#i need him to feel his body fill with warmth from the love

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

“fuck that shirt.”

needy!chan x fem reader

genre: smut, no plot

word count: ~1.2k

warnings: unprotected sex..? is that all?

an: inspired by this video.. because.. hey what the fuck? i’m feral.

masterlist

‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼ adults only • mdni ‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼

“baby.. i need you.” he said, almost pouting. he was dressed in his slacks and white button down, still left over from his meeting. you rose from your place on the couch, holding back a giggle. he looked so needy, his eyes pleading, as if you would ever deny him. you would think he would know by now that you’re just as needy for him as he is for you. you approached him, and spread your palms against his broad chest. you could feel his warmth radiating through the fabric.

he closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and inhaled deeply. like he wanted to fill his entire being with your scent, like just the weight of your hands were enough to bring him some form of relief. you traced your fingertips along his chest and up to his shoulders. you squeezed them gently before guiding your hands up and around his neck. your fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, the spot of his usual ‘duck tail’ that you loved so much, but tonight he had his hair done and straight. you tugged on the strands lightly and guided his lips to yours.

the kiss started soft and gentle but very quickly escalated, thanks to him. he was indeed needy, it seemed. his hands initially cupped your face, cradling your head in between his palms. but once the kiss became more fervent, his hands traveled south. he gently caressed your breasts through your sleep shirt, which was just an old shirt of his. once his tongue found its way into your mouth, his fingertips found their way under your hem. he rubbed at the skin of your tummy, and slid his hands around over your hips and to your back, pulling you tighter against him.

his teeth nipped at your bottom lip as he bent his knees and scooped you up, his hands on your ass, your legs wrapped around him. you let out a small squeal at the sudden liftoff, but soon giggled against his lips. he carried you down the hall and to the bedroom. you moved your kisses from his lips to his jaw as he walked. he groaned when your lips made contact with the sensitive skin of his neck. he kicked open the bedroom door, moving as quickly as he felt comfortable with. he didn’t want to drop you after all, you are precious cargo.

he reached the edge of the bed and gently tossed you down onto the covers, your body giving a slight bounce. you propped yourself up onto your elbows as you watched him. he was already barefoot, having taken his shoes off at the door. he began unbuttoning his shirt, but grew impatient half way through. his strong hands balled up the fabric and yanked the two sides apart, little plastic buttons flying all over the floor.

“channie, im not going anywhere.” you said. “there’s no need to ruin your shirt.”

he reached out and grabbed you by your ankles, and swiftly pulled you to the edge of the bed. he pulled your panties down and threw them to the side. “fuck that shirt.” he growled. “i need you. now.”

his skilled fingers rubbed at your clit for a moment. a gasp escaped your throat as he slid two fingers inside you, doing his best to prep you as quickly as he could. his erection growing almost painful in his pants. he used his free hand to undo his belt and his zipper, pushing his pants down just far enough to free his aching cock.

“you’re prepped, aren’t you baby?” he asked, rubbing his tip through your wetness. “can i please?”

“you’re big, channie.” you reminded him. “just take it slow to begin with. let me adjust.”

he nodded. “slow, yeah. slow.”

he pushed his tip in and groaned, his head falling forward at the relief of finally being inside you, even if only a little bit. his fingers dug into the skin of your hip and he tried to ground himself, slowly sinking further and further into your heat.

“fuck.. fuck..” he whined, before his hips met the back of your thighs and he was fully inside you. he tried to stay still and let you adjust to him. but you could feel him twitching inside you, his grip on your hips surely would leave a bruise, his body practically shaking. “please. please baby.” he begged.

“go ahead, channie.”

he hooked your legs over his arms and fell forward, his hands on either side of your head now. he leaned down and kissed you softly, before slamming himself in and out of you repeatedly. you couldn’t recall the last time chan had fucked you this hard. usually he was a slow and doting sort of lover, more focused on your pleasure than his own. more focused on worshipping your body and taking his time with you. coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your writhing body before he even considered sinking his length inside you. but that is not how tonight would go. no, he was far too needy for that. far too sensitive. he was already shaking, his thrusts sloppy, panting his babbling incoherentness into your ear.

seeing your usual stoic boyfriend be this far gone, brought you close to your peak quickly. you gripped onto his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle. your pussy fluttered around him, on the brink of release.

“fuck. fuck, baby i’m not gonna last.” he whined. “need- fuck. need you so bad.” his head drooped into the crook of your neck, his whining breath tickling your skin.

“that’s okay, channie.” your hands explored his body, from his muscular back, around to his toned stomach and chest. “i’m- ah- i’m close anyway.”

“yeah?” he asked, though he wasn’t looking for an answer. “cum, please. baby please.” he let out high pitched, staccato moans as he tried to hold back and wait for you. “ple- cum- fuck. please. please. fuck.”

“cumming channie.” you breathed. your vision went dark as your high crashed over you, your muscles clamping down around him, making it hard for him to continue thrusting. but that was okay, because as soon as the words left your mouth, he was filling you up.

“baby. fuck.” he breathed, his cock still twitching. “you feel so good.” he leaned back, fully extending his arms to prop himself up and look down at you. he looked completely fucked out. his hair was everywhere, his eyes were hazy, his skin covered in a light sheen.

you reached out to touch his cheek with your fingertips. he turned his head and kissed your fingers. “so needy, channie.” you said, giggling.

his ears turned pink and he looked away. “i mean..” he chuckled nervously. “been thinkin’ bout you all day.”

his body fell on top of yours, his strong arms wrapping around your middle, his face buried in your chest, as he squeezed you tightly. he was sweaty, but you didn’t care. “love you.” he mumbled into your shirt.

you tousled his hair as he continued to nuzzle into you. “love you too, channie.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[lady-lauren]

❥ Shanks x Fem!Reader

❥ Word Count: 2.7k

❥ Warnings/Tags: Dilf/Babysitter, established relationship, praise, daddy kink, light somnophilia, breeding, marking/bruising, choking, dacryphilia, overstimulation, creampie

❥ Happy Holidays!! For @pixelcafe-network’s Secret Santa, I was given the lovely @semisgroupie as my elf 🥰 Hopefully this fic has a few of your ~favorite things~ 🎁

Cool fingers run down the warmth of your back, tracing the curve of your spine with skin chilled from the sea.

Tonight you’re half asleep, lashes fluttering from where your face is snuggled into the couch cushions. By the looks of it, you put his baby to bed a few hours ago and slipped into a nap while gathering and cleaning the toys strewn around the den.

When Shanks hired you as his kid’s babysitter, he purposely gave you a little more than your asking price with an ulterior motive. Because he knew one day he’d smooth your edges, poke holes into your professional demeanor and fill the gaps with him.

It took patience, mostly because his sailing career kept him away from the house for weeks. But every time he came home, you warmed to him, like a cat taking hesitant steps closer until you finally landed in his lap.

He doesn’t think to wake you, instead he moves how he pleases. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your soft pants, seeking the heat between your thighs.

You coo, drowsy and cute. Shanks continues, thick fingers languishing through your folds, building your wetness until a dark spot forms on cotton.

“Pretty baby likes that, yeah?” He asks even though he knows you won’t answer, cheek snuggling deeper into the couch as your hips buck like you missed him.

All he thinks of is you. Surely all you dream of is him. His sweet little babysitter, his perfect little slut.

Shanks pulls your pants down around your thighs, the fabric stretching as his fingers bury deeper into your cunt. Your heart begins to thump as you awaken, fear and shock and pleasure converging as he spears two thick fingers into your pussy.

“You drool when you sleep,” he teases, kissing along your cheek until he slots his mouth over yours. You mumble something against his tongue, thighs pressing together with a moan as you feel the pads of his fingers curl just right within you.

“I don’t,” your pout is cute, flushed, hips wiggling to get the palm of his hand to press against your aching clit.

Shanks pulls his hand from your pussy, sideways grin catching the light of the muted TV in the dark room. Slick drips from his skin and smears into your sweats as he pushes them down over your knees, letting you sleepily kick the fabric onto the floor next to a group of discarded toy blocks.

“You do.” He pulls you into his lap so easily, his sea-battled body thick but agile. His fingers slide back between your folds as you settle across his thighs. Skimming the outer lips of your pussy, he spreads you wide before prodding his index finger at your entrance. The press is wet, sticky, a squish against heated skin. “You’re so messy.”

The annoyance that flickers across your face, the twist of your lips and the furrow in your brow, makes his cock swell against the seam of his pants.

“It’s not my fault.” Yet you shiver when a delectable jolt signals down your body as his knuckles slide back into your tight hole.

“Don’t lie to Daddy,” his lips trail along your throat, breathing in the sweet scent that’s been haunting him for weeks, “you’ve just been waiting for me to get home and fuck you stupid. Probably dreaming ‘bout me knocking you up.”

“Have not. I’ve been busy taking care of your k-kid, I don’t need, ah, more little Shanks running around.”

But the way your cunt sucks and pulses around his fingers tells him the truth.

His fingers spread you apart, building a pace that makes your nails cling into the worn shirt on his shoulders. He relishes the feel of you, groans as your cunt drools into the palm of his hand. Your hips start to buck in bliss, the little bit of brat in you fading as he swirls the pad of his thumb against your clit.

Something delightfully wicked toils in his stomach as his cock twitches against his thigh.

“That so? You didn’t miss me? Weren’t dreamin’ bout me?”

Your pretty head shakes no, lips pressing together as you ride his hand, desperation and pleasure blurring your senses.

“Then Daddy better give you something to dream about next time he’s gone.”

Thick, long fingers stroke a fire against your velvety walls, each plunge deeper and deeper than before. His thumb presses dreamily against your clit, each swipe and swirl making you shake.

As soon as you loom against the orgasmic edge, he slows down, the raging hot sea ebbing away like tides returning to the ocean. He lets you squirm in his lap, smirking against your neck as he starts to suck against your pulse. His hot tongue slides a cool trail along your skin, tasting the cry stuck in your throat.

As patient as Shanks can be, he can’t deny your pleasure for long. Not when you start to babble nonsense, little whispers of please Daddy like you just can’t help yourself. Your hips fall down, humping and rubbing against his hand and pressing it down against his leaking cock.

“Already getting a little stupid for me, hm?” He smirks as you kiss him, all sloppy and messy like you’re chasing a wet dream just out of reach. You still taste of the lipgloss you first wore to his house for your interview, strawberries and cream, delectable ripe fruit he couldn’t wait to devour.

“You know we shouldn’t…” the memory of your timid voice rings in his ears as he remembers pinning you against the kitchen counter, rubbing his hot cock against the weeping seam of your panties. But you let him have you anyways, teary and doe eyed with your t-shirt between your teeth so he could watch your tits bounce with his thrusts.

His thumb becomes a vortex on your clit, drawing blinding pleasure until your eyes squeeze closed with tears framing your lashes.

“Oh, sweet girl, gonna make you cum for me so you’re nice and swollen when I fuck you.”

You’re panting, body begging for release. Your nails scrape down his chest, searching for an anchor as you start to get washed away. Shanks tempts you closer with another thrust of his fingers, the resounding bliss making you whimper. He rocks your body back, spreads you wider across his lap, watching how your pretty pussy stretches around his huge fingers.

“Daddy,” such a small, sweet whisper, “daddy, daddy, please!”

“Shhh, shhh, shhhh, no need to wake the baby.”

You’re the perfect picture: hair still crinkled from sleep, tits bouncing beneath one of his soft shirts, cunt spread around fingers calloused from pulling sail lines. His teeth clench as he restrains himself from pushing in too deep, keeping his pace fast and thumb coiling you tighter and tighter like a wind-up doll.

You absolutely shatter around him, head tilting back as your hips finally cease from chasing your high. Your thighs quiver, pussy spasming, orgasm flooding all your senses as you breathe out his name in reverence. Shanks slows, electing to watch you unfold for him. He sees the muscles in your lower stomach contracting, feels your pulsing pleasure on his fingers, slick coating his skin in gentle waves. Your chest heaves as you finally look at him, eyes glassy.

“Atta girl, good girl,” he loves the way you coo when he pulls his fingers from your slit, like you already miss him, “now help me out of these pants.”

He’s overly pleased at how quickly you move, nimble fingers tugging at his belt and dragging down his zipper. Feeling your hand squeeze around his freed cock makes him groan, low and deep like a predator released from his cage.

“I think you missed me more than I missed you,” you taunt, smearing pre-cum down his shaft as you pump his length.

“I don’t get to stay at home and fuck myself with toys, princess. Just get to fuck my hand and waste my cum when it should be inside your pretty cunny.”

You gasp as he pulls you down, sliding your messy cunt over the ridge of his cock. Your sensitive clit catches against the head of his cock and you bite your lip to stay quiet.

“Tell Daddy what you want, you know I’ll give it to you.”

He expects your momentary silence. He’s been pushing you for months, feeding you hints of how he’s waiting for you to make this permanent, to take your relationship farther than just a transaction between Dad and babysitter.

“I want…”

Shanks leans forward, blowing red hair out of his face as he starts nipping and sucking at your throat, undoubtedly breaking flesh and leaving little bruises in his wake.

“Yeah?” Shanks starts prodding your weeping hole with his cock, dipping the head past the first tight ring of muscle. You whine, shifting your hips and trying to push down, yet his strong hand keeps you from taking in more of his shaft.

“Want you to breed me, Daddy.”

A deep, satisfied growl erupts from his large chest. He releases your hip, lets your slick pussy start engulfing his dick. He cants his hips up, rocking into you, inch by inch fucking into your cunt.

Shanks wraps a firm hand around your neck. You suck in a quick breath at the ferocity of his fingers as they press into already bruising flesh. He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze. He watches how you search his face, glancing across the scars on his eye before landing on the smirk tugging his cheek.

“You promise that’s what you want? Want me to make you a mommy?”

You nod your head as affirmatively as you can in his hold, feeling his strong fingers flex against your throat.

Too quickie, he bullies his cock inside of you. You cry out, a tear falling down the apple of your cheek as you stretch around him and take what he gives you. You swallow against the anchor of his hand, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth as he bounces you in his lap.

“Always so pretty when you cry.”

It must feel so good to be so fucking full, he muses, a playful smile dancing across his face as you mewl for him. The head of his cock is fat and firm, nestling just below your cervix with every thrust. Every roll of your hips has the ridge of his cock sliding just right against your spongy walls, stuffing you more and more every time you come back down to rest against his thighs. He’s throbbing within you, anxious to fill your guts with cum.

Rhythmic little moans begin to pour from your lips, the vibrations tingling against his chokehold. He lets his fingers ease so you can catch breath, only to cinch tighter and make your pretty head float to the clouds as he fucks you.

“Oh Daddy,” the name is so lewd yet so sweet from your mouth, unable to control yourself as hot waves of bliss wash over your body.

“That’s right, baby, gonna fill you to the fucking brim and breed you. Give you babies that look like me, fuck,” each word is punctuated with a heavy thrust of his cock into your depths, stretching and filling, “make you mine and keep you.”

“Yes, yes, please, want your babies, need to feel you cum in me.”

“Been watchin’ you with my kid for so long, want us makin’ our own, want you here every time I come home.”

He’s not sure if the sparkling tears that start dribbling down your pretty face are happy or overwhelmed, but he doesn’t really care. He catches one against your cheek with his tongue, salt against his lips.

A tumble of strangled curses meet his ears, smothered by his hand and by the sound of his thick balls slapping against your ass. You’re getting tight again, clit rubbing against the patch of crimson curls and fit muscles with every push and pull he gives you.

“You’re such a good girl, perfect to have my babies, perfect to get fucked dumb.”

“Ah-ah, yes, Daddy, such a good girl for you, promise. Please make me c-cum, please, wanna milk your cock so, so bad.”

Music to his ears. This is what he dreams of on late nights, in a cramped ship cabin with his cock strangled in his fist—you, crying pretty tears, begging to let him breed you.

His balls tighten as your cunt cinches. Thoughts of making you his, breeding you every night until you ripen with his child overtake every corner of his brain until he’s nothing but a primal machine barreling into your body.

Shanks’ instincts go into overdrive, hand releasing your neck so he can grab your hip and pull you down with every snap of his cock into your oversensitive cunt. Your slick is drooling again, pooling against his thighs, soaking into his couch cushions. He doesn’t even care that sweat is dripping from his brow, red hair falling into his face and yours as he crushes you to him and dares to take everything he wants and more.

He’s racing to orgasm, can feel it in his weary shoulders, in his stomach. Your pussy is twitching, squelching, begging him for another release. His thumb finds its way to your clit again, pressing far too hard, but he needs to make you cry for him, to feel you come apart in his lap.

“Love fucking this tight little cunny, you’re perfect for me.”

He puts unholy pressure on your clit, coiling you until you explode, a mess of tears and slick as you convulse around the width of his cock. The suction makes his eyes roll back, shoulders falling against the back of the couch as he continually fucks into you.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it, baby. Give me another.”

“Shanks!” you squeal, but quickly slap your hand over your mouth, eyes shutting tightly as you try to listen for the sound of a waking baby over the cacophony of sex in the room. “C-can’t,” you whisper, “can’t do another.”

“Oh yes you can, pretty baby. You have it in you.”

His thumb is mean against your clit. Hot, right circles that make your legs shake, cunt squishing around the bounce of his cock.

“Please, please, I can’t. Just cum, cum in me and breed me and—”

“One more, just one more. Wanna milk my cock, yeah? Wanna suck all my seed into your guts? One more.”

You let him have you, slumping against his chest as he works in and out, in and out, toying with your clit until you’re crying again. You shake uncontrollably, jumping against his lap when too sharp pleasure rockets down your back and tickles your toes.

“Love you so much, baby, you know that right?”

“Mmmhmmm,” you whimper and nod, burying your face into his shirt and clinging to his sides for dear life.

“Love your cunny, love your pretty face, love how you take care of me and my kid. Love you,” he groans from deep within, feeling your hot pussy cream around him as he draws the last bits of pleasure from you.

You gush and shiver, mewling as your cunt squeezes and draws the cum from his balls. He pulls you close as he finally unloads, hand leaving your glossy cunt to pet your hair, making a mess of you as cum starts to string from his cock.

“God, that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.”

He pumps his load into you, warmth flooding your insides as your cunt struggles take what he gives. Cum starts to burst from the seam of where he plugs you, bubbling out and painting your thighs.

A few moments pass, your ear pressed to his raging heartbeat as you both catch your breath.

“I think you missed me,” he teases, classic grin on his face as you look up at him.

You poke his dimple, freckled from days out in the sun. “We missed each other, silly. Don’t stay away so long next time.”

Shanks kisses your forehead, making no move to unlodge his cock, content to sit with you and feel your tits press to his chest.

“I think, as captain, I can make a new rule for more parental leave. I’m getting you pregnant before I leave for the next trip.”

[scribbly-squid]

Paradise in Hell

Lucifer x Reader

Lucifer reflects on his deep, unshakable love for you as he watches you sleep, reliving the moments that made loving you feel like destiny.

“I love you.”

Lucifer’s softened gaze lingered on your sleeping face, nestled comfortably in the crook of his arm.

Those three words echoed in his mind, reverberating with emotions he never thought he’d experience again. A faint, involuntary smile tugged at his lips as he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your brow. The gesture was slow, deliberate—an act of quiet adoration—as he took in your peaceful expression. Secure in his embrace, your body twitched briefly before fully surrendering to the pull of dreams. He knew that in a few minutes, you’d drift deeply enough for him to carry you to bed.

“I love you.”

Gently, he cradled you in his arms and laid you down on the mattress, careful not to wake you. The faint creak of the bed’s springs broke the silence, but you didn’t stir. Hovering above you, Lucifer loosened his bowtie, slipping it off alongside his pinstriped vest. Each movement was slow, precise, as though he didn’t want to disturb the sacred tranquility of the moment.

As he began unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, he paused. The fabric hung loose around his elbows as his crimson eyes shifted to your face. A soft sigh escaped your lips, and his gaze softened further, filled with an emotion he hadn’t felt in years—love. Pure, unadulterated adoration.

For a moment, he simply stood there, letting himself bask in the sight of you. Satisfied that you were still asleep, he slid beneath the sheets and wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close.

He didn’t know when he had fallen for you.

Maybe it was the day you stood defiantly against the Exorcists, fighting with a determination that rivaled the fires of Hell itself. You’d brushed off his concerns, insisting you were fine—until you weren’t. The memory of you collapsing in the aftermath still haunted him. He could still feel the weight of your broken body in his arms, the metallic scent of blood filling the air as he begged—no, pleaded—for you to hold on.

Or perhaps it was the first time he heard your laughter. The sound had been so vibrant, so achingly melodic, that it resonated deep within him, shaking him to his core. His wings had trembled the first time you touched him, betraying his composure with their lovesick fluttering. Since that moment, he’d been captivated, driven by a need to see you smile, to hear your laughter again and again.

Then there were the quiet nights—the ones where you stayed by his side, comforting him with a patience and kindness he didn’t deserve. In those moments, he found something he thought was lost to him forever: peace. Loving you wasn’t a decision; it was destiny. You weren’t just someone he loved—you were someone he was made to love.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper as he pressed a feather-light kiss to the curve of your neck.

You stirred, letting out a soft, contented sigh before instinctively tucking your face into his chest. The warmth of your breath fanned against his bare skin, and a tender smile curved his lips. He tightened his hold on you, his eyes growing heavy as sleep began to pull him under.

There was nowhere else he’d rather be, no one else he’d rather be with. And as sleep claimed him, Lucifer dreamed of you, as he always did—because you had become his sanctuary, his light, his paradise in the depths Hell.

Sorry if this is poorly written, I had this idea and couldn’t sleep without writing it down. So here I am at 4 in the morning writing a Lucifer x reader story when I have work in a few hours🙂‍↕️Had to see it through before tomorrow me thinks it was a bad idea

[anika-ann]

Mine, Yours, Ours (Love) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; a part of this pseudomedieval-fantasy AU or a one-shot, I suppose

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x witch!reader   Word Count: 4,8k

Summary: Sir Rogers, the honorary knight of Starkerbürg, feels blessed. Another day has passed, another day he gets to come home; to his lovely wife and his child. A household full of love in the face of everyday bliss and hardships of life alike.

But there’s a shift in the air tonight; something sweet and exciting crackling in the air, a longing and all-consuming need blooming within him as he sees his wife, so divine, in the most mundane and extraordinary of moments.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, body worship and (light) breeding kink, oral (fem-rec), PIV, but also tooth-rotting fluff, polytheism and light blesphemry, Slovak terms of agreement ‘cause I can (translation at the end), knight Steve 'cause he's a warning

A/N: A super-belated gift for @stellar-solar-flare 's birthday - or perhaps an early Christmas gift 🤭 fits after the events of the previous instalments but can probably be read as a standalone; DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics

Shiny armour; a heavy sword by the hip. Stance straight and tall, head held high.

An emblem of the kingdom, worn with pride. Bloody hands and scars from defending those in need.

Standing witness to events remembered by history and lending a hand in their creation.

Virtues of a knight; strength, courage, chivalry. Loyalty. Mercy and generosity; faith.

The honour of the noble servant of Starkerbürg, the glory only growing after the appointment of the new king.

Words of praise by royalty itself, whispers of admiration from commoners and nobility at every corner.

No higher honour in these lands than knighthood; and yet.

And yet as Steven stepped into the house, all the whispers and praises fell silent in his head, the great honour slipping off his shoulders into nothingness.

As Steven stepped into his home, he allowed the thoughts and echoes of sensation in his chest having been following him all day fill in his lungs, heart and soul alike instead.

Conviction ringing truer than the steel of a sword against another.

There was no greater honour than to having stood tall at the altar where his future wife had awaited him. No greater pride than to having hold a new life, one he and his beloved had created, in his arms. No greater title to carry than the one of a loving father and a loyal husband. No greater fortune than to witness and take part in precious, ungraspable and yet achingly tangible moments history might not remember, but Steven shall, forever.

You turned to him from the stove as you were setting the tea pot down, gifting him a smile; and from his very soul, Steven would swear that all the gold and luxurious robes of the royal halls in the castle could not compare to your beauty.

His wife; the mother of his child.

The yearning to hold you in his arms again struck Steve with force beyond all the longings throughout the day combined. And yet he hesitated; torn as to whether to come to greet you or the little human sleeping soundly in the cradle first, his heart large enough to adore both and wishing to show his affections all at once.

Your smile turned softer as if you sensed his hesitance and eagerness; you beckoned with your chin to the sleeping baby, solving his dilemma without taking offence, offering warmth in your gaze as Steve’s own wandered to the small bundle of joy, his steps sure and impatient after having missed his daughter since the early hours of the morning.

His breath caught in his lungs; he had seen her for over three hundred days now and yet, air stuck in his chest every single time he laid eyes on the beautiful miracle of life.

Her lips were slightly pursed, tiny hands in fists as if she was trying to grasp her dreams and make them stay; much like Steven had once grabbed after his own dream of you and him together, despite your worlds seemingly laying hundreds of miles apart. She cooed silently as he leaned over the crib and settled his hand over her belly, his index finger caressing her soft cheek, causing her to stir minutely. For a child barely old a year, her face already showed a myriad of expressions; at his careful touch, she almost seemed to smile in her sleep.

Steven’s chest inflated almost painfully, so full it might burst; by gods, he had been blessed. Running the pad of his finger over her still closed fists, he marvelled at the small fingers clenched so fiercely. A strong, healthy, gorgeous child. A gift from the gods he shall always fight to be worthy of; a gift from you.

Tearing his eyes, prickling with tears, away, his gaze found you, a goddess in her own right pouring two cups of tea almost mundanely, the smell of herbs filling the little cabin and complimenting its warmth; the house he had helped build with his own hands; the house you had turned into a home with your generous heart.

Striding to you in quick long steps, he wrapped his arms around your waist at last, even if not before you had set the pot down as not to hurt you.   

The glimpse of your smile was warmer than the fire in the hearth, your body melting into his front so willingly and with such relaxed trust as if you, too, were only now entering your home despite having spent most of your day right here.

“Welcome home, rytier moj,” you whispered simply. Your palms laid over his, caressing in response to his lips instinctively attaching to the tattoo adorning your neck, soft warm skin humming with life under his kiss.

“It is good to be home, bosorka moja,” he muttered, granting himself a generous inhale, all senses tuning to you; the scent and warmth of your skin, the softness and fullness of your flesh causing his head to swim and his heart calm, thoughts circling around the centre and sense of his life he’d hold onto with vigour should he die the very next moment. “How are the two most important ladies in the world doing?”

Your hand rose to card through his hair, gentle touch sliding over his cheek, a smile adorning your lips and voice alike.

“Oh? In the whole world, rytier moj? Perhaps in yours…”

“Same difference.”

Turning your head, you caught his lips with yours, a taste of sunshine and pure contentment on his tongue as you smiled into the kiss and sighed, the only sign of the day’s exhaustion you allowed yourself to display. A smidge of worry creased Steve’s forehead, his arms tightening a fraction as to not only hold you and indulge in the feel of you in his embrace, but to support you too.

“It was a good day, rytier moj,” you said, a drop of humour rendering your voice a tad warmer. “However, you should know that your daughter made all the pots fly for a bit, which led to me having to clean up for eternity.”

Steven chuckled, nose nudging your temple.

The image of you having to run around rose vivid in his mind, along with concern about long hours of exhausting work of caring for the small child, no matter how joyful at moments, tiring you out; yet, the tenderness of your voice and the soft note of humour made his chest hum with overwhelming feeling of love, wide smile attacking his lips.

“Hm… I am sorry to hear that, love,” he said. “But have you noticed, how our little one is referred to as my daughter whenever she is up to no good? I find it curious, especially since such magical feat is something she has certainly taken after you…”

His thoughts wandered, the sensation of your body filling his hands so well evoking the memory of you indeed having your magic burst out of you before, more than once; sinful, beautiful images filling his mind. The memory of the taste of you tickled on his tongue, your cries of pleasure as your hips had buckled under his firm grip echoing so sweetly in his ears, heat pooling in his groin, rousing visceral need to hear and touch and taste and have again.

“Mmm, I would not be so certain, rytier moj…. stirring trouble is most certainly your specialty.”

You opposed him, amused; perhaps oblivious, for the moment, of how his grip on your sides grew firmer, your warmth and scent bringing his body to the fullest, most delicious alert.

What was it you said? Stirring trouble? Being up to no good? Oh, his sweet wife, his lovely bosorka… you had no inkling of what he was up to indeed, the longing to sink the entirety of his being into you turning too much to bear for him only.

“Is that so?” he chuckled.

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard something in his voice change; or perhaps it was his hands, sliding over your hip, moving over your belly, fingers inching lower in a wordless plea, lips pressing to the side of your neck again, lingering, a greedy inhale causing his head to spin and his hips thrusting forward just an inch, to feel more, more, more.

“Perhaps you are right, láska moja… You are so, so good. I do recall you only have your magic act out of control when I am near you.” When I take you, when I have you tether at the edge of unholy bliss, when I sink into you and make you mine. My love, my wife, the heart of my life, of my family. My everything, mine to love, to protect, to have, his mind whispered sinfully, no words spilling from his lips as instead they wandered over the column of your throat you so generously revealed when you tipped your head back to rest it on his shoulder, desire and pride of being the one to have you succumb to his ministrations so willingly roaring in his veins even as his voice was intimately quiet. “When I am so, so close to you, my name on your pretty lips, parted in bliss…”

“Steven-”

No hesitation. No protest. A plea instead, a godsdamn prayer of his name on the very lips he longed to taste and claim; and for a loyal worshipper of forces beyond Steve’s imagination, for being a force of nature yourself, you sounded damn near reverent when speaking the name of the mere mortal he was and it filled him with dark delight.

Pride was a sin; but he had established long ago that for you, he’d walk the path to hell with an indulgent smile on his face. For him, the highest authority to judge him was but pliant, warm and so wonderfully alive in his arms, an echo of the want he himself felt humming in your flesh right under his palms; your permission was the only one he’d ever seek.

“May I have you, bosorka moja? I missed you all day long, missed being home…”

“Yes-“

Just as the single breathless left your lips, his impatient fingers slid under your skirts, a silent groan escaping him when his fingertips reached your heat, soft, warm, inviting, your body arching slightly into his touch.

“We missed you too, I missed y—you.” Your breath hitched so lovely as he couldn’t but nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, the pads of his fingers brushing along your welcoming heat instead of sinking in, teasing himself as much as you. “I-- longed for you, your voice, your breath, your touch-”

Gods you were made for him or perhaps he was made for you or perhaps both—a beautiful temptress, created to seduce all his senses. To see you fall apart, to hear your cries, to taste you, to feel you, to smell like you for days to come-

Retreating his hand minutely despite your startled silent keen, he grasped at your hips, spinning you around until your lower back gently bumped into the make-shift counter, hand under your skirt spreading all over the apex of your thigh to keep you still, mouth claiming yours with hunger, groin rocking against yours just to swallow the delicious sound you made at the contact.

Your hands came to life too, sinking into his locks and gripping all gentle and needy, your other roaming over his chest, down and down to his abdomen and lower to his pants, leading him to drink from your lips deeper before tearing away to press his lips just above your collarbone, both his and your chest rising and falling rapidly, meeting in the middle, your pulse thundering under his lips. Gods, when he looked up just slightly, your mouth was so gorgeously kiss-swollen already and parted with rapid breaths, pupils blown wide and fixated on nothing but him, touch so hot and purposeful and owning just as wished and did own you, as you had given yourself to him and would love to give again; even if the light circles under your eyes whispered of how much of you you had already given today and had been giving every day.

But gods were you his and he breathed in deeply to allow the miracle settle in his very soul, sending a silent prayer of gratitude for you being his and him being yours.

A ring on both his and your ring finger; a dark tattoo with each other’s name and an intricate pattern over your hearts, your daughter’s name right under. A family; the centre and the sense of his life.

And you were nothing short of breathtaking.

His wife, his love, the mother of his child; a cradle of love and life. A force of nature just as capable of protecting as his to protect. A goddess in her own right; awaiting as to hear out his scrambled thoughts since he appeared to pause a brewing storm of desire.

“Gods, bosorka moja, you could lead a man into madness-“

You tugged at his hair the slightest bit, pulling his mouth back to yours, a hushed whisper of ‘ľubim ťa’ falling from your lips to his and back, and Steven was lost to that very madness, and hoped to never be found again.

Instead, he wandered over the gorgeous landscape of your body, mapping every enticing curve and soft valley even as one of his hands already reached the destination, welcomed with everything he could ever desire. He’d make the journey the goal for it was pure bliss and he was wandering but in his very home, lands he lived to explore and worship over and over again, nothing short of reverent.

And should his will be yours as well, he’d see to nestle at home and never ever depart again, leaving behind traces that could never be erased.

Breaths coming out short, lips parted; a slight arch to your back limited by Steven’s grasp, the most loving cage where the gift of overwhelming pleasure bordered on a punishment.

Thoughts scattered and dissolved in bliss, feelings and sensations were ruling instead – and yet they served you all the same; a lover’s sense as strong as a mother’s instinct.

Love so profound you’d see it – feel it, taste it, breathe it – all the same should you be robbed of all senses at once, was poured into Steve’s every action, touching your very heart and soul as much as ever; and yet. There was a shift tonight, a softly crackling change in the air. You could tell. A lover knows.

Steven’s touch felt different tonight, as did his undivided attention. Thumbs pressing a tad firmer into your hips as he held you down, lips drinking as if with insatiable thirst, leaving your throat raw from soundless cries. Lips wandering, hands grasping, dark gaze following every trace his heated touch left behind, praises rolling off of his tongue; of soft, soft plump skin, so warm and welcoming, a gift, a grail, the only home he’d ever want, a breath-taking art to wreck and recreate all over again; Sinful words written by your husband’s lips all over your body like poetry quietly read to a lover’s ear in hidden corners of the castle only known to those who wished to hide their desires from prying eyes.

With bliss worthy of gods gifted you once, twice, Steven’s heavy-lidded eyes kept hypnotizing you through between the valley of your breasts, the pads of his fingers appreciating the flesh so carefully but with intangible visceral need. His intent gaze grew impossibly dark – the last image you saw before your eyes slipped shut with a rasp of his name, your body trembling with ecstasy for the third time that night.

Distantly aware of your magic casting lights and shadows over your little cabin, setting inanimate objects in motion, a breathless chuckle left your lips.

Your beloved pressed a firm sloppy kiss above your belly button, thumb running over your hipbone to ease you down to earthly low as he had lifted you to heavenly heights; lingering, he breathed you in, over and over for so long a flicker of concern wormed its way into your foggy mind.

“Rytier moj?”

His palm sprawled over your abdomen, replacing his mouth; he peppered kisses over your sternum, over the flesh of your breasts, his gaze meeting yours with such heat and something so familiar and yet ungraspable it sent a shiver down your spine, a tingle in the back of your mind.

Something truly was different tonight. In his touch, in his gaze, in his aura—a good man, a loyal man, fighter, protector, father, lover-

“You are the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a goddess, láska moja…” he declared quietly, his lips brushing yours with tenderness that would make the gods themselves weep, and you as well. “Your body is a miracle I shall worship over and over.”

The tingle in the back of your mind sparkled brighter, recognition dawning oh so slowly, your rapidly beating heart thundering now.

Worship. Religious reverence; in mortal flesh.

He had laid you on your marriage bed as if it had been an altar itself, an offering to gods and goddesses and a prayer to the one he had just deemed you all at once.

The holy grail. A miracle.

A goddess.

Gathering your swirling thoughts as you would have gathered raindrops during the first full moon of spring, you realized therein lied the difference of this night; the most devoted of husbands, your Steven, your knight, blurring the lines of human and celestial.

Devotion and worship.

His love had always reached beyond human understanding of just how much of affection a single heart, even the brightest of souls, may contain and pour into another, filling your chest with sensation no language of men or gods could hope to describe; and yet tonight, it went beyond the beyond.

Every single gesture, every word, whispers of prayers to a godlike entity; his lips pressed to your body as if he glimpsed and touched the divine through your body. Through you. In you.

“Blasphemy,” slipped from your lips, no more power in the admonition than in your blissed out body, the recognition of utter adoration your husband harboured for you rendering you unable to catch your breath.

“It is not, gods must forgive me,” Steven responded, stubborn as he could be, the darkness in his eyes turning warmer as his lips pressed over your heart, involuntary tears prickling in your eyes at the sincerity lacing his hoarse voice, his absent smile. “Beautiful, soft and strong… made for loving… my precious wife, the mother of my child-“

“Our child,” you corrected him, your voice cracking with emotion rather than humour, your fingers carding through his locks.

Steven’s smile only widened, eyes glimmering.

“Yes, ours. Indeed, my love. Our blessing…”

He captured your mouth again, soft and demanding, drinking from your lips as if they tasted of ambrosia the gods themselves offered to him.

A gift. A miracle made to worship. Your body.

A goddess, love and life, his wife, the mother of his-

Realization struck you like a lightning out of clear skies, your body was overtaken by a tremble, frantic heart stumbling in your ribcage.

Blurring the lines towards the divine was but a minute shift your Steven had been building up to ever since the day he had first laid his lips on yours, since he had first made love to you.

No, the true difference of tonight was laid in purpose. Purposebeyond sharing your love together, purpose beyond bliss.

A child.

Your husband’s action, while guided by profound love, were spurred by desire and new longing. He wished for another child; the divine miracle your body, when loved by his, was capable of.

The closest to a goddess. A prayer. A plea. An offering.

“Láska moja… I shall give you my everything,” he promised sweetly, a sinfully sincere tilt to his words. “If you only let me, if you’d only give me, us, more than a man can ask, more than I can give but shall forever worship you for, fight to be worthy of…”

A surge of power that had nothing to do with magic filled your veins, affection so urgent it panged sharply in your heart and your tears spilled over, your voice caught in your throat.

Gods, you wanted.

To give him, to give yourself, to give to your daughter--- to be blessed by the gods once more, a blinding image flickering behind your eyelids.

Your daughter, sat on your Steven’s shoulders, placing a crown weaved of daisies on his head, her musical laughter filling the air, causing your lips to curl up in a smile; familiar. Such a familiar image, one that had once given you strength to battle the impossible; now changing. The idyllic image of a meadow with your husband and your child growing brighter, your gaze suddenly snapping to the firm grip on your thigh; a set of small hands pressing various herbs and flowers to your skirts, an adorable chuckle and a joyous cry of ‘for mama—pretty!’ reaching your ears even as the face of the boy remained somewhat blurry beyond the warm blue of his eyes. Your Steven’s eyes-

With a gasp you snapped your eyes open, Steven’s dextrous fingers continuing their appreciation of your burning skin, tracing the lines of your tattoo with his wet lips, lighting your sated needs alive.

“You are literally glowing, bosorka moja… say yes,” he coaxed, “say yes and I will keep you sated and so full every day, every night, until my seed comes to fruition… another little one, your belly swelling with our child, a little miracle-- I shall take such good care of you, my love, of all of you, I swear as gods are my witnesses-“

A minute crack to his voice, having been dripping sweet and sinful like honey; regret and desire so pure you could not bear his words anymore, reaching out to cradle his cheeks and silence him with a kiss.

You could taste it on your tongue; something so primal and possessive as laying claim, to continue one’s bloodline, gently laced with a need of much noble nature. To protect. To take care. To provide. Read minds you could not, but a lover knows. A wife knows. The hitch in his voice could have been caused by myriad of reasons and yet you had no doubt, your heart feeling more than reason; it laid heavy on his conscience still that he had not known from the very start of you being with a child, that he could have not been treating you as you’d deserved in his mind. Not treated the way his love, the mother of his child, a goddess in her own right should have been.

He wished to be there. He wished to be the kind of man he believed you were worthy of.

You let your lips drink from his and hoped he could taste your truth on your tongue; by gods, he was worthy. If he could only understand just how much, how overwhelming loving him could be, how you’d perish before not giving him whatever he should ask; if he only knew how you would wish for another child yourself.

“Yes, Steven-- by gods, yes-“

Heart stumbling in his chest under your palm, he tore his mouth from yours, gaze roaming your face in the soft light of the dying fire in the hearth.

“Yes?” he breathed, dark eyes sparkling with delight, the curve to his kiss-swollen lips as sinful as blinding.

You could not but chuckle, fresh tears spilling over the undiluted joy and determination he observed you with.

“Yes, rytier moj. Let us make love and create it all the more.”

He stole all air from your lungs with his next kiss, hands setting to a journey with clear destination ahead, his large body nearly vibrating with acute need his touch seemed to pour straight into your veins, heat burning low in your belly as you arched against him.

“Please-“

“Oh such a sweet plea,” he chuckled darkly, a teasing touch to assure you still awaited him more than prepared, before giving you just a hint of the pleasure he was about to shatter you with. “My precious wife, my wonderful bosorka, I shall give you anything you ask, anything you need…”

Your silent keen of his name was drowned in his mouth, the soundless cry of yes as he finally moved to make love to you as gods intended drowned in a cry piercing the cabin-

-but not one of pleasure. Of discomfort and misery.

A pair of lovers frozen in time for several frantic beats of hearts.

Steven groaned, lips detaching from yours with true blasphemy.

“I am afraid your little one does not long for a sibling,” he grumbled, taking a deep breath, slowly, oh so slowly and carefully moving away, eliciting a soft gasp from you despite his great effort – and a tired chuckle as you too returned to earthly realms in which your child – yours and Steven’s – demanded your attention.

“Oh, mine, is she now?” you challenged him cheekily as you went to stand up and tend to your momentarily not-quite-joyous bundle of joy.

Steven’s warm palm sprawled over your shoulder, pressing you down gently.

“I shall get her.”

“She is likely hungry-”

“Then I shall bring her,” he said, leaving no room for arguing despite his soft tone. “You rest, my love.”

Melting against your bed, you obeyed, a content hum rumbling in Steven’s chest as he leaned to you and briefly pressed his lips to your forehead.

As soon as he moved away, you sat up still; if for nothing else then for the precious sight of your husband crossing the modest interior of the cabin to reach into the cradle, large hands reverently careful as he picked up your daughter to the protective cage of his arms, cooing silently at her to settle her cries. Your heart swelled with pride and overwhelming affection, your blessings counted one by one, over and over.

Cherishing the feeling of holding his child, Steven took too long of moments to bring her and nestle her in your arms instead. Lingering with his touch, he pressed the sweetest of kisses to the crown of your head as you whispered to your daughter and begun to nurse her, before he busied himself with maintaining the fire. And yet, the moment his chore was done, he hurried to seat himself by your side again, wrapping his arms around the most important ladies in his whole world, gaze so warm you could feel it without tearing your own away from the child attached to your breast.

And once your little one was sated, cries having long turned into content coos, a few sleepy blinks of her large blue eyes bringing her to the land of dreams again, your knight without shiny armour gathered her to his protective embrace again, carrying her back to her cradle just as slowly, laying her down with a tender kiss and a whisper of ‘ľubim ťa, maličká’.

As he returned, you took his hand and coaxed him to lie next to you, his arms spreading to hold you close and warm through the night, shifting to hide his face in your hair.

Oh your sweet knight, so dutiful in watching over his beloveds’ sleep… so wholly unaware of how your body, while worn to a bone, had been charged with a taste of something wonderful and exciting; yearning, craving, unbearable.

He released but a soft noise of surprise when your hand found its way through the warm cage of his arms, escaping the loving embrace to cup his face, gaze flickering over his handsome features.

“Bosorka moja?”

A smile forming on your lips, you leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a slow, sensual kiss, palms caressing the expanse of his shoulders – the large arms of a protector, provider, lover – body pressing to his as your hands began to wander.

“You made me a promise, rytier moj,” you whispered, sultriness creeping into your voice, causing your Steven’s breath to catch, fingers, having grasped at you so tenderly during your kiss, flexing on the flesh of your waist. “Are you not keeping it? Have you changed your mi-”

Your breathless laughter was the last sound your lips were allowed to release before Steve responded to your affection with vigour, rolling your bodies over to trap yours under his soothing weight, fingers running over the lines of your body to continue where you two had left of.

“Oh, I always keep my promises, bosorka moja.”

You brushed your fingertips over his cheek, a moment of slow gentleness before descending into the whirlwind of passion, a smile playing on your lips.

“I know, láska moja. Then let us deliver on this one.”

bosorka moja - witch mine rytier moj - knight mine láska moja - love mine maličká - little one (to a child) ľubim ťa - I love you

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Thank you for reading, loves 💕 If you enjoyed and can spare a few seconds of a minute to reblog or comment, you shall have my gratitude ✨

I hope you'll have lovely Holidays, one way or the other 💕

[paperclip-skz]

Christmas Special 😉

Happy Holidays.

head cannons ( smut + fluff + angst + delulu )

2.6k words

**********

Christmas special 

Chan could hardly contain his excitement as he watched you approach the Christmas tree, the twinkling lights casting a warm glow across the room. Beneath the branches, nestled among the vibrant wrapping paper and seasonal decorations, lay a small, elegant velvet box, its rich color drawing your attention immediately. Inside that delicate box rested the most important question one could ask in a relationship—a question that could change everything. 

As he stood by, his heart raced at the thought of sharing this pivotal moment with you. He envisioned the look of surprise that would light up your face, the way your eyes could widen in recognition of the significance of what lay within. All you had to do was open the box, and in that instant, both of your lives could transform. The anticipation hung in the air, thick and sweet, as he waited for you to take that first step into a future he had long dreamed of sharing with you.

You crawled underneath the tree, grabbing the first tiny box you saw. To: my heart, from your love. 

“What’s this?” you ask, curiosity making your insides twist. 

“Open it” is all he says, his smile shining brightly. 

As you gently open the tiny box, a gasp catches in your throat, and your eyes widen in disbelief. Tears threaten to spill over as you take in the beauty of what lies inside.

Chan shifts from his spot and crawls next to you, his gaze sincere. “There’s no one else I would rather be with than you,” he says, cupping your face in his hands. His voice is a tender whisper that pours his heart and soul into every word.

You can’t bear to let him finish, your heart racing as you nod emphatically, tears cascading down your cheeks. “I love you with all my heart, and it would mean the world to me to make you smile every day,” he adds, laughter dancing in his voice as he watches joy bloom across your face.

In a rush of emotion, you lean in and kiss him passionately, not waiting for his response. The warmth of the moment envelops you both, and when he finally speaks, his smile is radiant. “So is that a yes?” he asks, hope shining in his eyes. 

Minho wasn’t sleeping; he couldn’t. The morning sun crept through the curtains of your shared room, illuminating your peaceful expression as you slept. Outside, the Christmas morning snow blanketed the ground, and he loved it when it snowed on Christmas. The warmth inside promised a cozy holiday spent just the two of you, wrapped in the comforts of home.

“I love you,” he whispered softly. It had already been a year, and he still hadn’t said it out loud. He knew he should have expressed those words the moment he saw you, but they always got trapped in his throat whenever he tried to tell you while you were awake.

He struggled with expressing his feelings, particularly these. “I love you,” he said again, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake you. This had become a habit for him—saying “I love you” while you were asleep. He repeated those words every time he woke up before you. He knew he couldn’t say them when you were awake; somehow, every time he attempted it, his voice just wouldn’t cooperate.

You hummed in your sleep, scooting closer to him. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed your forehead, and your eyelids fluttered awake. He loved how you looked in the morning—lightly groggy, sure, but it was the pure definition of warmth. Your hair was slightly messy, and your face was bare, but you always held a sleepy smile across your lips, which he loved.  

His chest filled with not only desire but a warmth he knew all too well. It was the same warmth he felt every time he saw you sleeping, the same warmth before he hushed the words you needed to hear.  

“Good morning,” you stretched, burying your face into his chest.  

He hummed, smiling warmly at you. “Merry Christmas,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his body.  

He was so utterly in love with you, he could barely comprehend it… “I love you,” he whispered. You lifted your head, not recognizing the words at first.  

“Huh?” you asked, a lazy smile draped on your face.  

“I... I love you,” he said again, this time, for the first time ever, as clearly as day.  

Your face fell open in shock before lighting up like a kid at Christmas. “I LOVE YOU TOO,” you tackled him, straddling his lap and kissing him. 

Panic courses through every vein in your body; you’ve never been this nervous since your first high school dance. Even then, it wasn’t as nerve-racking.  

“Baby, they are going to love you.” Changbin comes over to you, soothing your arms. Of course, he’s calm; this is completely normal for him. He sees them constantly; this is nothing for him.  

But for you, this is your first time meeting his group, his friends, his second family—some of the most important people in his life. “I just really want to make a good impression. Is this enough food? Is it too much? Did we forget something?” You rush through your words, but Changbin quickly seizes you and silences more words with a searing kiss.  

He grabs hold of your neck, connecting your lips with his and holding you there until he can feel you relax into his touch. Your whole body melts like liquid as his tongue demands entrance between your already swollen lips.  

“Calm now?” he whispers against your lips.  

“Mmhmm,” you hum, still relishing the feeling of his touch…until the timer for the ham goes off, and panic surges through you like you just spotted a spider on the ceiling.  

“Shit!” You push Changbin out of the way, nearly making him fall over. And at that point…all he can do is giggle and smile.

Hyunjin hated the sounds of Christmas. He hated the whole idea of it. The idea of a holiday where you are grounded in the fact that nothing is enough. Not enough gifts. Not enough prensesnts. Not enough money. Not enough time. The idea that he was not enough for the holiday. 

The fact that he was walking around a holiday market in his black oversized jacket with his friends was a miracle in itself.

His friends had coaxed him into coming to the holiday market. While they shopped and marveled at the decorations, he stood there, waiting for the torture to end.

Until…he heard you.

He tried his hardest to drown out the slurred words of the drunk carolers, but your voice was loud and clear. You sang each song distinctly. Unlike the others, you weren’t drunk or mumbling through the lyrics; you were singing with clarity.

“At least someone knows the words,” he thought. Forgetting about his friends, he followed the sound of your sweet voice. There you were, in a small circle of tipsy carolers who didn’t know the lyrics. You stood in the middle, wearing a bright red coat and a fluffy hat.

He paused, not caring how people passed by; he was simply captivated by your beautiful singing, even if only for a moment. A warmth spread through his chest, something he had never felt before.

Once the song ended and you took a break, he saw his chance. “E-excuse me?” he stammered.

You turned your head quickly, “Yeah?”

“You guys sang really well,” he blurted out, surprised at his own nervousness. He was never one to fumble over his words.

“Oh, thanks!” you replied, beaming at him with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

His face flushed; he had never encountered a more stunning smile.

“C-can I” he stuttered again. 

“Do you want to join?!” you beamed. No, no he didn’t. But if it meant seeing you smile like that more times than once, he’d do anything. Even if it meant singing…. Christmas songs. 

He nodded his head, and you linked your arm through his. “Guys, we have another caroler!” Everyone cheered in a slurred victory, and you got everyone back on track to sing another version of "Jingle Bells."

Hyunjin whispered the lyrics over your voice, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

Han pulls you in closer beneath the soft, warm blanket, his voice laced with playful impatience. “Come ooon, I’m cooold,” he whines, his fingers roaming over your body, seeking out any warmth he can find. 

You can’t help but chuckle softly at his antics, allowing him to explore until he finally settles on a comfortable spot beneath your shirt. His warm palm rests gently on the skin of your belly, sending a shiver of warmth through you. You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling your body relax into the cozy embrace he offers. 

“So, what should we start with?” he asks, breaking the comfortable silence as you reach for the remote nestled beside you on the couch. 

You take a moment to consider, rifling through the various titles listed on Netflix while your mind drifts to fond memories. “How about…” you muse internally, your fingers scrolling through the familiar options until you spot it. “Dash & Lily,” you finally decide, remembering the small holiday tradition you and Jisung have enjoyed together over the years. 

“Sounds good with me!” Jisung chirps happily, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He cuddles up even closer, wrapping his arm around you securely as the unmistakable, cheerful ba-dum chimes through the speakers, signaling the start of the series. The sweet sound envelops you both, drawing you deeper into a world of festive mischief and charm.

“Smells good,” Felix comes up behind you as your hands knead the sugar cookie dough in the bowl. He kisses your shoulder and watches your steady hands knead the dough. 

You giggle at his delicate touch. “When are the guys coming?” you ask over your shoulder. 

“I’m not sure, but I don’t imagine them getting here until late,” he responds, tracing kisses from your shoulder up to your neck. 

You can’t help but giggle as his fingers dance over your skin, sending a flurry of tickles that make you squeal with laughter. “Hey, cut it out with the tickles!” you protest, but your voice is playful, giving away just how lighthearted the moment is.

Soon the bowl of dough is forgotten when Felix drags you away from the kitchen in a flurry of tickles and kisses, guiding you to the living room full of treats, presents, the sounds of a Christmas movie playing, and the smell of cinnamon filling the air. 

“What are you doing?” you say through a fit of laughter. 

“I want to give you a present a little early…while the house is empty,” he says. 

“Okay?”

“Wait here.” He dashes away and you spin to look at the film that’s playing. A moment later you hear footsteps approach, but you don’t turn around. Suddenly you feel Felix’s presence behind you and something shiny above your head. Felix lowers a necklace in front of you and clasps it around your neck. 

You lift the little pendant into your hands, admiring the heart-shaped locket he placed. “Felix,” you say in awe, the gold necklace shining brightly in the light. 

“Open it,” he urges softly. 

You carefully open the locket, feeling the cool metal against your fingertips, and your heart swells as you catch a glimpse of your favorite photo nestled inside. It captures a moment frozen in time—a group huddle with Felix and the rest of the guys surrounding you. In the center of the frame, you’re encircled by their warmth, their arms draped around you in a tight embrace. Each face beams with joy, laughter sparkling in their eyes as they share this unforgettable moment. The image radiates happiness, and as you gaze at it, a smile spreads across your face. “It’s perfect,”.

“I don’t need anything,” he pouts linking his arms around your waist. 

“It's not about needing anything,” you emphasize the word need as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, “its about letting the people you love to spoil you with the things you want,” you explain, smiling awkwardly at him and pleading with your eyes. 

“The only thing I could ever want is many more Christmas’s with you” he kisses the top of your head, making your heart burst. “Your my present every year” he smiles. 

Which linked the idea of your current plan…and your current state. It was simple, but it was perfect. “Okay you can come in!” you call out. 

Seungmin walks in from the bathroom with his hands covering his eyes, “walking in” he voices, his hands still covering his eyes, “not looking,” he teases. 

You grumble at his playfulness, “Minnie, you can open your eyes.” 

Slowly, he lets his hands fall with a smile wide on his face, but that smile soon fades away as he looks at you… nothing but a bright red pin skirt covers your lower half and a bright red ribbon is tied around your breasts, barely covering your nipples. You stand there, your body buzzing in anticipation as you see Seungmin’s palms begin to sweat. 

“Fuck” he whispers. 

“Merry Christmas,” you smile….and his eyes grow dark. 

“Absolutely stunning,” he murmurs in a sultry voice, his eyes dark with desire.

You’re leaning over your dresser, adjusting your earrings for a holiday dinner with Jeongin and his family. He had picked out a form-fitting black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, paired with sleek black heels and a glimmering gold necklace that accentuates your neckline. 

“You’re just saying that to stall the inevitable,” you tease, glancing back at him, a playful smirk on your lips as you run your fingers over the fabric of your dress.

He rises from the couch, his tailored black suit clinging to his body in all the right places. “Actually, no,” he pauses, his gaze locking onto yours. “Well, yes, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” He approaches, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him with a fierce intimacy.

“My my, is it a Christmas miracle? The infamous Yang Jeong-in is feeling affectionate?” you quip, turning to face him, your teasing tone laced with flirtation.

His breath hitches as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss meant to be soft and tender, but it quickly deepens into something heated and urgent. What started as a fleeting brush of lips ignites into a passionate exploration, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine. Feeling the intensity of his desire, you find yourself responding, lost in the electric connection between you, the world outside fading away into oblivion.

You grabbed at his body desperately pulling him closer to you. But you knew it was time to go, so you pulled away “Jeongin, we are going to be late” you whisper against his lips. 

Him being the greedy little menace he is, steals another kiss before saying “they can wait a few more minuets” another stolen kiss “you know what I want for Christmas” his kisses move to the corner of your lips and down the line of your jaw. 

“What” you moan. 

“You, riding my cock and screaming my name so loud the neighbors know who you belong to.” his teeth graze your skin leaving goosebumps in their wake.  

“Innie” you moan out having no restraint in your voice, urging him further. 

He pulls back to look at you, “aw look at you; redder than Santa’s suit, hm” 

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Leave Me Behind

✰ college!art donaldson x f!reader

✰ word count: 1.0k

✰ summary: after a sudden and untimely breakup and weeks of wondering, you come face to face with art to ask him the hard questions.

✰ warnings: language, a breakup (duh), tears, angst, confusion, mentions of long distance, a smooch.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

gif by @andiamofratello

You weren’t supposed to be here. That was for certain. 

The courts were hot; you could feel the warmth of the clay seep through the soles of your shoes. It was almost like the floor was telling you to leave too. You should’ve listened. 

It wasn’t like you’ve never been to the courts, fuck, you spent almost every afternoon here for about a year. There were some instances where you would bring your homework, trying and failing to multitask while Art would practice. 

What you did miss was watching Art show off his natural born skill. He’s always been fast, but studying his movements and how he approached them was something else. 

Your name pulls you from your thoughts as you see Art approach you; a water bottle in his hand, and a towel in his other. Taking a good look at you, his eyebrows furrow, “What are you doing here?” 

You try not to let your nervousness get the best of you as you clear your throat to speak. “I realized that I still have some stuff at your place,” you’re avoiding eye contact as best as you can, and he can tell, “and I was wondering if you could drop it off soon? I know you’re busy right now, so whenever you’re free is good.” 

Art nods along to your words, almost like he is racking his mind trying to think of what you could’ve possibly missed when you initially packed up all your things after the breakup. “Yeah, yeah totally. I’m almost done here, if you want to come with me after? If you can’t, no worries. I’ll figure out a way to get that–,” you cut him off quickly.

“No yeah, I’m not doing anything right now,” nerves are still flooding your body. 

“Great,” he smiles, breaking your heart, “just wait here and I’ll get my things.” You nod as he does a quick jog back to the team. He bids them a quick farewell, packs his things, and is next to you again. Art fixes his hat before looking back at you, “Ready?”

Nodding again, you begin the quick walk towards his dorm room. 

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, this breakup has hit you harder than you thought. Of course, losing someone you love hurts pretty bad, but it was realizing how much of Art was missing in your day. 

You’ve dreamt of a moment with him for weeks, but it feels so painful. You were hoping to talk about what happened, but yet, you’ve suddenly forgotten all the words you rehearsed for hours. The only thing you could think of was very abrupt, “Why did you break up with me?” 

You hear Art clear his throat next to you, but you don’t dare to look up at him. It was clear that he didn’t expect your question, especially not in the middle of campus. But regardless, his brain is searching for the perfect response. “Everything was moving so fast,” Art quickly realized that there wasn’t one, “and I didn’t want to drag you through it all.” 

Staying silent, you let his response sink in. After a few excruciating quiet minutes, you finally speak, “You’re joking right?” A huff of a laugh fills the air. 

“Why would I joke about that?”

You thought you could feel steam coming out of your ears, “Because that was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m not sorry for saying that.”

Pushing through the main doors of his dorm building, he’s basically chasing after you. You know exactly which door to stop at, and when you do, you’re seething. Unlocking the door, Art quickly closes it behind him before turning to you. Dropping his bag, he turns back around to face you, “But I’m being serious, love! I didn’t like the idea of making you do long distance while I’m out across the world training,” he argues, his hands waving in the air in frustration. 

The belongings that you needed to collect were completely forgotten as your hands crossed over your chest, “Hey, Art? Did you ever think to ask me first before completely breaking up with me? Or did you just assume that I wouldn’t want to be with you because you’re out pursuing something you’ve been dreaming about since you were a kid?”

Art’s mouth opens and closes as his shoulders raise, “I don’t know!” 

He’s getting frustrated, you can even see his eyes start to water. A wave of guilt rushes over your body. “Art,” you slowly walk over to him and place a hand on his arm, rubbing up and down, “I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

Grabbing your forearm, he pulls you in for the tightest hug you’ve ever received. His arms are circled around your waist while his nose is buried in your neck. You wanted to hate it, but how could you? 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you hear his muffled apology. 

That was all it took for tears to fall down your face, pulling in the blond impossibly tighter. A few beats pass before you pull away, his arms still keeping you against his body. You hold the sides of his face as you drink in his features again. “I need you to talk to me,” you sigh, “especially when it’s about big things like this.” 

He nods in your grasp, his body becoming mush the longer the feeling of your touch melts into his skin. His brows furrow as a quiet sob leaves his lips, “I will. I’m so sorry.” 

Quickly wiping his tears away, you lean in for a kiss.

The weight off of his shoulders has lifted as your lips move in sync with his. Weeks of pain and hurt are released, along with the feeling of relief that you’ve been so desperately craving. Your hands were strong, keeping him in your grasp as if you were afraid that he was going to leave. That this was a dream. 

But when you opened your eyes again, you were grateful to see your beautiful, stupid, boyfriend staring back at you. You giggle, “Does this mean you take me back?”

Biting his lip, he smiles, “I shouldn’t have let you go in the first place.”

✰ author's note: hi guys!! long time no seeeee!!! for not writing for two months, i am actually kind of loving this one. back in my challengers era i fear. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!!! i'll see you next time, byeee.

[clarkeyhill]

Consequences | Arthur Hill

Arthur and I had been together for a year. We had that kind of relationship that felt easy—built on laughter, trust, and shared traditions. One of Arthur’s quirks was his love for “splitting the G,” a Guinness drinking game where you try to drink the pint down to the middle of the golden “G” in the Guinness logo. It was silly, but it was his thing, and I adored him for it.

When he told me he was going on a boys’ holiday with George and Chris, I didn’t think twice. He updated me every day like clockwork—photos of beaches, beers, and their latest adventures. It felt like he was keeping me close, even from miles away.

Until the last night.

That night, the updates stopped. I told myself it was fine—maybe they’d just gotten carried away with their final hurrah. But then I saw the Instagram post.

A girl I didn’t know had tagged him in a photo. The two of them were standing close, her arm slung over his shoulder, grinning at the camera. The caption read:

“Met this guy and he taught me how he splits the G, many ways than one.”

The words hit me like a slap. I knew what “splitting the G” meant to Arthur, but what was the “other G” she was talking about? My stomach churned as I scrolled through the comments. People were laughing, teasing her, and dropping winking emojis. Arthur hadn’t liked or commented on the photo, but that did nothing to stop the flood of doubt and betrayal coursing through me.

I waited for him to text, to call, to explain. But there was only silence.

Arthur returned home two days later, dragging his suitcase into the hallway with a weariness I hadn’t seen before.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low.

“Hi.” I tried to sound normal, but my heart was already racing.

He was distant, avoiding my gaze, and his usual warmth felt replaced by something colder. I asked him about the trip, but his answers were short and guarded.

“It was fine.”

“Yeah, we had fun.”

“Nothing crazy happened.”

It didn’t feel right. He was hiding something, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Arthur,” I said finally, “I saw the photo.”

His entire body stiffened. “What photo?”

“You know what photo. The one with that girl. She said you taught her how to ‘split the G, many ways than one.’ What does that mean?”

For a moment, he just stared at me, his face pale. Then he sank onto the edge of the couch, running his hands through his hair.

“I messed up,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” My voice cracked.

“I was drunk,” he began, his words spilling out in a rush. “We were playing drinking games at the bar, and she joined in. We were laughing, talking, and then… she kissed me. I didn’t stop her. I should have, but I didn’t. It didn’t go further than that, I swear, but I know I messed up.”

My heart sank. The image of them together, the way he looked at her in that photo, it all felt like a dagger to my chest.

“She kissed you? Just like that?” I demanded, my voice rising.

“I was drunk, and I let it happen,” he admitted. “But it didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake. Please, believe me.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. The man I trusted, the man I loved, had let this happen. How could I ever look at him the same way again?

I slept in the spare bedroom that night. I couldn't bear to sleep or even look at Arthur.

The next morning, I packed my things. Arthur hovered around me, desperate and pleading, but I couldn’t stay.

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please don’t go. It was one mistake.”

“One mistake is all it takes,” I said, tears streaming down my face.

And then I walked out.

For weeks, Arthur tried everything to win me back. He sent flowers, texts, and letters filled with apologies.

“I know I hurt you,” one message read. “But please don’t let this destroy us. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Another said, “I’m not giving up on us. You mean too much to me.”

Each gift, each message, felt like salt in the wound. I didn’t respond. I needed space, time to figure out what I wanted.

Then, one day, a small package arrived. Inside was a single notebook. On the first page, Arthur had written:

“Our Story: The Reasons I Fell in Love With You.”

Every page was filled with memories. The way we met, the time I surprised him with his favorite concert tickets, the night we stayed up talking until sunrise. He’d written about the way I laugh, the way I scrunch my nose when I’m annoyed, and how I always leave notes in his lunchbox.

At the end, he wrote:

“I know I broke your trust, and I might not deserve another chance. But I want to spend the rest of my life making this up to you, proving that I’m the man you fell in love with. Please, let me try."

I closed the notebook, my hands trembling.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself imagine a future where we could work through this. Where we could rebuild.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready to forgive him. But for the first time, I thought… maybe I could try.

-

🫶🏻

[chihuahuawashere]

SUPERBAT

On the anniversary of the day Bruce lost his parents he like to spend by doing charity work. Giving clothes and food to the homeless, funding low income schools with supplies and sports equipment, clothes and toys to foster kids as well as scholarships to foster teens who are about to be out of the system and paying off struggling out of college student debts.

After all of at, at the end of the day Bruce goes back to his mansion it’s almost the middle of the night so the batfam kids should be on patrol right now or sleeping which is way the mansion is so quiet. Usually it’s filled with so much noise of the kids yelling at one another with weapons being heard underneath the layer of laughter and another layer of running footsteps or one of their many animals making some sort of nose. He’s at this point so used to /something/ going on that having had complete silence scares him.

It reminds him of when he was a kid and all alone with Alfred in this mansion filled thick with the memory of losing his parents and all the memories that he had of them while they were here. The silence reminds of the days after the incident and how he was learning having to wake up and not be greeted by his parents at the breakfast table every morning anymore but now empty and cold.

With that train of thought it makes him realize the weight that is on his chest that presses hard on he thinks it’s going to crack a rib but the pain shoots up to his throat and it feels like he’s being choked. It makes it hard to breathe and before he knows it he’s eye sight goes blurring.

He doesn’t want to have one of the kids accidentally run into him like this so he rushes to his room and the second he closes the door his body throws him into a full body sob completely reckoning him up inside. He’s an absolute mess heaving and gasping for air while he’s throat burns all at the same time he’s eyes are stinking every time he opens them.

It hurts everything hurts he was no idea how long hes been crying but he knows that the pain hasn’t eased a bit. The pain from his parents death, the weight of being Batman and every burden and responsibilities that comes with just came crashing down that day turning a crying session into a crying marathon. At some point hes been crying for so long that hes starting to get concerned about how much tears just keeps coming and coming.

But he hears the window of he’s room being opened and by the time he tryed to react to what was going on he was engulfed in a hug of warmth. Being thrown completely off guard and not having enough time to regroup his thoughts or even lets he’s entered adjust or register what was going on.

Clark spoke into his right ear “I heard your heartbeat increase dramatically and came as fast as I could I know what day it is and… I just needed to see if you were okay” he’s hug around Bruce tightened at the last part of his sentence nuzzled deeper into his neck.

Hearing Clark say that gives a whole new waves of tears in Bruce’s eyes. Not out of greif or frustrations but out of pure love he had for the man who was hugging him to death and making what was already hard to breathe even harder to do.

He hugged Clark back with equal tightness while sobbing into his shoulder completely ruining he’s pajama shirt (he’ll remind himself later to buy this amazing man a new more better sent of pajama later) but right now all he needs is him and he feel his body weight compress him until he can calm down.

But while he was crying he felt Clark starting to rock him from side to side while he rubbed circles on his back humming nothing at all. It reminded him was a distant memory of when he’s mother used to do that for him when he fell down or had a bad dream. Which in all of course made him cry even more at the thought of his mom and Clark being so similar and how they’ll never get to meet the man that healed him in so many ways that he’ll never admit to him.

After quite some time Bruce eventually cried himself to sleep in Clark’s arms. He was picked up like a couple of grapes and was gently putted into his bed with the best of care mains sure that he would not been woken up at all during the whole process. Then ever so gently climbed into bed with him, pulling Bruce up into his chest with his left arm holding Bruce to his side while his free right arm holds into Bruce’s hand that lays on he’s chest.

Once he hears that Bruce’s heartbeat has gone into its normal heartbeat rhythm he calms down and lets sleep take him as well. And by the time he wakes up in the Morning it’s mid day and he missed a half of days of work and he phone was left at home. What’s so wrong with missing one day? Plus seeding the rise and fall of Bruce’s sleeping chest is all the more worth it then any day at the job hands down.

♥️

[acequinz]

Sometimes I think how Fang Duobing was hurt how little SGD thought of him but it did not allow him to spiral downwards cause he had a whole family and Li Lianhua and friends he made on the journey.

Then I think about Li Xiangyi, who had made a lot of friends along the way, made a family for himself and then when he found his trust "broken" by Di Feisheng, he one by one lost each and everything.

Then by the time he found the truth he had already given up on too much and the only ones who didn't give up on him were Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing.

And then I think about if this was the reason Li Lianhua left Fang Duobing to Di Feisheng.

Guilt and trust.

Trust because they never stopped believing in him, maybe a doubt here and there but it never stopped them from trusting him and how could he not return it when he first handedly sees it in them.

Guilt because he could not stay longer and had to betray the trust they had in him by giving up on his own life even if this time it was because he had no other choice rather than him wanting to run away from them.

So he left them to each other, cause he wished they knew what he felt, how they made him feel. He wanted them to do for each other what they did for him cause he couldn't do it for them.

But after all that, I just wish that in the end Li Lianhua knew he was loved, as Li Xiangyi and as Li Lianhua because there's two stubborn men who would never stop so he has to know, he wouldn't want to hurt them by not knowing.

He knew right?

[fairy-verse]

Who is the most popular firstborn fairy amounts the fairies?

Well, that’s difficult to say, because each season fairy will vote for their respective firstborn. The autumn fairies will say Nightmare, the winter fairies will say Error, and so forth. However, if we instead ask: Which firstborn is the one most openly worshipped and admired by their fairies?

Then that answer will become Dream.

Dream can scarcely be around his own summer fairies without being surrounded by song and flower petals scattered around and over him. They might seem almost obnoxiously bothersome to the other firstborn but Dream absolutely loves this attention. The love and devotion his own summer fairies have for him make him beyond joyful, and he returns this love with warmth and sunlight.

The other season fairies do of course show open love and worship towards their own firstborns as well, but the summer fairies are the ones who are the loudest when it comes to this very thing. Hilariously enough, they’ve attempted to do this towards Error whenever he comes to visit Dream, just because they want to ensure that he stays in a good mood, but it does the complete opposite as Error finds it to be incredibly annoying. It always ends with the summer fairies scattering in fright, much to Error’s amusement. Dream isn’t as amused, but he won’t deny that he prefers those moments alone with Error, so he doesn’t mind if his summer fairies leave them alone for a little while.

[s0dium]

Obsession

Warning: Love drunk men, fingering, titty sucking, nipple play, unprotected sex, love drunk reader

~

Love courses through your veins. He’s all you can think about.

You wonder if it's normal to be this enamored with someone, to be this hopelessly head over heels infatuated and obsessed. You can't even focus on what needs to be done anymore because he's absorbed your entire being; he's in your head when you wake up, a gentle whisper in the back of your mind during conversations, a constant in your dreams, day or night.

But it's a doomed one-sided crush you remind yourself. You're not even sure if he knows you exist and in quieter moments, you wonder if perhaps it’s better this way. Loving from a distance means you never have to face the potential heartbreak of rejection, never have to see that polite smile of someone who doesn’t return your feelings. It's safer, you tell yourself, to admire him from afar, keeping your heart guarded behind the shield of daydreams and what-ifs.

So surely, right now in this moment, you must be dreaming.

It feels too vivid, too intense to be just a figment of your imagination. The warmth of his breath against your cheek, the weight of his bare body pressing gently down on yours, the softness of his lips moving against your own with an insatiable hunger—it all feels astonishingly real.

Because it is.

You don't know how but now you're naked underneath him, letting him touch, grope, suck, kiss, nip, and bite anything his hands and mouth can find. He doesn't let up either, he's exploring your body like a starved man, like he'll never get a chance to touch you ever again and wont pull away until he's had his fill.

You gasp when you feel his fingers between your legs, tracing your inner thigh before gliding between your pussy lips. Instinctively, you jerk back at the feeling; his fingers collecting your arousal and sliding up and down. But before you can speak, he kisses you again, his tongue eagerly intertwining with yours. When he finally pulls away, leaving you breathless, a thin strand of saliva connects your mouths.

"Just let me take care of you okay?" He hums before dipping two fingers into your tight hole. "Just been waiting so long to do this."

You don't even have time to react before he's curling his digits and massaging a sweet spot you could only dream about hitting on your own. His other hand gropes your left breast and with his index and thumb, begins to play with your perky nipples. As if that wasn't enough, his mouth found your other breast and gave it the same attention, licking sucking, and rolling your nipple like it was candy.

Colors dance across your closed eyelids and you wonder if this is heaven, if you've died and reached nirvana because the pleasure is just that good. You dont know if you can handle this, handle the fact that he's sucking and playing with your nipples while finger fucking you. Your toes curl and uncurl from the hot searing euphoria that is absorbing your body and emitting from your core. Your back arches off the bed and your crying his name, moaning it even, something you only dreamed about doing late at night when you craved him.

Suddenly, his mouth releases your nipple with a pop and he ceases all of his ministrations, leaving you breathless and confused.

"Fuck, I-" He's breathless himself, his face flushed and pupils blown. "Need to be inside you, need to feel you." He practically groans, and you thickly gulp at his words. Your brain goes fuzzy and you dizzily watch him pull down his boxers, the length slapping against his abdomen after being released from its confines.

He watches you lay down on the bed, breasts and cunt glistening from juices. You dont know this but he actually thinks he is dreaming. You look like a painting right now and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from spilling just at the sight of you.

"Please," You whine, "Please fuck me."

Who is he to deny you?

Without a word he presses his tip against your entrance and slides into you, grunting at the snug fit of your walls. You let out a loud moan from the feeling of him filling you so so perfectly, so well you mentally curse yourself for thinking a dildo or your fingers could ever do the job.

Then with a moan of his own, he slides out of you, nearly leaving you empty, before rocking himself back into you. Oh, how he wanted to fuck you slow and nice, like you deserved, but as the seconds passed, his resolve seep away until he just couldn't possibly hold back anymore.

His thrusts become faster, quicker, slamming in and out of you with such vigor and ease due to your combined juices coating and dripping from both his length and your hole. The friction is delicious, and his tip seems to hit your g-spot perfectly with each thrust. He even grabs the underside of your thigh and pushes them against you, effectively folding you and half and allowing him to go even deeper inside you.

You could feel your rational slipping away as he groaned about how fucking good you felt, about how good you where taking him, how he had been dreaming about this. You want to say something too, say something about how you feel the same way, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth right now is wanton moans of his name.

The pleasure was becoming too much, it had been slowly building and building and you know your about to break any second, burst with such euphoria you don't know if you will ever come back from the high. Before you do though, your brain manages to work again for half a millisecond to express the exact words you are feeling.

"Love you! M'love you so much!" You gasped before letting yourself succumb to the mind-numbing orgasm that was waiting for you. Your whole body shook and quaked from the pleasure and your mind went white. You thought you might cry, from happiness or pleasure you did not know. But you didn't. You simply went limp while you let him use your body like a sex doll.

You are barely clinging onto consciousness when you feel his hips stutter against you and he scoops you up, holding you close while he cums inside you.

"Love you too, love you too." He groans against your ear.

Any character you want ;)

[anantaru]

genshin man (your choice ofc) overstimulating reader ☺️🫵🏻☺️🫵🏻

・✶ ｡ including — alhaitham, kinich ☁︎ synopsis — he likes overstimulating his darling, he loves it, even <3

warnings — overstimulation, sweet talks with alhaitham <3 teasing genshin man, kinich is a little mean, fem! reader

— alhaitham

"if you could only see yourself the way i see you," alhaitham murmurs as his lips brush against your ear ever so tenderly— and his voice was like a soothing balm hovering on top of you, grounding you in the present moment even as your senses spiraled into near insanity.

with purpose, his hands move and explore your writhing skin, discovering every sensitive spot on your body as his hips thrust with vigor, the messy, wet squelches of your cunt making you arch your back as the bubble inside your belly threatens to pop.

with alhaitham, there was no rush in his actions, only a deep, profound care to give you the most intense pleasure until your body borders on overstimulation and love. his fingertips trace delicate patterns over your skin as his eyes, filled with an intense yet tender focus, watch how your legs shake and quiver around his narrow waist.

you continue to arch into his touch and whimper when you catch his lips curve into a small smile each time your pussy squeezes him, his gaze never leaving your face. he wanted, no, needed to see every expression you made, every moment of pleasure he could draw from you until you lose control of yourself, the feeling of his erection pressing into you over and over being unlike anything profanely possible.

"just let go for me, yeah?" he whispers, his voice like a husky command that sent a cold shiver down the entirety of your spine, "i'm with you, here with you," as he continues to grind his cock into you, the lazy, yet skilled drags of his shaft rushing around your spongey walls as you mewl out his name.

there was nothing you could do other than cling to his shoulders, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the sensations were beginning to turn overwhelming, each touch, each kiss, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you and feeling like a mountain was tied against your frame, looming and threatening to crush you.

his hands moved lower to find your swollen clit to pinch and press into the little pearl before rubbing you fiercely as it that had you crying out in deep pleasure until you just couldn't take it anymore.

your body felt so tense, the pleasure building to its pinnacle as you messily released all over his cock, intense waves of pleasure bursting through you as you simply shattered, your body convulsing in his strong arms as alhaitham held you through it all, his merciless touch on your clit never faltering as he rubbed you through your blissful orgasm.

— kinich

kinich's eyes sparkled with mischief as he traced a finger down your arm, his touch light and teasing while his grin was somewhat playful, quite menacing as well if being honest, yet promising a night of unrestrained pleasure until he could see you fall apart for him.

"you look so tempting to me, i can't wait to feel you over and over and over," the man purred, his voice resembling a seductive whisper as you leaned into his warmth, his breath hot against your neck as he kissed a trail down to your collarbone before biting into your flesh.

it's obvious he knows exactly how to drive you wild, how to make you beg and cry.

in a matter of seconds, you tremble underneath him, toes curled and your hips grinding up so your clit could rub into his pelvis as kinich chuckled at your eagerness, finding it rather amusing as it fueled the ego inside of him, "patience, ever heard of it, hmm?" he teases as his lips brush against your ear, "don't you realize we have all night?"

his fingers induce electric bolts into you as they danced over your skin with ease, never lingering in one spot for too long as he found it to be the most pleasurable if he was able to tease you until you would literally break— because you see, each touch was a tantalizing promise of the pleasure to come, leaving you breathless and yearning for more and kinich utterly adored that.

"how odd, you're so sensitive there," he remarks with a giggle as he messily thrusts into your cunt before grinding his hips down whenever he was fully inside, "i wonder why," as his voice turned in a husky whisper, his eyes meeting yours in a trice, a spark of amusement and desire in their depths and taking you by surprise.

"ugh, i love seeing you like this, so vulnerable,"

kinich's grin was wicked, insane, his eyes never leaving yours as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. "more, come on," he whispers, "i want to see you fall apart for me, you think you can do that?"

and with a final, teasing thrust— so strong, in fact, that it made your boobs jiggle up and down, he sent you over the edge, your voice dying in your throat before you felt something pop in your stomach and fuck, it was so effortlessly quick like he didn't even need to try to make you feel this way.

©2024 anantaru  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[fairy-angel222]

𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐬 𐙚⋆.˚

Him getting all teary as you continue to edge him, his cock painfully hard and throbbing as you stroked it slow.

“P-please mommy— ahh, need to cum so bad.” His voice cracks with a whimper, trying to thrust his hips into your warm fist for just a little more contact to his overly sensitive tip.

His moans are so loud and cute, his hands tied snuggly behind his back as he ruts desperately up into your fist. His abs tensed, mouth hung open in shaky cries as his orgasm builded up.

“Nngh— ‘m cumming, ‘m— no, no, no, w-why?” He let out a choked sob. Pleading eyes going dark when you only smirked down it him, running your nail up his shaky stomach.

“It’s okay baby.” You coo, “you can take it, you’re such a good boy f’me.”

Choso frowned, his eyes glossy as he glared at your form on top of him. Effortlessly breaking his restraints into two before grabbing you roughly by your neck with the shake of his head, “ ‘m done, ‘s your turn now.”

You let out a loud whimper when Choso shoved you into the bed, spreading your legs impatiently before lining himself up with your dripping hole. “You get this wet from torturing me.” He scoffed.

“Choso baby, w-wait.” Choso only ignored you, thrusting into you roughly before he was hammering into you in the chase of his lost orgasm. Loud squelching sounds filling the room as he used your pussy to stroke his cock however he liked.

“F-fuck,” he cried, his body already shaking as he felt his orgasm coming back to him. His hard chest pressed against your own as he fucked himself stupid with no rhythm. “O-ooh- nghh— feels so good m-mommy,” he breathed in relief, his cock slamming mercilessly into your tight warmth.

“Yeah? Feels so good doesn’t it, fucking yourself with my pussy?” You cooed, small moans falling past your lips as you stroked his hair.

Choso nodded with a broken mewl, his hips rutting into you with nothing but need as his thrusts got sloppy, slobbering kisses down your smooth neck. His eyes met yours through wet eyelashes. “Uh huh- ‘m gonna cum— nngh, please mommy can i cum?”

You only smirked. Good boy.

“Mhm, go ahead baby- cum for me.” Choso let out a string of loud whimpers, a cry of your name echoing through the room as his body trembled.

“O-oh fu-uuck— i love you s’ much mommy.” His voice went up a pitch, his hold on you tightening as his body stilled, twitching cock buried deep inside you to pump you fuck. “So warm— nghh, so tight. Can stay in you for h-hours. Fill you with my babies over ‘n over again.” He moaned when you clenched down on him, ropes after ropes of his sticky cum painting your walls white.

“Fuck, mommy’s gonna cum too baby. Keep fucking me just like that okay?” You moaned desperately.

Choso only pecked your lips before rubbing at your clit while fucking meanly into you. Your head falling back into your pillow with a whiny cry as your body trembled, feeling your stomach tighten as you neared your high.

Choso grinned, “Are you close mommy?”

You nodded with a mewl, your vision blurry and your lips parted in soft whimpers when you felt Choso’s cock repeatedly hitting your sweet spot. The stretch of your pussy for his thick girth clouding your mind as you moaned out for him.

“C’mon, use your words.” His voice deepened, hand reaching up to wrap around your throat with the tilt of his head. “Well?”

You nodded with a hiccup, “Mhm, ‘m so close. Gonna cum f’ you baby.” You cried out shakily, your toes curling with the arch of your back as your orgasm began to wash over you.

“Aww, well that’s too bad.” Choso faux pouted, halting his movements and smiling sweetly when you whined desperately. Lifting your hips towards him for any form of contact. “Baby p-please.”

He leaned down to kiss your cheeks as your own eyes grew watery, “told you it was your turn.”

[coqvttes]

୨୧― KINKTOBER: ❝KNOCKED UP❞ ― KENTO N.

― ꒰ BREEDING ✰ KINKTOBER M.LIST ꒱ ―

୨୧˚ synopsis: after getting turned on from seeing you being domestic in the kitchen, your doting husband is definitely not stopping until he's sure you're pregnant !

୨୧˚ warnings: nsfw 16+ only, breeding, p in v, petnames, praise, fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!kento, fingering, tummy bulge, creampie, teasing, lmk if i forgot anything!

୨୧˚ wc: 1.4k (sorry it’s not proofread)

your doting husband, kento just couldn't help himself when he saw you fussing around in his little kitchen. the enchanting smell of fresh pancakes had stirred him from his sleep in the bedroom, and he wondered what you were up to when he noticed that his wife's spot on the bed was empty. appearing in the doorway of the kitchen in his briefs, he freezes as he sees you prancing around in the kitchen. taking in the sight of you. 

there you are, sporting the linen workshirt he wore yesterday, styled with your cute little apron over it. clearly, you aren't wearing anything underneath the shirt, save for your cute lacy panties that he just loves so much.

he ponders if he should just take you right there. bend you over the worktop push those panties of yours to the side and make love to you like last night. you just look so gorgeous and domestic like this, waking up early just to change into HIS clothes to cook him HIS breakfast in HIS kitchen. how can he resist the temptation? god, sometimes he thinks you do it on purpose just to rile him up. and it works. 

"good morning, kento," the sound of your sweet voice forced him out of his perverted thoughts and his eyes met with your gentle ones. you were holding a delicate plate of freshly made pancakes, just for him with that sweet smile on your face. warmth filled his heart as he looked at you with adoration and lust. 

"g'morning, darling," he says in that sexy morning voice of his. your mouth almost waters at the sight of him. hair tousled, shirtless and a tired smirk on his handsome face. he notices the way you stare at him and he doesn't know how it happened but he's approaching you, pulling you in by the waist for a sweet kiss, sealed with passion and devotion. 

"you look too good in that shirt and cute little apron of yours," he groans, hands slipping down your hips to grab onto your arse. you squeal as he unexpectedly lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your palms flat against his chest. 

"w-what about breakfast?" he chuckles at your concern and grins. 

"who needs breakfast when i have you, hm?" he chuckles, carrying you back into the bedroom, you giggle as he plops you down on the bed, climbing over you. his fingers play with the strands of your hair before he speaks.

"god, you're so perfect in my shirt. so pretty for me, hm? all mine, aren't you?" his fingers slide under the shirt as he kisses you, caressing you tenderly before moving up further to grope your tits. he smiles into your lips as he feels how hard your nipples are for him, pinching and tugging at them gently, eliciting a choked whine from your throat.

"all yours, kento," your voice is breathy, so desperate for his touch. he skillfully unbuttons the shirt and peels it off of you, letting the cool air blow over your now bare torso. your fingers tangle in his blonde locks as he envelops your nipple in his warm mouth. you mewl softly from the stimulation whilst he gazes at you through his eyelashes, you look so heavenly like this. 

releasing your wet nipple he moves lower down your body. as he spreads your legs, exposing the wet stain on your panties, he chuckles. he ducks down and presses his lips against your clothed cunt. his pointer finger slips under the lace, pulling it down your legs, revealing your needy cunt.

"fuck, darling, let me put a baby into you, hm? make you mine forever? would you like that?" he asks, his slender fingers, slipping into your hole slowly. you nod profusely, choking on your words as he stuffs you full with his digits. sliding them in and out of you slowly, he curls his fingers to tease that sweet spot inside of you that makes your walls clench around him.

"use your words, sweetheart." 

"yes, yes! wan' your babies, kento. wan' it so bad. wan' to be yours forever-!" you babble mindlessly, completely unaware of how much your words are affecting him right now. the thought of having kids with you and how much you want it too, makes his dick so hard. his heart is beating fast as the phrases truly sink into his mind.

with that, he withdraws his now slick-covered fingers, before lowering his head down, capturing your plump lips with his. your hand moves down between your bodies to palm his bulge through his briefs. he pulls away from your lips and groans with how painfully hard he is and he tugs his briefs off, dropping them onto the floor carelessly. 

your eyes are fixated on his cock that yearns to be inside of your warmth. he pumps his length a few times, drops of precumming spilling out of his sensitive tip as he slowly lines himself up with your drooling entrance. you mewl out lewdly as he pushes himself in, filling you up completely and your palms fly up to his shoulders for purchase. 

your thankful he prepped you a little bit earlier otherwise you're not so sure if you could take him in one go like this. after a few heartbeats, he rolls his hips slightly, his pelvis rubbing against your puffy clit and you moan softly. 

he picks up the tempo, his thrusts now faster and harder as the room echoes with the sounds of your pleasure and the bed creaking. his strong arms move your legs up to rest on his broad shoulders, making the position more intimate but most importantly, making it easier for him to go deeper.

his eyes are fixed on the way your cunt keeps sucking him in, the way you can see his bulge in your tummy and the way you look at him with those adoring doe eyes. he dips his head down to seize your lips in a kiss.

the kiss was gentle and innocent compared to the sinful actions being committed with each of his powerful thrusts. with every single drag of your tight cunt against his dick, constantly clenching around him deliberately which forced out a long string of groans as he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"k-kento!" 

he dotes on the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name in a choked whisper, your nails clawing down his back. your cunt pulsing around his cock. your juices spilling from your hole as he thrusts into you like there's no tomorrow.

“that feel good, darling?” the rumble of his voice against your ear makes you shiver slightly. 

"can't wait to see your tummy swollen with my babies in you, you'll look so gorgeous."

“mmm—!” moans and whines bubble up in your throat as a response to his teasing words. the thought of having his children makes your mind go fuzzy and your heart swell. you want it more than anything. 

“i love you, sweetheart,” he coos, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. his husky voice, how close his lips are, the lust evident in his gaze, it all makes your mind go fuzzy. 

"i love you, kento! love you s'much!" you cry as you cream around his cock, cunt tensing around him which pushes him over the edge too. he lets out a broken moan as his warmth fills you up. he stays inside of you for a few moments, not wanting his cum to go to waste. 

"mmm, can't wait for you to get pregnant, sweetheart," he confesses, pulling you into his arms as he lays down on the mattress.

“i think the pancakes are cold,” you pout, turning your head to look up at him through your lashes and he chuckles down at you.

"that's alright, darling... i've already had my meal, haven't i?"

oh yes, he has...

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ all works belong to © coqvettes 2023. i do not give permission to claim, translate or copy any of my works. reblogs are appreciated!

[screampied]

oh my godddd I need choso with a breeding kink

choso and his breeding kink ★

warnings. fem! reader, breeding kink, unprotected, p i v, praise, whiny pussydrunk choso, manhandling, mdni.

you let choso shoot into you raw once, just once and he becomes addicted immediately,

it drives him wild, the feeling of goopy amounts of viscous cum pouring into you every few seconds makes his mouth water tremendously with shaky hands glued to your hips, a sweetened mewl slides out of his lips. “ohh, ‘m c-cummin’ again,” and he dryly laughs to hide his whiny moan that were trying to escape from his compressing lips. despite his voice faltering on its own, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. you lay underneath him, an ankle of yours rubbing down his back. you felt his tense muscles and its warmth grazing against your skin. “mhm, ‘s good for me—more please,” he pleads, leaning in to suck against your neck. a few strands of his hair that was naturally down tickles against your cheek. speaking of strands, a few strands stick against his own forehead as he slows his pace. it’s so much dribbling into you before a little trail of his syrupy seed starts to run its way down your left thigh. “i- i’m gonna get you pregnant, baby. i jus’ wanna make a mess out of you. make a mess outta my pretty girl.”

“you love saying that, hm?” you stroke his cheek, panting breaths departing from your lips before you arch forward.

choso was infertile—being a half human half curse, you weren’t sure if he could actually even get you pregnant but he’s always dreamt of the idea. the thought of you walking around with a rounded, swollen tummy has him nearly drooling into your collarbone. baring a fang into the crook of your neck, his sucking intensifies—you’re so full. he only gives you a silent nod, nibbling his teeth into your skin as he’s still got you stuffed full of cock. “how many babies this time?”

“m- maybe um,” he breaks away to stare into your eyes once more.

choso was sweating, a nice glossing sheet of sweat paints against his flushed face before he gulps at your direct eye contact. prying your thighs open just a bit more to stare at the volumes of cum spilling out of your cunt and onto the sheets, he sighs. “wanna give you twins.”

“. . . oh,” you tease, feeling his warm weight press against your entire body. the heat of each body makes his cravings escalate further. he wants you so bad. choso knew you were teasing from your tone alone but still, he furrowed his darkened brows.

as his dick curls into your gummy, gripping walls that forevermore clung onto him tightly, he whines. “oh? oh— what? is that not enough?”

“i was thinking more like . . five, baby,” you whisper against his ear.

whilst you’re still laid flat against your back, feeling his smooth tempo pick up again, a moan almost drags out of your throat. choso always knew how to make you feel good, vice versa. your breaths were so quickened irregular, it’s as if you’d return from a midnight job. with the back of your foot playfully slides down his stiff back muscles, you cup his chin. “maybe six . . or seven, eight . . ”

“s-so basically, you want an entire family,” he whimpers, a mere smile forming onto his lips.

within a few positions, it was safe to say choso was already pussy-drunk. you had him right where you wanted, and once he saw your nod at his question, he only moans into your neck. “okay, i’ll try. gonna try my best for you,” and a flat palm of his circles against your bare stomach. “and this pretty tummy. ‘s gonna be so full when ‘m done.”

choso was a man who never went back on his word.

he says he’s gonna breed you and that’s exactly what he does—

there was simply no sugarcoating it. it’s been about a plethora of positions and as promised, you were filled to the utmost brim with his cum. choso loves more than anything to have you in missionary. he wants to hold your face as he’s fucking his cum back into you.

a pout spreads against his lips as he feels the slippery slope of his own seed pour its way out of your cunt. he wants you to savor it. it drives him mad—with your legs wrapping around his waist, the desire to give you more of him only increases.

“ugh, ‘s good. you’re gonna be so full. take more, pretty please. saved so much for you,” and he’s just babbling.

it’s cute—he’s whimpering sweet nothings against your skin as he’s languidly swinging his hips into your very core. it’s sloppy, yet it feels almost blissful—each time he finishes inside it literally takes his breath away. chills roam all through his spine as he’s dumping such velvety amounts of cum into you. choso bites his lip at the sudden waves of electricity coursing through his veins. he has a bit of a short circuit and it’s cute. with blow irises, he gasps before making a cute attempt to kiss you, but in reality he’s just sucking on your bottom lip. “take it, t- take it, gimme a baby.”

and his words were raspy, yet his tone was whiny. his head’s spinning but he wants more. choso’s so in love, in love with love, in love with you.

“kiss me, ‘cho.” you mewl out breathlessly, moving a few strands out of his face. once he heard you said that, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

a thumb of yours massage against the bridge of his nose, tickling against the scar before you drag him into your lips. choso loudly moans into your mouth as his thrusts become more precise and slow. you glue against him so good that it’s just carnally lustful..

his hips twitch against your own as he’s shoving his own spilling cum right into your cunt. you’re sopping already, a few creamy droplets already start to rundown your thighs as you cling onto him tightly.

“mhm, i love you. i love you s’much, gonna be such a good mommy,” he whines, resuming to babble between kisses.

mwah after mwah . .

with hooded eyes, and a sheepish little grin, he gazes at your after glow. so pretty, saliva cobwebs string out of your mouth as he breaks away only to kiss you again. a hand still rubs against your tummy before it’s his turn to cup your chin. “p- princess,” he breathes in a raspy way. a tongue swipes its way against your bottom lip. his dick was still inside, idle and not moving—yet it’s just plugging feverish excess amounts of cum into you.

“yes baby.” you stare right back into his eyes, a thumb gliding against his flushed cheeks.

“i- i love you,” he whines, his heart melting from the softness of your touch. you bring a hand of his towards your mouth to kiss it. “i love you but- but ‘m not done. need to fill you some more,” and you gasp once he flips you over, making you get on all fours. “i wanna love you more, especially from behind, h-heh.”

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3