#this post undid me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

killerplink · 1 month ago

Text

ANNIVERSARY

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: Your three-year anniversary with Dick turns into a night of teasing and tension, with you tying him up and keeping him on edge ✨ ( @angeleyes1376 , finally posting this one, sorry for the delay )

Words: 12k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, praise, orgasm denial, light bondage, creampie, rough sex, fluff, aftercare

Dinner had been perfect—romantic, intimate, and everything you could have hoped for on your three-year anniversary. The dim candlelight, the hushed murmur of other patrons, the rich aroma of wine and decadent dishes, it all set the stage for a night neither of you would forget.

Dick looked absolutely sinful in a dark suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and trim waist, the crisp white dress shirt underneath only adding to the polished elegance of it all. You barely ever saw him in something this refined, and God, it made you want to rip it off of him the second you got the chance.

You weren't exactly subtle about it, either. The way your eyes lingered on him, the way your fingers traced the lapel of his jacket, the way you let your foot brush against his leg under the table. And he wasn't any better—his hand stayed on your thigh for most of the evening, squeezing whenever you leaned in too close, whispering things in his ear that had his jaw tightening.

But it was the dress that truly undid him. A deep, dark burgundy that clung to your curves like it was made for you, long and elegant but with a slit up your right leg that had his gaze flicking down every time you shifted. He loved your legs, and you knew that. You wore this dress for that exact reaction, and judging by the way he kept shifting in his seat, it was working.

The wine helped loosen you up even more, warmth buzzing through your veins as the two of you finally made your way back home. He expected you to be tipsy, maybe a little giggly, a little clingy. What he didn't expect was for you to be this hungry, this desperate.

The door barely shuts before you're on him, your lips crashing into his, your hands tugging at his suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He barely gets the chance to let it fall to the floor before you're kissing him again, hot and messy, your tongue slipping past his lips as you suck on his tongue, dragging a low, helpless groan from him. You taste like wine, like heat, like pure desire, and fuck, he's already hard, his cock straining against his boxers, already leaking just from the way you kiss him.

You're insatiable tonight. Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging, pulling him closer, your body pressed flush against his. You can feel him—every hard line of him, every bit of tension coiling in his muscles as you kiss him like you'll die if you don't. And then, before he can get a grip on the situation, before he can take control like he always does, you push him.

He stumbles back onto the bed, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide as you climb over him, straddling his hips, grinding against his cock through the thin fabric of your lace panties. He groans, hands flying to your ass, gripping you tight as he pushes up against you, seeking more, needing more.

You look fucking wrecked already. Your face is flushed, your lips swollen from kissing, your hair a little messy from where he ran his fingers through it. Your eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and you grin as you tug at his tie, loosening it, slipping it from around his neck with slow, deliberate movements.

"Let me tie you up, baby," you purr, your voice low and teasing.

His breath hitches, his body going still beneath you. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling faster now, and you can see the gears turning in his head. He's never let you do this before. He's always been the one in control, always been the one to take the lead.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his jaw, then lower, down his neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as you whisper, "What do you say, my love?"

His eyes flutter shut for a brief second, like he's weighing the idea, but then you grind down on him again, and whatever argument he might have had dies in his throat.

He nods, his voice coming out rough, needy. "Yeah."

That's all you need. With a pleased hum, you slide the silk tie around his wrists, tying them together with practiced ease before securing them to the cool metal bars of the bed frame. He shifts, testing the restraint, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, his cock twitching beneath you.

You take your time with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, dragging your fingers over his firm chest, his sculpted abs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He's breathing heavily, watching you, his blue eyes dark and hooded, half-lidded with need. His lips are parted, and you know he's already wrecked, already desperate, but he's trying to be patient. Trying to let you take your time.

And fuck, he looks so good like this—tied up, shirt open, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. Yours. Completely at your mercy.

You press your lips to his collarbone, soft, lingering, and then you work your way down. Slow, wet kisses across his chest, your tongue flicking over his skin, over the hard muscle of his stomach, down, down, until you're kneeling between his thighs. You can feel him shudder, his muscles tightening beneath your lips as you press kisses lower, right above his belt, your breath hot against his skin.

His cock twitches beneath the fabric of his slacks, straining against the material, and you grin, nipping softly at his skin before finally unbuckling his belt. You undo his button, drag his zipper down with aching slowness, teasing him, making him wait. And when you finally tug his slacks down, freeing him from the fabric, your breath catches because fuck.

You've seen him like this a million times before, hard and leaking, thick and heavy, but it never gets old. Never stops making your mouth water, your cunt throb.

You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to the flushed head of his cock through his boxers, and he groans—low and needy, his hips jerking up, desperate for more. You hum, dragging your tongue over the damp fabric, tasting the precum seeping through, and his head drops back against the pillow.

When you finally pull his boxers down, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick and heavy, flushed so dark it almost looks painful. Your pussy clenches at the sight, at the way it twitches when you breathe over it, at the way his thighs tense like he's trying so hard not to beg.

And then you lean closer, tongue flicking over his slit, licking up the warm precum that beads at the tip, and his whole body shudders. His breath catches, a deep, broken moan spilling from his lips as his hands flex uselessly against the tie restraining him.

He needs you. Needs to feel more, to bury himself in your mouth, to grip your hair and thrust deep, but he can't. And the realization—being completely at your mercy, unable to do anything but feel—only makes his cock throb harder.

And when you press soft, teasing kisses along the thick vein running down his length, he groans again, his hips shifting, straining toward you, toward the heat of your mouth. But you're not done teasing him yet.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his dick, stroking him slow, teasing, watching the way his breath stutters, the way his abs tense, the way his wrists flex against the tie holding him in place. He's so fucking hard, leaking all over himself, all over you, and it's delicious—the way he's at your mercy, the way his whole body is reacting to every little thing you do.

You hum, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the thick head, swirling your tongue over his slit, tasting the salt of his precum again. His moan is deep, raw, his hips jerking, but you pull back just enough to keep him from getting what he wants.

"Fuck, baby—"

His voice is wrecked already, strained and breathless, and he groans when you drag your tongue down the length of him, tracing that thick, pulsing vein, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

His whole body shudders beneath you. He's so fucking gone for you, for your mouth, for the way you're touching him like you own him. And you do because he's yours.

You hum against his skin, your fingers stroking him slow, teasing, and he's moaning again, deep and broken, his thighs trembling, his head thrown back against the pillow. He's already losing it, already unraveling, and you love it.

"So fucking pretty," you murmur, kissing along the underside of his cock, sucking softly at the base before licking your way back up. "So perfect for me."

His breath catches, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven pants, and fuck, he's never been this turned on in his life. Never been this desperate. His hands flex against the tie, his muscles tight, straining like he wants to touch you, to fist your hair and guide you deeper, but he can't. He has to take it. Take whatever you give him.

And then your lips wrap around his cock, sinking down, slow, wet, deep—and he moans, his back arching, his hips trying to thrust, but he can't, he fucking can't, and it's fucking killing him.

"Jesus—fuck, baby—"

His moan cracks when you hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, your tongue flicking over the slit, dragging along the underside as you bob your head, slow and steady. His thighs shake, his fingers twitch, his whole body tense with pleasure, with need.

And when you take him deeper—fuck, so deep he can feel the tight clench of your throat around him, so deep you're swallowing him—he whimpers, his head dropping back, his jaw clenching so fucking tight it aches.

He's losing his fucking mind. He knows it. He can feel it. And it's so fucking good.

Your throat flutters around him, holding him there, swallowing around his cock, and he swears he's about to fucking die. His stomach tightens, his abs clenching, his breath coming out in sharp, ragged moans.

And fuck, you love this. Love the weight of him on your tongue, love the way he sounds, the way he's falling apart just from your mouth, just from your touch. Your pussy clenches, aching, dripping, needy—but this isn't about you. Not yet.

This is about making him beg.

Your lips wrap around the head of his cock again, sucking just right, stroking him slow and tight, and he moans, hips twitching, stomach tensing. He's close—so fucking close, his whole body wound up so tight he can feel his orgasm building, that sweet, hot pressure coiling deep in his gut, in his spine, in his balls, ready to snap—

And then you stop.

You pull off him completely, letting his cock slip from your lips, throbbing, slick, so fucking hard it twitches against his stomach, leaking all over himself. His breath comes out in a broken, desperate moan, his head dropping back against the pillow as he whimpers.

"Fuck—baby, please—"

You just smirk, licking the taste of him from your lips, watching the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants, the way his arms flex against the tie holding him down. He's suffering, and it's so fucking beautiful.

So you do it again.

You take him back in your mouth, sucking slow, deep, pumping the base with your fingers, feeling him throb, hearing the way he groans, deep and wrecked, his whole body trembling beneath you. And just when you know he's about to cum—just when you feel him tense, his moans getting higher, his cock pulsing, ready to spill—

You stop again. And again. And again.

By the fourth time, he's gone. A complete, desperate fucking mess. His skin is damp with sweat, his stomach tight, his thighs trembling, his cock so red and swollen it looks like it hurts. His abs flex with every ragged breath, his jaw clenched so tight it aches, and his voice is a wrecked, broken plea when he gasps—

"Baby... please. I'm so close."

You hum, crawling up his body, straddling him again, teasing him with the slow, deliberate roll of your hips. His dick is hot, aching, trapped between your soaked panties and his stomach, every little grind making his breath stutter, making his moans crack, his hips jerking desperately for more.

And then—slowly, torturously—you peel your dress off.

The straps slip down your shoulders first, and his breath catches, his eyes glued to the way your tits spill free, soft, perfect, bouncing slightly as you move. And then you tug it down, down, until it pools at your waist, and you lift yourself up just enough to push it off completely, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

You're left in nothing but your panties. Your soaked, slick panties that are currently pressed right against his throbbing, neglected dick.

"Fuck—"

His head falls back against the pillow, his abs tightening, his whole body shuddering when you grind down on him, teasing him with the wet heat of your pussy. The lace is soaked, clinging to your cunt, barely there, and every roll of your hips makes his cock throb, makes his breath stutter, makes his muscles strain against the tie holding him down.

And he can't fucking take it anymore.

He lifts his head, mouth latching onto one of your nipples, sucking hard, desperate, his tongue flicking over the peak, his teeth nipping gently, just enough to make you gasp, to make your hips jerk, to make your pussy throb against him.

"Yeah, like that," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair, holding him there, arching into his mouth as he groans against your skin.

And he doesn't stop. Doesn't hesitate.

His tongue swirls, slow and teasing, before he sucks again, harder, his lips wrapping around you, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shudder. And then he moves to the other, giving it the same treatment, licking, sucking, worshiping you with his mouth, all while your hips keep moving, keep grinding, keep rubbing your soaked panties over his throbbing, desperate cock.

And he's losing his fucking mind.

Your moans spill into the room, soft and breathless, melting into the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits. Every suck, every flick of his tongue sends a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your clit, making your hips stutter against him, making you grind down harder, needier.

And then, slowly, you reach between your legs, fingers slipping past the damp lace of your panties, tugging them to the side. The second your bare cunt presses against his cock, his whole body shudders. A ragged, desperate moan rips from his throat as his dick twitches against you, slicking up between your folds, smearing precum and arousal all over your slit.

"Fuck," he groans, head dropping back, his fingers curling into fists where they're tied above him. "Baby—"

You roll your hips, dragging your pussy up the length of his cock, coating him in your slick, letting the head nudge right against your clit. And it feels so fucking good, the thick, heavy heat of him slipping against you, the way he throbs under you, the way he aches for you.

"Shit—"

He jerks his hips up, trying to slide inside, desperate, needy, fucking gone. But you just chuckle, pulling back just enough to stop him, smirking when he whimpers.

"You're so cute, baby," you murmur, leaning down, brushing your lips against his, teasing him, keeping just out of reach.

"Please," he gasps, voice raw, ruined. "Doll, I need to cum, please—"

You coo, tilting your head, swiping your thumb over his flushed, swollen lips. "Oh? You need it, huh?"

But you don't let him. You keep grinding, keep rubbing your soaked, needy cunt all over his cock, keep rolling your hips just right so the swollen head nudges your clit over and over again, making your breath hitch, making your stomach tighten, making the pleasure build so fast, so fucking intense.

It's so slippery, so fucking messy.

His cock is drenched in you, soaked, slick with how wet you are, and it only makes you hotter, only makes you grind harder, makes you chase that tight, burning pleasure curling low in your belly, makes you moan into his mouth when you kiss him, wet and slow, filthy, licking into him as he whimpers beneath you.

"God— baby, you're so wet," he gasps against your lips, his cock throbbing against your pussy, twitching every time your clit rubs against the thick, swollen head. "Fuck—let me feel you, please—"

And then it hits you.

So hard, so sudden, it makes your whole body jerk. You cry out, gasping against his lips, nails dragging down his chest as your orgasm slams into you. Your cunt clenches, pulses, gushing all over his dick, soaking him, dripping down his shaft, coating his stomach.

"Oh— fuck—" you whimper, hips stuttering, rolling through it, grinding against him even as you shake.

Even as your legs go weak, even as the pleasure leaves you breathless, your pussy convulsing, fluttering, rubbing slick and soaked and so fucking messy all over his dick. And he feels it. He feels the way your cunt clenches, how you drip for him, how fucking wet you are, how you're making a mess of him.

"Shit," he groans, head falling back, his biceps flexing against the tie, his breath ragged, desperate, his whole body trembling under you. "Baby, please—"

But you're still cumming, still gasping, still grinding slow and deep, dragging it out, making sure he feels every second of it.

Your breath stutters as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, leaving you flushed, panting, still grinding on his soaked, aching cock. You can feel how hard he is, how swollen, how his whole body trembles beneath you, desperate, wrecked.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his, murmuring breathlessly, "You look so hot right now, baby."

And then you kiss him—deep, slow, so filthy.

Your lips part against his, your tongue teasing, licking into his mouth, tasting the whimpers he lets out as you keep rolling your hips, dragging your slick pussy up and down his throbbing dick. Your tits brush against his chest, soft against the heat of his skin, making him shiver, making his fingers flex.

He groans into your mouth, tilting his head, trying to chase your lips, kissing you back just as deep, just as messy, moaning when you suck on his tongue, when you nip at his bottom lip, when you pull away just enough to breathe against him, teasing, cruel.

"Please, baby," he gasps, his voice shaking, his whole body tightening beneath you. "I need to cum, I can't—"

But then you lift yourself up, and his breath stutters, his whole body tensing, his cock twitching, aching, desperate for you, for your heat, for anything.

And then your hand dips down, your thumb brushing over the swollen, leaking head of his dick, smearing his precum, teasing him, making him jerk beneath you, a strangled moan ripping from his throat.

"God, baby," you whisper, smirking, your voice full of heat, full of control. "You have no idea how good you look like this. Tied, begging to cum..."

His head drops back against the pillows, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his mind spiraling. Because, fuck—you do something to him. It's not just the way you touch him, not just the way you tease him, not just the way you keep him on the edge, ruining him, making him ache for you, making him need you like this.

It's you. It's how beautiful you are, even when you're making him suffer, even when you're playing with him, toying with him, making him beg. It's the way your lips shine from kissing him, the way your hair is messy, wild, like you've been thoroughly fucked already, the way your flushed skin glows under the low bedroom light. It's the way you look down at him, amusement and heat flickering in your eyes, so confident, so in control, like you know he's yours, like you know he'd do anything for you.

Because he would. And when you finally line him up with your soaked, throbbing cunt—when you sink down, taking his dick inch by inch, stretching your tight, sensitive walls around him—he swears he could die like this.

"Oh—fuck," you moan, head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as he fills you, as your walls clench around him, fluttering, gripping him so tight he almost loses it right there.

"Shit—baby—"

His voice is wrecked, strained, his hands twitching in the restraints, aching to touch you, to grab your hips, to hold you down, to thrust up into you, to fuck you senseless.

But all he can do is watch.

Watch the way your body moves, the way you take him so fucking slow, dragging it out, making him feel every inch as you sink down again, taking him deep, all the way, until your soaked pussy is flush against his base, until your clit rubs against his skin, until his cock nudges against your end.

"Ohhh—"

Your moan is sweet, drawn-out, full of pleasure as you start to ride him, rolling your hips, taking him all the way, over and over again, grinding down so he presses right where you need him.

And he's losing his mind.

Because you feel so good, so tight, so hot, so fucking perfect wrapped around him, squeezing him, milking him, using him exactly how you want, fucking owning him.

And he can't do anything but moan for you.

Your hips move in a slow, steady rhythm, rolling, grinding, taking every inch of him, stretching your pussy wide around his thick, aching cock. He's so hard, throbbing inside you, and you can feel how desperate he is—his whole body tense, muscles straining.

The way he shudders when you squeeze around him, when your slick, ruined panties rub against the base of his dick, adding to the friction, making him groan, making him suffer in the best way.

"God, baby," you moan, your lips parting as you take him deep again, dragging your soaked cunt down his cock, making him feel you. "You feel so good. So hard for me."

He whimpers, his head tilting back, his throat exposed, his arms pulling at the tie holding them to the bed frame, his fingers twitching, aching to touch you. But all he can do is take it.

Take the way you ride him, the way you move, slow and filthy, teasing, rolling your hips just right so your clit drags against his skin, so your cunt squeezes tight, so your ruined panties make everything messier, wetter, hotter.

"Fuck—please," he gasps, his hips jerking up, chasing you, desperate to cum, desperate to fill you.

And just when he's close—just when his cock throbs, when his breath stutters, when his whole body tenses beneath you—you stop.

Lifting yourself up, letting his swollen, leaking tip slip from your fluttering walls, leaving him aching, leaving him empty.

"No—no, please—"

His voice is wrecked, his eyes blown wide, desperate, staring up at you as if you've just ruined him.

You moan softly, rubbing his sensitive tip against your slick lips, teasing him, making him ache, making him need. "Just a bit longer, baby. Please. You're so fucking hot."

And he trembles, his whole body shaking, every muscle in his body drawn tight as he fights the urge to beg, to plead. But then, after just a few agonizing seconds, you sink down again, taking him all in one slow, deep movement, making him moan as your hot, dripping pussy wraps around him again, squeezing him, clenching around him so fucking tight.

"Ohhh—fuck," you gasp, your head tilting back, your mouth parting as you start to move again, rolling your hips, grinding down on him, making his cock throb against your slick walls, making him suffer in the most delicious way.

And then, one of your hands trails up your body, cupping your tits, teasing, playing, rolling your nipples between your fingers, making you shudder, making your walls flutter around him.

The other dips between your legs. Pressing to your clit, slick and swollen, rubbing tight, slow circles that send sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your whole body tingle, making your pussy clamp down around him, milking him.

"Fuck—fuck, baby," he groans, his head spinning, his breath ragged, his arms pulling at the restraints, his whole body fighting to stay still, to let you take your pleasure, to let you use him.

And you do.

You keep rolling your hips, keep riding him, fucking him, moaning as you play with yourself, teasing your tits, rubbing your clit, sending pleasure crashing through you, building higher, higher, higher. Until—

"Oh, God..."

You cum. Your body tenses, your walls spasming around him, milking his cock, squeezing so fucking tight as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, making you shake, making your breath stutter, making you moan, high-pitched and wrecked.

And you don't stop. You keep rubbing your clit, keep teasing your sensitive tits, keep grinding down on his cock, overstimulating yourself. Making your whole body shudder, making your cunt gush around him, soaking him, making a mess, making him feel every pulse, every spasm, every fucking throb.

His breath is ragged, his cock is twitching, his whole body is on fire as he watches you, as he feels you, as he suffers through every second of your pleasure, knowing that he can't cum, that you won't let him. And it's killing him. Because you're so fucking beautiful like this. So wet, so needy, so desperate, so perfect. And you're his.

You fuck him harder, faster, chasing that high, needing him to fill you up, needing to feel his hot cum spilling deep inside you. The bed rocks beneath you, the slap of your hips meeting his echoing through the room, wet, obscene, so fucking filthy. And he's falling apart beneath you, his moans breaking, his thighs tensing, his hands still bound, fingers twitching, desperate to grab at you, to pull you down, to feel your body against his.

He's gasping, his chest rising and falling, his cock twitching inside you, your slick making it so easy, so slippery, each thrust sending heat licking up your spine.

And when he finally chokes out, "I'm gonna cum, baby," you fucking shiver.

Leaning down, licking the words from his tongue as you murmur, "Yes, cum for me, my love. Fill me up."

And fuck, he does. His whole body goes taut beneath you, his hips snapping up, burying himself as deep as he can go before he spills, thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy, coating your walls, painting your insides in that delicious warmth. You moan at the feeling, at how fucking full you are, how your cunt clenches down, milking him, sucking him in, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

But there's too much, and you feel it spill, thick and messy, leaking out around his cock, dripping down between your thighs. And you love it—you fucking love it—the way it makes everything even more slippery, the way it drips onto his slacks, the way he whimpers when you keep fucking him through it, even though he's so overstimulated, even though his dick keeps twitching, throbbing, spilling the last few weak spurts of cum inside you.

He whines beneath you, body trembling, head lolling back, but you're relentless, rolling your hips, grinding down, desperate for just one more orgasm. And fuck, you can feel it, so close, so fucking close, your fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing your swollen clit, gasping as slick gushes out of you, mixing with his cum, coating your fingers, making everything so wet, so filthy.

It crashes over you like a fucking tidal wave, your whole body going tight, thighs shaking as you moan his name, as your pussy pulses, clenches, convulses around him, soaking his cock in even more of your slick. Your head tilts back, lips parted, breathless, overwhelmed, your entire body trembling as the pleasure ripples through you, dragging you under, leaving you spent, sated, ruined.

And still, even as you finally slow, as your muscles go lax, as you collapse onto his chest, you can still feel it—the heat of him inside you, the way his cum still trickles out, messy, sticky, perfect.

Your whole body trembles, gasping against his skin, still shuddering from the intensity of it all. His chest rises and falls beneath you, his breath unsteady, wrecked, and then—

"Untie me, baby, please."

His voice is hoarse, pleading, his wrists flexing against the restraints.

But you just hum, lips curling into a lazy smirk as you murmur against his neck, "I'm not done with you, love."

And then you start kissing him again, soft at first, teasing, before dragging your tongue along his pulse, tasting the heat of his skin, the faint salt of sweat. You feel his body react instantly—his dick twitching inside you, still so hard, still so needy—and fuck, it makes you dizzy, knowing he's still aching for you, knowing you have him like this.

Your lips move lower, your teeth grazing his throat before sucking a deep, dark bruise into his skin, marking him, claiming him, yours. He groans, his hips shifting just slightly, desperate for friction, and you chuckle against his neck, breath warm, teasing.

Finally, you lift yourself up, slow, making sure he feels every single inch of it as his cock slips free, slapping wetly against his abdomen, still sticky and messy, still drenched in your slick and his cum. A thick trail follows, trickling out of your swollen pussy, dripping down onto him, onto his stomach, his thighs, but neither of you fucking care.

You just watch him for a second, still panting, taking him in. The way he looks beneath you—flushed, fucked-out, so goddamn beautiful—makes your chest ache. He's yours. This sweet, perfect, good man is yours, and it still fucking stuns you sometimes.

But then, his cock twitches again, still so hard, still so ready, and your lips curl into something wicked. You shift, moving to straddle him again, but this time in reverse cowgirl. His breath hitches, and you know why—your ass.

He can't fucking take his eyes off it, his fingers flexing against his palms like he's aching to grab you, hold you, squeeze you. But he can't. And the realization makes him whimper softly, needy, desperate.

Fuck.

The sound sends a hot pulse straight between your legs, your cunt clenching around nothing, so eager to be filled again. You glance over your shoulder, watching his face as you wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him a few times, smearing the mix of both of you all over his length. His hips jerk, just barely, and he exhales a shaky breath, eyes locked on you.

And then, finally, you guide him back inside.

Your slick makes it so easy, his cock sliding in so smoothly, but the angle—fuck, the angle. You feel him in a whole different way, his length rubbing right against that sweet spot inside you, making your toes curl, your thighs tense. A gasp catches in your throat, and he groans behind you, hands still uselessly bound, forced to just watch as you start to move.

Slow at first, just getting used to the stretch again, to the way he fills you so deep. But then, as the pleasure builds, your pace quickens, your ass bouncing with every roll of your hips, every downward thrust that takes him to the hilt.

And he watches, fucking mesmerized.

Your moans spill out unchecked, desperate and breathless, your body moving—no, fucking yourself—on his cock like you can't get enough. And fuck, you really can't.

"Oh my God, baby, you feel so fucking good," you gasp, head tilting back, mouth parted, pleasure wrecking you. "So deep—fuck, so hard—"

And you keep going, babbling, mindless words falling from your lips between moans, between the slick, obscene sounds of your soaked pussy taking his dick again and again. He's so big, so thick, and every time you drop down, he hits it—that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake, makes your walls flutter, makes you see stars.

Under you, Dick is struggling. You don't even notice at first. You're too focused on how fucking good this feels, how he stretches you so perfectly, how your clit throbs every time your hips grind against him just right. But he's desperate. His fingers flex, his arms pull as hard as he can. He needs to touch you. And then—rip. The tie snaps.

You don't hear it, don't even feel it, too lost in the rhythm, too drunk on pleasure, but then, you feel his hands. Big, warm, rough hands gripping your ass.

You freeze for a second, a shuddering gasp escaping your lips, your walls clenching hard around his cock. And when you turn your head to look back, eyes half-lidded, breathless, the only thing you manage to moan is—

"Dick..."

He just groans, his grip tightening, fingers sinking into the plush of your ass as he spreads you open. "Just keep going, baby," he rasps, voice thick, raw, wrecked. "Take what you need."

And fuck—fuck. That does something to you. So you do. You keep fucking him, moaning louder, rolling your hips harder, pushing back onto his cock like you're trying to take him deeper.

And Dick is losing his fucking mind. His grip is firm, desperate, greedy, his thumbs spreading your cheeks so he can see better, watch the way your soaked cunt swallows his cock, clinging to every inch of him. You're dripping.

Every bounce, every grind leaves a slick, wet sheen along his cock, your swollen lips stretched around him so tight, so perfect. It's a fucking mess, your arousal shining on his length, coating his pelvis, dripping down onto his thighs.

And your ass, God.

Bouncing, shaking, soft and so fucking beautiful. He grabs at it, kneads it, his fingers digging into your flesh, spreading you open wider, watching the way his cock disappears into you with every downward thrust.

And the sounds you make—fuck. The way you moan for him, the way your voice breaks when you take him deep, the breathy, wrecked little gasps you let out every time his cock nudges against your sweet spot—it's too much, too good.

His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight. He's close. And he knows you're gonna ruin him. Your body is a live wire, every nerve buzzing, every muscle trembling as you grind down on him, taking his cock so deep, so perfectly.

You can feel it—feel everything. How thick he is inside you, how the head of his dick presses into that sweet, aching spot with every bounce of your hips, how your slick makes each movement so smooth, so messy.

You're close. So fucking close, you can taste it, can feel the coil in your belly winding tighter, burning hot, unbearable. You're whimpering, babbling, barely aware of the words spilling from your lips.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, baby—"

And then it hits. Your climax crashes through you like a wave, violent and all-consuming, and you sob as you cum, your entire body shuddering, your cunt clamping down so tight around his cock that you feel every throb, every pulse of his length.

You gush around him, drenching his cock, your slick dripping down onto his balls, onto the sheets, making a complete fucking mess—but you don't care, can't care, not when it feels this good, this deep, this intense. Your walls flutter, spasming uncontrollably, and the pleasure is so much, so overwhelming, that your arms nearly give out.

And then—you feel it. The way he shudders beneath you. The way his hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh so hard that you know you'll feel it tomorrow.

The way his cock twitches, throbbing as he groans, deep and wrecked, "Fuuuck, baby—"

And then he's cumming. His cock pulses hard, and you moan as you feel it—the warmth of it, the thickness, the way his cum floods you deep, so deep, pumping against your cervix, coating your walls, filling you to the brim.

Dick moans, a breathless, needy sound, his grip on you tightening as his body jerks beneath you. His abs tense, his thighs flex, his fingers dig into your ass, squeezing as he rides it out, as he gives you everything.

Your body thrums, your chest heaving, your mind dazed with pleasure, but before you can even catch your breath, before you can even whisper his name—

He moves. In one swift, fluid motion, he lifts you off of him, and you gasp, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. His cum leaks out immediately, dripping down your thighs, pooling between your legs, making a mess on the sheets.

"Baby—" you barely manage to say.

But he's already moving you, already positioning you. Ass up, face down. And then, he's inside you again, burying himself deep. You moan into the sheets, your entire body jerking forward, your walls clamping down around him as he fills you again in one smooth thrust.

"Okay," he growls, his voice low, wrecked, dangerous as his hands settle on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "You had your fun, doll. My turn."

And then he fucks you. Hard. Deep. Your pussy is still so sensitive, still aching from your orgasm, but you don't tell him to stop—you don't want him to. You want more. You need more. And he knows it.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, obscene, wet, loud, mixing with the desperate, wrecked little moans spilling from your lips. His balls slap against your pussy every time he thrusts in, slick and messy from how much you've cum.

He's so sensitive, but he doesn't care. Not when you feel this good. Not when your tight little cunt is still gripping him perfectly, still soaking him, still taking every inch of him so beautifully. His perfect fucking girl. And he tells you as much.

"Fuck, baby. Look at you."

His voice is low, rough with arousal as he watches the way his cock sinks into your swollen cunt. The way you're creaming around him, leaving a messy little ring at the base of his dick.

"Taking it so fucking well, huh?"

Your moans are high-pitched, needy, desperate, muffled against the sheets as you tremble beneath him. He chuckles, dark and wrecked, before slapping your ass. You cry out, shuddering, walls clenching around him.

"Yeah? You like that, baby?"

He does it again, harder, watching the way your soft flesh jiggles beneath his palm. Watching the way your pussy tightens up around him in response.

"God, you're so fucking good for me. My perfect girl."

You sob, grinding your hips back into him as he pounds into you, deep, shallow thrusts that have you moaning into the sheets, completely fucked out, completely ruined. And you love it.

Because you're his. And he's gonna make sure you remember it. Everything is too much—too sensitive, too raw, too fucking good.

Your body is a mess of pleasure, every nerve lit up, every touch electric, your cunt so swollen, so overstimulated from how many times he's fucked you through your orgasms. But he doesn't stop—he won't stop.

Not when you're still so tight around him.

Not when your walls are hot, puffy, gripping him like you never want to let him go. Not when you're still pushing back against him, still desperate for more. And God, you are. You need it.

Even as your thighs tremble, even as you moan and whimper into the sheets, begging, pleading, "Baby, please, I can't—"

But you still arch your back, still spread your legs wider, still take it. And fuck, he loves it.

His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock, forcing you to take every deep, obscene thrust as he fucks into you again, again, again.

The bed creaks beneath you, the frame knocking against the wall. The wet, filthy sound of your slick and his cum squelching with every thrust makes his stomach tighten, makes his cock throb inside you, makes him groan.

His hips slap against your ass, sharp, deep, every thrust forcing more of his mess out of your wrecked cunt, more wetness dripping down your thighs, onto the sheets, onto his balls. And fuck, you're so full. So full of him, full of his cum, full of everything he gives you.

He groans, voice wrecked, low and deep, fingers flexing on your hips. "God, you're so fucking good for me, baby."

You sob at his words, whimpering, because you are. You're his good girl. You take it so well, take him so perfectly, so deep, so tight. And then—his hand slides lower.

His fingers skim down your stomach, and you whine, already knowing what he's about to do, already dreading it, already needing it. And then, he rubs your clit. Your body jerks, and you gasp, shuddering, because fuck, it's too much, it's too much, it's too fucking much.

Your clit is puffy, swollen, throbbing, so fucking sensitive, so messy, slick and sticky from his cum, and his touch is a shock, making you feel like you're going to fucking break apart. You try to pull away, try to close your thighs, but he doesn't let you. He keeps you spread open, his fingers circling your clit, pressing, teasing, forcing you to take it.

And you sob, your body shaking, your walls fluttering around him as you whimper, "No, baby, please, I can't—I can't—"

But he knows you can. And he tells you.

"Oh, doll, I know you can take it." His voice is low, teasing, but his fingers don't slow, his hips don't stop, and he leans over you, lips at your ear as he fucks you deeper, harder. "Be a good girl for me, yeah? Let me feel you."

And you do. You can't stop it. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking shockwave, violent, unbearable, earth-shattering.

You choke a moan, your whole body convulsing, your cunt milking his cock, gushing around him, soaking his length, drenching his balls, making the mess between your thighs filthier, hotter. And he can't stop fucking you.

Not when you're creaming around him like this. Not when your pussy is pulsing, sucking him in, refusing to let him go. Your body is wrecked, trembling, your thighs quivering as another aftershock ripples through your cunt, your walls still clenching down around him, still squeezing him so tight he can barely fucking breathe. And he watches it all.

He spreads your ass, forces you open, and the sight knocks the breath out of his lungs. You're a mess. His cum is dripping out of you, slick and white, coating your folds, smeared on your thighs, sticky and wet and filthy.

Your walls cling to him every time he pulls back, stretched around his cock, slick and messy, gripping him like you never want him to leave.

And fuck, he never wants to.

Not when you look this good, not when you feel this good, this warm, this wet, this tight. He groans, low and deep, hips rocking into you slow, deep, dragging out every second of it, savoring the way you pulse and throb around him.

And you take it. Of course you do.

There is nothing this man could give you that you wouldn't take—nothing. If he wants to fill you up again, you'll let him. If he wants to fuck you until you can't move, you'll take it. If he wants to ruin you, make you his perfect, fucked-out, dripping mess, you'll fucking let him.

Because you belong to him, and he belongs to you.

A whimper slips from your lips, and he leans over you, pressing his chest against your sweaty, overheated back, mouth hot against your shoulder.

"Shhh, baby," he murmurs, voice wrecked, deep, tinged with so much hunger, so much adoration.

His lips press to your damp skin, soft kisses, slow kisses, trailing over your shoulder, your spine, your neck, as he fucks you. His thrusts slow, deepen, rolling into you instead of pounding, giving you a moment to catch your breath, come back to yourself.

But he doesn't stop. Because he's not done with you. His voice is low, husky, a breathless plea against your sweat-slicked skin.

"Can you take more, love?"

You barely lift your head from the sheets, your body trembling, already raw and wrecked. But you still nod, sucking in a shaky breath.

"Y-yeah," you whisper, voice cracking, "I can take it."

A groan rips from his throat. "That's my girl."

His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he keeps fucking you, dragging his cock in and out of your swollen, overstimulated pussy. Every thrust is deep, slow, but firm—making sure you feel every thick inch stretching you, making a mess of your insides.

The slick, obscene sound of him pumping into you fills the room, mixing with your soft sobs of pleasure, the way your pussy clenches down on him greedily, milking him with every deep stroke.

He fills you up so completely, so perfectly, and he knows it. He can feel it in the way your body trembles under him, the way you still push back, desperate for more even when you're whimpering, even when you're so fucking sensitive.

And he can't stop watching you.

Your body is glowing with sweat, flushed, gorgeous, every inch of you made for him, made to take him. His eyes drop to where his cock is splitting you open, to the way your swollen, slick folds suck him in hungrily, coated in a creamy mix of his cum and your arousal. It drips down, so messy, so fucking perfect.

"God, baby," he groans, fingers spreading you wider, just to see more, just to watch the way your tight little cunt clings to him every time he pulls back. "You're so fucking beautiful. Look at the way you take me. You were made for this, weren't you?"

You sob into the sheets, but you nod again, arching your back, pushing your hips higher, giving him more.

"Yes," you gasp, "God, yes, baby, I—oh fuck, I love it. I love you."

His thrusts stutter, something breaking in his chest at how wrecked and desperate you sound, how much you want him. How much you need him. He leans over you, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulders, your spine, his dick still stretching you, filling you, keeping you pinned in place.

"I love you too, doll," he murmurs, voice raw. "So fucking much. So good for me. My perfect girl."

Your body shudders under his, but he doesn't stop fucking you, stretching you, pushing you higher, deeper into the heat of it. You can barely breathe, your body wrecked, your mind swimming, but you can't stop, you don't want to stop. The pressure builds again, faster this time, so intense it leaves you shaking, gasping, so close you can barely think.

And then you snap.

A loud, broken sob leaves your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, drenching his cock, your walls pulsing, gripping him so tight he chokes out a moan.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips as your tight little pussy milks him, sucks him in, makes him lose control.

He can't hold back. Not when you feel this good. His thrusts turn desperate, sloppy, pounding into you as he chases his own release, needing to fill you up again, needing to claim you completely.

"Oh my God," you babble, still shuddering, still moaning. "Baby, you feel so fucking good. More, please, give me more."

He groans at your words, at how fucked-out and wrecked you sound. And then he feels it—the heat coiling in his spine, the unbearable pressure, the way your slick pussy is sucking him deeper, milking him, begging him to let go.

"Gonna cum, baby," he pants, hips snapping against your ass, fucking you faster, harder, needier.

"Yes, yes," you moan, pushing back against him, drunk on the way he fucks you, on the way his cock throbs inside you, so close, so fucking close. "Fill me up, give me everything, please."

His head drops forward, a ragged groan escaping his lips as he finally breaks. A shudder racks through him as he slams deep, holding you tight, burying himself as far as he can go.

And then he cums. Thick, hot ropes of his seed flood your womb, spilling deep, painting your insides as his cock throbs, twitching against your cervix.

"Fuck," he groans, voice cracking, hips jerking, fucking it deeper, even as it leaks out around him, even as your walls keep clenching down, milking every last drop.

Your body trembles beneath him, and then, before you can even catch your breath, you shudder and moan, your pussy fluttering as another orgasm rolls through you. Just from feeling him cum inside you.

"Oh my God," you sob, your slick gushing out, mixing with his, soaking his thighs, making a mess of both of you.

Your walls squeeze around him in relentless, fluttering pulses, greedily milking every bit of warmth he pours into you. The overstimulation hits you like a tidal wave—sharp, hot, and all-consuming—each pulse of his cock sending sparks of pleasure crackling through your nerves.

It's too much and not enough, leaving you breathless and squirming, your body caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to keep him buried inside you.

He groans again, deeper this time, hips giving another shallow thrust as if he can't help himself. The movement makes his cum spill out even more, thick and sticky as it drips down to the mess pooling beneath you.

Your cunt flutters around him, still contracting, still hungry for him. It's filthy—the way you're both soaked in it, the way you're trembling, overstimulated and wrecked—but God, it feels so good.

His breath stutters against your neck. "Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked, "you're squeezing me so tight... can feel you milking my dick."

His words send a fresh shiver down your spine, another weak moan slipping from your lips.

"Look at that," he murmurs, voice rough but so fucking tender underneath. "So full of me... making such a mess, pretty girl."

And you can't even answer—you're too far gone, too lost in the aftershocks rippling through you. Your thighs twitch as another small, involuntary pulse grips him, your slick gushing out in a sticky rush. It mixes with his cum, dripping down your skin, leaving you both soaked.

Your cunt clenches so tight he whimpers, digging his nails into your hips, panting, groaning as you keep trembling around him. Even when he's empty, even when he's so fucking sensitive he could cry, he still keeps thrusting, still keeps fucking his cum deeper, because he just can't stop.

His arms tighten around you, holding you close as his hips still, breath hot against your skin. The air is thick with heat and the sound of your ragged breathing, bodies pressed together, sticky and warm and completely spent.

You're a mess. He's a mess. And God, you've never felt so good, his body heavy and warm over yours, chest heaving, heartbeat hammering against your back.

And then, slowly, he moves, pressing soft, breathless kisses to your back, your shoulders, your spine. He doesn't pull out.

Just stays there, inside you, still throbbing, still leaking, one hand soft on your hip, the other smoothing over your spine, grounding you, keeping you there with him.

When he finally pulls out, you whimper, a broken, needy sound, your cunt clenching instinctively at the loss. And then you feel it—his cum trickling out of your swollen, stretched pussy, thick and warm as it spills down your folds.

It drips in slow, lazy streams, pooling between your thighs before seeping onto the sheets beneath you, sticky and messy. You twitch at the sensation, oversensitive and spent, body shuddering with every pulse of aftershock still lingering in your core.

"Fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on the way you leak all over the bed.

His gaze darkens, jaw clenching, and there's something filthy about how proud he looks—like he loves seeing you ruined like this, fucked open and dripping with him. But then his expression softens, guilt creeping in as he notices the way you flinch with every tiny movement.

His thumb ghosts over your slick-coated folds, watching how more of his cum spills out with the slightest touch. "Didn't mean to be so rough," he adds, though there's still that lingering heat in his tone.

You whimper again, thighs instinctively trying to close, but he gently keeps them apart, soothing circles drawn into your skin. "I've got you," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back.

Your head spins, body thrumming with a mix of exhaustion, overstimulation, and the lingering warmth of his touch. You're a wreck—leaking, stretched, and completely undone. And God, it feels so good.

He presses a soothing kiss between your shoulder blades, murmuring softly, "Shhh, baby, I've got you. I've got you."

And his hands are already on you, grounding you, smoothing over your hips and up your back, tracing light, gentle circles into your overheated skin. His touch is warm, reverent, pulling you back to him even as he shifts to settle beside you.

As soon as he's on his back, he guides you against him, gathering you in his arms, and you go so easily, pressing yourself into him, your body melting against his warmth, skin against skin. Your legs tangle with his, your breath uneven, chest still heaving as you cling to him. He can feel the way you're shaking, small aftershocks rolling through you, and his hold tightens, protective, reassuring.

"Hey, baby," he whispers, tucking his nose into your damp hair, kissing your temple. "Breathe, pretty girl. You're okay. You did so good for me."

You let out a soft sniffle, your fingers gripping his bicep, and he shushes you gently, stroking your back, slow and steady, coaxing you into calmer breaths. His lips trail down, brushing over your cheek, down to your jaw, his touch featherlight, affectionate.

His hand finds your face, cradling it so delicately, his thumb swiping over your cheekbone before he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze softens as he takes you in—your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the dazed, exhausted look in your eyes, still glossy, still lost in the intensity of it all.

"You with me, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing, full of love.

You nod, barely, your breath shuddering, and he tilts your chin up just enough to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"That's my girl," he whispers. "Come back to me."

He watches you, patient, letting you settle in his arms, letting you come back down from it at your own pace. His fingers keep moving, tracing over your spine, your ribs, brushing over the swell of your hip, never stopping, never letting you feel anything but the warmth of him, the love in his touch.

"You were perfect," he murmurs. "So perfect for me."

And the way he says it—so soft, so full of everything he feels for you—it makes your chest ache, makes your body curl even closer to his, like you want to mold yourself into him completely.

He smiles against your temple, kissing you again, his arm tightening around you. "That's it, baby," he breathes. "I've got you."

You blink up at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion, your lashes clumped together from sweat and whatever was left of your ruined makeup.

He chuckles softly, brushing a thumb beneath one of your eyes. "You look so cute."

You groan, rolling your face into his chest, voice muffled when you mumble, "I look like a fucking raccoon."

His laugh is warm, full of affection, and he tilts your chin up so you have to look at him. "No, baby. You're beautiful."

You let out a small, tired huff and slap his chest weakly, pouting up at him. "Don't lie to me."

He grins, shaking his head. "You know I never lie to you, my love."

You narrow your eyes, lips still in a soft pout before you give up, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He lets you, wrapping his arms around you, his palm rubbing soothing circles against your back.

His lips press gentle kisses into your damp hair, and for a while, the two of you just stay like that—warm, tangled up in each other, the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath your cheek lulling you into something dangerously close to sleep.

Then, you shiver softly, a little tremor running through you, and he frowns. He can feel your body sinking into his like dead weight, your breaths coming out slower, deeper. You're so close to dozing off, and he almost lets you, but he knows you can't sleep like this.

Not with how sensitive your skin is, not with the way sweat and smudged makeup still cling to your face. You'd be miserable in the morning, and he's not about to let that happen.

So he shifts.

You whimper, clinging to him instantly, your hands fisting at his back, and he hushes you softly, stroking your side. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby."

You shake your head, nose still buried in his neck. "Don't wanna move," you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

He chuckles, pressing another kiss to your temple. "I know, pretty girl. But we can't sleep like this."

You groan, shifting just enough to pout up at him. "Why not?" Your voice is so small, so tired, like a sleepy little kitten, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your warm skin. "Because the sheets are a mess, your makeup is still on," he murmurs. "And I know you hate sleeping like this."

You make a soft, grumpy sound, and even though you can't argue with that, you still murmur, "Can't move, baby."

He smiles, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "No problem," he reassures, voice as gentle as the hands holding you. "I'll carry you to the bathroom, yeah? Slowly, my love."

You whine softly, clinging tighter to him, but when he shifts again, lifting you into his arms with ease, you don't resist. Your head lolls against his shoulder, and he cradles you close as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Once he sets you down, you immediately reach for him again, arms wrapping around his waist as you press yourself against his warmth, looking up at him with big, pouty eyes.

"Can we take a bath?"

And how the fuck is he supposed to say no to that?

"Yeah, we can," he says, voice impossibly soft.

His arm stays wrapped around you as he moves to the tub, only pulling back slightly to turn the faucet on. Warm water starts to fill the basin, and he keeps you close, holding you against him as he reaches for the oils and bubbles he knows you love.

He pours them in carefully, swirling the water with his fingers as delicate foam forms on the surface, the scent of soft florals and vanilla filling the air. His other hand remains steady on you, rubbing soothing circles against your back, keeping you close, keeping you grounded.

"You okay, baby?" he murmurs, looking down at you.

You nod sleepily, your cheek pressed to his chest. "Mhmm. 'M just tired."

He smiles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "I know, my love. We'll get you all clean and cozy, and then we can sleep, yeah?"

You hum, nodding again, and he tightens his hold on you, just for a moment, before reaching to shut off the water. You whine softly when he pulls away, even just an inch, your fingers instinctively curling into his skin, not wanting to let go. He chuckles, the sound deep and warm as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," he murmurs, reaching for your makeup remover and a stack of cotton pads.

You blink sleepily as he soaks a few, then hands them to you. You take them with clumsy fingers, swiping them over your face in slow, lazy motions, barely putting in the effort, but it's enough. He watches you, his lips twitching when you pause, your hand growing still against your cheek, clearly too tired to finish.

He huffs out a soft laugh, plucking the used cotton pads from your fingers before guiding you to the sink. "Come on, pretty girl. Let's wash the rest off, yeah?"

You hum in agreement, letting him help you as he always does. His palm rests against your lower back as you reach for your cleanser, and when you start rubbing it over your face, he strokes slow circles over your skin, grounding you, making sure you don't drift too far.

You rinse away the remnants of your makeup, patting your face dry with a fluffy towel, and by the time you look back at him, he's already kneeling in front of you, those strong hands of his hooking into your panties.

He tugs them down slowly, his fingers brushing against your thighs, and you shiver under his touch, even though it's barely anything. His gaze flickers up to yours, checking on you, and when you nod sleepily, he slips them off the rest of the way, tossing them into the laundry basket.

"Good girl," he murmurs, voice soft as he helps you into the tub.

The water is warm, the bubbles thick, and as soon as you sink in, you let out a tiny, contented sigh. He smiles, watching you for a second before quickly shedding his own clothes.

Then, he's stepping in behind you, settling in the water before pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you easily, like it's second nature, like he was made to hold you.

You rest your head on his shoulder, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to his skin before murmuring, "Are you mad that I teased you like that?"

He exhales a quiet laugh, lips grazing your temple as he says, "No, baby. I kind of liked it."

You giggle, the sound so sweet, so sleepy, and his heart clenches.

Then, your gaze flickers up to him, those big, drowsy eyes locking onto his. "I ruined your tie," you pout.

His brows lift slightly, then he lets out a soft chuckle. "That's okay," he murmurs. "It's just a tie. I'll buy another one, sweet girl."

You hum, satisfied with that answer, sinking further into the warm water, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. For a moment, it's just the two of you, breathing each other in, warm and comfortable, the quiet sound of water lapping against the tub filling the air.

Then, you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, "Can you believe it's been three years?"

His chest rises and falls beneath you as he exhales slowly. "Honestly? No." His voice is softer now, thoughtful. "I can't believe you put up with my ass for so long."

You scoff, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Who else is gonna do that?"

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "I don't know," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But I don't care. I just want you."

You tilt your head up, gazing at him with tired, affectionate eyes, your lips parting as you murmur, "I love you so much."

His expression softens instantly, those warm eyes of his locking onto yours like you're the only thing that matters. "I know, baby," he whispers, leaning down. "I love you too."

Then, he kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. His lips press against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten, makes your breath catch in your throat. His hand cradle your face, thumb stroking over your damp skin as he kisses you deeper, his tongue slipping past your lips to brush against yours. A tiny, breathy moan escapes you, muffled between his lips, and he swallows it down, pulling you closer, pressing into you like he can't get enough.

You melt against him, fingers gripping his forearm as the kiss lingers, warm and lazy, unhurried. He hums against your mouth, savoring the way you taste, the way your lips move with his, so soft, so familiar.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are pink, glistening, and he lets his forehead rest against yours, his breath fanning over your skin.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped in him, your body relaxed, your mind quiet. Your eyelids grow heavier, and before you know it, you're on the verge of sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you lulling you closer and closer.

But then, his voice rumbles through you, gentle and warm. "Let's clean you up, okay?"

You nod sleepily, making a small, clumsy move to sit up, but your limbs are too heavy, your body too lax. He catches you easily, chuckling as he steadies you.

"Let me, baby," he murmurs, reaching for the body wash on the side of the tub.

You hum in agreement, letting yourself relax again as he takes care of you. His hands are slow, deliberate, so gentle as he runs them over your body, washing away the remnants of sweat and slick and him. He murmurs sweet praises between soft kisses, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your temple, your cheek.

"You did so good for me, doll," he breathes, sliding his hand over your arm.

You shiver, letting out a tiny, contented sigh as you sink further into his embrace.

"My pretty girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair, his voice filled with nothing but love. "So perfect for me."

Once he's finished washing you, he moves on to himself, making quick work of rinsing off before reaching over to drain the tub. Then, with ease, he stands, stepping out before offering you his hand.

You take it without hesitation, letting him help you up, and the second you're on your feet, he's wrapping you in a thick, fluffy towel, tucking you against his chest.

You sigh into him, pressing your face against his skin, savoring his warmth, his scent. He rubs his hands up and down your back, drying you off gently before leading you to the sink.

You don't bother with your full skincare routine—too sleepy, too relaxed—but you do swipe on some moisturizer and dab a bit of under-eye cream beneath your tired eyes while he steps out, making quick work of changing the sheets.

He returns a few minutes later, already dressed in a pair of soft gray shorts that hang low on his hips, hair still damp from the bath, and in his hands, he's holding a pair of your panties and one of his t-shirts. He smiles as he approaches, eyes warm and gentle.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "Let's get you out of that wet towel."

You lift your arms without protest, letting him peel the towel away from your body. His gaze softens even more at the sight of you—freshly cleaned, skin dewy, hair damp and tousled, cheeks flushed with lingering warmth. God, you're beautiful.

He kneels in front of you, holding the panties open. "Step in for me," he coaxes.

You place your hands on his shoulders for balance, and he steadies you as you step into them one foot at a time. He begins sliding them up your legs, slow and careful—until, just before he pulls them over your hips, he leans in and presses a kiss right to your pussy.

"Dick!" you squeak, cheeks burning.

He grins up at you, completely unrepentant. "What?" he teases, laughter dancing in his eyes, and finally tugs the panties up properly.

You huff, playfully swatting at his shoulder, but he just chuckles, standing back up. He reaches for the t-shirt next, pulling it over your head and gently guiding your arms through the sleeves.

It's big and soft, smelling like him—clean laundry mixed with the faint trace of his cologne and something inherently him. Comforting. Warm. Home.

Just as he starts to turn away, you reach out and grab his wrist. "Come here," you murmur.

He groans softly, head tilting back with exaggerated exasperation. "Baby," he pouts, "I thought you were tired."

But he already knows what's coming. You grin, half-asleep and utterly sweet as you grab your moisturizer and dab a bit onto your fingertips. "You have such nice skin," you mumble, dotting some onto his face. "It'd be even nicer if you took care of it from time to time."

He pulls a face, pretending to be annoyed—but still leans down so you can reach better. His nose wrinkles at the cool sensation, and you giggle, smoothing the cream into his skin with gentle fingers. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries not to smile at your concentration.

"Stop making faces," you laugh.

"I can't help it," he mutters, lips curving upward despite himself. "Feels weird."

"But good for you," you counter, tapping his cheek once you're done.

Once that's over, you both reach for your toothbrushes, standing side by side at the sink. He keeps nudging you with his hip, playful as ever, making you shoot him exasperated glances between mouthfuls of toothpaste. He just grins around his toothbrush, utterly unbothered.

When you finally finish, spitting out the minty foam and rinsing your mouth, he wraps an arm around your waist and guides you back to the bedroom. The sheets are fresh, soft, and he's already picked up the clothes you both left strewn across the floor earlier.

He pulls the covers back for you. "Come on, pretty girl," he murmurs, coaxing.

You don't need to be told twice—you plop down onto the mattress with a happy squeal, limbs sprawling out as you sink into the warmth.

His heart clenches at how adorable you are—eyes sleepy, hair a mess, but smiling like that, so content, so soft. God, he loves you. Loves how easily you make his world feel right. He slides in beside you, reaching to pull the covers over you both.

You immediately cling to him, nuzzling into his chest as the warmth of his skin wraps around you like a cocoon. His arms instinctively tighten, pulling you closer, and he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.

"Mmm..." you hum sleepily, fingers curling into his side.

He shifts just enough to tuck you under his chin, resting his cheek against the top of your head. You're already half-asleep, breaths evening out against his skin, your body melting into his like you were made to fit there. And God, he thinks you were.

His thumb strokes slow circles against your lower back as you drift off, and for a moment, he just... lets himself be still. Lets himself feel the quiet weight of you in his arms. The way you trust him enough to fall asleep like this—safe, warm, loved.

Three years.

His chest tightens. Has it really been that long? It feels like just yesterday he was meeting you for the first time—those eyes, that smile that hooked him from the start. And yet, it also feels like he's known you forever, like you've been stitched into the fabric of his life from the beginning.

He thinks about everything you've been through together—the laughter, the fights, the quiet nights, the chaotic mornings. The way you hold him when he's had a rough day. The way you light up when you talk about things you love. The way you look at him like he's the only thing in the world that matters.

He's so fucking lucky.

The best three years of his life. And God, he wants more. More lazy mornings, more nights tangled up in fresh sheets like this, more soft kisses, more sleepy grins, more of you. Always you.

His fingers drift along your back, tracing slow, absentminded patterns as his thoughts wander. There are nights—plenty of them—when he comes home to you bruised and beaten, body aching from patrol.

And God, he hates that. Hates how you worry, how your eyes soften with concern the moment you see him limping through the door. But you always take care of him. Always.

You patch him up with the gentlest hands, tending to every scrape and cut with that same unwavering tenderness. And it's not just the care—it's the way you press soft kisses to his bruises like you can kiss the pain away.

The way you murmur praises against his skin—Thank you for keeping me safe, for making Blüdhaven better, for always coming back to me. It's enough to make his heart clench every damn time.

And when he first told you—really told you—that he was Nightwing, you didn't even flinch. Just looked at him with those knowing eyes, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you said you figured.

Like you always knew. Like it didn't scare you away. If anything, you just pulled him into your arms and held him tighter. No judgement. No fear. Just love. Just you.

God—he doesn't know what he did to deserve that. To deserve you.

His lips brush your hair again. "I love you," he whispers, voice barely audible in the quiet room.

You murmur something incoherent in response—half a hum, half a sleepy sigh—but it makes him smile anyway. Because you're here. In his arms. Safe. Loved. His.

And as you breathe slow and steady against him, warmth blooming in his chest, he thinks—yeah. This is it. This is home.

#nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #nightwing #dick grayson is a menace #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #smut fanfiction #smutty smut smut #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #dick grayson x you #dick grayson #bludhaven #smutty fanfiction #i love him #he deserves the world

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morganaawriterr · 2 months ago

Text

Five;

SYNOPSIS ➺ In a marriage born out of convenience and plagued by bitterness, You and Sunghoon find yourselves trapped in a cycle of cold indifference and unspoken resentment. Your quiet strength and tender care begin to reach the heart Sunghoon has so carefully guarded. Slowly, walls built from years of hurt and mistrust start to crumble, revealing a shared loneliness neither had acknowledged. With every tentative step toward connection, your hearts yearn for a closeness you’ve long denied yourself selves, leaving both to wonder if you can build something real from the ashes of your forced bond.

NAVIGATION ➺ Intro - 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05

PAIRING ➺ fem!reader X husband!Park Sunghoon

GENRE ➺ Arranged Marriage trope; Slow Burn; Angst; Fluff; Smut (kinda)

WARNINGS ➺ Cursing, mention of pills (some are drugs); abuse; mentions of blood; sexual content; injuries; heavy themes; juicy tension ;)

MUSIC ➺ Listen to 'nevertheless ost' and 'the trunk ost'!!

DISCLAIMER ➺ This story is fiction, and it does not reflect real life in any way. This story is heavily inspired by the kdrama 'The Trunk' on Netflix but with a special twist!

WORDS ➺ 6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE ➺ YALL I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS RIGHT NOW! The last chapter is here after 5 weeks and I'm literally crying as I'm typing this. I never thought this story would get this much attention, I just wanted to have fun and post it. But you guys have been incredible to me, leaving nice asks, and complimenting the story... i can't express how grateful I am for each and every one of you! I hope you like this last chapter, it has a little bit of everything! Sadness, fights, sexy time, and fluffy moments too. Again, thank you so so so much for this love <3 Keep supporting me and I will work harder to bring more creative stories like this! (Get ready to get your heart broken ;))

On that same night, Sunghoon didn't stop touching you for one second, as if he had to make up for the lost time. He was all over you, holding your waist as you walked back to the car while laughing like teenagers, and keeping his hand wrapped around yours while he drove home. His fingers never left yours, not even when he needed to shift gears. You walked into your home, and Sunghoon immediately got down on one knee and undid your high heels, being careful not to hurt you. His hands lingered on your heels after he was done, and he lowered his face to place romantic kisses along your legs, eyes permanently fixed on yours.

In the midst of giggles and the intense heat engulfing your body, you pushed him away, unable to calm your frantic heart as he gazed at you with his pleading eyes. With a mischievous smile, you ran ahead of him, darting toward your bedroom. When he finally caught you, Sunghoon gave you a long, lingering kiss before going to his own bedroom to shower. After you both finished, the usual routine of hanging out in the living room continued, except Sunghoon was feeling a little more brave this time.

When you sat in front of him, dressed in your usual bedtime clothes, Sunghoon’s curious fingers traced invisible patterns on your thighs. As the faint sounds of the TV echoed through the tranquil living room, your husband's lips never left yours, eager and desperate for your kiss. You tasted dangerously addicting, and he mourned not kissing you earlier.

The next two weeks passed by inexplicably fast. Sunghoon was busy with work and had to stop coming home for lunch, but despite that, he always tried to come home early to eat dinner with you. You could tell he was home when his arms wrapped around your waist and his head rested on your shoulder while you were making food. When he noticed you were done, he’d turn you around and press his lips to yours, savoring every second of it.

Though it's a new side of him, you love his clinginess. Sunghoon’s constant need to touch you and be near you reassures you of his feelings, bringing you comfort and safety. You've been touchier with him too, though more subtly. Your hands lingered on his while he spoke, and you pressed your body against his at every chance you got, occasionally rubbing your ass against his pelvis to tease him.

Aside from the teasing and the near-daily make-out sessions when you were supposed to be watching the basketball match, Sunghoon never made any intimate moves on you. Though your desire for him grows stronger each day, you let him take his time, letting him decide how far he wants to go each time.

Today is Friday, and Sunghoon came home at the same time as usual. You ate slowly while talking about his day. The company has been a mess ever since his father went to the hospital, so he has to keep an eye on everything. You listen carefully to all his frustrations, his raspy voice making goosebumps appear on your skin. He could talk for hours, and you would sit in silence, listening. That's how much you love his voice.

After eating and helping with the dishes, you both parted ways to have a quick shower and change into comfy clothes, the living room waiting for you. Moments after you stepped out of the foggy bathroom, you realized how dark the weather had suddenly turned, with heavy black clouds painting the sky. Your eyes then shifted to Sunghoon, who was lying down on the sofa, taking up all the space.

“Where am I supposed to sit, Mr. Giant?” you joked while stepping inside the enormous room, the soft sound of your slippers making Sunghoon lift his head and pat the spot right under his head.

“I'm not that big,” he complained as you stepped closer, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Sunghoon, your feet are dangling off the edge of the couch,” you said, arching an eyebrow but cracking a smile at his cute expression.

Your husband didn't say anything else; he simply closed his eyes and shook his head. Then he shifted to give you space to sit down so he could lay his head on your thighs. The smell of your sweet body wash enveloped him, and he let out a satisfied breath, loving the comfort it always brought him. Your hands reached for the remote to turn on the TV, but Sunghoon didn't let you; he slid it further away from you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“I want to talk,” Hoon says in a low voice, his tender brown eyes staring into yours intensely. You nod and smile down at him, your hand sneaking into his hair to caress the soft black strands. “There's something I haven't told you about Jiwon,” he starts, his eyes scanning your face.

“You don't have to, baby,” you respond sweetly. Sunghoon felt his heart skip a beat at the cute nickname, still not used to it.

“I know… but I want to tell you.”

“Then go ahead; I'm all ears.” You offered him another caring smile, hoping to ease the nervousness so evident on his face.

“There was something she did that finally gave me the courage to leave her.” He pauses, trying to steady his breathing. “She installed hidden cameras all over my dad’s old house. She said it was to keep an eye on me, to make sure I didn't bring anyone home or do anything to provoke her. They were everywhere except in my dad’s office and the shared bathroom. My dad was quiet the whole time she abused me, but when he found out about the cameras, he kicked both of us out of the house.”

Your mouth opens in surprise, but no words come out. A lump seems to form in your throat, making it impossible to speak. Your hands tremble as they continue to caress Sunghoon’s hair, an electric pain burning deep in your chest like wildfire.

“She had cameras in our bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom. And she watched it all day like a movie on her phone.” Your eyes scan the room, avoiding Sunghoon's gaze to stop the tears from falling, frustration building with every passing second.

Just when you thought she couldn't get any worse, your husband confesses something even more unsettling.

“I found out because one day she forgot to lock her phone when she went to the bathroom. I passed by the kitchen and noticed something strange on her screen. Turns out, she was watching me work in my office.”

An uncomfortable silence fills the room; the sound of the harsh rain hitting the window with no mercy turns loud and uncanny. You want to say something, but no words seem enough to express what you're feeling. This man has been so mistreated all his life; no wonder he was cold and distant at the beginning. The tall walls he built around his heart were only to protect himself further.

With a melancholic frown, your fingers hover over his handsome face, tracing his features slowly. Your fingertips tap his delicate moles and his lush lips. You need him to understand what you feel through your actions because words would never be as intimate or precise.

With your caring touch on his face, Sunghoon closes his eyes and relaxes against you, his breathing slowly returning to normal. The rain falls mercilessly from the sky, heavy gray clouds painting the atmosphere in dark hues.

Silent tears start to stream down your cheeks, while your gaze remains fixed on the large window, watching the storm unravel before your eyes. Your knuckles turn white as you tightly grip your navy-colored pajama shirt, trying your best not to make a sound.

Sunghoon remains with a peaceful expression against your thighs. As your gaze wanders to him, you close your eyes, trying to ease the ache in your heart as his last secret echoes in your mind.

Your husband shifts lightly beneath you, drawing your attention. You open your eyes only to find him gazing up at you with twinkling eyes. His caring gaze travels across your face as if trying to understand why tears brim in your eyes. Your hands slowly reach for his head again, your fingers softly caressing his scalp.

“Why are you crying?” Sunghoon asked kindly, his deep brown eyes fixed on the warm tears that ran down your face.

As he reached out to wipe them away with his fingers, you smiled faintly and shifted your gaze to your hands.

“The way you’ve been treated by the people who were supposed to take care of you—it’s just so fucking unfair,” you murmured anxiously, unable to contain your feelings anymore. Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, caught off guard by your words. It was the first time he had heard you curse.

The two of you sat in silence for several moments, gazing into each other’s eyes as the rain outside began to ease, much like the storm in your heart. Your hand remained in your husband’s hair as his gaze lingered on you.

Sunghoon found himself lost in your gorgeous eyes, framed perfectly by long, elegant lashes. His thoughts drifted to all the times you had cared for him without his notice. He remembered the confusion he felt when you invited him to sit beside you on the sofa, telling him he didn’t have to speak—just stay.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he confessed in a low voice, interrupting the stillness that had settled and changing the subject.

Your eyes widened, and your cheeks flushed, caught completely off guard by his words. You suppressed a laugh, glancing away as anticipation fluttered in your chest.

“Sunghoon...” you whispered breathlessly, weakened by his seductive ways.

Your hand trembled slightly as you pulled it away from his dark locks. Your eyes wandered across the large living room, avoiding his gaze. The way Sunghoon’s eyes stared into yours today felt slightly different from usual; his iris seemed darker, and it made your stomach turn in anticipation of his next move.

Sunghoon suddenly sat up and moved beside you, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over you. His dark eyes searched your face and found that your cheeks had turned red, and a timid smile grew on your lips. He loved the way you melted into him so fast.

Slowly, he reached for your face, gently tilting your chin upward. His heart pounded as your pleading gaze locked with his.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” Sunghoon asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You couldn't hide it anymore. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. So, with your eyes closed and you're breathing unsteady, you responded:

“Yes, please, Hoon.”

Your husband didn’t waste any more time; he had already lost too much. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a much-desired kiss. Butterflies spread across your chest and stomach as you felt the soothing touch of his lips. Your hands instinctively traveled to his shoulders, your fingers curling and tugging at his hair, driving Sunghoon to the brink of madness.

Besides being an amazing cook and wife, you were also amazing at kissing. Your lips molded against his as if they were made for him. Sunghoon felt like he was losing his mind when you pulled away to catch your breath, your timid eyes meeting his as you tried to steady yourself. Your lips glistened under the faint light of the tall lamp near the couch.

Sunghoon was certain you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Your sweet love won him over like a child deprived of sugar.

A sudden wave of boldness hit you. Your small, naughty hands went to rest on your husband’s legs, causing his face to quickly turn toward you. He arched his eyebrow and stared at you:

“Can you kiss me again?” you asked in a hesitant voice, craving the addictive warmth of his mouth once more.

A crack of thunder echoed through the room, filling the silence left by your words. Who was he to deny an angel with such need and love in her voice?

Once again, his right hand reached for your chin as he leaned in. Within seconds, his plump lips were on yours again. Sunghoon tilted his body toward you, wrapping a secure arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest so you could settle on his lap. The position wasn't new to you, but the way his grip felt desperate caused a surprised moan to escape your lips. Sunghoon seized the moment to slide his tongue into your mouth, initiating a playful yet passionate battle with yours.

Your body was no longer just warm; it was hot, melting under Sunghoon’s hungry lips and tight grip. He seemed to notice, as a sly smirk formed against your mouth while you kissed. Feeling your chest call for oxygen, you pulled away, completely out of breath.

You meticulously studied Sunghoon’s face before meeting his eyes, ensuring he was comfortable with what had just happened. He looked proud and satisfied. Eventually, the arms around your waist were gone, and he traded them for something else. His large hands held onto your waist, fingers dipping into the plush skin.

“I don't want to stop.” Sunghoon whispered against your lips, his breath fanning over your wet edges. He turned his head to the side slightly to kiss the corner of your mouth, eyes locked on yours, waiting for an answer.

“Then don't.” You responded securely, letting your head fall backward so he could access your neck freely.

Sunghoon smirked at your bold words and lowered his head to your slender neck, his lips warm as they came into contact with the skin. Goosebumps appeared on your flesh as he smoothed it, the feeling of need growing unbearably inside you, making your core throb. Your breathing became heavy, your chest rising and falling rapidly as he started to nibble at your skin, leaving faint bite marks with his attractive fangs.

Then you felt his hands disappear inside your baggy shirt. His curious fingers meet your lower back, and then he slides his hands upwards, feeling your smooth skin. He expected to feel a barrier where your bra should be, but he was only met with flesh. You bite your lip when you feel the tips of his fingers sneak a light touch just below the curve of your breast, testingly.

“You're not wearing anything underneath...” Sunghoon whispers more to himself in disbelief. He lifts his head from your neck just to take a look at your face. You slowly open your eyes and find his dark brown iris staring into your soul.

Your lips smirk at him, and then your hand finds his. Under your shirt, you guide them towards your breast and leave them there. Your heart is beating so fast you are sure Sunghoon could feel it. Completely drunk in love and aroused, he chases after your lips again, needing to feel your moan against his lips.

Sunghoon’s hand expertly massages your breasts as his mouth distracts you with an intense, hungry kiss, teeth occasionally grazing, but it doesn't matter. Your shirt rises as his eager hands sneak inside your shirt further, fingers expertly pulling at your sensitive nipples. Unable to focus on his lips, you pull away, letting your edges part as low moans escape.

“Let's go to my bedroom.” You whisper out of breath, opening your eyes to look at Sunghoon, but he just pulls his shirt over his head and smiles.

“But I want to do it… here.” He smirks, now reaching for your shirt to take it off too. As the cloth is thrown away from sight, Sunghoon slowly lays you flat against the couch cushions.

You opened your mouth to articulate something back, like how he needed to be careful to not stain the sofa, but your words were stolen from your mouth when you felt your husband’s burning lips wrap around your abused nipples. Unlike his usual clean and collected self, Sunghoon wasn't afraid to be dirty; saliva dripped from his mouth as he messily sucked your skin, his own moans being muffed by your breasts.

As he shifts the other boob, your back arches, and a loud moan of his name leaves your lips, your hips gaining a life of their own and starting to grind against his. The feeling of the evident tent in his pants makes you wetter, your impatience growing from frustration.

Sunghoon’s head leaves your chest for a few seconds so he can stare into your fucked-out face, all flushed and warm. You look so pretty and so needy for him. With his eyes still fixated on yours, his mouth slowly lowers into your flesh, smooching your lower stomach with open kisses, just above where you needed him the most.

The morning after feels like a dream—hazy and cozy. You wake up to the soft clarity filling the room, the sunlight streaming through the window, and wrapping your safe space in warmth. You yawn lazily and push yourself up on your elbows, your eyes lingering on Sunghoon as he sleeps.

His face is peaceful, his lips slightly pouted, and his chest rises and falls with each steady breath. With a content sigh, you rest your head back on the pillow, memories of the night before playing behind your eyes like scenes from a romantic movie.

Sunghoon had a strong grip on your body, possessive even, contradicting his eyes that were full of peaceful passion. His fingers dipped into your skin so harshly that you had marks from his nails on your waist and thighs. If you closed your eyes, you could still hear his needy moans, so desperate and hungry for you. For a reserved man, he sure wasn't as reserved when it came to pleasure. You would never guess he was this dirty, this starved, and eager. The way he licked his fingers after making you cum on them made your head spin.

“Good morning, princess,” Sunghoon says unexpectedly, his tender eyes searching for yours, interrupting your impure thoughts.

“Good morning, Hoon. Did you sleep well?” you ask with a smile, turning to your side to glance at him.

“Of course I did; I was with you,” he says with a smirk on his lips.

You giggle at his flirtation and let your body be pulled against his, craving the warmth of his skin. Sunghoon grins and kisses your scalp, his arms holding you tightly against him. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the calm rhythm of his heartbeat. A comfortable silence fills the space, and you slowly begin to doze off in his embrace, the safety it brings making you feel sleepy.

But a sudden ringing jolts you awake. You glance up at your husband, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m not going to answer that,” Sunghoon assures you, eyes still closed. You smile at his words, but an unsettling feeling stirs inside you.

“Maybe you should,” you reply, your heart suddenly racing from the discomfort.

Hoon notices the shift in your mood and gives you a worried look.

He slowly sits up on the mattress, reaching for his noisy phone. You follow his movements and sit up, adjusting yourself comfortably. His shirt rises as you settle, and his cologne lingers, still present despite last night’s activities.

You watch his face turn pale as he reads the caller ID. When you lean in to check for yourself, a knot forms in your throat, your skin prickling with rage.

“Yes, Jiwon, what’s wrong?” Sunghoon asks, his voice uneasy as he picks up the phone. “What? Now?” He pulls the phone away from his ear for a few seconds, staring at the screen. “Sure… I just woke up. Yeah. Give me ten minutes.” And with that, he hangs up.

You watch his face meticulously, waiting for an explanation, but Sunghoon remains silent. His eyes are wide in shock, not quite believing what’s happening.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, concerned.

“She’s here,” he says, his gaze shifting to yours. “And she said she brought lunch to eat with us…”

“What?”

“Yeah, I don’t understand either. But she’s already at the door.”

The warmth in your room suddenly feels suffocating, causing your chest to feel heavy. This whole situation is bizarre, and it leaves you with an uneasy feeling. Without another word, Sunghoon gets up from the messy bed, gathers his scattered clothes from the floor, and kisses your lips briefly.

“I’ll meet you downstairs. Take the time you need,” he says tenderly, his hand cupping your jaw.

You nod and wait for him to leave the room before letting out a long breath that’s been trapped inside your chest. You don’t know what she wants or why she’s here, but it doesn’t feel right. From everything you know about her, it’s clear she’s not looking for friendship or forgiveness.

You take your time getting dressed, your mind spinning with different scenarios of what she might want from you.

With a deep inhale, you close the wooden door behind you and slowly walk down the spiral staircase, your footsteps echoing in the enormous house. As you approach the bottom of the stairs, you can already see her—a fake smile plastered on her plastic face as she sets the plates down on the table. Not knowing what to do or say, your eyes search for Sunghoon, hoping he can help.

“Jiwon, this is YN, my wife. I don’t think you’ve officially met,” he introduces you, wrapping an arm around your waist possessively.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” Jiwon says in an overly dramatic voice, making your skin tense up.

But you don’t respond. Instead, you stroll to the fridge, grab a water bottle, and place it on the table. She watches your every move, her gaze tracking your body. Sunghoon finishes opening all the food she brought and sits down at the table, his arms tense from the uncomfortable situation.

You walk around the table to sit in front of Sunghoon, just like you always do, but Jiwon suddenly pulls the chair toward her and sits down.

“This is my seat,” she says with a vile smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she locks eyes with you.

Despite the anger boiling inside you, you smile at her and take a deep breath, sitting next to Sunghoon instead. Your husband watches the entire exchange, his gaze fixed on you. He’s trying very hard to be nice to Jiwon, but if she continues disrespecting you, he won’t just stand by and watch.

Sunghoon reaches for your hand under the table, trying to ease the tension in both of you. Your eyes meet, and he gives you a small smile.

“So, how are you, hubby? I haven’t talked to you in months,” Jiwon queries, popping a piece of gimbap into her mouth. Her perfectly manicured nails reflected the warm sunlight streaming through the window.

“I’m great,” he replies simply, bringing a spoonful of rice to his mouth.

“Tell me more! How’s it living in a fake marriage?” Jiwon says intently, her eyes locked on yours, another plastic grin spreading across her face.

“It’s been great. YN’s a great wife. She cooks well, fucks well…” Sunghoon responds bitterly, trying to provoke her. But all that appears on her face is another fake grin.

Jiwon opens her mouth to say something but seems to hesitate, as if searching for the right words. She reaches for the water bottle and pours herself a glass, taking her time as if she were in her own home. You turn your head to the side and take a deep breath. You’re not sure how long you can stand having her in your house, acting like she owns it.

The sun shines brightly outside, casting light on the massive windows and making the house feel airy and dreamlike. As your gaze drifts around the kitchen, you wish this was all just a bad dream.

“How’s Sunghoon’s mom, YN?” Jiwon asks out of nowhere, her lips pouting as she twirls the water inside her cup.

“How would I know?” you ask, confused, not understanding where she’s going with this.

“Oh, I just thought you’d know, since you were with her a few weeks ago.”

Sunghoon turns to you when he hears her words, a confused expression crossing his face. You feel your cheeks flush under his gaze, your body betraying you.

“I—”

“Don’t try to deny it, pretty. Tell Sunghoon how close you are to his mom. He deserves to know,” Jiwon spits out, a mocking tone in her voice.

Your eyes return to Sunghoon, and you watch him slowly set down his chopsticks. His eyes are almost closed, his brows furrowed as he gives you a fierce look. Your hands start to sweat as you realize you’ve been caught.

Your eyes shift to Sunghoon, and you watch as he slowly sets down his chopsticks. His eyes are almost closed, his brows furrowed, shooting you a fierce look. Your hands start to sweat as you realize you've been discovered.

“Sunghoon, I meant to tell you this under different circumstances…” you start, your hands nervously fidgeting as you speak. “I’ve known your mother since I was a child.”

“What?”

“Remember when I told you I was alone when Ni-ki died? Well… I wasn’t exactly alone… Your mom was there with me; she was the one who stayed by my side…”

Sunghoon opens his mouth, but quickly closes it. His eyes dart to Jiwon, looking for any sign that you’re lying.

“Tell him why you were chosen to marry him,” Jiwon adds, her eyes locked with Sunghoon, trying to convince him that you’re serious.

“Sunghoon, let me explain—”

You begin, but he quickly interrupts you, anxiety taking control of his body.

“What is she talking about, YN?” Sunghoon asks, his voice faltering. His heart begins to race as you remain silent, confirming whatever point Jiwon was trying to make.

You take a deep breath and begin speaking.

“Your mom was best friends with mine when I was younger. When my mom was hurtful to me, your mom took care of me. When Ni-ki died, she was the only shoulder I had to cry on. She helped me through the grief, and when she found out about Ni-ki’s debt, you were freshly out of the relationship with Jiwon. To make sure you would still get the company, she asked me to marry you.”

You watch as tears start to form in Sunghoon’s eyes while you explain yourself, his beautiful brown eyes turning glassy right in front of you. Inside, he feels betrayed. How could you hide this from him? After everything he’s told you, after everything you’ve been through together?

Your hands reach out for his, but your husband pulls away, not wanting to touch you.

“Sunghoon, please…” you plead, your chest burning as you watch him turn his face, avoiding you.

Just when you think it can’t get worse, Jiwon smiles devilishly and speaks again, proving she has more than one card up her sleeve.

“Oh, while we’re at it! How’s your blonde stylist friend doing? Tell him his father isn’t as good as he used to be, and that I caught him stalking me.”

Your face turns pale, your hands go cold with sweat, and you close your eyes. This can’t be happening, you tell yourself. Sunghoon turns to face you again, his face as pale as yours.

“What—what are you talking about?” he asks Jiwon, eyes fixed on you.

“She made her father’s friend follow me because she was so, so, so curious about me!” she adds, her voice dripping with mockery, a smirk creeping back onto her lips.

“Wait, no. That’s not why I did it!” you say, irritated, standing up and pushing your chair back with force. You point a finger at her face as you look at Sunghoon, trying to explain yourself.

“No, I wanted to find out who was giving you all those drugs. So a friend of mine asked his dad to follow her and find out if it was her. And it was!” Your eyes harden as you speak. “She wasn’t just giving you sleeping pills, Sunghoon. They were real drugs. She has a friend who sells them to her.”

Sunghoon feels like his head is going to explode; this is too much information at once. He stands up and gently pulls your hand away from her face, then sits back down, narrowing his eyes.

“Let me see if I understand… You had someone following her?” your husband questions, then turns his face to Jiwon. “And you were giving me drugs this whole time?”

The hot air inside the kitchen feels like poison, and every breath he takes burns his lungs. So, you’ve been lying to him and following his ex, treating him like some kind of puppet you were playing with. And Jiwon, in addition to abusing him, gave him drugs?

Sunghoon wanted to be angry at Jiwon and shout at her, but he knew it would be in vain. She wasn't going to change or stop being an awful person. He also wanted to ignore everything he’d just discovered about what you did, but he felt backstabbed. As he gazes into your apologetic eyes, he can see that you’re genuinely sorry and that you never meant to hurt him. But he couldn’t help but feel ill; his heart was shattering with each passing second.

“I’m sorry I never told you any of this, but I was afraid it would scare you away.” You try to explain, tiny tears falling down your warm cheeks and dripping onto your legs, staining the denim of your pants.

Before Sunghoon could say anything, Jiwon spoke again, revealing her third card. She was practically glowing with joy that her plan was unfolding just as she’d intended.

“Aw, this is cute and all, but Sunghoon has something to tell you too!” Jiwon mocks from the other side of the table.

She stands up and circles the table, her high heels clicking mercilessly against the floor. Then she stands right by Sunghoon’s side. Jiwon takes a quick glance at Sunghoon and then smiles at you, raising her eyebrows to show you that she’s been planning this all along. You don’t even know how she found out about all of this, but you hate that she’s right.

“Come on, hubby. Tell her the truth about your marriage contract.”

You tilt your head in confusion, your hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. Your eyes find your husband’s face, and you notice his cheeks and ears have turned dark red. You desperately try to make eye contact, but he avoids you.

A discomfiting feeling starts to spread through your body, and your breath quickens in the heavy silence.

“YN, there’s something I need to tell you—” Sunghoon starts, his voice hesitant.

“Ah, shit, you're so fucking slow!” Jiwon interrupts. “What this idiot is trying to say is that in that contract you signed, there were small letters stating that as soon as his dad passes away, he’s divorcing you and not leaving a single penny.”

Tears form in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You try to get up from your seat, but your legs feel like jelly, and you fall back into the chair. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, and a burning sensation rises in your throat.

“Hoon,” you call with a shaky voice.

No, that can't be true. Sunghoon would never do that to you.

The silence that settles in the sun-filled kitchen proves to you how real it all really is. Your husband turns his head away and rubs his eyes, avoiding you. You don’t know what to say or do anymore. The harsh truth leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Slowly, you get up from your chair and walk out of the kitchen; your footsteps were the only sound echoing through the large house. But before you reach the stairs, you turn around to face Jiwon, who’s right behind you. You step toward her, your eyes locked into hers, your blood boiling under your skin.

“I hope you're happy. You’ve finally done what you wanted. He’s all yours.” Your words echo through the house, your voice stern yet quiet. Jiwon only laughs in your face, her unnatural grin making you want to puke.

“Wait, YN, let me explain—” Sunghoon finally snaps out of his trance and walks toward you. He reaches out for you, but this time you’re the one who pulls away.

“I can't talk to you right now,” you say in a low voice, tears welling in your eyes as you look at Sunghoon. “Not while she’s here.”

Those were your last words before you went upstairs to your bedroom, leaving behind Sunghoon and that evil woman who could never seem to leave him. Deep down, you wanted to go back and kiss Sunghoon in front of her, show her he’s no longer hers, but you couldn’t even look at him anymore—not after what you’d just uncovered.

Back in the kitchen, Sunghoon stands still and quiet, trying to figure out what to do with Jiwon. His head is a mess, and though he wants to run after you, he knows he has to deal with Jiwon first. She’s sitting at the table, comfortably eating the dessert she brought. As he watches her eat, he decides to finally put an end to all of this.

“Get out of my house and take that disgusting food with you,” Sunghoon says harshly, shoving all the leftover food into a plastic bag, not caring if it spills out of the containers.

“Sunghoon, hubby, she’s not good for you. She lied.” Jiwon spits out, irritated.

“Don’t call me that ever again!” he warns, pointing a finger at her. “I’m going to tell the police about what you did to me—all the domestic abuse, the cameras, the drugs. Since YN has proof of the drugs, at least I can get you thrown in jail.”

Sunghoon looks different in Jiwon’s eyes; he’s now confident and secure in himself, and she hates it. She liked him quiet and obedient, like a stupid puppy.

“But Sunghoon, she—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” he yells, the hairs on his arms standing up as anger spreads across his body. He can’t stand Jiwon anymore.

He should have known she wasn’t coming here to apologize, unlike what he’d hoped for.

Jiwon grabs the plastic bag and her designer bag quickly, slightly fearful of Sunghoon’s newfound confidence. He doesn’t even spare a glance at her as she leaves, knowing full well that if he did, he would break down in tears. After all, he was still the same hurt man from all those years ago.

Jiwon leaves the house feeling proud of herself, despite Sunghoon not taking her back like she intended to; at least she ruined whatever the two of you had going on. And that was all that mattered to her.

A few minutes pass before Sunghoon finally regains his strength. This chaotic moment has drained all the energy from him. Slowly, he walks upstairs, the heavy atmosphere in the house pulling him back, making it harder to reach your bedroom door.

When he finally reaches it, his hand prepares to knock, but he realizes it’s already open. He steps inside quietly, gently pushing the door open as he enters. The scene in front of him makes him question if he’s seeing things. You’re packing your clothes into travel bags, your quiet sobs echoing in the chilly bedroom.

“Wait, princess, please—” Sunghoon begs as he steps closer to you. His hand reaches for your wrist, trying to stop you from packing.

“Sunghoon, we were never good to each other. We could never be. This—” you gesture. “This is all fake. This marriage isn’t real. None of it is real.”

“No. We are real; what I feel for you is real.” Sunghoon insists, pushing your bags away and forcing you to look at him. “I made that rule back then because I hated you. But I love you now. I want to be with you. Please don’t leave.”

You can’t stop the tears that roll down your cheeks, his voice full of pain shooting through your heart.

“You never told me about that. If we never got along, you would have just left me. Like I’m a toy you don’t need anymore.” You express between sobs, your head starting to throb with a heavy headache.

“That would never happen because I love you. I’ve changed the contract, okay? I changed it weeks ago, even before we went out before we even got involved physically.” Sunghoon explains, reaching for his phone, which was forgotten in his back pocket.

He taps on the screen a few times and shows you a new document. Your eyes scan it briefly, and you realize he’s telling the truth. But it doesn’t feel enough.

“I lied to you, Sunghoon.” You remind him, turning your head to the side to take a deep breath and calm your racing heart.

“I don’t care.” He responds immediately after you finish speaking. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve thought about it. It would have been way worse if my mom hadn’t chosen you. She chose you for a reason, YN.” Sunghoon explains as his hands reach for your jaw, turning your head so you can face him.

“She chose me because I had a debt to pay, Sunghoon.” You respond coldly, stepping away from him to resume packing your bags.

“I forgive you; please don’t go,” Sunghoon begs as salty tears start falling from his coffee-colored eyes.

He kneels on the floor and wraps his arms around your legs, trying to stop you from leaving. Your hand covers your mouth to hide a sob, the act further breaking your heart. You gradually kneel in front of him, taking his hot face in your cold hands.

“I need space… I need to think about all of this. I need to think about what I feel.” You explain slowly, gazing into your husband’s melancholic eyes. “And it needs to be away from you.”

Sunghoon’s warm tears run under your fingers, wetting your hand along with his cheeks. As your own tears glide down your face, you try to show him a faint smile. Your soul feels like it’s being squeezed out of its life—a physical pain that burns in your chest. You place a long kiss on his salty lips, then stand up, grab your things, and walk out of the room.

Weeks have passed since you last saw Sunghoon. You sit alone in your small kitchen, the little apartment you found feeling crowded and suffocating. You stare down at the steamy bowl of soup on the table, unable to take a single spoonful. The room feels dark as heavy clouds hide the faint sunlight outside, and you find it funny how similar it is to what you’re feeling.

You regret walking away that day, now that your mind is clear. You wish you had thought more about it and not left Sunghoon behind so casually. But you're not perfect, and life hasn’t been easy for you either. So when you found out about the contract and when she told Sunghoon about what you did, you felt a mix of shame and betrayal.

You’ve always found it easier to leave than to talk things out.

The days pass by tediously slowly as you stare at your phone, hoping he will text you. You don’t even care if it’s just to curse you out; you just need him to be stronger than you for once. Without realizing, your eyes become glossy, your heart aching in your chest, missing Sunghoon’s safe embrace.

But it’s too late now.

You force your tired body up from the table and walk to the window in your small living room, admiring the rain that has started to fall. Your tired eyes carefully watch the water droplets paint the road, bringing you some comfort.

That’s when you notice a familiar face running toward your building, using a bouquet to try to shield himself from the rain. As the man gets closer, you realize who it is, and your heart jumps at the sight of him. How did he find you?

That was the sign you asked for. Without thinking twice, you sprint across your apartment and close the door behind you. Your legs feel like jelly as you step toward the hall of the building, tears already welling in your eyes from the memories of his familiar scent.

When you reach the outside, he is standing in the middle of the deserted road, confused. Sunghoon thought it was a mirage; maybe his head was playing tricks on him, but as soon as you wrap your arms around him, he knows it’s real.

The rain falls harder now, the drops heavy and cold, but you couldn’t care less. Sunghoon lets go of the bouquet to wrap his arms around your waist, his head nuzzling against your hair, your sweet perfume filling his senses.

He could die right now, happy in your arms.

“I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Sunghoon breaks the silence, squeezing you tightly as if you were going to dissolve in the rain.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon. I’m so sorry.” You cry out, your knees almost giving way as you finally look at your husband’s face.

Guilt hits you like a truck, robbing you of your breath when you notice the dark bags under his precious eyes, his face visibly slimmer and paler.

The truth is, he has barely slept these weeks, missing your warmth against him at night. He regrets trusting Jiwon that day and not telling her to leave them alone instead. Sunghoon also regrets how easily he let you go. He should have pulled you into his arms and assured you that everything was going to be alright. But in the end, he’s human, just like you, and the thought of pressuring you into staying wasn’t the most appealing.

“I love you. I’m so sorry.” You insist, tears falling freely from your eyes.

You're thankful it’s raining, so he doesn’t realize how much you’re crying. Your hands reach for his face, cupping his jaw. You can’t believe he found you. He came after you, despite you breaking his heart.

“I love you,” Sunghoon says with a sad smile, his eyes hypnotized by yours. “I’m here, and I won’t let you go anywhere ever again.”

You smile as you rest your forehead against his, the rain soaking you both completely. “I love you too, Sunghoon. I won’t ever leave again. I promise.” You whisper against his quivering lips.

Sunghoon wastes no more time and chases after your lips, needing to feel them against his. Your lips are warm despite the cold water droplets, and Sunghoon giggles when he feels them. All of his worries fade away. The kiss is long and passionate, his velvety lips molding with yours slowly, savoring your taste that he missed terribly.

Under the freezing rain, Sunghoon is sure that all he ever needs in his life is to have you by his side, to feel your sweet love. He doesn't need the money, the company, or even food to eat. You’re all he wishes for, and he won’t ever let you leave again, no matter what happens.

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juletheghoul · 4 months ago

Text

educational

a/n: I still have so many asks for this man, and I have not forgotten them! Thank you to everyone who voted, to everyone who takes the time to comment and reblog on my posts. You have no idea how you all have reinvigorated my love for writing, a million hugs and cuddles for all of you. I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives! This isn't beta'd, barely proofread. Hope you enjoy 💕xo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.3k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

The sun was oppressive. It beat down with a vengeance and the fan in your hand did nothing to alleviate the waves of heat permeating the market. You had half a mind to head right back to the villa, to ask Marcus to bring you on another day when you could focus on anything other than the drops of sweat sliding down your spine, making your new robes stick to your skin. Or the way the stiff leather sandals on your feet rubbed your ankles raw.

Running back to the villa didn’t seem right however, it tasted too much of defeat, of a refusal to accept your new place in this world and the thought of your General, your husband being disappointed in your inability to shop for yourself put eels into your belly. Gritting your teeth, you continued your hunt for the things you needed.

“What about this Domina?” Your new attendant, a girl a few years younger than you had been when you’d first joined his house pointed at a blessedly covered stall, golden trinkets glittering where the sun poked through gaps in the covering catching your eye.

“Let us look.” You smiled, making your way over. There you found a lovely perfumed oil for your skin, at a fairly reasonable price. You also found some of the incense Marcus liked, and a new brush for his hair. You bought them, even though he had sent you with the intent to buy things for yourself. With your purchases made and in the hands of your guards you decided to finally return home, when another stall caught your eye. Gauzy sheer linens covered most of it but when the warm breeze blew them aside, glittering jewels flashed.

The woman running the stall smiled when you entered, she had streaks of grey in her hair, lovely oiled skin and eyes as dark as night.

Opals with fire caught inside them hung on golden racks, rubies the size of walnuts, emeralds as green as fresh laurel leaves glittered, all of them entrancing you enough to pull your hands out to touch them.

“With your skin, those would look lovely.” She walked over, pulling dark blue sapphire earrings from their place on her wall and holding them to your ears. “Beautiful.”

“They are gorgeous, I must admit.” Marcus had told you to buy whatever you wanted, had given you enough coin to splurge but you hesitated. Your eyes fell to a small book on a shelf, a picture of a man and a woman on the cover.

“That is… very educational. Especially for a married woman.” She pulled the book off the shelf, placing it into your hands for you to peruse. The contents made you gasp. It was a guide book, a guide for the art of love. The art of copulation. There were diagrams, positions to try, all manner of things you’d never even thought of.

Heat rushed to your face, the thought of showing Marcus, of trying them with him made the heat grow and spread to the place between your thighs.

“You must have it, I have no doubt your husband will enjoy it, you as well.” She winked and you laughed a nervous little laugh, nodding conspiratorially.

“You should adorn yourself for him, something glittering, something precious.” She gestured to the jewels once more and you bit your lip, wondering what to choose until you saw what looked to be a belt of different coloured gems.

“I like this–is it for my waist?” You slid your fingers across it.

“That would be perfect, not just your waist my lady.” She undid the clasps and arranged it, draping it onto your body. “Usually the ladies wear them over a simple robe to elevate it, but I think it would look just as beautiful against the skin, if you take my meaning.” You could see it, the top part of it like a necklace, with a long line of gems between your breasts leading down to connect with another line of it like a belt.

With an ache for him, and a considerably lighter purse, you left with your purchases and made your way home once more.

He was occupied, held up in his study with representatives from the Emperor, a senator and a whole host of others taking up his time with important matters. You left him to it, and busied yourself with your own preparations.

The tub was steaming and fragrant when you submerged yourself. Dried flowers and sweet smelling oils swirling with every movement, all manner of different elements coming together to soften your skin and make you shine for him. Thoughts of what he would think of your book fill your mind as you cleanse yourself of the day, musings about what he might choose pull at the corners of your lips as you run the clean washcloth across the expanse of your chest and thighs.

You oil your skin once out of the tub, arrange your hair and adorn yourself with jewels. Golden bracelets and anklets he’d gifted you on your wedding night, an armband shaped like a snake, earrings that dangle and trap the light when you move, the special body chain from the stand. You feel like a goddess, like a priestess readying yourself for worship.

By the time he comes to bed the need, the arousal is fierce enough to make your hands shake.

“Apologies my love, I was hoping to have been done sooner but—“ he catches sight of you then, sprawled out on the bed, an airy robe leaving nothing to the imagination, the small book in your hands. His eyes devour you, robbing him of his words, making your heart race.

“I have something for you, something for us.” You rise, exaggerating the swing in your hips with every step you take towards him. Your adornments jingle, a pleasant sound rings with every stride.

“Do you now?” He licks his lips, and presses his palm to his growing bulge at the sight of you. “I have something for you too, growing stiff and aching.” His hand reaches for you as you get closer, pulling you into his embrace.

“I do not doubt that.” You laugh, pressing your palms to his chest to keep him from pushing you onto your bed.

“I would very much like to give it to you, nice and deep.” His eyes are so lust blown that the warm brown is now a cold black. A moan escapes at his words, at the feel of his kiss on your throat.

“First, I would like you to look through the book I bought today.” He frowns, confused at the apparent shift. “I believe it could be very educational for us.”

If you weren’t so aroused, so excited to experiment you might have laughed at his expression. Naked shock was all you could see on his face. Never, in all your years within the villa, within his presence had you ever rendered him speechless before. The effect is titillating.

Wordlessly he peruses the pages, cheeks flushing, attention rapt at the diagrams and instructions shown within.

“Gods above.” Your smile deepens at the low whisper of his voice, nerves fraying with anticipation.

“I am particularly curious about this one.” With trembling hands, you flip the pages to a certain diagram, where the woman is sitting on the man's lap but facing away, her legs closed tightly between his legs underneath her. The thought of Marcus having you that way floods your body with heat. His mouth at your ear, his hands free to slip between your legs or hold onto the weight of your breasts.

Silently he studies the book, eyes intent. His quiet intensity fills the air between you, it makes you wring your hands with nervous anticipation, almost makes you wonder if you’ve gone too far. Your nerves fray the longer he stares, the old fear of disappointing or upsetting him creeps up your spine, until he smiles and licks his lip.

“You, my love, continue to surprise me.” He closes the book and sets it aside.

“Do I?” You take his hand in yours, and press it to your lips, desperate for his approval and for his love.

“Oh yes. Just when I think I cannot be any more fortunate, you spoil me and show me another facet of your love.” He pulls you forward, guiding you to stand between his spread legs at the edge of your bed, pulling the robe off to expose your nakedness.

“Look at you.” His palms slide from the sides of your thighs past your hips where they touch the jewels that adorn your waist. Up, up, up until his thumbs flick at your nipples.

“You are yourself, my most precious jewel. So beautiful–” He presses his face to your breast, his lips gliding across your skin between words, “-kind, adventurous and brave, sweet as summer fruit,” he skims his nose over the top of your breast before licking at the stiff peak. With a sigh you hold him close, fingernails scratching at his neck, slipping through the fine grey waves, cradling his head close.

Your heart races as he pours his love onto you, any and all fears are quieted to nothing under the silky slip of his palms against your back. His mouth forms a tight seal around your nipple, enough that it makes you gasp. His smile is predatory, confident and it makes you laugh; half nervous, half exhilarated.

Your breasts shine with the oil, and his spit when he lets go. You take the opportunity to pull his robes up and off. Your mouth waters at the sight of his manhood, hard and leaking for you.

“Turn around.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, deep and commanding, irrefutable. His lips press to your shoulder, moving down to your lower back, you squeal in shock and delight to feel his teeth on the meat of your ass.

“I could devour you whole, do you know that?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

The arousal is enough to choke you, enough to ease the glide of himself against your sex. Butterflies swarm as he pulls you back, guiding his own weeping tip to the tight fist of your cunt until you sink, slowly onto him. You gasp at just how deep, just how full you feel like this.

“Gods above, woman.” His grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise, his voice strangled in your ear.

It is so much better than you had imagined.

His thighs bracket yours as you adjust to the fullness, slick dribbles out of you and drenches his lap when his hands do exactly as you hoped they might. With deft fingers he pinches and pulls at your sensitive nipples, teasing the peaks mercilessly as you begin a tentative bounce on his lap.

“Is this how you wanted it?” His breath tickles your neck, painting your skin in gooseflesh.

“Yes, yes Marcus, just like this-“ your head falls back onto his shoulder, the arousal so fierce it burns through you, sets your heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird, trapped in the cage of your ribs.

“Take it, take your pleasure from me my love, ride this cock—“ he bucks up, pulling a pained moan from somewhere inside you.

“That’s it, you can do it, milk my fucking cock.” His arm tightens around your middle and you can feel the jewels pinching at your skin, the edge of pain only heightens the pleasure coursing through your veins, ripping a swathe through your body in the shape of him, always him.

Thick fingers force their way between the tight press of your thighs, pinching at your swollen clit and it’s almost too much. Sweat beads in your hairline, slips between your bodies as you roll your hips harder, clenching around him with every tight bounce.

There are no more words, only the harsh pant of his breath in your ear, the slick, vulgar sound of your wet arousal; the whimpering heralding your climax.

His fingers leave your clit and you whine, the demand for them to return on the tip of your tongue but he quells it, pressing those same fingers into your mouth. He takes the saliva from your mouth, and returns his fingers to their task. The slip is just right and with a silent scream you freeze, squeezing him tight enough for him to hiss, tight enough to do just as he wanted and milk him for all he’s worth.

His grip around your middle softens, the jewels have left indents in his skin as well as yours, you pull his arm up to press your lips to it.

Once the blood has settled and you’ve caught your breath, you pull away from him, turning to settle in his lap again only this time facing him.

His expression is pure bliss, flushed with exertion and smiling with the ghost of his climax still painting his features.

“I must send you to the market more often, spoil you as you spoil me.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck just as his wrap tightly around your waist.

“So you are pleased with my purchase then?” Your lips press to his mouth, his cheek, the little hairless spot on his chin, your favourite constellation to map out.

“I am more than pleased with it, but I must study it in depth. So many things to try, so many lessons for us to learn from this book, hmm?” He skims his nose across the column of your throat, smiling into your skin as your heart races for him even with your pleasure still coursing through you.

“…And you know that I am a quick learner, my love.”

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #general acacius #general marcus acacius #gladiator ll #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius smut

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bunny-jpeg · 4 months ago

Text

on top of the world

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, post-las vegas gp (2024), pregnancy/pregnant!reader, tender & gentle sex, established relationship,

a/n: congrats max for another wdc!

max wrapped you up in his arms and held you tightly. he kissed you on the side of the face with such love. such affection, there was a fire to his kiss, the after burn of a heated race. he came in fifth this weekend, but he was just that good that he managed to get enough points to secure his fourth world champion!

and when max pulled away with misty eyes. the thrill of the wdc never damped. he smiled brightly at you and said, "i won the wdc."

you swallowed and in the heat of the moment replied, "and i'm pregnant." you wished you could've taken the words back, but instead max just kissed you once more. your legs felt like jelly as you clung to him. wrapped up in one another, but max's grip loosened on you. after all, you were pregnant.

"you're pregnant." he said as his hands trailed up your sides once you were in the privacy of the hotel room. during every interview with what felt like every news network in the world. not only did he want to talk about his win, but the growth of your family.

you traced your hands down the front of his red bull branded t-shirt, "remember why we were so curious why jimmy, sassy and donatello were always hanging around me?"

he nodded as he undid the buttons of your blouse.

"the entire weekend i felt sick in brazil and we chalked it up to something not agreeing with me." there was another nod from your boyfriend, "and then when you put your face between my breasts and i always yelled because they were so tender? yeah... i'm pregnant."

he looked at your face and then your middle. he patted a hand across the soft flesh and licked his lips, "you're serious, right? no joke?"

you held his face in your hands and looked into his blue eyes, "max... maxie... my love. i took five of them. i'm pretty sure it's impossible for all five to be false positives... when i head back home i will get the blood work done."

he beamed at you and pulled you in for another heated kiss. soon you were pulling at the shoulders of his t-shirt. his hat was flicked off onto the floor and with a bit of help you were both soon completely nude on the bed.

he looked amazing, even post-race. he was well showered and out of his driving clothes. but, he still looked flustered from the heat of the race, and even though it was so late into the evening. you both couldn't sleep, not while your brains were running a mile a minute. he admired you, loved you as his hands spread across your form.

"you and i made a baby, huh?" he said as leaned down and kissed your stomach, how much it would change while you carried his child. his kisses continued to trail across your body and you felt a shiver of euphoria through your system as he got between your legs. his cock stood at full attention and he wanted to map out every inch of you skin. as much as possible. he wanted to feel the love of his life as much as he could, to worship your body.

"yes, that's what happened." you giggled as your combed your fingers through his dirty blond hair, "that's usually what happens when you have unprotected sex." you smiled then kissed him when he rose his head.

"i hope you know, i'm here for you and our baby, okay? i'm not walking out, no, never." he nodded earnestly, even though there was no doubt in your bed. it was sweet for him to confirm it for you. you pulled him into a searing kiss and got him onto his back with you on top of him. you spread your hands across his broad chest, you could feel his racing heartbeat.

you rubbed your hands up and down his chest as you pulled away. you looked down at him before you slowly sank on his cock. before he could say anything you replied, "we'll go soft. no need to get too worried there, mister verstappen." you moved your hips slowly against him and he tensed up for a moment at the feeling.

max knew you were going to be his wife, he was certain anyone at the team could see that. the way max held you and kissed you. the infamous maxplaining about you and your own accomplishments. while you weren't a superstar driver, he wanted everyone to know that you got your master's degree. he simply hadn't popped the question so your last name could on every degree you earn. but that might have to change a little prematurely with the news that you two were expecting a child. he groaned a little as he felt the circulation of pleasure through his body. the rise and fall of your hips as you made love to him.

both of you still running off the high of the race and of the victorious news. you moved a little faster, but he slowed you down. he panted, "i want to feel you, all of you." he swallowed back a heavy moan as he moved against you. he admired every curve of your body. you were his, all his. the two of you were going start a family. be a family. one thought crossed his mind, he'd need to go ring shopping.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

you continued to work his body slowly, feeling every each of one another. max's hands tickled you a little and your giggles made his pulse leap. you could feel the circulation of pleasure in your brain as you moved against him with such affection and love. you loved max, you loved him more than you could put into words. there were no words in any language that could describe your affection towards the man. your man.

your bodies moved together. but it wasn't fucking, it was making love. you were enjoying each other's bodies with heated want while you moved against him lovingly. you moaned a little louder when the pleasure started to creep up through your body. you leaned in to kiss him once more as you moved your hips. you braced yourself on his toned chest and moaned deep into the kiss. that seemed to excite max as he held onto you a bit tighter. not tight enough to bruise. but, enough to be protective over you. over his beloved woman.

when you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against his and giggled, "soon we're going to have to find new ways to do this." then kissed him on the face.

"i'll take you anyway i can, my love. anyway you'll let me have you." he shuddered at the feeling of you. the two of you moved against one another during heated kisses and you could feel the pleasure spike in your body. when you broke the kiss, he said, "i won this all for you. but i think you upstaged me." he chuckled lightly, his cheeks dusted with pink, "i was going to come home with the world championship, but you were to come home with our child." he kissed you again, "i guess i'd rather be beaten by my wife than anyone else."

you felt a rise in you from his words, only to spur you on with slow but steadier movements. you raked your nails dwon his pale chest and whispered praise towards him. it wasn't erotic so much as intimate. how much you loved him, how much he meant to you. "when i see your eyes, i feel the future, max. and not just trophies and fast cars. i see a home, a life, a family." and he shuddered at your words. you knew how to make him feel so comfortable, safe and sound.

you marginally picked up speed and knew you weren't going to last much longer. you kissed him deeply as you rode him perfectly. your pussy fit perfectly, and he loved the feeling of you around him. cunt around his cock, hands on his chest,t he weight of you on his hips as you moved against him. everything oozed with perfection and made his heart stammer.

the two of you continued, the kisses only furthered. you held onto him tightly and with a few more movements of your hips. you clamped down around him and came. you moaned deeply into the kiss and let the pleasure wash over you.

max felt a similar feeling and while you rose through your orgasm. he finished inside of you as well. mindful not to be too rough with you. you two kissed more as you felt up his chest and he felt up your hips. you stayed seated on his cock for a few moments while you enjoyed the feeling of his lips on you.

but a night of euphoric highs led to emotional crashes that left you sleepy. soon you got yourself off of him and laid next to him on the king sized bed. you were panting heavily. max was playing with your left hand, especially your ring finger.

you smacked him on the chest with that hand while you laid out on the bed, "and no, max. we're not getting married in vegas." then looked at him, "we'll do it right... plus i'm certain your sister and my sister would kill you."

max just beamed and pulled you into a tight cuddle, "fair, fair, mrs. verstappen."

you told very few people about the pregnancy, especially not the press. people did notice the slow down of photos of you on max's social medias as you got further along.

one fan wrote online, "maybe they broke up?"

another said, "he better not embarrassed with her now or something stupid like that!"

you found the comments endearing while you were in your home in monaco, the cats still gravitated towards you. with the newest of the bunch always finding their way around your swollen middle. max did take photos of you, every chance he could. but, those were for his private collection as the following season started to wind up. while you would've loved to be there, the swell in your middle was only getting more obvious.

"you better facetime me." your lover wagged his finger at you.

"not if jimmy lies on top of my phone and i lose it for an hour." you giggled before you kissed max on the mouth. it was hard to see him go, especially when any updates about your child with him were over text and calls. it was hard.

he would eventually post a photo after a mysterious absence from social media around the summer break, "going to win a fifth world champion for you the way i won the previous four for your mama." and that answered every questions fans had. the photo was max holding his son with the stupidest grin on his face.

and by the end of the 2025 season, he had secured a fifth victory. for you, for him and for the son you both loved dearly <3

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coweye · 8 months ago

Text

Just Logan

The worst Logan part ii

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 10k words

Summary: You return from the void ready to navigate your new reality with the not-quite-love-of-your life. Second Part to worst Logan.

Warning: Mentions of drugs, Canon Typical Violence, gratuitous Laura paternal love. smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, assplay mentioned.

AN: Fair warning my loves - this hasn’t been proof read… unless you’re reading this after the 26th August! I’m currently posting this on my phone at an airport 💖 I love you all so much and can’t express how much your love for my stories has meant to me!

Achilles once said “I would recognize you in total darkness, were you mute and I deaf. I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times. and I would love you in all of this, until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion."

For seven excruciating years you’d been without him.

Eventually, time had dulled the ache, made it so you forgot what it was to have another hold you through the night, to make you feel safe and loved. Love was like a drug; one you had unknowingly spent the past half a decade weaning yourself from.

Then he appeared; ‘The worst Logan’ as Wade had not-so-affectionately dubbed him, and in one fell swoop undid years of hard work. He came and reminded you just how fucking good drugs were - that motherfucker was class-A narcotics and he was addictive as hell.

By mid morning you were already desperate for another hit, your eyes searching for him around every corner. Part of you was afraid you had gotten him all wrong, that perhaps you didn’t know this man as well as you thought you did. Though at the last second Logan had shown up, unfolding him from the boot of the Honda and joining the fray, every inch the hero he insisted he wasn’t.

You and Laura sliced a path through your enemies, side by side, the two of you moved in perfect synchronisation. In the years since his death, she had taken Logan’s position in your formation, and now the two of you fought together as naturally as breathing.

Logan couldn’t help but watch the two of you together for a moment, though after a knife to the ribs as reward for his lack of awareness, he shakes his head free from the indulgence of his ready-made-family and returns to the task at hand, carving his way through the enemy to get to Cassandra.

It had been a hard-won battle, though Laura had been extraordinary. You, yourself had been outmatched with the Juggernaut, only in a position to bend the light keeping yourself from sight as you inflicted shallow cuts with your blades along his arms and torso creating confusion and pain that allowed Laura to find her openings.

Your girl sliced through his Achilles bringing him to his knees before she ended his life with four claws through his chest.

In your eyes, as she stared down Goliath her soft features melted into a renaissance painting. A woman in her own right, overflowing with untold power, those shades making her look every inch the badass motherfucker you knew she was.

You can’t help your untimely realisation that your daughter has grown into a formidable woman as you propel her through the air with bubbles of psionic energy to deliver the helmet to her not-quite-father and Wade.

The brief moment of triumph as you overcome Cassandra’s men is followed in quick succession by the sobering loss of Logan for a second time, as he leaps through the golden shimmering portal.

It had been the plan all along, and yet you couldn’t quite account for the stone in your stomach weighing you down at the realisation he is gone yet again.

Laura’s deep brown eyes, all too often full of difficult emotions, are hidden behind the colourful sunglasses, though you can tell from the fall in her shoulders that your girl feels the same grief. She had held out childlike hope that the two of you would stay with him despite his earlier brush off and you are far too ashamed to admit you had been harbouring similar hopes.

To have gotten him back for a single day only to lose him again, for you it is painful. For her, it must be torment.

So, you put a pin in your pain for now. Loss is an old friend, one that will no doubt visit in the dead of night when sleep inevitably evades you, but Laura needs you.

Swallowing your grief deep down, you begin by tucking her wild dark hair back behind her ears and with the bone of your knuckle you wipe an errant splatter of blood from her brow.

Around you, your team bask in the defeat of Cassandra and her people, yet the two of you mourn losing yet another Logan.

“The time we had with him was a gift.” You whisper to her. The second you touch her palm with your finger tips; her claws instantaneously retract. You interlock your fingers with her own bloodied ones.

For a moment the two of you stand together like this, coming to terms with the loss. It doesn’t destroy you the same way North Dakota had, but it has certainly taken the air from your lungs.

“What now?” Laura asks, burying her emotions, more like Logan than you care to admit.

“Now we find a way to get back home, Cassandra’s not hunting us anymore, maybe we can-“

“Miss Y/LN, Miss- “At the sound of an unfamiliar voice your head whips round and you are armed with a knife before you even make the decision and from the telltale ‘snikt’ behind you so is Laura.

“Holster your weapons.” The agent shouts as the group of forgotten heroes turn their gaze on the TVA squad who have appeared from the orange glowing doorway. “You have been offered a pardon on order of the time variance authority - please come with us.”

Laura steps forward, though you place a steady hand on her shoulder stopping her in her tracks. “The last time we trusted you people, we ended up in this dump.” You shout across the gulf that the agents have left between you.

When has anything in life been this easy?

“Mr Howlett and Mr Wilson saved the multiverse. All they have asked in return is for a second chance for the people who helped them do it.”

Whilst remaining utterly compelling it still feels far too good to be true. You look at your daughter; she pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and nods once. She’s not a little girl anymore and she wants to go through the damn doorway. With little in the way of options you decide with a deep sigh to be an optimist, which is how you end up in Wade Wilson’s apartment.

Five people (six if you include Dogpool) living in a two-bedroom apartment was … to put it lightly, snug. Wade being the secret gentleman he was, offered up his room to you and Laura.

Nights he didn’t spend at Vanessa’s were spent sharing a bed with Al, much to her delight, which left Logan sleeping on the couch.

Logan: This Logan was nothing short of an enigma to you.

The two of you had been friendly, smiling and laughing, sitting together at the party Wade had thrown to celebrate saving the universe.

It felt good, easy even to joke with him and Laura. You had felt like a real family as you sandwiched the young girl between the two of you, taking it in turns to make her laugh.

When she had abandoned the two of you to talk with Yukio and Ellie, you had fallen into comfortable companionable silence. The simple fact of the matter was that you didn’t have much in the way of small talk, all of your talk was massive talk. A mountain you’d soon have to overcome, but neither of you wanted to break the spell.

So, you simply enjoyed each other’s company and when your knee knocked against his under the table, you didn’t bother pulling back. Instead, when he didn’t immediately recoil, you left it there pressed against the warm muscle.

This casual touching was new to both of you and you were drunk on it, occasionally you’d brush his plaid covered bicep as you leaned across to stroke the monstrosity that was Mary Poppins or you’d brush your fingers against his with a smile when you handed him a fresh beer.

It’s fair to say, you are both black belts at emotional avoidance.

Her abandoned airbed, more electrical tape than plastic at this point, lies deflated in the corner of the bedroom, dual holes from slender claws having led to its untimely end.

With a sigh you rise, stretching your aching back.

Wincing as it cracks from contorting on the edge of the double mattress- even in the goddamned void, you’d had more personal space than this.

Sparing a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table, you see it’s 6:23am. In a vain hope you just listen to the sounds of the quiet apartment, no one else has awoken yet. You sigh with relief, desperate for some alone time, after living for a week with everyone underfoot.

Closing the bedroom door behind you as silently as possible, you tiptoe with bare feet with the honest intention of going to the kitchen for some coffee.

Only you’re sidetracked by the man sprawled across the sofa looking like he was carved from goddamn marble.

The blanket is wrapped around his plentiful jean covered thighs as his bare size twelves extend comically over the arm of the sofa. Logan’s thick, veined and extremely bare arm hangs off of the leather cushion, whilst the other clutches a pillow under his head. Logan is wearing a white vest that leaves very little to the imagination, so much so you’re unable to help the flashback of stroking the abs you know linger below the almost transparent white cotton. You’re unsure how long you stand there, but it can’t be more than 30-seconds before his eyes wearily blink open, startling you.

“Paint a picture, it’ll last longer, Bub.” When he speaks, his voice is even thicker than usual with sleep, it’s like honey on gravel and it makes your skin tingle.

“Uh-” You’re lost for words after being caught ogling the sleeping man. All you can do is a quick apology as you carry on through to the kitchen.

When you’re safe from view, you slap palm to your forehead - Why? Why couldn’t you for once in your life just be smooth?

The second you're out from under his searing gaze a million infinitely suaver responses flood your mind. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ ‘Don’t tempt me.’

You’re nearly (Y/A+7 years) old, not the idiot girl that pined after the unattainable bad boy of the mansion. For the love of all that’s holy; two different versions of that man have been inside of you, and you ran away!

You’re pacing in front of the fridge when you hear his body slide against the leather of the couch. Honestly, you’re praying for the void to swallow you back up as you try to act casual, filling the coffee machine with water.

“Mornin’.”

“Good Morning, Logan.” You reply though you can’t quite meet his eyes as you flick the switch for the drip to begin.

“Back on the couch - Eh, I was just kiddin’ around, Bub.” He scratches his neck awkwardly.

“Oh. I, uh, I know.” You reply, finally meeting his eyes. Those hazel eyes stop you in your tracks as they scan your face for any trace of emotion. He’s as out of his depth as you are, and that thought alone calms you. “I’m sorry, If i’ve been strange the past few days… I thought…I just assumed I would never make it out of the void and I was there for months and uh-”

“Bub… y/n... I don’t hold you to what happened that night.”

“What?” You narrow your brows in confusion, you were only going to talk about the uncomfortable adjustment period to regular life.

“You were vulnerable, I look like your guy. I get it.” His voice is still deep and he’s trying to be so understanding and noble, you can’t help as you reach out and grab his bare wrist, your forefinger can't even meet your thumb as you hold onto his thick warm flesh.

“Logan, no that’s not what I meant at all. I-”

“-Mornin’ love birds! Don’t let me stop ya’ from takin’ care of that mornin’ wood, just getting some delicious nectar of the gods.” Wade comes from the bedroom wearing Al’s lilac dressing gown and what looks suspiciously like the older woman’s pyjamas, riding far too high up his shins to be his own for the much taller man. Wade leans against the counter next to you and the coffee machine, burying himself in the neck of the dressing gown and looking pointedly at your hand around Logan’s wrist and whispers. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

“God give me strength, Wade.” Somewhere along the way, Logan’s rage with the mouth has dampened to the point there’s no real threat behind the warning.

As there’s probably about a few teaspoons of coffee in the machine, every fresh drop plinks against the glass jug only enhancing the newfound silence in the kitchen.

“Good Morning, Wade.” You sigh finally, rubbing your thumb against the hair covered flesh of Logan’s wrist in a promise as you try to use your eyes to communicate; we will discuss this.

“Honestly, I’m not even here. Just go back to staring longingly at each other, talk amongst yourselves.”

“Fu-” Logan starts, his nose flaring at the man beside you, his finite patience already slipping.

“Incoming.” Wade sings-song lowly, as he drops his head onto your shoulder.

“What are we all doing in the kitchen?” Laura asks through a yawn, her bed head innately ridiculous standing up on all sides - probably from a night spent tossing and turning, kneeing you in the spine. When Logan tears his wrist away from your hand it stings a little, but you understand, the last thing Laura needs in her life is more confusion.

“There’s a line for the coffee, kiddo.” Logan gives her a look that's somewhere between a smile and a grimace. The man’s sharp edges were slowly being worn away again and he was really trying with his daughter, though a tiny growl leaves the young woman at his words.

“She’s not a morning person.” Is the only answer you have for him when he looks your way both confused and quite frankly a little frightened as your daughter takes the first cup of coffee and returns to her room slamming the door behind her with her foot.

“Teenagers, huh? Whatcha’ gonna’ do with them?” Wade sighs, still leaning his head on your shoulder having made no effort to stop the queue jumper.

Logan gives Wade a meaningful look and tilts his head towards the door, which the man currently invading your personal space bubble continues to ignore.

There’s something about Wade you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed by.

Those years on the run with Charles, Logan and Caliban had been so hopeless, so void of laughter, that the man with the constant jokes puts you at ease, makes your heart feel lighter. Wade makes you smile which has been a rare commodity in recent years.

Perhaps it's the fact he makes the world feel a little lighter that makes you so willing to tolerate the overly familiar head on your shoulder.

The two men are having a silent conversation, as you stare at the fridge awkwardly.

“I…uh… I think I’ll jump in the shower.” You detangle yourself from Wade and place a meaningful hand on Logan's arm. “Talk later?”

He looks to your hand, and then to your face and simply nods.

Only, you don’t end up talking later, because after your shower, you return to your bedroom hell bent on getting dressed and heading out into the city for the day to get some distance before you start your new job tomorrow.

That’s when you find Laura twisting her hands and waiting for you. The second you close the door behind you, she stands.

“You alright, bug?” You ask, giving her the opening she so desperately needs.

“I, um, have some news.” She can barely meet your eyes, a trait you’re sorry to say she’s picked up from you.

“Yeah?” You prompt, taking her hand in yours.

“I want to join the X-Men.” Your mouth opens involuntarily to reply, but no words can find their way up your throat; you’re irrevocably thrown.

In the years since the devastation Charles had wrought on the manor, you hadn’t been able to muster the strength to return to West Chester.

“I know, you might not be sold on the idea but I want to use my powers for good, I don’t want to get a normal job - not that the coffee shop isn’t great for you - but I’m-”

“It’s great, Laura.” Your voice sounds wrong even to your ears. “I’ll do my best to get used to being back in the Mansion-”

“No.” You can tell it slips out, she honestly doesn’t mean it to. “I … I, uh, want to join the X-Men, me. I want to go alone.”

“Oh.” You can’t help the deflated sound of your voice, you hadn’t foreseen your daughter breaking up with you when you woke up this morning.

“No, mamá,” She takes your hand in hers, desperate to fix it. “I love you and I can’t ever repay-”

“No, Laura.” You tell her. She looks terrified before you rush to finish. “You don’t ever have to repay me. You are fucking magnificent, so you go be an X-Man. I love you so much.”

She wraps her arms around your middle, buries her face in your shoulder and squeezes, she's just as tall as you are now at nineteen years old and fuck if it doesn’t break your goddamn heart.. “If you get yourself hurt with those do gooders, I’ll fucking kill you.”

After dressing and many more tearful hugs as the two of you talk logistics, it's decided she’d be heading over to the mansion in the morning.

You start work and so does she.

Your heart drops when you hear she’s put off telling you for the past five days, ever since she’d had the offer from Ellie and Yukio at the party.

Later that evening telling Logan goes, well, about as well as you might expect.

“No.” He growls furiously. “Absolutely, no fuckin’ way.”

“Logan-” You try.

“You agreed to this?” He’s blind to reason as he turns on you. Al and Wade both sit in the living room, having called an ‘urgent family meeting’.

“I for one think it's a great idea! - not that we haven’t loved having-” One look from Logan does what you had up until this very moment thought impossible and shuts Wade up.

“Logan, she’s an adult - she wants to join them. We should be supportive.”

“Supportive?!” He’s incredulous as he laughs harshly, voice utterly brimming with condescension when he continues. “You forgettin’ what happened there, huh, bub? You and I are the fuckin’ sole survivors - Last of the class! How's your Storm doing? Your Hank? Your Scott? Oh wait, their all fuckin’ dead!”

Your Logan never spoke to you this way. Never directed that fire within him at you, it's unfair, the comparison, you know this but your brain is misfiring with shock.

Had your Logan ever truly cared about anything this much when you’d been together in those dark days? Had all the fight truly left him back then? Had the two of you just ended up together out of mere convenience?

When you don’t reply, he just stares your way, his nose flared still utterly furious, at you, your betrayal, at Laura, at this situation he’s not emotionally equipped to deal with. This Logan’s shoulders are squared like he’s preparing to go a few rounds with you and not in a sexy way.

It's not a situation you’re entirely sure you’ve been in before; you’ve never been his enemy. So you’re not sure how to approach this cornered animal, ready to swipe out at you in his fear.

“If I didn’t go to that school, I never would’ve met any of you. I would be back in Y/H/T (your hometown) and I’d be lesser for it.”

It utterly disarms him, he’d clearly been prepared for harsh words to combat his own.

Pacing like a tiger locked in a cage, he finally sighs rubbing his forehead irritability. Logan turns, grabbing his leather jacket making the doorframe shake as he slams it after himself.

“I think he’s secretly happy for you, Laura.” Wade’s voice is light and full of sarcasm.

“That went just about as well as to be expected.” Al huffs from her position at her side as she takes Laura’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry, Sweetie. He’ll come round to the idea.”

“Yes, he fucking will.” Seeing your daughter's face crumble as he storms off like a child is apparently your breaking point.

You follow after him, though as you’re a grown adult in charge of her emotions you simply allow the door to close behind you.

“Haha! - She’s gonna beat the shit outta’ him! Its gonna’ be like 454 when she-” You hear Wade cackle as you take off.

It doesn’t take long to find him, you know the man better than you know yourself, though it does certainly help that he’s predictable as shit.

The closest bar to the apartment is where he’s pulled up a stool, his nose flares the second he smells you.

“I mean it this time, I’m not looking for damn company.”

You ignore him, just as you did the time before.

“Two Corona’s please.”

“I don’t drink that shit.” he huffs. “Corona and a Blue Ribbon.”

It shouldn’t hit you the way it does.

Just like before, this miniscule insignificant difference, it utterly devastates you.

A simple fact; his favourite beer. The drink he ordered at every bar he entered without fail - is suddenly, without warning, repulsive to him.

It just serves to remind you that the man slouched on the bar stool beside you is a complete stranger wearing the face of your dead lover.

Perhaps your Logan drank it simply because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings?

Had he hated it all along?

Did he only drink it because you did?

Maybe the beer is a pertinent metaphor for your entire life.

He only drank the beer because it was there, just like he only fell for you because there was no one better around.

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, you’re only bought out of your spiral by a bottle being placed down in front of you.

Shaking your head, you will yourself to calm down. After a few centering breaths, Logan is looking your way.

“Thought you were comin’ to give me a talkin’ to.”

It's funny, in a way, your spiral actually has calmed you, reminded you that this isn’t your Logan.

He’s a different man with his own set of wounds, trying to navigate this awful situation just like you are.

“I was going to. You were a dick to her back there.” You sigh, taking a sip of your beer. “Then I remembered everything… everything you’ve lost and I thought maybe I could just cut you some slack this time.”

“That's generous.” He shakes his head, sipping his own beer. “This whole things a fuckin’ mess.”

You can’t help but agree with a nod.

The two of you sit in silence, which would appear to be the norm these days, you have so much to say to one another, yet you can’t seem to find the words.

Speaking to him, finding out more of the things that are different about him, terrifies you.

Little do you know, Logan is fighting a similar battle.

He hates the weight of your gaze, how it seems to hold the expectation of the great man you’d lost with every glance, it's a constant reminder how short he falls of the anchor being this world lost.

“Where am I in your world?” You ask the question you’ve had on your mind since meeting him. He knows almost everything about you, and yet you know so little.

“Dead.” He sighs rubbing at his eyes. “With the rest of them.”

“Did we ever?” He looks your way sharply at this question, then gives a harsh shake of his head.

It hurts a little to know you were always in the background for him - it's difficult to think of a world where you always loved him from afar, never getting to feel his skin on yours.

“I mean - you’d have had to pay attention to someone other than her for that to happen, I guess.”

“How the fuck’-” He growls voice filled with a new emotion, one you’re not quite familiar with. Bemusement? Disbelief? “-has this turned into me being the bad guy for not noticing you?”

“Eh - you were a real asshole upstairs.” Smirking, you take another sip of your drink. “Question for a question? - Take it in turns?”

“I don’t wanna’ know anythin’ about your world.” He snaps, turning his head back, though you can see him watching you in the mirror beside the booze.

It's like a countdown, you watch him battle his volatile emotions.

5, 4, 3 , 2, 1.

“Fine.” He grunts into his beer bottle. “How’d they die?”

That throws you, you’d expected how’d we meet? What happened to Charles? Instead he hits you with that straight out the gate.

“Uh - Charles had started showing signs of a degenerative brain disease. I mean, he was old, prone to seizures. We were desperate to find a way to control them. We were blind… to the reality of the situation.” You take a sip, resting your forehead on your hand as your eyes ache and threaten to water, this was the first time you’d ever discussed this out loud.. “Then, he had a fucking grand mal … it … it wiped out everyone within a 100,000 foot radius.”

Unable to help it, you pick at the skin around your thumb. “It was… devastating. He killed them all. All the kids in their classrooms, our friends and family. Not even Jean could stop him.”

“He… he killed Jean?”

You're a little ashamed of the flare of jealousy at his devastation about the woman you’d always come second to. But you push that deep down, it's not the time nor place.

“How’d you survive?” He questions.

“I was away. I’d heard of a neurosurgeon in Germany, he was developing… Well, it doesn’t matter now. But I was away, whilst everyone I cared about died.”

You’d never had a need to speak of it, Logan had lived it alongside you - there was something cathartic about saying it all out loud. You wipe at your cheek as you gulp down the last of your drink, a heavy stone weighing your stomach now.

“Your turn.” Logan’s voice is deep in thought as gestures to the bartender for another. He’s extending an olive branch, a kindness in the face of your vulnerability.

You think about it for a moment, what you’d like to know.

“We were friends at least?”

“Oh yeah, we were the best of friends, Bub. You were… uh … a lil’ younger back there, never really looked at you that way.” He scratches at his bearded chin, he’s avoiding looking your way again, uncomfortable sharing these parts of himself. “You… uh… you were gonna have pups with Pete.”

“With Maximoff?!” You squeak disbelieving, whilst taking a sip of your beer prompting a coughing fit to end them all, as you gasp for air.

Logan sighs, slamming his open palm between your shoulder blades. He rubs the spot he just hit in a circle pattern, reminding you somewhat of the last time he drew circles.

“I had a baby with Peter?” You push your hair back from your face. “...That's why he used to stare at me … y’know there was one time…”

You smile fondly recounting a time you caught him staring creepily across your classroom before you remember that sweet silver haired kid in your memories is dead. The smile drops from your face in an instant; you didn’t have children with him because he’s six feet under.

“No. You were pregnant when….” He grunts, his voice has a raw edge to it. For two people constantly at odds, your souls were in the same state of flux, continually aching for vastly different reasons, yet at the root, the same cause.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment or two, you’re processing the fact that you almost had kids with Quicksilver and he’s no doubt regretting ever playing this game.

The game.

“It's your turn.”

“This is why she shouldn’t join them, everyone we know is dead.” Logan has had enough of the game as he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Being a goddamn hero gets you killed.”

“Logan.” You touch the back of the hand currently gripping the beer bottle neck like it owes him money. “She’s strong, stronger than me. Laura is you in every way that counts. She’s ridiculously stubborn, headstrong - even when she’s wrong - and she has a kind heart. She wants to use those gifts you’ve given her for good. How can you stand in the way of that?”

Logan’s hand flips over, his warm callused fingers coming to link around your own.

“The kind heart is all you, bub.”

The beers have loosened your tongue, made your anxieties seem a little further away.

“I don’t know. You have your moments.” His fingers dance along your palm, stroking the broken planes.

The two of you enjoy this easy intimacy you’d been forming over the past few days.

“How’d we get together?” Those instruments of death you’ve seen take countless lives, glide over the soft skin of your wrist. Your eyes, usually so afraid to meet his, can’t leave their hazel captivity as you process his blunt question

“Oh, uh…” Tucking your hair behind your ear with your free hand, your eyes dart to his fingers still drifting across your flesh.

“Don’t get shy on me now, bub.” He smirks, though his heart’s not in it.

That asshole.

Taking a deep gulp of your third beer, you rely on the liquid courage, before raising your eyes back to his.

“One night. It was a few days after everything, we had finally got a sedative for Charles. We had a moment to take stock of everything we’d lost. You … uh … he came to me and … he cried. The first time I’d seen it.” His hand pulls back, but you can’t help it, you refuse to release your hold. You don’t want to lose this connection. Your thumb dips, rubbing at his knuckle, at the joint where his claws always caused the bone to ache. “I held him and he kissed me, it was messy. It was desperate but I think we both needed to feel something that wasn’t grief.”

“And I thought I was special… ” His voice holds sarcasm though you can tell the sentiment behind it is anything but humorous.

“You are special to me.”

“Yeah.” His voice is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying.

“You are.”

“I look like the guy who’s special to you, darlin’. I’m not him, as much as you may wish I am. Hell I wish I was.” He has snatched his hand away as he slams cash down on the bar.

Logan has started the short walk back to the apartment, cutting through the alley.

He’s hurt, burying it deep beneath the rage. His anger is an old friend. One he’s comfortable confronting.

“I’m done with your stupid games. I’m done with it all. Haven’t you got the memo? I’m the worst Logan.”

“I’m so fucking sick of that! You’re so goddamn cruel to yourself.” You cry out at his leather covered shoulders, that in itself seems to stop him in his tracks. The Y/N from his world was a mousy wallflower through and through, nothing he’d seen from this world led him to believe you were any different and yet his ears weren’t deceiving him. “I loved my Logan - I fucking adored him. Yes, sometimes it's hard to separate the two of you, but I care for you.”

He stands motionless in the alley as you bare your soul.

“I’ve known you for a week. I can’t love you the same because you’re not the same person, not entirely, but my soul knows yours. You’re Logan.” You’ve closed the distance but he still wont turn around and perhaps that's what makes it easier to say the things you’ve been desperate to say for days. “I look in your eyes and I feel safe, when you touch me everything feels like it's going to be okay. You’re not the worst, you’re not the best. You’re Logan; you’re just Logan.”

Logan is on you instantly, silencing your words with a scorching kiss. It's the kind you see in movies, desperate, filled to the brim with passion, usually taking place in the rain.

His hands find your lower back, pulling you to him as your wrap your arms around his neck, making sure he can’t escape from your grasp, as he growls and pushes you against the brick wall.

Your nose aches from the pressure of his cheek pressed against it as he devours your mouth with his own. He is claiming your mouth with a week of pent up emotions. He grips your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist, pressing the hardened bulge of his jeans against your core.

“Mom? … Logan?”

There in the street light Laura is illuminated. Her face gives nothing away, she may as well be wearing those sunglasses for all you can garner from her expression.

“Hey Love! - I.. We…uh-” Logan slowly releases your thigh, slyly adjusting his jeans in an attempt to hide his erection. You do your best to stand in front of the -ahem- sizeable bulge.

“How's it going?” You ask with a faux air of casualness as you place your hands on your hips, though your voice has a weird edge.

“Pretty good. How’s it going for you?” Her own voice has a coy little smile to it, which puts you at ease just a little.

“Great, I’m great. Logan? You great?”

“Great.” He grunts behind you.

“Great! - Everyone’s … great.”

The three of you stand in silence for a second or two, processing what's just happened or perhaps trying to decide if great is still a real word.

“You’re so weird.” Laura snorts. “For the record I’m happy that you both pulled your heads out of your asses.”

“Baby-”

“Kid-” You and Logan speak in sync. Your eyes lock as you both try and decide how the other was going to finish that sentence.

“Laura - me and your Mom… uh… things are complicated… and we don’t want to drag you into this.” Logan, the man of very few words, has managed to find them. You’re stunned into silence as he takes control of a conversation… about feelings… with his daughter.

This is not any Logan that you know.

Laura looks to you, waiting for your seal of approval on the message.

“I know how confusing things are already, Bug.” You close the distance between the two of you, linking your fingers with hers. “Me and your dad, we’re working through some things.”

You notice Logan’s shoulders setting straighter at his new title, like a welcome weight has been placed upon them. She nods at your words, smiling devilishly.

“It was just a matter of time, Mama. He has a staring problem.”

“No, I fuckin’ don’t.” He growls from behind you both. Your heart feels lighter than it has in a decade as the two of you cackle at his defensive response.

He digs his hands into his pockets glaring your way, though it has no heat whatsoever behind it, in fact he looks like he’s fighting a smile.

With your hand still firmly in Laura’s you pull her back towards the apartment, linking your arm through Logan’s warm, thick leather clad one. He doesn’t take your hand, but he also doesn’t pull away as the three of you walk back to the house.

“Can we get pizza? - For emotional trauma?” She questions.

“Baby, I’ll buy you all the pizza in New York.” You reply rolling your eyes.

“Not with fuckin’ pineapple on.” Logan groans.

“Pineapple on pizza is objectively delicious!” Laura defends from her place on your otherside, she pulls on your hand still hanging between the two of you. “Back me up.”

“I will always have your back … but…. pineapple on pizza is in fact a crime against humanity.”

Logan lets out a guffaw of victory, as Laura snarls his way. You take a mental picture, the warmth in your chest, bracketed in by your two favourite people in the world. Life is good.

Laura leaves the next morning.

It is a difficult pill to swallow, after seven years by her side. You can’t quite make the leap to take her to the mansion, it's something she understands. So when you embrace her at the doorway after Ellie reassures you for the 30th time she’ll look out for her, you find it hard to let go.

There hasn’t been a day you’ve been without her since you first met the scrawny 12-year old in Mexico. Laura is an extension of you, like your heart is on the outside of your body and you’re not ready for your heart to go to West Chester without you being there to protect it.

At that moment you understand why she needs this independence, she’s 19 years old. She needs her own life, to experience everything it has to offer but that doesn’t make letting go any easier.

“You call if you need anything, anything at all.” You tell her as you push her hair behind her ears. “Don’t stay up too late but also don’t go to bed too early to make friends but make sure you get plenty of sleep.”

“I will get the perfect amount of sleep, don’t worry.” She grabs your wrists, removing your hands from her hair.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” You sigh, your anxiety is eating away at your stomach. She’s not the vulnerable child being hunted anymore, you try to remind yourself. “If you need me-”

“-If you need us. We’ll be there.” Logan cuts you off, interjecting his own amendment.

In a show of affection you’re not quite expecting, he hugs the girl. It's somewhat awkward and clumsy, the two have known each other for a week, but when they pull back, you can see the gesture was all that really mattered.

He hands her her backpack, which she throws one strap over her shoulder. The two smile at each other in their silent language, both such quiet souls.

When she turns back to you, you ask. “We can walk you down?”

“Stay here? It’s easier this way.” She looks so small as she pleads with you.

Taking mercy on her, you nod.

“Okay.” Waving you watch her turn for the door. You don’t expect however when she turns back and barrels into your chest for a final time, burying her face in your neck.

“I love you, Mama.” She whispers, you can’t help it as your eyes water. You wrap your arms around her, squeezing her tightly to your chest.

“I love you. You are my world.” You know she needs you to let her go for her to be able to walk through that door. So with a deep inhale of her hair for the road, you pull back gathering your strength. You pull her other strap onto her shoulder and push her hair back from her face. You wipe her tears from her cheeks and give her the biggest smile you can muster, despite your teary eyes and broken voice. “Give them hell, baby.”

Laura nods, giving her own matching teary smile. Her back straightens and her shoulders square as she follows Yukio and Ellie down the hall. The duo waving at you as they descend down the stairs.

You’re so busy watching your world disappear down the hall you barely feel the heavy warm hand wrap around your shoulder in comfort. You melt into Logan’s side as your heart shatters.

You wait for him to leave in a hurry, only he does the last thing you expect of the Wolverine. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. You close your eyes as the tears begin to fall against your will.

Logan strokes your back. He doesn’t offer any words of comfort, but he doesn’t need to, his presence alone is enough.

His trimmed beard, bristles against your hair as he places a kiss on the top of your head, burying his nose in your hair as he holds you.

It's hard to say how long the two of you stand there like that. Only when your body stops shaking do you finally look up through tear streamed eyes. Logan looks down at you, his face is lined with concern.

“You good?”

“I will be.” Your voice is broken from crying. “I-”

“I know, Bub.” He smiles your way, one you’ve not seen, perhaps ever.

It's soft, sympathetic but filled with adoration. He pushes the strand of hair, now sodden with tears, back behind your ear. His finger lingers on the curve of the bone for a moment or two before he pulls back.

“Bar?”

“Bar.”

Things change when Laura leaves. Not massively, and not entirely for the worst.

You and Logan had started sharing the bed, not like that (unfortunately), but sleeping next to one another. It was comfier than the sofa and his body curled around yours made you sleep a hell of a lot more soundly. Suddenly years of insomnia were cured by his muscled warmth curled around you like a safety blanket.

He never made a move to further it, even if you had once or twice tried to entice him by grinding your backside against his morning wood. The man was nothing if not resilient as he rolled away, grunting.

The two of you had been getting to know one another, you had resolved to treat him like a whole new man. This revelation meant that their differences weren’t such a blow anymore, you didn’t actively compare the two of them as much.

You had created a clear picket line in your head and it seemed to be working. They were two different versions of the same man, each with their own merits and disadvantages.

They weren’t to be compared.

The two of you had started a ritual of movie nights, evenings where you’d sit a little too close on the couch and pretend it wasn’t happening. He’d share a blanket he knew he didn’t need just to get close to you. It was a little uncomfortable when Wade asked to come under the blanket but you enjoyed the time spent with the clown,

In fact, your favourite night had been when you, Wade and Al had all sat down to watch the Notebook - the movie Logan point blank refused watch.

Yes, the movie he objected to so strongly, then proceeded to watch from behind the couch, standing awkwardly on the threshold of the lounge. Where he lingered for the first half an hour pretending to have no interest in it.

When the end credits came around he was back under the blanket with you and Wade, utterly refusing to admit that he’d cried.

That argument with Wade had gotten heated and he’d put three little tears in your blanket, but it was one of your fondest memories in this apartment.

It had been three weeks now. Only two of them had been spent hunting for a room that you could afford on a barista’s salary, which was the only job you were qualified for after dropping off the planet for the past ten years.

Colossus had offered you your old teaching position though you didn’t want to cramp Laura’s style and you didn’t think you could face stepping foot back in that mansion, too many of your ghosts lingered there. The same could be said for Logan, though he had found much better paying work at St Margarets.

He and Wade did odd jobs, merc work to pay the rent. They killed bad guys and got paid for it, and boy they got paid a hell of a lot more than you.

The coffee shop below Wade’s apartment, or waking hell, as you’d come to know it was your slice of a regular life; trying to push your circle peg into a triangle hole.

Its a 24-hour coffee shop, cause who doesn’t need caffeine at 3am? Tch. New York. You’re leaning on the counter a million miles away, contemplating if the graveyard shifts are worth the illusion of paying your way when Logan makes up most of your share of the rent anyway.

Your singular customer is a young guy typing away on his laptop, desperately trying to finish what looks like a college essay. He’s eleven espressos in and has been here since before your shift started at 5pm. You haven’t been told if you can cut someone off, but surely that much caffeine must count as overserving.

The bell above the door tingles loudly, the warm lights illuminate his red mask.

Wade.

“Hey angel baby!” He comes to the counter, pretending to read the board as if he hasn’t been here a million times before.

“Hi Wade.” You smile tiredly at the man. “What’cha want? It's on the house!”

“Ooooh, gimme’ a Caramel Macchiato but hit me with like 6 shots espresso, extra caramel and don’t skimp on the whipped cream - I like to call this the don't stop til dawn.”

“Your insides must be a mess.” You shake your head and get to making his drink.

“How’s the soul crushing service industry treating ya?” He asks, leaning one hand on the counter.

“It’s okay. A little boring, but not so bad, nobody's shooting at me.” You motion downwards with your eyes to the fresh bullet holes in his red suit.

“Ha! Yeahhh. But it's good old fashioned fun, beating guys to a pulp, saving kids from trees, taking candy from cats.” You roll your eyes at the man. “But they say, if you love your job you never work a day in your life! And boy, I love my job.”

You're steaming the milk when he speaks up again, shouting loudly over the machine. “You should come and work with me and Logi Bear. He’s 10% less of an old grumpy fuck when you’re around.”

He’s still shouting when the machine quietens, making your cringe a little as the kid looks your way. This isn’t the first time Wade’s broached the subject with you.

“I get you wanna move out, we love having you, but I get that Al’s old lady smell can get sorta’ overwhelming after a while.”

“Wade.” You sigh, admonishing his jokes about the lady who you’ve grown to care for in the past month. “If you didn’t live in a two bed, I’d love to stay, but it's just too small and I want you to have your bedroom back. I hate feeling like a burden.”

You secure the lid to his drink when its finally complete. “One heart attack in a cup.”

“My favourite.” His mask contorts around the eyes showing his smile. “Oh Wolvie’s upstairs in bad shape. Something took a fuckin’ chunk outta him.”

“What the fuck Wade?! Why didn’t you lead with that?” You’re pulling off your apron and halfway around the counter before you remember your shift isn’t over for another hour.

“Cause’ then you wouldn’t have made my fast juice.”

Ah fuck it.

“Don’t steal the cash register.” You warn the kid looking your way. “He’ll hunt you down and beat the crap out of you.”

Wade waves at the kid behind you, he has his macchiato in one hand and baby knife in his other for special effect. The kid gives a look of ‘Jeez’ before returning to his work.

“You coming?” You ask when your almost half way through the door.

“Nah - saving innocents makes me hungy. Fork hands has his healing factor. He'll be fine.” Wade replies dismissively.

Huffing you turn on your heel and practically run to the apartment.

A chunk out of him?

Logan's healing factor was significantly better without the adamantium poisoning but surely he could die. In an instant you’re back in North Dakota, holding his hand as he fades away.

Your breath is heavy as you take the steps two at a time.

Not again.

The door is thrown open and instead of chaos you find the lights dimmed, candles all over the apartment and there Logan stands in a new plaid buttondown and his finest wranglers. He’s holding a bouquet of sunflowers in those veined hands you love so much. It's like something out of a Danielle Steel novel and you utterly melt.

The panic that had clutched your heart recedes. Your anxiety releases its grip on you.

“You’re not hurt?”

“No, bub. I’m fine. Sorry for the clown. He offered to help and I…”

You shake your head and smile at him, hesitantly you take a step forward. When you’re close enough he hands them your way. “I have it on good authority, they’re your favourites.”

“They are.”

“I wanna give you what you deserve, sweetheart.” He starts, it's like he’s rehearsed it in his head. Little do you know it's all his thought about for the past three weeks. “You deserve more than a romp in the woods, or an alley.”

He seems to cringe at this before continuing.

“I’m not like the other guy. He was a goddamn anchor being, hero through and through from what I hear about him. I’m angry, I kill people and I drink too goddamn much, but when you look at me, I feel like I could be him.” For the first time, it is him that takes your hand in his much larger one. “Do you know how jealous of that asshole I am, Bub? That he got you first? That he got to have your uncomplicated love. If you’d been older in my timeline, I would've’ met you first, I wouldn’t have looked twice at another and I’d have fallen for you the second you looked up at me from beneath those eyelashes, how could I not when everything about you is so easy to love?”

You’ve always been a crier, and this is no different. The man is stamping down every single one of your insecurities, reassuring you as you go. Making you feel more loved then you’ve ever felt before.

“I adore you. From your crappy cooking-”

“-Hey.”

“Your porny books you think I don’t see, to the way you cry at movies, how much you love our daughter. I fuckin’ love you Y/N. Its messy and complicated, I’m not sure if you could-”

In a total role reversal it is you who cuts him off, grabbing his face in your palms and dragging his face down to yours. Your mouths join for the first time in weeks, it is hot and full of desire and love. It's like the two of you are releasing all of your tension into this kiss, finally the air has been cleared and it's rejuvenating.

You press your forehead to his, gasping for breath as his kisses steal the air from your lungs.

“Lo, I guarantee every version of me loves you, even if you were too blind to see it in your world.”

“You were a married woman in my world, bub.”

You gasp theatrically. “Adulturerer.”

“You’ve spent too much time with that fuckin’ idiot.” He kisses your lips, though you don’t let it turn into anything deeper, as you pull back rubbing your nose against his.

“Fornicator.”

“tch… stop.” He groans, grabbing your ass pulling you into his bulge, you bite his lip with a giggle. “Why do you have these lined up?”

He never gets his answer as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his back and carries you through to the bedroom. You pull away from his mouth, looking over to the set dinner table.

“The food… you went to all that effort!” He is kissing your neck, nipping and lathering the bites with his tongue.

“Can’t cook for shit, darlin’. It’s take out, we can heat it up. I’m hungry for your fuckin’ sweet cunt right now. “

Your lower stomach clenches at his positively filthy words, you join your lips back to his. His teeth nip at your lip as he plunges his tongue into your mouth, running the tip along your teeth.

Before there had been need, but now, you’re both desperate. You’ve had a mere taste of what the other has to offer and now you’ve starved yourself for months.

“Not gonna’ last long on the first, darlin’.” He groans into your mouth as your hand works its way into his pants. He is eager as he throws you back onto the bed and is already working at peeling your black jeans down your legs. “Those fuckin’ shorts you sleep in, fuck. I’ve been dreamin’ about buryin’ myself in ya’ for weeks.”

“Please, Lo.” You’re not sure what you’re already begging for but you are desperate. You’re left in your uniform tee and panties, as he slowly unbuttons his button down, slowly revealing the white undershirt beneath. You’ve never found collarbones particularly attractive, but the tanned skin stretched across his is quite frankly delectable.

You pull your shirt over your head, all too eager to be rid of the reminder of the job you should by all rights be at right now. Your bra is quick to follow.

“Those gorgeous tits, been thinking of these every fucking night.” You groan at his admission. He himself is shirtless, you have half a mind to return the same complement as your hands brush against his perfectly sculpted pecs.

This man was the perfect specimen, it was unfair, t shirts should be outlawed for him. He grabs the waistband of your panties.

‘Snikt’ and a rip sound and you are utterly bare before him, laying across Wade’s bed.

Those gorgeous strong hands trace the planes of your body, circling your nipples before his mouth takes their place.

He groans as his hands descend to your core. “All this for me? I’m gonna’ fuckin’ slide in, Baby.”

And he does, two fingers push through your tight slick opening, three weeks of foreplay have left you soaking wet and wanting. How can you live with a man who looks the way he does, who consistently works out in the living room shirtless and not have the ocean in your panties.

It seems Logan has had all he can take as he slides a third finger in, pumping it in and out of you, rubbing at your clit with his thumb. Gasping you grab at your sheets desperate to anchor yourself.

He kisses up your breast, lavishing your chest in kisses and bites. Never enough to leave a mark but just enough to excite you.

When he’s at your neck he leans in, whispering into your ear. “I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin that pussy.”

You can’t help it, maybe you’re a whore for this man, but you don’t fucking care. Your legs part even further on the bed.

“Please, Logan. I need you to fuck me.”

He grins savagely, pushing his already undone belt and jeans down his hips. He’s back up and claiming your mouth, your legs wrapped around his ass, pulling you down to him before he knows it.

One hand is bearing his weight as the other disappears, he lines himself up at your entrance, the head of his cock breaching your folds. He’s thick, thicker than you remember, but there isn’t any discomfort this time. He settles for a moment, his forehead against yours. His mouth dips to join your lips, his tongue lashing out and fucking your mouth as his hips leap forward spearing you on his cock. The bed creaks with the power of his hips as he fucks you hard into the matress.

Skin slapping on skin is all that can be heard as he readjusts onto his knees, he’s desperate to be as deep as possible and you need the same thing.

“Lo-”

“I know, darlin’.” He grabs your waist, lifting you as if you weigh nothing at all and flips you over. Suddenly you’re astride him, your knees either side of his hips as his head rests in the pillows.

His eyes are distracted by your tits as he smirks, happy with the view.

You ache for him, so you reach down, lining his thick purple headed member with your core before you sink down in one stroke, his extended groan absolutely wrecks you as his big hands come to rest on the meat of your hips.

You rest your hands on his amply hair covered chest, using his pecs as leverage before you raise your hips before slamming back down and bottoming him out.

He’s so deep inside you, the tip of him must be brushing your goddamn cervix as you raise yourself once more, until he almost slips out before meeting his hips once more.

Logan’s strength never fails to surprise you as his hands follow your lead yet help lift you through the manoeuvre.

You’re bouncing on his cock, quick rise and fall sporadically grinding your clit deliciously into his pelvis.

Logan feels fucking amazing inside of you, maybe its been the buildup of weeks but you find yourself heading towards the dive faster than ever before.

“Ride my cock,sweetheart. That’s it, make yourself feel good.”

Gasping at his words and the change of position as he sits up, wrapping his arms around you and claiming your mouth. The second you find the angle that feels amazing against your clit, you hit it again and again, grinding hard against him.

“Lo - I’m gonna … I’m gonna -” You crash before you can get the words out, your toes curl by his knees and your whole body seizes in ecstasy. The world feels right as the stars appear behind your eyes.

The world stopped for you for a moment but not for Logan. He has bought his knees up and is pistoning his hips into your contorting body. He’s holding you against him, groaning into your neck as he continues to fuck your clenching pussy relentlessly.

“Oh fuck … your so fucking tight. Fucking perfect cunt- made - for - me.” He growls into your neck, but you’re too cock drunk to hear it properly, as he frantically thrusts his powerful hips up and into you.

“Where? ” He pulls back, never slowing his hips as he grabs your cheeks with one hand. Your sweat laden face, vacant and looking back at him, your cunt hasn’t stopped clenching around him as he plunders your depths, his voice is strained as he asks again “Darlin’...you gotta … tell me … where?”

“...inside, Lo. Please come inside me…” Your so overstimulated, you could cry. The sound of his balls slapping against skin as he thrusts upwards deep inside of you, whilst he pulls your body down. He’s so fucking deep inside of you, your pussy squelching from a mixture of precum and your arousal.

With another string of lewd words he’s coming hard, Logan’s head has fallen back against the headboard exposing the thick chords of muscle, you can't help sinking your teeth into it, you dip your hand and rub at your clit clumsily, you’re so fucking overstimulated from watching him you follow him over the precipice once more, giving him an insanely tight sheath to come in.

“That’s it, take it all, sweetheart” He groans as he continues to slowly pump his seed deep within you

Gasping you fall slack in his arms, your bones are jelly and your muscles ache, you really are a pillow princess.

“Still with me?” You manage to nod your clammy forehead against his pec, you currently have your cheek squished against. He chuckles, as he lies back against the pillows, leaving his cock still inside of you, you can feel him leaking out of you as he softens a little, recovering for what you imagine will be another enthusiastic round if history is a teacher.

You are utterly fucked out as you lie on his chest, listening to his breath with his cum slowly leaking from your abused hole.

The two of you have never needed words, you lie against his chest, the hands you adore so much, come out to stroke your hair.

Rubbing soothingly at your scalp before running his calloused fingers through the locks and repeating.

When you’ve finally gathered enough strength you lean on your hands, looking up at him.

“Welcome back, bub.”

“Hello.” You smile shyly, like you hadn’t just sunk your canines into his neck whilst wantonly riding his cock to oblivion.

“You okay?” He asks, his hand rising to stroke your swollen bottom lip.

“Someone fucked me brain dead - but yeah, I’m good.” You smirk, nipping at his thumb.

He grins wolfishly and chuckles with his whole body, the movement causes his cock to move inside of you. Slowly you feel him hardening once more.

“You can still talk, Darlin’. Means I haven’t done my job properly.” The predatory gaze in his eyes excites and scares you in equal parts. Though you’re probably asking for trouble when you take his thumb back in your mouth.

It's light outside when you finally have to tap out.

Your pussy is aching, your ass is stinging from the new sensation, your jaw throbs and your entire body is boneless.

You can’t quite catch your breath and your cunt is leaking so much cum, that you’re probably 10% Logan at this point.

The Wolverine has utterly devoured you, making up for three weeks of torment in one night. Though he’s not all bad as he feeds you noodles from chopsticks as you lay on his muscled hair laden thighs.

When Logan had suggested food, you’d had to stop him from eating Wontons from your belly button as none of your holes were currently operational.

The two of you have dressed, though that is a strong use of the word as you’re wearing only his button down and him only his underwear.

You’re lazing on the couch watching reruns of Friends as your bed sorely needs fresh sheets and a new base. Poor Wade, you’d have to replace it before you move out. Like he could read your mind, Logan begins.

“I found a new place, its nothing fancy but its got four walls and no roommates.” You smile at him around your mouthful of noodles as he takes his own bite.

Sitting up you smile. “That’s great news, Lo.”

“I uh- wanted to see, if you’d wanna come with me.”

You can’t help your grin.

fin.

I am currently posting this at the airport before my flight. I love you all! 💖

#wolverine x reader #worst logan x you #worst logan x reader #worst logan #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #Logan x reader

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