?” You ask him, letting something sly run undercurrent in your voice—though it is beset by that nagging self-doubt that hounds you. The way that he looks from the curves of your figure, to search your face, dispels any insecurity you might bear.
“You’re the perfect person for me.” He whispers to you, revelatory and reverent as he speaks. “Always.”
You know that you don’t imagine the smile that is making instinctual passage on your face, nor the way that his hands seek to commemorate your body under his palms.
“And,” Here, an element of mischief establishes itself in the crinkle of his eyes, the arc of his smile, “With any luck, I’ll be good at it eventually.”
“I get the feeling,” You draw your arms to rest on his shoulders, closing in to the plush of his mouth, “That that won’t be too difficult for you.”
He murmurs against your mouth, barely able to resist the taste of your lips, “Tell me what you like.”
Clark’s hands search you with the adoration of a man who has seen God. “So I can keep doing it for you.”
The last word before he finds your mouth with his, and works to fulfill his prayer, is “Always.”
And so, you let your disciple make prayer at the temple he has travelled vast journey to make.
pls do Scott Summers babe i know you'll do my man justice 🫶
Scott Summers Headcannons (SFW and NSFW 18+)
Tek i love you <3 ty for letting me feed my own delusions about our man
no matter how long you’ve been dating Scott, he will always be a nervous wreck around you. flustered beyond belief the moment he locks eyes with you across the table during mission debriefs, stumbling over his words as he tries to get the details of the upcoming mission to leave his mouth. Logan would roll his eyes and grumble something about “slim just sit down” and complain about why they let him be in charge for the nth time that morning.
he is always asking you what color his shirt is and if his outfit matches. He tried to stick to neutral tones as those were easy to tell apart with his ruby tinted vision, but once Jubilee called him a “sad beige millienial” he had to branch out from neutrals and his x-men uniform. he trusted you the most to pick him out the colorful waredrobe that would save him from being victim to Jubilee’s own brand of fashion which he saw as the end of the world.
Scott Summers loves it when you get bratty/angry with him, when you take over and take the lead from him. Especially after a tense mission when you two have done nothing but bicker since you two stepped back into the mansion after the silent jet ride back. You storm off to your shared room, Scott right behind you as he attempts to talk to you. The second you step into the bedroom you whirl around and shove your finger in Scott’s face, yelling about how disastrous the mission went due to his piss poor planning. He looks down at you with astonishment, he’d never seen you like this, and if he was being honest, it turned him on. He’d try to inconspicuously adjust himself so you wouldn’t notice the growing buldge in his pants, but when you caught him it seems to piss you off even more. you’d yell, “Are you really fucking turned on right now Scott!?” and he’d just flush and bite the inside of his cheek before nodding.
Scott is the king of morning sex I do not care what anyone else says. despite him being a infamous insomniac and early bird, he is always ready for a round or two before breakfast, and maybe another after morning training is done. He promised you he’d count it towards your training hours for the week because it technically was a workout. As long as you didn’t tell Hank why your stamnia suddenly improved it was a win-win situation.
♯ best friend!megumi who loves the taste of your sweet cunt, especially when he knows he could treat you sooo much better than your pathetic excuse for a boyfriend. and who are you to resist an offer like that from your needy sweet best friend? twt link
the air in megumi’s dorm room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the only light coming from a dim desk lamp that cast long, flickering shadows across the walls. for nearly an hour, megumi had been buried between your thighs, his face pressed firmly against your soaking wet heat. he was obsessed, completely consumed by the taste of you, a flavor he craved far more than he ever let on when you were just "best friends”.
you, on the other hand, were a shaking, whiny mess beneath him. your hips ever so often arched high off the bed at the overstimulation, your breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches. one of your hands clutched the dark blue bedsheets beneath you, while the other disappeared into his dark hair, fingers tangled in the soft, spiky strands. beneath the firm press of his palm against your chest, your heartbeat pounded wildly, each frantic beat impossible for either of you to ignore.
"g— gumi— you’re so mean— i can't.. nnggh! g— give me a break!" you wailed, your voice cracking. you were already sensitive, your nerves fried from the relentless attention he’d paid to your cunt for the last forty five minutes.
did megumi hear your pathetic whining? yeah. did he listen, though? nope. he continued flicking his tongue rapidly against your nub, sucking the swollen flesh into his mouth with a wet, slurping sound. as he worked, he began to hum, a low, vibrating rumble deep in his throat that echoed directly into your cunt. the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making your toes curl violently and your thighs tremble.
“megumi!—” you cried out.
he lifted his head just enough to eye your expression. he watched your face, the way your eyes were rolled back, your lips parted in a silent scream, and the sheer desperation written across your features. a small, smug smirk touched his lips before he fluttered his eyes shut once more, his lips pursing tightly against your cunt, creating a vacuum-like suction that pulled your clit deep into his mouth.
“you can handle it,” he muttered.
"nnngh!— oh god, gumi!" you sobbed, your voice high and needy.
he ignored your whimpers, continuing to swirl and lap at your juices. he loved how you sounded. the way you whined and begged, the way you fell apart under his touch. he knew exactly how to push you over the edge. he bet your boyfriend couldn’t break you like he could.
as the tension peaked, you let out a loud, strangled cry, your back arching off the mattress. you walls clamped down hard on his face as you erupted, a spray of fluid squirting directly onto his cheeks and chin. you shuddered, your body racking with the force of the orgasm, your fingers tightening in his hair.
as the waves slowly subsided, you gasped for air, your voice a whiny whisper. you gave his hair a firm tug, pulling his face away from your dripping cunt. "hey— gumi! g— give your mouth a break! cmooon," you whined, your chest heaving.
megumi pulled back slowly, a string of saliva connecting his lip to your pussy. he didn't look tired at all, despite it being 1:47 in the morning. okay. maybe he was tired. but for your pussy? nah. he looked at your swollen, glistening folds and then looked you in the eyes, pressing a gentle peck on your clit.
“what? don’t tell me you’re tired already.”
without wasting time, he gathered a thick glob of saliva in his mouth and spat directly onto your clit, the warm wetness sliding over your sensitive skin.
"i’m not done yet," he murmured.
you let out a soft, indignant whine, your legs falling open wider despite your words. "you’re evil. you've been down there for almost an hour.."
megumi scoffed. he leaned back in, his breath hot against your wet skin. "can’t blame a guy for wanting to eat some good pussy," he paused, his tongue darting out to lick away the spit he'd just landed on you, "does he even know how to make you sound like this? or do you have to pretend to enjoy it when he's inside you?"
you let out a pathetic, high-pitched whimper at the feeling of his warm tongue against your overstimulated cunt, your head tossing back against the pillow. "megumi.. stop.. don't say that!”
"why, baby? does it make you feel guilty?" he shifted upward, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your swollen folds, tasting the cocktail of your arousal and the remnants of your orgasm. "or does it just make you realize how mid he is compared to me?"
he looked up at you again, his eyes scanning your flushed face, savoring the conflict and the lust warring in your expression. he loved the power he had over you in this moment. the fact that while you belonged to someone else, your body was reacting only to him.
"you’re a little slut for your best friend, aren't you?"
“gumiiii—“
“tell me you want me to fuck you dumb until you forget his stupid fucking name."
The day dawned warm and golden, and when you opened your eyes dew was still sparkling on the flowers that grew below your bedroom window. The first thing you noticed was that Scott was no longer in bed beside you. The second was the delicious smell of coffee brewing wafting in under the door on a breeze from the open kitchen window. Contentment (and relief) blossoming in your chest, you wrapped yourself in a robe and padded out in your slippers to watch your lover. He was bent over the stove, intently cooking something or other - eggs, from the looks of it - and the old but reliable coffeemaker was bubbling away noisily. Frankly you were impressed that it still worked at all. Just last week Hank had almost rendered it inoperative while trying to make some sort of vitamin and caffeine concoction designed for peak health and efficiency.
Scott must have heard you approaching, because he turned to face you. His smile was almost as bright as the morning sunlight that streamed in. He was still wearing the slightly oversized white t-shirt adorned with the X-Men logo that he always slept in, and a pair of blue and white checkered pajama pants. “Good morning, my love.”
He didn’t usually use terms of endearment in shared spaces like this, but it was early enough that everyone else was probably either still sleeping or doing some pre-breakfast training. You could almost hear Logan pretending to gag, or see Ororo smiling. For now, though, everything was still peaceful. Your voice was soft when you replied. “Good morning.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you breathed out a laugh at the tinge of color that rose to his defined cheekbones. Little displays of affection like that still flustered him, and you exploited that fact regularly. A yawn escaped you before you could repress it, and in an instance of perfect timing, the coffeemaker dinged its readiness.
Scott carefully poured you a cup, as always making it exactly how you liked it and in your favorite mug (you’d threatened to fight Kurt over it once) and handed it to you. “Be careful, it’s still hot.”
You waggled your eyebrows in a suitably exaggerated manner. “Much like you, Mister Summers.”
He groaned, turning back to the stove. “Don’t make me let your breakfast have an unfortunate accident.”
This time you laughed aloud, leaning against the countertop with steaming mug in hand. “Sure.”
Scott ran a hand through his already sleep-tousled hair, and utterly failed at stifling his grin. “I mean it.”
Playfully rolling your eyes, you set down your coffee and walked over so you could wrap your arms around him from behind. Resting your cheek against his shoulderblade, you sighed contentedly. “Sure you do.”
Twisting back around to face you, he lifted one hand to give your cheek a loving caress before leaning in for a tender kiss. “Alright, maybe I am bluffing.”
You hummed against his lips, melting into his embrace. He kissed you again, longer this time, and you felt your heart flutter just like it had the first time he’d held you in his arms and lightly pressed his lips to yours. His hands traveled down to your waist as yours moved up to rest on his chest, and you could feel his hips move against yours in an unconscious movement before he pulled back, clearing his throat gruffly. “Breakfast first.”
“If you insist. Are you telling that to me or to yourself?” You ran your hand down his chest, feeling the defined muscle even through the fabric of his shirt. With a wink, you sat down in one of the chairs by the counter and took another sip of your coffee.
For now, everything was right and good in the world.
𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You’re always baking a cake for every birthday at the X-Mansion. But now that it’s your birthday, who’s going to bake yours? ✰𝗦𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲.ᐟ
⋆ Part of the 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢-𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.
─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
At Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, every mutant adult had their role. Those who were considered the core of the X-Men on the news were more like faculty. Each of them teaching their own sort of class or helping students hone in their abilities.
But then there were some like you, no distinct role or duty yet never left the mansion once you got older. Some had no where else to go, some thought this was more of a family than the one they had outside. Regardless, this was your home and everyone in it was your family. Making yourself useful or available to anyone who needed assistance, that was your role.
There was also this one hobby that you developed, baking. You loved to bake and found any excuse to do so. When Ororo mentioned that she couldn’t recall the last time someone baked her a cake, you were thrilled to make one especially for her on her birthday. Anna-Marie said she wanted one for her birthday, then Kurt, then Hank, and eventually it evolved into a tradition where you made a cake for everyone. You even baked a rum cake for Logan who looked slightly less grumpy when you gave it to him.
But now your birthday was coming up, who was going to bake you a cake? Sure, you didn’t mind baking it for yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. These were the thoughts going through Scott’s head as he rambled to Remy, who just looked at him with a sly smile. Remy has known for a while that Scott had feelings for you. Despite the ruby quartz lenses, he had a terrible poker face.
“Why don’t you bake the cake for her?” Remy asked as he flips a card between his fingers.
“Do I look like I know how to bake?” Scott raised an unamused eyebrow.
“Surely them books got a recipe or two? Never know til you try, right Cy?” Remy flicked the card between his fingers, landing it in the spine of one of your baking books. Scott turned to look at the shelf, grabbing the book and opening it up. “That baking stuff’s a science, right? Maybe Hank’ll help ya.”
Scott nodded as he browsed the table of contents, flipping to a page titled strawberry sponge cake. You liked strawberries right? “Yeah, I’ll ask. Thanks Remy.” He mumbled. Gambit hummed and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. He started to make his was out of the kitchen before stopping in the entryway.
“Oh,” He looks back, waiting for Scott to meet his gaze. “Make sure you put a lotta love in that batter, mon ami.” He winks before leaving Scott alone in the kitchen. Feeling the heat creep up his face, he clears his throat before looking back down at the recipe.
After making a list and taking a quick trip to the grocery store, Scott made it back to the mansion. Hank was more than happy to help, though he was really just supervising in the event that Scott made any fatal errors. He stood at the opposite side of the kitchen, something about blue fur and not wanting things to turn out purple. In the end, the only thing Scott needed help with was the buttercream. Knowing you had a sweet tooth, he opted for than over whipped cream but couldn’t seem to get the consistency right. Thank god for Hank.
Nearly three hours later, Scott had finished the cake just after midnight. The frosting was a little sloppy, but it was honest work. He decided it’d be best to surprise you with it first thing in the morning, rather than waking you up.
So the next day, Scott woke up bright and early to hand deliver your cake to your room. However, when he opened the fridge, he saw that a sliver was missing. Rolling his eyes and knowing Logan was definitely responsible for the stolen piece, he took the cake up anyway. Knocking on your door with one hand as he faintly permitted him in from the other side. You were now stretching, not thinking much of someone knocking on your door at this hour.
“Happy birthday,” Scott said softly as he carefully entered the room with the cake in his hands. He made sure to turn the missing chunk towards him so you wouldn’t notice it at first. He couldn’t help but grin as he saw your eyes light up.
“Where’d you get that from?” You gasped as you moved to sit at the edge of the bed.
“I made it last night. It’s not professional or anything since I have no experience.” He admitted bashfully, sitting next to you.
“You baked me a cake? Scotty…” You playfully pouted. “It looks so good, I- what happened there?” You chuckle a bit as you point at the missing slice.
“I assume Logan got to it after I put it in the fridge last night.” He sighed. You took the cake from his hands and placed it on your nightstand.
“Thank you, you didn’t have to do this for me.” You placed your hands on his shoulders. You were sure you could see a faint blush on his face in the morning light.
“I wanted to. You always bake a cake for each of our birthdays. It’s time someone baked yours.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, gaining a surge of confidence. You stilled for a moment, then kissed his cheek. His face caught fire, you could see it clear as day now. “What was that for?” He smiled lopsidedly.
“For always being so sweet to me.” You laughed.
“I could be even sweeter?” He responded quickly, his hands finding your waist. It was your skin’s turn to heat up now, realizing the real reason he stayed up trying to bake a cake for you. Oblivious to his prior behavior up until right now.
“Is that so?” You whispered. “Let me see just how sweet you could be.” You pulled him closer. Scott didn’t hesitate, his lips finding yours in an instant. Funny enough, he did taste sweet, all that cherry chapstick finally getting put to good use. Gripping your hips, he swiped his tongue across your lips. You granted him access instantly as he groaned into your mouth, pushing you to lay back in the bed.
He didn’t hover. No, Scott’s body was pressed against yours as you felt just how much he’d been wanting this, wanting you. Your fingers curled in his hair as his lower body settled between your legs. You gasped into his mouth as his hand squeezes your ass. Both of you froze when you heard someone clear their throat.
Scott quickly untangled himself from you as the two of you turned to see Morph standing in the doorway of your bedroom.
“Logan said there was cake and that Scott took it up to your room. But clearly he was about to get into an entirely different cake.” They tried their best to stifle their laugh.
“Kevin, get out.” You warned. Your face, however, was hot as the heat enveloped your neck as you’d been caught mid-makeout.
“Geez, the government name?” Morph couldn’t hold back their laugh as you chucked a pillow at them. “Okay, okay! Just save some cake for the rest of us. The strawberry one, that is!” Morph closed the door and cackled down the hall.
The day dawned warm and golden, and when you opened your eyes dew was still sparkling on the flowers that grew below your bedroom window. The first thing you noticed was that Scott was no longer in bed beside you. The second was the delicious smell of coffee brewing wafting in under the door on a breeze from the open kitchen window. Contentment (and relief) blossoming in your chest, you wrapped yourself in a robe and padded out in your slippers to watch your lover. He was bent over the stove, intently cooking something or other - eggs, from the looks of it - and the old but reliable coffeemaker was bubbling away noisily. Frankly you were impressed that it still worked at all. Just last week Hank had almost rendered it inoperative while trying to make some sort of vitamin and caffeine concoction designed for peak health and efficiency.
Scott must have heard you approaching, because he turned to face you. His smile was almost as bright as the morning sunlight that streamed in. He was still wearing the slightly oversized white t-shirt adorned with the X-Men logo that he always slept in, and a pair of blue and white checkered pajama pants. “Good morning, my love.”
He didn’t usually use terms of endearment in shared spaces like this, but it was early enough that everyone else was probably either still sleeping or doing some pre-breakfast training. You could almost hear Logan pretending to gag, or see Ororo smiling. For now, though, everything was still peaceful. Your voice was soft when you replied. “Good morning.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you breathed out a laugh at the tinge of color that rose to his defined cheekbones. Little displays of affection like that still flustered him, and you exploited that fact regularly. A yawn escaped you before you could repress it, and in an instance of perfect timing, the coffeemaker dinged its readiness.
Scott carefully poured you a cup, as always making it exactly how you liked it and in your favorite mug (you’d threatened to fight Kurt over it once) and handed it to you. “Be careful, it’s still hot.”
You waggled your eyebrows in a suitably exaggerated manner. “Much like you, Mister Summers.”
He groaned, turning back to the stove. “Don’t make me let your breakfast have an unfortunate accident.”
This time you laughed aloud, leaning against the countertop with steaming mug in hand. “Sure.”
Scott ran a hand through his already sleep-tousled hair, and utterly failed at stifling his grin. “I mean it.”
Playfully rolling your eyes, you set down your coffee and walked over so you could wrap your arms around him from behind. Resting your cheek against his shoulderblade, you sighed contentedly. “Sure you do.”
Twisting back around to face you, he lifted one hand to give your cheek a loving caress before leaning in for a tender kiss. “Alright, maybe I am bluffing.”
You hummed against his lips, melting into his embrace. He kissed you again, longer this time, and you felt your heart flutter just like it had the first time he’d held you in his arms and lightly pressed his lips to yours. His hands traveled down to your waist as yours moved up to rest on his chest, and you could feel his hips move against yours in an unconscious movement before he pulled back, clearing his throat gruffly. “Breakfast first.”
“If you insist. Are you telling that to me or to yourself?” You ran your hand down his chest, feeling the defined muscle even through the fabric of his shirt. With a wink, you sat down in one of the chairs by the counter and took another sip of your coffee.
For now, everything was right and good in the world.
𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You’re always baking a cake for every birthday at the X-Mansion. But now that it’s your birthday, who’s going to bake yours? ✰𝗦𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲.ᐟ
⋆ Part of the 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢-𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.
─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
At Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, every mutant adult had their role. Those who were considered the core of the X-Men on the news were more like faculty. Each of them teaching their own sort of class or helping students hone in their abilities.
But then there were some like you, no distinct role or duty yet never left the mansion once you got older. Some had no where else to go, some thought this was more of a family than the one they had outside. Regardless, this was your home and everyone in it was your family. Making yourself useful or available to anyone who needed assistance, that was your role.
There was also this one hobby that you developed, baking. You loved to bake and found any excuse to do so. When Ororo mentioned that she couldn’t recall the last time someone baked her a cake, you were thrilled to make one especially for her on her birthday. Anna-Marie said she wanted one for her birthday, then Kurt, then Hank, and eventually it evolved into a tradition where you made a cake for everyone. You even baked a rum cake for Logan who looked slightly less grumpy when you gave it to him.
But now your birthday was coming up, who was going to bake you a cake? Sure, you didn’t mind baking it for yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. These were the thoughts going through Scott’s head as he rambled to Remy, who just looked at him with a sly smile. Remy has known for a while that Scott had feelings for you. Despite the ruby quartz lenses, he had a terrible poker face.
“Why don’t you bake the cake for her?” Remy asked as he flips a card between his fingers.
“Do I look like I know how to bake?” Scott raised an unamused eyebrow.
“Surely them books got a recipe or two? Never know til you try, right Cy?” Remy flicked the card between his fingers, landing it in the spine of one of your baking books. Scott turned to look at the shelf, grabbing the book and opening it up. “That baking stuff’s a science, right? Maybe Hank’ll help ya.”
Scott nodded as he browsed the table of contents, flipping to a page titled strawberry sponge cake. You liked strawberries right? “Yeah, I’ll ask. Thanks Remy.” He mumbled. Gambit hummed and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. He started to make his was out of the kitchen before stopping in the entryway.
“Oh,” He looks back, waiting for Scott to meet his gaze. “Make sure you put a lotta love in that batter, mon ami.” He winks before leaving Scott alone in the kitchen. Feeling the heat creep up his face, he clears his throat before looking back down at the recipe.
After making a list and taking a quick trip to the grocery store, Scott made it back to the mansion. Hank was more than happy to help, though he was really just supervising in the event that Scott made any fatal errors. He stood at the opposite side of the kitchen, something about blue fur and not wanting things to turn out purple. In the end, the only thing Scott needed help with was the buttercream. Knowing you had a sweet tooth, he opted for than over whipped cream but couldn’t seem to get the consistency right. Thank god for Hank.
Nearly three hours later, Scott had finished the cake just after midnight. The frosting was a little sloppy, but it was honest work. He decided it’d be best to surprise you with it first thing in the morning, rather than waking you up.
So the next day, Scott woke up bright and early to hand deliver your cake to your room. However, when he opened the fridge, he saw that a sliver was missing. Rolling his eyes and knowing Logan was definitely responsible for the stolen piece, he took the cake up anyway. Knocking on your door with one hand as he faintly permitted him in from the other side. You were now stretching, not thinking much of someone knocking on your door at this hour.
“Happy birthday,” Scott said softly as he carefully entered the room with the cake in his hands. He made sure to turn the missing chunk towards him so you wouldn’t notice it at first. He couldn’t help but grin as he saw your eyes light up.
“Where’d you get that from?” You gasped as you moved to sit at the edge of the bed.
“I made it last night. It’s not professional or anything since I have no experience.” He admitted bashfully, sitting next to you.
“You baked me a cake? Scotty…” You playfully pouted. “It looks so good, I- what happened there?” You chuckle a bit as you point at the missing slice.
“I assume Logan got to it after I put it in the fridge last night.” He sighed. You took the cake from his hands and placed it on your nightstand.
“Thank you, you didn’t have to do this for me.” You placed your hands on his shoulders. You were sure you could see a faint blush on his face in the morning light.
“I wanted to. You always bake a cake for each of our birthdays. It’s time someone baked yours.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, gaining a surge of confidence. You stilled for a moment, then kissed his cheek. His face caught fire, you could see it clear as day now. “What was that for?” He smiled lopsidedly.
“For always being so sweet to me.” You laughed.
“I could be even sweeter?” He responded quickly, his hands finding your waist. It was your skin’s turn to heat up now, realizing the real reason he stayed up trying to bake a cake for you. Oblivious to his prior behavior up until right now.
“Is that so?” You whispered. “Let me see just how sweet you could be.” You pulled him closer. Scott didn’t hesitate, his lips finding yours in an instant. Funny enough, he did taste sweet, all that cherry chapstick finally getting put to good use. Gripping your hips, he swiped his tongue across your lips. You granted him access instantly as he groaned into your mouth, pushing you to lay back in the bed.
He didn’t hover. No, Scott’s body was pressed against yours as you felt just how much he’d been wanting this, wanting you. Your fingers curled in his hair as his lower body settled between your legs. You gasped into his mouth as his hand squeezes your ass. Both of you froze when you heard someone clear their throat.
Scott quickly untangled himself from you as the two of you turned to see Morph standing in the doorway of your bedroom.
“Logan said there was cake and that Scott took it up to your room. But clearly he was about to get into an entirely different cake.” They tried their best to stifle their laugh.
“Kevin, get out.” You warned. Your face, however, was hot as the heat enveloped your neck as you’d been caught mid-makeout.
“Geez, the government name?” Morph couldn’t hold back their laugh as you chucked a pillow at them. “Okay, okay! Just save some cake for the rest of us. The strawberry one, that is!” Morph closed the door and cackled down the hall.
Daily reminder to keep urging your senators to oppose KOSA/the KIDS Act
If you can’t/don’t want to call, you can always write to them, sign petitions, and keep spreading the word and educating others on why KOSA/the KIDS Act is a bad thing. It WILL ruin the internet, and it WILL affect others, regardless if they live in the US or not
“mh—! fuck—!” you mewled drunkenly into the pillow, completely delirious, as megumi pounded into you with abandon, your back arched and your chest pressed into the mattress, hardened nipples grinding against the bedding, making you whine breathlessly. his heavy hand gripped your hair, pushing your head down into the pillows, drenching them in drool and spit. his other hand captured your hip in a bruising grip, tightening his hold every time your cunt squeezed tightly around him, eliciting a strangled grunt from his lips.
you were caught up in the heat of the moment, your legs trembling every time his leaky cockhead kissed your cervix, the only noises being your sobs and the soft smack of bodies slapping together.
a sharp, deafening buzz cut through the humid, friction-heavy air of the room, your phone vibrating loudly on the nightstand. the screen lit up, flashing the caller ID in the dimly lit room—your boyfriend.
“gumi—no—“ you whimpered brokenly into the pillow.
“shut up.” he breathed, his voice searing against your back. “you’re the one who wanted this. let him hear how good it feels.”
before you could even try to beg him to stop, his broad finger swiped across the screen, answering the call, pressing the hot glass directly against your ear. he pulled your hair roughly, pulling you up, broken moans loud and clear.
—“hey babe, what are you up to?”
your boyfriends voice sounded agonizingly clear through the phone speaker, a sharp contrast to the stifling sex-induced haze of the room.
megumi didn’t give you a second to think. his hips drove forward into your sensitive walls in a deep, devastating stroke, his turgid length burying himself all the way to the hilt, deliberately testing your resolve. a broken high-pitched gasp caught in the back of your throat as he continued pounding into you so viscously that you could barely think straight. your velvety walls immediately seized around him, bathing his cock in precum.
your voice quivered as you tried to answer, the thought immediately discarded as he impaled himself into you, his pelvis colliding with your ass in a satisfying smack. his thrusts were brutal and punishing.
he had told you multiple times to leave your boyfriend, you just never listen, do you?
your fault for being such a slut, this is how sluts get treated.
you ended up mumbling a soft “n-nothing much..”, your voice wrecked, trying desperately to bury your face back into the pillow, but he pulled you right back up, forcing your whines into the phone speaker.
—“are you okay? you sound… off..”
you wanted to give him an excuse, maybe apologize, maybe admit to it all, but when megumi grinded his tip against your sensitive cervix, all you could do is cry out, which led to your boyfriend eventually hanging up, thinking, “yeah, she’s probably exercising.”
yeah.
he won’t find out.
a/n : my first oneshot !! sorry if this is bad lol , it was rushed 😓😓
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (MINORS DNI) imagining SCOTT SUMMERS cumming inside you so hard during sex that his glasses slip off…
and instead of the red beams that usually exit his eyes whenever his visor or ruby quartz glasses fall off? it’s… nothing, because his eyes are so rolled back at how hard you got him to cum that the pleasure is physically blocking them from coming out.
your pussy was magic to the x-men leader, he fucking loved it every single day. if he could fuck you every night he could, but sometimes, duty called and duty caught up on the man— but he tried his damn best to be in that pussy of yours every night.
and you loved it when scott fucked you; he fucks like he’s trying to make his mark. he wasn’t a breeding typa man— he didn’t get off to the idea of breeding itself— you pregnant? fuck yes, but the simple premise of breeding? not for him… but he fucked deep, and he fucked raw, and you absolutely loved it.
so much so that when it came to protection? you didn’t care, you let him unload in you as per usual.
and usually? he’s very very keen on keeping his glasses on— he doesn’t want to try anything risky and possibly hurt you, so he kept them on as he buried his thick cock in your pussy… but when he’s fucking you like this, watching your ass jiggle with each thrust, feeling your hand push him back in? he completely forgot about these stupid things.
“c-cum for me, scotty.” you beg, voice broken by your moans as he felt his balls clench, thrusting in and out of your walls. “cum— cum in me, baby.”
his hair was messy, strands sticking in his face as his hands held a firm grasp on your waist, trying to reach his orgasm. your words only affected him more. “baby… baby… oh fuck!”
he couldn’t thrust anymore before he began to unload into you— the wait of having to hold his orgasm back for so long, his balls squeezed and his cock twitched as he cummed deep in you, his head thrown back.
his eyes roll back as he unloads, moaning your name and before he could stop the glasses from slipping; they slip, and you listen to the soft plop of the glasses hitting the bed, feeling his warm cum begin to shoot into you, melting into the bed due to the warm, fuzzy feeling entering your body.
“ohhhhhh goddddd.” he moans, his brown eyes remaining rolled back and full of pleasure. you expected to see the red beams of his optic blasts, expected to feel the heat… but you didn’t. you didn’t feel anything besides his cock. “oh… ngh— fuck, sweetheart… ah.”
looking over your shoulder; his glasses were off, and he wasn’t physically creating holes in the roof… he was so wrapped up in pleasure that he couldn’t physically use his power. “oh god, scott, s’so warm… so full… fuck.”
masterlist is here! click here for more!
ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!
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