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selfcarecap · 1 month ago

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MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them.

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him.

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring.

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises.

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing.

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more.

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it.

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite.

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it?

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead?

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again.

He could give it to you.

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing?

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside.

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it.

Sappy motherfucker.

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep.

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse.

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks.

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you.

He wakes up with morning wood.

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door.

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart.

It’s soo stupid.

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps.

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you.

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again.

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself.

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist?

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him.

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw.

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone.

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw?

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it.

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it.

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.”

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing.

“Did you draw it?” He asks.

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.”

“Secret admirer?”

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.”

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended.

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that.

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?”

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.”

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all.

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created.

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven.

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing.

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy.

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect.

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end.

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?).

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time.

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him?

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know.

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight.

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid.

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say.

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that).

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile.

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh.

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him.

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone.

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears.

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is.

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him.

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his.

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long.

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better.

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access.

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide.

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged.

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead.

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath.

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself.

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine.

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still.

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head.

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while.

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is.

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #fem!reader #selfcarecap

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sunderwight · 5 months ago

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SV fic where Luo Bingge discovers that Shen Jiu had a long-lost half-brother or something, and subsequently decides that he's going to infiltrate the minor sect which this "Shen Yuan" belongs to in order to get close to him and then indulge in revenge fantasy 2.0 when it inevitably turns out that Shen Yuan is like Shen Jiu (i.e. a horrible abusive scum teacher).

So Bingge uses some magical object or technique or other, makes himself look like a scrawny 12-14 year old, then puts himself in Shen Yuan's path in hopes of convincing the man to take him on as a disciple. The idea being that after Shen Yuan abuses him, Bingge will be justified in reenacting his Shen Qingqiu Revenge Arc again and maybe finally feeling some closure about the whole thing.

Yes, this is a very deranged plan. No, no one is going to tell the emperor of the three realms that. Bingge also wants it to be clear that this has nothing whatsoever to do with his recent escapade in an alternate universe, except that he was inspired to find Shen Jiu's relative as a consequence of that. But he's absolutely sure that this guy is going to turn out just as rotten as his brother, given the opportunity. That is definitely the only reason he is doing this!

Flash forward about four years. Bingge's retainers are begging on their knees for him to actually come back and do some administrative work. The harem is running itself at this point and they're all very terrified of the situation with Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing (i.e. ruling with lesbian iron fists) and whatever the heck Ning Yingying is up to (no one is certain but it's something). The outer provinces are rebelling. Mobei Jun's somehow found another weird human surnamed Shang to cavort with, except this one is basically running admin for the entire northern kingdom now and no one's even sure if they're fucking or if it's some kind of mind control situation or what.

Bingge is annoyed. He doesn't have a good explanation for why a bunch of demon lords would be showing up on the doorstep of Tiny Cultivation Sect to beg him for anything. They're going to spoil his cover! And they're interrupting his schedule! It's already four o'clock and he hasn't started on Shizun's dinner yet! Shoo! Get lost!

Anyway, eventually some of his demon followers get desperate and dramatically kidnap him. Shen Yuan is horrified and grieved when it seems that his precious disciple, so like white lotus Luo Binghe from the novel, has been captured by demons. He tries to track the assailants down, but they've covered their tracks too well. In the end, there's only one path left to him to pursue: taking this matter to the protagonist!

Yes, the protagonist! Because the thing is, Shen Yuan noticed the similarities between his disciple and the book character he so admired. Not only that, but he did manage to glimpse Bingge one time from afar. It wasn't anywhere near to a real interaction, but it was enough for him to notice the strong resemblance between the protagonist and the mistreated little lamb who showed up at his doorstep. A resemblance for which there can only be one explanation:

Shen Yuan's disciple is one of Binghe's kids!

Yes, he had it figured out since fairly early on. Not only was there a resemblance, and not only were their dispositions quite similar, but also the boy showed a lot of signs of some demonic heritage. Shen Yuan was just working up to broaching the subject, partly because he had been trying to avoid any direct or even indirect interactions with the emperor, and partly because he... became somewhat reluctant to part ways with his student. Sue him! He got attached! And anyway, he knew how missing child plots usually went. There was probably someone in the harem who was out for his disciple's blood, and it wouldn't be safe to send him back into that mess until he was strong enough to look after himself.

But as is inevitable, the plot seems to have reclaimed Shen Yuan's student all on its own.

He just... needs to make sure that it isn't a tragic outcome. It seems it falls on him to make the emperor aware of his son's survival, and subsequent peril, and help launch a rescue!

Which also means approaching Luo Binghe in person, which he knows is very risky indeed, due to his connection to the infamous Shen Qingqiu! He'd been avoiding the protagonist at all costs for that exact reason.

But if it's his only hope of rescuing his disciple, he will simply have to take the risk, and hope that enough time has passed that Luo Binghe doesn't read too much into a shared surname and a passing resemblance. Or that restoring the emperor's long-lost son to him will be worth seem lenience for the crime of being connected to Shen Qingqiu. Maybe if he's lucky, he will even be allowed to continue visiting his disciple! (Ha, yeah right! More likely, Luo Binghe's going to take his head for hiding his own kid from him for so long!)

Anyway, cue Luo Bingge running around swapping between his Emperor and Disciple forms, dramatically trying to orchestrate a situation where he can fake the emperor's death and go back to the sect with Shizun as his disciple, or something, only for it all to blow up in his face because Shen Yuan keeps flinging himself between Bingge and potentially fatal threats that could plausibly kill him???

#bingqiu #svsss #scum villain's self saving system #bingyuan #scum villain #long post #shen yuan: no way can binghe die like this I'm getting to the bottom of this mystery #luo binghe just trying to fake his death so he can go live his best housewife life: no he's dead it's fine let's just go please c'mon #it all probably turns out #like shen yuan's going to figure it out and then pretty much immediately forgive him once he recovers

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kooberryfields4ever · 1 month ago

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greedy

hello !! if you're seeing this again it's bc i've reuploaded it in order to make it a separate post <33 gonna start posting asks/reqs separately so i can tag the link in replies instead!!! tysm for reading!!!

wc: 5851

content warnings: detailed descriptions of insecurity surrounding weight & body image, internalised fatphobia, jungkook also gets insecure & a little toxic during an argument, jungkook is vulgar!!!!!! porn with a little bit of plot, jungkook is a munch, jungkook spanks yn a couple times, piv sex, descriptions of female anatomy, KOOBERRYFIELDS4EVER DISCOVERS A POSITION THAT IS NOT MISSIONARY!!!!!

MDNI !

He notices it in your face first, the way you’ve started to cover your chin in photos he takes of you, choosing to lean against your palm when you pose or asking him to take them from a higher angle. He chalked it up to new trends catching your fancy, never thought much of it. You look pretty, he’d compliment, and you would accept them with a sweet smile before deleting the majority of the photos he took. He had never even considered the fact that not once had you posted to your Instagram in over a month. He notices it next in your tummy, once on display with crop tops or low-rise jeans, now hidden away by baggy cargo pants, hoodies, and sweaters. He never minded. Yes, he misses being able to reach around your waist and stroke his fingers across your stomach, misses the easy access he had to your body and the intimacy of skin-to-skin contact that you’ve taken away from him. But, like his own, your style is always changing. Baggy clothes are in right now. It’s when you start to physically shy away from his touches, shrug off his hands and redirect his kisses that he senses something is really wrong. Sure, trends change, you’ll find new styles and your wardrobe will be endlessly rearranged. He’s sure you’ll find new poses for him to capture in a few weeks' time. Refusing his touch, though? No, never.

You love physical touch. Had said so yourself when Jungkook and you first started speaking, drilled it into his head that if this relationship was to go anywhere then he would have to get used to being your personal body pillow. He would joke that he hated it, would wrestle your hands away from him just to provoke a reaction from you, would sometimes place a pillow between the two of you in bed just to make you sulk so he could make it all better with a cuddle as an apology. Of course, he never really hated it – you were always warmth. Always comfort, ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice if he ever needed your touch. You’d card your hands through his hair when he was sad, scratch his scalp and kiss his head. He’d always search for you in cold beds and winter nights, and you’d always meet him with soft giggles and tangled limbs.

So why now, does it seem, that you no longer want him? Why is he met with a cold shoulder when he reaches for you at night? Why is the bathroom door always locked when you shower, when you used to gladly leave it wide open for him? Why do you refuse to eat meals with him, refuse his snacks, refuse to accompany him to the corner store when he wants something quick to eat? He paces the bedroom – ever the overthinker – and questions himself endlessly. The thought of losing you quite frankly makes him sick. He has to sit down, hang his head in his hands. Think. He doesn’t notice the front door opening and shutting, nor the gentle patter of your feet as you make your way through the apartment. Doesn’t hear you greet Bam in the living room with soft coos and gentle pets. He curses inwardly. His mouth is dry. He needs a drink.

When he opens the bedroom door, he’s met with you in a hoodie and leggings. He frowns, can’t help it, his head hurts and the way you immediately curl in on yourself doesn’t help. He sighs, brushing past you with a shake of his head and beelines to the kitchen. He can’t think properly, his mind is absolutely reeling. Feeling unbelievably nauseous, he downs a glass of water in an attempt to stave off the feeling of utter dread in his stomach threatening to release itself from his throat.

“Are you upset with me?” Comes your soft voice from behind him, and his head throbs. Why haven’t you wrapped your arms around his waist, yet? Why are you not massaging his shoulders, kissing his back? He turns to you, places the glass down on the counter beside him, meets your eyes. You look tired, sad even. Jungkook sighs.

“When were you planning on breaking up with me?” He asks abruptly, and you raise your eyebrows in genuine surprise, shaking your head in disbelief.

“What? Where did that even come from?” You fire back, feeling a certain anger rumble in your stomach at the accusation.

“You clearly don’t wanna be with me anymore, so when were you planning on ending it?” He’s surprised at his own combativeness; his hands are shaking when he crosses them against his chest. “Wanted to wait it out a bit? See if the feelings came back?”

“Jungkook, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” you deadpan, furrowing your eyebrows, “what did I do wrong?”

“There’s someone else, right?” He scoffs, and the look of utter horror on your face makes his stomach drop. What is wrong with him? The neurons in his brain are firing all the wrong ways, making him say all the wrong things and feel all the wrong emotions. He’s not angry, never was, never could be – never at you. He’s scared, terrified even.

“Fuck you.” You spit. Jungkook’s never heard such venom in your voice before. Your lip wobbles, a telltale sign of what’s next and he curses himself when a tear slides down your cheek. You dot it away with the sleeve of your hoodie quickly, trying to save face, but Jungkook’s already crowding your space and wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair, rubbing your back and pulling you close to his chest. His heart breaks when you push him away, but he refuses to let you go. “Please, I’m sorry,” he begs, his hand instinctively slipping under your hoodie for the contact he’s been craving so badly, “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.” I’m scared, he leaves out. He kisses your head, and you flinch when his fingers run over your waist.

“There’s nobody else, but…” You whisper, gently pushing his hand away from your waist. Jungkook stills, doesn’t mean to move his hand away but does anyway. Takes a step back, in fact. “But, I don’t look good. I’ve been stress eating, and my clothes don’t fit me right, and you barely touch me anymore, and-”

“What?” Is all he can muster, not sure if his face is reading as total disgust, anger, sadness. You’re not sure, either, it seems. You meet his eyes, you look disappointed. “No. Nope.” You gasp when he takes your hand, questioning him when he drags you down the hallway to your shared bedroom. He doesn’t answer when you call his name, doesn’t say a word as he makes you stand in front of your mirrored wardrobe and stands behind you. He’s not even sure himself what he’s doing.

“Jungkook, stop it...” You pout, turning your head to avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. This feels like some kind of sick torture technique, you never thought Jungkook could be this cruel.

“No, stop,” he orders, though quietly, his hand reaching around you to grasp your chin and turn your head back towards the mirror, “you don’t see what I see?”

“You’re not being nice.”

“What do you mean I don’t touch you anymore?” He avoids your accusation, has an end goal in mind now and will see it through or die trying. He keeps one hand on your chin, the other sliding over the fabric of your hoodie. He doesn’t want to push you too far but can’t help himself. He hears you sigh; watches the way your eyes avoid the mirror like the plague, like seeing yourself is that agonising. He sighs too. “You never want me to.” He adds on, hopes it’ll coax an answer from you, that maybe you’ll see his side of things.

“Because I don’t want you to feel how big I’ve gotten,” you say, frustration lacing your tone, finding his eyes in the mirror, “I don’t look as nice anymore.” You frown, unable to stop the tears as they slip down your cheeks. “The last time we had sex you wanted me to keep the covers on.”

He frowns too, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “You thought I didn’t want to see you? That’s what this is all about?” He releases your chin finally in favour of holding your waist with both of his hands, growing bolder and trailing his touch down to the hem of your hoodie. He sighs when you nod, never known you to be so fragile, so easily convinced. He sees the confliction on your face when his fingers slip under the fabric, wants nothing more than to kiss it away.

“I want you literally all of the time,” he continues, placing a kiss on your neck, grinning when you tilt your head away from him to give better access, “like all of the fucking time. Think about you when I’m at work, when I’m eating, when I’m gaming, I dunno.” He’s fishing for answers, groaning happily against the skin of your neck when, for the first time in weeks, you let him brush his fingers over the much beloved skin of your belly. He doesn’t like your silence, wishes desperately that you would say something, anything, but the look on your face tells him you’re untrusting of his words. Funny. Jungkook truly believes the sun shines out of your ass, but you can’t even believe he finds you beautiful.

“Think about you when I’m in the shower, when I’m brushing my teeth, when I’m doing anything. Wish you’d at least touch me, even if you don’t want me to touch you.” He groans, frustrated at himself for having interpreted all of the signs so wrong. That’s all he seems to be doing today. “You know how much I missed this? Missed running my hands over you, touching your skin, cuddling you? I wake up rock-hard most mornings, and you’re already out of bed, away from me. I never wanna push you too far, and you haven’t been in the mood. Would never push your boundaries.”

“Yeah, except now.” You whisper, and he chuckles. Maybe you’re being serious, he can’t tell, but he likes that you smile too. Likes the sound of your voice.

“Yeah. But it’s okay, right?” He grips your waist, lowering his lips to the sliver of skin he can reach with your hoodie on, the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. “You are the most gorgeous person I know; I thought you knew that. I genuinely couldn’t fathom you believing anything else. I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your skin, kissing back up to your pulse point and nosing your ear, “you’re perfect. Can I take this off? Please?” He practically whimpers, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead against your temple. He’s pathetic and hard, he knows you can feel it from behind you. Wants to press himself closer, but doesn’t want to push you.

Your hesitation is obvious, silence thickening the room. He doesn’t watch you now, wants you to see yourself, wants you to make the decision. His hands don’t roam. They sit firmly on your waist, an encouraging weight but nothing more. You think for what feels like forever before turning your face to him, resting your forehead against his own. His eyes open to find yours. They’re sad; his are pleading. He watches you nod so slowly, you’re still unsure but you know he wants this.

He really does. He can feel himself practically drooling when he turns back to the mirror, slipping his hands out from under your hoodie to grasp it. He takes his time, nudges you to look too as he lifts the fabric up over your stomach slowly. His eyes boring into your skin when your navel comes into view, then it’s the skin surrounding your stomach, your soft waist. Your bra finally comes into view, and Jungkook practically growls in your ear, decides to hold a brief intermission so that he can grab one of your tits and run his thumb over where your nipple should be. The fabric is too thick to tell, but you let out a hitched breath anyway and he smiles. He pulls away for only a second to slip the hoodie fully off of your torso, immediately finding your waist and pulling you back into him.

“Look at you, prettiest in the world,” he purrs, can’t help himself when he rolls his hips into the hollow of your back. His hands are gentle when they explore, fingers tiptoeing over your flesh and indenting it softly.

“I look big.” You offer back, part of you desperate to fish for Jungkook’s compliments. He frowns, spanking your hip to scold you before wrapping his arms around you to make a point.

“Wouldn’t be able to do this if you were as massive as you make yourself out to be,” he tuts, kissing the back of your head and resting his lips there, “think you’ll still look tiny sitting on my dick, too. Missed that cute little cunt of yours, pisses me off that you’ve been keeping it from me because of something so fucking trivial.” His voice is husky when he whispers the crude words into your ear, his grip on you becoming rougher but he can’t help it. It’s so infuriating that you would think Jungkook of all people could care about something like that. Makes him feel like a monster, like he’s somehow guilty of upholding this standard for you when realistically, you could look any which way and he would still love you.

He knows he can talk about his own body a bit too much, maybe conversations about his diet and workout routine made you think he was trying to convince you to be the same? Probably doesn’t help that he eats a lot of health foods during busy promotional periods and has a drawer full of supplements to keep his own weight in check. He never meant for any of that to reflect on you, though. You’re perfect in his eyes; with soft skin and ample curves, dimples in your lower back and freckles dotted across your body. He loves finding them, loves drawing the lines to connect them and kissing between the spaces. Loves when he fucks you from behind and his thumbs sit in those dimples like he imprinted them himself, makes him feel like you were truly made for him, like your body is moulded for him to touch, to kiss, to hold, to love.

He’s too busy in his own head to notice when you wrap your arms around your middle to hide yourself from him, how scared you look at the prospect of Jungkook seeing you as if he hasn’t already seen you a million times before. You elbow his hands out of the way and that catches his attention, makes him furrow his brows in annoyance. He slides his hands across your arms and catches your wrists, gripping them tightly before encouraging you to explore yourself the way he was just a second ago.

“I don’t get it.” He groans frustratedly into the back of your head, guiding your hands across your stomach, over your navel and over the skin of your lower abdomen. “Why don’t you see what I see? God, I’d give up everything to let you see yourself in my eyes. You’re like a fucking Messiah, my own little Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodite isn't a Messiah.” You respond quietly with that smartass tone of voice he loves, though slightly muted. He rolls his eyes and chuckles at your quick tongue, always itching to prove him wrong about something.

“Okay, and? The point is that I worship the fucking ground you walk, couldn’t picture a better death than in your arms...” He smirks, playing with the waistband of your leggings. “Maybe between your legs?” He laughs when you slap his forearm, but continues down the vulgar path he’s set himself on. “Would want my last breath to be with my tongue on that pretty pussy of yours, my last meal. You taste so good, always have. I know you love when I eat you out, too. Don’t you miss it?” He encourages, wants to hear you agree, wants to see the brick wall you’ve built up around yourself start to collapse. He’s kicking at the foundation as he speaks, finding the weakest spots and slotting the easiest bricks out at a time like Jenga. “You get so, so wet when I let you sit on my face. Think you know that I’d happily drown if it’s your snatch I’m drowning in. Don’t you want that, baby? Me to fuck you with my tongue?”

He reels when you respond with the softest “mhm” imaginable, gripping your hips like his life depends on it and pulling you back into his erection for some kind of relief. “Yeah?” He croaks, pushing your hair over your shoulder so he can start peppering kisses down your spine from behind. “I’ll do it, but you gotta do me a favour, m’kay?” Phase two of his master plan underway. He stands up straight, rubbing your hip gently and rests his chin on your shoulder to talk to you directly, wants to look you in the eye even if only through the mirror. You’re waiting for him to continue before you agree, leaning your head against his sweetly. “I want you to look at yourself the entire time. Not me, want you to face the mirror and see exactly what I see.”

You swallow nervously, scared to agree because that sounds like your worst nightmare. But Jungkook is so sweet, so kind and encouraging. Your eyes flutter shut when he turns his head into yours, kisses your neck gently, whispers how good he knows you can be for him against your skin. Your weakness has always been Jungkook’s gentleness. He lights fires in your gut and fans the flames with the softness of his voice, plants seeds and waters them with his delicacy. You find yourself agreeing, murmuring an “okay” and allowing Jungkook to guide you over to the bed. He’s preening, celebrating this victory by offering you a kiss on the lips as he encourages you to lie down with your head turned towards the mirror.

It’s different this way. You’re not so disgusted with yourself when you can see Jungkook in the mirror looking at you in awe. Your eyes remain on him, scanning over the broadness of his shoulders. He looks larger when he has clothes on, his t-shirt hiding away the lean frame you were once so used to. You suppose you’re still used to it, but the giddiness that bubbles in your stomach at his touch feels new. Your gaze lowers to his hands, you can see the flex of his shoulders through the fabric, how his fingers pry at the fabric of your leggings before slipping them down your legs and off your body, tossing them onto the floor carelessly. He turns his head to the mirror then, meeting your eyes with a stern face.

“Not me.” He instructs, and you begin to feel shy again. You haven’t sat with the reality of your body for so long. Against the sheets, you look frumpy. There’s a roll in your waist and a curve to your stomach now, it quite frankly makes you feel a bit sick. You’ve never been model thin, you don’t think that’d be possible with Jungkook’s feeding habits, but you’ve never been this big. Realistically, you aren’t even big. You don’t even see a problem with it on others, you know plenty of bigger people who you are even envious of. You just don’t think it looks right on you. Their bellies remain flat where yours curves above your navel, their hips are round where yours dip and flatten. Their skin is smooth and their boobs stay perky, you have cellulite and your nipples are starting to droop.

Your mind blanks when you feel Jungkook’s thumb press into your belly, using his free hand to pull off your panties and toss them onto the pile with your leggings. You don’t know how he does it, how he manages to draw you from the deepest crevices of your insecurities with his touch. You want to look at him so bad, but you don’t want to disappoint him. You want to be good. You keep your eyes on yourself, on the indent of his thumb in your abdomen, on the rise in your hips when he finally lowers his mouth to your pussy and the way your chest shakes with a hitched breath when he nudges your clit with his nose. You pull one leg back to plant your foot in the mattress, letting the other fall sideways to spread yourself open for him. He thanks you with a mumble of praise and wraps his lips around your clitoris to suck on it gently. You moan, it’s been so long since you let him touch you like this and you can feel yourself growing wetter against his tongue. He’s lying flat on his belly while he eats you out, burying his face between your legs and holding your hip. The thumb digging into your tummy is pressed deeper, like he thinks you’re going to push him away. You wouldn’t, couldn’t, so you lift your hips up into his face and whine for more.

As expected, he obliges. Dives in a little deeper and dips his tongue past your entrance, ensuring you don’t slip from his grasp. His other hand meets the fabric of your bra and you can feel the vibrations of his irritated growl in all the crevices of your pussy. It makes you whine, clenching around the muscle of his tongue as you rut into his face for more friction. He pushes at the cups haphazardly, desperate to release your boobs from their confines and play with them. You can’t control the way your eyes flutter shut, biting your lip when Jungkook’s fingers toy deftly with one of your tits, squeezing the flesh and rolling your nipple between his fingertips. You’re certain his eyes are shut too, but a sharp pinch to your breast has you letting out a surprised yelp and sitting up on your elbows to scold him. His eyes meet yours sternly, separating from your lower lips for a moment to tell you off.

“You’re really bad at following instructions.” He mumbles, coming off whinier than intended. You can’t help the giggle that leaves your throat at the sound of his voice; Jungkook has never been too good at being domineering. Never in all the time you’ve known the man has he ever truly intimidated you. He groans, feigning annoyance, but presses a kiss to your pubis before resting his forehead against your tummy. “Can you please just try?” He asks so quietly, and you swallow hard at the almost pathetic tone of voice he’s using to get you to obey. You hadn’t intended to be difficult, but you hadn’t really considered the anguish you would be in just from seeing yourself.

Watching Jungkook instead is like a Hail Mary, a saving grace between glances at your own body that bids your churning stomach time to settle at the sight. He’s so pretty, you’ve always thought this. Even now, resting against your belly with pleading eyes, Jungkook is the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen. You turn your head to the mirror again and see the hopefulness in his gaze when he lowers another kiss to your sensitive skin. His hair is a mess of black atop his head and your eyes follow the curve of his neck down to his t-shirt. You grumble quietly, vexed by the fact that he’s too covered for your liking, but continue your observation down his right arm anyway. You follow his tattoos down to his fingers and gasp when he moans into your folds and tightens his grip on your hip. You notice too, then, the way his hands fit so perfectly against you. It makes you smile. For the first time tonight, despite his tongue dipping back into your folds and his lips wrapping around your clit making you pant, you can’t take your eyes off of yourself.

You hook your leg over Jungkook’s shoulder, digging your heel into his lower back and rutting up into his mouth desperately. He chuckles into your heat and hooks his hand around your thigh to delve in deeper. He loves the sounds of your moans, music to his ears like a melody played staccato; your back arches off the bed but you keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror. He seems to be rewarding you now, pleased by your submission, and your mind short-circuits when his fingers join his mouth at your core. Your fingers tangle in his hair, encouraging him closer still – of course he heeds, dipping his middle finger into your hole and curling it. He doesn’t need much coercion to add another, your wetness and willingness is evident from a mile away, but Jungkook still groans in pure awe at the sight of you taking him.

Your moans devolve into a babble of his name as you draw closer to climax, clenching around him and shutting your eyes. He doesn’t punish you this time, accepts that you’ve done well enough for him, and instead watches your face as he sucks on your nub and strokes at your g-spot until you come hard around his fingers. When you finally open your eyes, your chest is heaving and Jungkook is holding up his wet digits like a trophy, bringing them to his lips to lick clean before journeying up your chest with determination.

“You saw, right? What I see?” He whispers, kissing up your happy trail slowly. You nod, but Jungkook isn’t watching – on purpose, you assume, to coax a verbal confirmation from you. His kisses travel further up, but he doesn’t ask again until he reaches your chest and presses a single kiss onto one of your nipples. “Can you tell me?”

“I saw how pretty you looked.” You respond, just to be a little difficult, but the way Jungkook deflates has you backtracking immediately. “We, I saw- I saw how pretty we looked.”

“But what about you?” He’s so genuine in his questioning, not spending as much time on your tits as he personally would’ve liked. He crawls up until he’s hovering directly over you, planting his hands on either side of your head.

“I looked good with you.” Is all you can muster up, but it seems to satisfy Jungkook as he lowers himself to meet your lips. The kiss is so slow, so gentle, and you can taste the subtle savouriness of yourself on his tongue when he guides it past your lips. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck like second nature, and he moves one of his own to your hip as the kiss grows more heated. He grunts into your mouth when he grinds himself against you, and the weight of his erection is dizzying. You swallow the noises he makes, holding him close to you and rutting your own hips into his movements.

“If I don’t fuck you in the next five minutes, I might die,” he murmurs, hand wandering across your hip and up to your waist, “no kidding. I’m too hard.” He adds when he hears you giggle, offering a final peck to his lips before pulling back a little.

“I’m right here, aren’t I?” You whisper sultrily, nuzzling your nose against his. He hums appreciatively, kissing down to your jaw with a grin. “You’re the one with all the clothes on.”

“Not how I want you, need you from behind.” He practically growls, and you swallow hard when he sits up to tug his shirt off and finally reveals what you’ve been craving so ravenously. You don’t hesitate in reaching forward to rub up and down his torso, trailing your fingers over the ridges of his pecs and abs with fascination. He chuckles and grabs your wrists, shaking his head as he stops your exploration. “I like this and all, but I need you on your stomach, like, yesterday.”

“That doesn’t feel fair, you had your fun,” you complain, scooting back on the bed while he sits on his knees above you, “and I don’t even get to touch?”

“Nope. Belly, now.” He commands, though his tone is far from domineering. He sounds desperate, and he looks it too. His body is flushed, his cheeks and shoulders tinted red as he gives your hip a spank and encourages you to turn over. You grumble a small protest but do so nonetheless, peering over your shoulder at him as you raise yourself to your hands and knees and dip your back. He tuts, placing a single hand on your ass and pushing you down until you’re flat against the mattress. He’s quick to shuck off his sweatpants and boxers, then reaches down to finally unclasp your bra. You sit up on your forearms to allow him to usher the straps off of your shoulders, leaving both of you naked on the bed.

“Eyes on the mirror, please.” He smiles down at you, reaching out for your ass cheek to give it a firm jiggle and a slap. You turn your head obediently, trained well by his consistent praise and repetitive instructions, and look at the way he positions himself over you from behind. He moves himself steadily between the small part in your legs, groaning when his tip brushes against your folds, rutting forward and sliding himself against the wetness coating your skin. You part your legs even further and reach back to take a hold of his length for him, preening at the way he drops his head and mewls. You’re desperate too at this point, so it doesn’t take long for you to guide his tip to your entrance and he’s even quicker to shove himself in.

You both moan, breaths shaking as he pushes deeper and deeper until he’s fully sheathed inside your heat. You continue to watch, endlessly awestruck by the sheer size of him compared to you – even despite your weight gain, Jungkook looks massive. When he pulls out, he’s glossy with your arousal, and when he thrusts back in you can almost feel him nudging against your tummy. Especially in this position, Jungkook feels impossibly deep. You groan when he grips your hips and you watch as his thumbs press into the dimples in your spine and he smirks, unknowingly to you because he’s been thinking about exactly this for weeks.

“I fit perfectly,” he growls, pulling you back onto his cock in order to reach deeper, “pussy was built for me, mm? You see?” You can feel the way his fingers stretch around your lower back to grip at your stomach while his thumbs stay firmly planted in those dimples, and it makes you shudder.

“Y-Yeah!” You moan, all you can do at this point is agree because he is so right. Not just your pussy, despite the fact that he fills you unimaginably well, but everything about the way your bodies interact with each other makes it obvious that you were made to be loved by him. Nobody else’s hands could fit so perfectly around you, could fill in your crevices and divots like plaster and make you feel so whole. You count your lucky stars for having Jungkook in your life to love you the way he does because you’re certain no-one else could. Even now, between sweaty skin and lewd noises, Jungkook stares down at you like he’s seen God; his lip trembles between his teeth and when he spots you looking up at him he grins and pins himself against your back. His hands leave your hips to wrap around your belly from underneath, holding your back tightly against his chest as his thrusts slow to an intimate roll.

“I love you, I love you,” he babbles into the back of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair and whimpering at the underlying notes of sweat, “I love you so much, never hide from me again.”

“Sorry. I love you.” You whisper back, breath hitching as you try to hold back your tears. This is all so intimate, it hurts. Jungkook is moving inside you like he could die tomorrow, making a home in your pussy and carving his initials into your cervix. He kisses the back of your neck breathes heavily against the shell of your ear, one of his hands trailing up to cup your tit and play with it gently.

“Gonna cum.” His hips are already picking up their pace, barely withdrawing himself from your heat in favour of grinding against your inner walls and cervix delicately. You turn your head to him and reach back to stroke his hair as encouragement, your own orgasm nearing as you feel yourself tightening around him. He nods, the silent agreement between you is enough for him to fuck you through both of your climaxes as he spills his cum into your heat and buries himself to the hilt when your walls begin to pulse around him. The noise that leaves his mouth is genuinely pathetic, but neither of you care in your post-orgasm bliss. He keeps his chest pressed tightly against your back, rolling slightly onto his side to spoon you instead of laying directly on top.

You can only handle a few minutes of cuddling like this until it all feels a bit too uncomfortable. Even Jungkook agrees, separating himself from you and leaving the bedroom in search of a wet cloth before returning with a bright smile. He’s silent as he cleans you, gentle when he wipes over your back, and then turns you to face him so he can clean between your legs and rid you of the sweat beading on your chest. He throws the cloth on the floor to meet your piles of clothes and clambers next to you in bed to cuddle you.

“Hi.” You offer him a smile and he returns an even bigger one, kissing your mouth.

“Mm, hi. Missed you.” He mumbles against your lips, gripping your ass cheek and separating from you to nuzzle your neck as he pulls you closer. “Don’t ever do that to me again, that was torture.”

“I’m sorry, I got in my head.”

“Me too. But you see it now, don’t you? How beautiful you are?”

“I do.” You wrap your own arms around him, giggling when he kisses your neck playfully before splaying himself out against your chest, holding you as close as he can.

a/n . . . 🗒️ hello !!!!!! second long post to here… i love asks and i love requests and i love making your ideas come to life in my head 🤍 this was incredibly fun & challenging to write and i’m happy to finally share with you guys !!!! your support means the world to me & i love hearing from you even if it’s criticism so please shoot me whatever you wish !!!

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youraverageaemondsimp · 4 months ago

Text

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter I : The Beginning.

Summary: "Be careful what you wish for" is what everyone says, you realise that you should've taken them seriously when you find yourself reincarnated as a character in the show who never existed.

WARNINGS: CANON TYPICAL INCEST, CONTAINS SPOILERS OF F&B, S1 AND S2, reader's appearance isn't described, only the fact that she is a strong, you can imagine her however you like, the picture used in the header is only to capture the feel of the story. A/N: divider credits to @cafekitsune

masterlist // next

“Jesus Christ, fuck this show, fuck everything, what the fuck is wrong with the writing?” You exclaim in annoyance after witnessing the scene that was supposed to be heavily impactful be butchered.

“That is the most anticlimactic death scene I've ever witnessed, this has to be a joke.” You furiously ramble. You decided to give House of The Dragon a try after your friend had recommended it, the show currently has released three seasons, with the fourth season in production, you thoroughly enjoyed season one and decided to binge all the seasons.

However, everything started to go downhill from season two, yet you still decided to watch for the sake of your favourite characters, daemon and aemond, only to witness the battle that was supposed to be intense and stressful get finished in the span of two minutes.

You stared at the screen, rolling your eyes in annoyance as you witnessed Aemond falling into the lake along with Vhagar, Daemon was knocked off Caraxes too and fell to his death.

They wrapped up the battle in mere moments, which made you angry as you were so hyped up to see them fight.

“Ugh, I never hated a show more than this, waste of my time, they did season one so well, what happened to rest? I did not expect this.” You sigh in frustration, feeling like you just wasted your time.

“If only… If only I ever get a chance, I'd change entire plot and script because fuck this.” You lay down on your sofa, staring at the ceiling, the show still playing in the background. You recollected the entire plot in your head, thinking of every moment in the show, trying to come up with an easy solution.

“If only they had married Jace to Helaena, it would have been peaceful.. Or at least if they had an older daughter married to Aegon or Aemond.” You mumble, but then shake your head, “What am I saying? Things still would've been complicated anyway.” You wonder in disbelief at your own words.

You yawned loudly, stretching out your limbs and blinking your eyes rapidly, your vision began to get blurry and you sighed in content, finally willingly wanting to sleep after you forced yourself to stay up all night to binge the series.

Your vision darkened slowly as you closed your eyelids, head spinning as you took slow breaths of air, cool breeze brushes past your cheeks and before you know it, you're slowly succumbing into slumber.

You blink your eyes open, realising you fell asleep, you sigh stirring on the soft sheets, entangling them between your legs.

Soft sheets?

Your sofa doesn't have any sheets.

You quickly blink again, taking the note of a translucent veil hanging from above, surrounding the bed you're in, creating a curtain around your bed.

Why were you in bed?

You sit up looking around, taking in your surroundings, your eyes widening in fear as you don't recognize this room at all, ancient tapestries, brown wooden furniture, and the source of light being only from the candle.

Have you been kidnapped?

You look down at your body, noticing you are in a white nightgown instead of the shorts you fell asleep in. Your heart begins to race and you panic, unable to understand where you are or how you got there. You steady your breathing, wondering if someone kidnapped you to play a role in a mediaeval film of theirs? But why would anyone do that?

The sound of metal clanking harshly against the floor and a small scream made your head turn the direction it came from, the liquid in the decanter spilling out rapidly as the person behind the fallen cutlery stood in shock.

“The princess is conscious!” She yells loudly before turning around and running out of the room in a hurry.

Princess?

Is this a prank?

You barely have any moment to think when you hear the sound of multiple footsteps coming from outside to your direction, you could almost feel the ground rumbling, noting that everyone was rushing to this room.

You push the veil to the side and stand up, getting out the bed and examining your surroundings, looking at the sigils and the paintings. All of this looked familiar somehow.

A small gasp echoed through the room, coming from the entrance, which made you turn around to take a look at who was in the room once again. Your eyes widened at the sight.

A lady with platinum blonde hair, blue eyes stood in front of you, someone who resembled Rhaenyra and next to her stood Jace and Luke breathing heavily, looking at you in shock.

Did the house of the dragon cast kidnap you to play a prank on you?

That sounds too unreasonable.

“Oh my sweet daughter!” Rhaenyra rushes over to you, embracing you tightly, tears flow down her cheeks as she peppers you with kisses “I-i i cannot believe this, you finally woke up after many years.” She sobs, you look at her questioningly. “Sister.” Jacaerys speaks up, coming to you and joining the embrace of you and Rhaenyra, Luke joins in as well.

“We missed you.” Jace says and you stare at all of them confused.

This has to be a joke.

They notice the expression on your face and their faces immediately drop, “Your grace, the princess woke up after many years, she might not be able to recognise you.” The maester chimes in, Rhaenyra nods, sniffling yet understanding your condition.

“Emma? Is this a joke?” You question, referring to the actor of Rhaenyra, “I’m not Aemma darling, she is your grandmother.” Rhaenyra corrects you. “I think she must be confusing the names of everyone due to her hazy memory.” The maester tries explaining, you sigh.

Yeah this must be a dream.

You shake your head gently and immediately slap yourself to wake yourself up.

“Ouch!” You yell in pain, cupping the cheek you slapped yourself on, Rhaenyra is mortified and the guards rush in and hold your arms back so you don't further hurt yourself.

This is not a dream.

You can’t feel pain in your dreams and you will wake up right before impact.

You look at Rhaenyra’s face, she is as real as a living person, standing right in front of you.

She looks just like Emma. of course, after all Rhaenyra is indeed played by them.

But this is not them.

She is not Emma

You can feel the vibe, it's very different.

You’ve met Emma before in costume, yet they did not give off the vibes as what Rhaenyra is giving off right now, after all, when you met them; it was just a show, but now it's your reality.

Did you die in your world?

You’ve definitely transmigrated into this show, but as who?

Did Rhaenyra ever have a daughter? You knew she didn't.

“Mirror, get me a mirror.” You ask and they look at you questioningly, your form begins to shake as the realisation is too overwhelming, there are many questions in your mind, “Please!” You cry, and immediately a servant moves and rushes over with a mirror.

Your eyes widen.

It's you.

You had not become someone else, but you remained as yourself. “What is my name?” You ask, “Y/N.” Rhaenyra replies. Your mind begins to spin, you are in another world as yourself, you have not possessed anyone else, which means your body must’ve disappeared from your world.

You try to stay calm in this situation, breathing heavily, “You are?” You ask, wanting to reconfirm, you watch as Rhaenyra's face crumples into that of a sad face, probably feeling hurt that her own daughter doesn't recognise her.

“I'm your mother, you are my eldest daughter, they—” She points at Jace, Luke and Joffrey, “—are your younger siblings.” You turn towards them.

You nod, pretending to play the part while you figure out everything. “I'm sorry, I do not remember.” You apologise and Rhaenyra shakes her head, “It is alright, you have been unconscious since the past six years, this is better than losing my daughter.” She replies.

“Six years… Did I fall unconscious after Aemond lost his eye?” You think out loud and Rhaenyra looks at you in shock, “You remember him?” She asks and you clear your throat, “It's hazy, my memory.” You answer back.

“Your grace, the event was probably traumatic for her, hence why she can remember it in parts.” The maester explains it to Rhaenyra, you mentally thank the maester for covering up for you always.

You noticed how they were all dressed up, looked as if they were about to leave but their plans were cut short, and you recognize this gown of Rhaenyra.

It was the gown she wore when she left for King's Landing, in order to settle the matter of Luke's right to driftmark. “You guys were departing somewhere?” You ask, wanting to really confirm it, “Hm? Huh, Yes, We were about to leave for King's Landing.” Jacaerys answers your question.

“Can I tag along?” You blurt the question.

“.. Tag along?” Lucerys repeats your words in confusion, your language confusing him.

“I mean to say, can I come along?” You ask the question in a proper manner, Rhaenyra shakes her head, “No- you've just woken up, you might still be weak- I cannot risk-”

“Mother! I am perfectly fine!” You cut her off, breaking free from the guards hands and running around the room, doing jumping jacks, showing her that you aren't weak and are perfectly capable of physical activity.

Rhaenyra watches in shock, seeing you move like this but she chuckles, shaking her head in comic disbelief, “I guess she has not changed after all.” The maester comments which makes Jace and Luke smile.

“Very well, Pack the princess’ belongings, and get her ready for departure, we will depart two days later.” Rhaenyra orders the maids and you smile at her.

“But mother, I do not have many dresses—”

“You do, I had them tailored every year, whenever you grew, hoping that you would wake up.” She replies softly and you just then realise how Rhaenyra loves her children.

“The maesters said that you might not ever wake up, and that your body will be stunted from growth, yet… I'm glad their predictions never came true.” She smiles gently at you, you smile back.

The maids come in with a bath as everyone leaves, some of them begin packing your belongings. You notice how your body doesn't look how a person in a coma state should be looking especially in the mediaeval times, but instead you seem to be well taken care of, treated as if you were alive.

The maids quickly finish your bath and dress you up, you have to pretend to get used to this atmosphere and era even though you're highly uncomfortable, the mere thought of having servants made you feel bad.

And with that, the night fell, you couldn't sleep thinking about how you're going to deal with everything, could you really prevent war from happening? It happens due to a misunderstanding in the show right? What if the misunderstanding doesn't occur? Your mind was filled with such thoughts through the whole night.

In King's Landing.

“My queen, Rhaenyra, has sent a letter saying that their arrival will be delayed further.” The master sums up the contents of the letter in the council room, in front of Aemond who had been called by Alicent for an urgent matter.

“Why so?” Alicent asks, furrowing her brows.

“Princess Y/N had woken up from her unconscious state.”

An ear piercing shattering sound of glass is heard through the entire room, when turned to look at the origin, It is known that Aemond had dropped the wine glass he was drinking from.

“Y/N is awake?” Aemond asks the maester.

“Yes my prince.” The maester replies.

Aemond's heart begins to pound in his chest loudly, his mind spiralling at the thought of you finally waking up all these years later.

“Please excuse me.” Aemond gets up from the chair, excusing himself from the council and leaving the room, his brain occupied with the thoughts of you.

There wasn't a day where Aemond hadn't thought of you, he would at least think about you once a day- the news of you waking up from unconsciousness made the adrenaline in his body rush.

He felt like a hungry snake that had been starved for many years who at last found a prey to feast on, he felt like a drought-stricken land finally receiving rainfall, he felt like a garden void of any flowers which started to bloom once again.

He was thrilled.

He reminisces of the fond memories you both shared, he could never ever forget them, smiling at the thought of you.

He wondered if you had changed or remained the same.

Whatever it was, he couldn't wait.

He couldn't wait to receive you.

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