v44lentine - Tumblr blog

v44lentine · 10 hours ago

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STOP IM CRYING what is this tooth rotting fluff

AND FOR ONCE, YOU LET GO OF YOUR FEARS AND YOUR GHOSTS — dick grayson

hurt/comfort, slight angst (he's okay in the end), love confession, big steps in a relationship. when dick grayson stumbles through his girlfriend's window in the early hours of the morning, she's there to patch him up and listen to all that troubles him.

It’s some time after four in the morning when Dick Grayson finally steps through the window into your apartment. He shouldn’t be here. It’s not fair on you. He knows it’s not, but he can’t help himself.

He’s silent as he moves across your living room floor, still silent as he opens your bedroom door. He hates that he has to be here. He hates even more the fact that you left your living room window open a crack so he could come in. He’s closed it now, locked it and made sure all the security measures he’d installed for you were in place how they should be.

He doesn’t want to wake you, doesn’t want to disturb you as you look so peaceful in the comfort of sleep. He doesn’t even need to touch you. Well, he does. But he won’t. Not if it’ll wake you up.

He just needs to see you. Needs to know you’re safe, alive, breathing, content. He needs to sit in the comfort of the sound of your breathing, the smell of everything that’s so unequivocally you. The detergent on fresh sheets, your shampoo, shower gel, the remnants of your perfume lingering. Even the underlying scent of your worn shoes that just barely creeps through everything else.

He knows where not to step. Where floor creaks and where there’s little things hellbent on stabbing him in the foot. Not that they’d do a good job through the suit, but he won’t risk it.

But through all his manoeuvring, he bends just slightly too far the wrong way, and he’s hissing in pain.

You stir, and hum. He thinks for a moment that maybe it’s okay. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he hasn’t woken you up and ruined your sleep because he’s an idiot.

But he’s wrong. “Dick?” You mumble. “You there?”

He winces. Not at the annoying pain in his side, but because now you’re awake. It’s nearly 5:00 AM and you’re awake because he didn’t think.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, honey, go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

He looks at the clock on your nightstand. The numbers on it glow faintly, almost accusatory. Oh, he knows.

“4:47,” he replies. “I’m sorry for waking you, baby.”

You push yourself up, eyes opening properly and taking in the sight of him. Your eyes are soft as you evaluate him, the redness of his cheek as a bruise begins to form, the cut above his eyebrow, the faint glow of the lenses of his mask, which he has yet to take off. “Dick-”

“Don’t worry about me, baby. I’m okay.”

You shake your head. “Come here.”

“’m dirty. You just washed your sheets.”

“I don’t care.” You stand from the bed, patting it. “Sit. Wait while I get the first aid kit.”

He gives in, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting for your return. It’s not a long wait, but every second without you feels like agony. It’s worse than anything that happened tonight.

When you return, you sink onto the bed next to him, setting the kit down next to you. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” you whisper, lifting the mask from him. His beautiful blue eyes meet yours, and it hurts to see the sadness in them.

You dab at the cut above his eyebrow with an alcohol-dipped cotton pad. You know that nights like these, he needs time before he can open up about it. So you treat the cut on his brow, the bruise on his cheek. Then you begin pushing his suit down his shoulders and torso.

“If you wanted me out of my clothes that badly, all you had to do was ask,” he jokes, but it lacks the same tone he usually has. Dick flirts with you all the time. Even now that you’ve been together for almost a year. And he still holds the same charm that he did when you first met, when he first realised his feelings and decided he was going to ‘make a move’. But tonight, he doesn’t hold the same charm or humour in his voice.

“Dick…” you murmur. He’d spent far too long being valued by Gotham’s social elite and their tabloids only for his looks. He was gorgeous, there was no denying that, he was the most wonderful person you’d ever laid eyes upon. But he was far too used to being a performer, even through his worst times, laying on the charm thick as possible when he had to attend a gala that fell during some of the bad days.

You get the suit down to his waist, where you let it rest as you evaluate the bruises, cuts and scrapes on his chest and abdomen.

You begin cleaning a cut on his chest, wondering whether or not it’ll need stitches. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” At your expression, he sighs. “I just- my head wasn’t in it.”

“Then where was your head?” You ask, threading the needle. “Hm? Tell me what’s going on, Dick.”

“I just… don’t know if I’m enough,” he whispers.

Your expression turns softer still. “What? Dick, of course you are. You’re more than enough. If you ask me, you’re more than most of this city deserves.” He sniffs, still trying to hold in the tears. “Do you want me to numb it before I start the stitches?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I can take it. It’s okay.”

You begin to sew the cut shut, back and forth, back and forth. It’s muscle memory by now, the number of times you’d stitched him up after a rough night. Never like this, though. Usually, even when he’d taken worse beatings, he could still crack jokes easily and he’d still lay on that Dick Grayson charm. Not tonight.

When you’re done, you lean down, placing soft kisses along the edge. You cover over a graze on his side, the one he’d irritated earlier that had led to you waking up.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he says, voice heavy with regret and despair.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. It’s not. You have work.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t. I’m taking the day off. Want to spend time with you.”

“You don’t have to do that. You shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.”

“You’re more than worth it, honey. Besides, I’ve had it booked since last week, so I can’t just take it back.” You reach up with one hand to cup his face, tilting his head to look at you. His eyes are filled with tears. “Oh, Dick, sweetheart.”

He breaks then. The tears spill over, and he collapses into your hold, your arms wrapping around him. He smells of blood, sweat, dirt, and smoke, but you don’t care one bit. You’ll hold him forever if that’s what he needs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He lets out a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, my love,” you assure him. “I promise you, that you’re more than enough. Do you trust me?” He nods. “Then trust that I’m telling you the truth.”

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m falling and I won’t ever stop.”

“I know, honey. But I’m here to catch you. I’ll always be here. You do so much for this city, for your team, your family, me. You work so hard, honey, and I know that it’s difficult. And I know you don’t feel like it’s enough sometimes but it is. You’re so good, Dick. You bring hope, safety, happiness. I know it’s a lot of responsibility, but you shoulder it so well. I just wish you didn’t feel like you had to take on everything. Sometimes you need a break, and that’s okay.”

“But who else protects Bludhaven?”

“That’s the problem, Dick. You take care of this all by yourself.”

“Bruce protected Gotham by himself.”

“Bruce hadn’t been Batman for nearly as long before you came along. Besides, he’s had help for years now. You handle Bludhaven, you still help in Gotham, you run the Titans. Hell, you help the Justice League from time to time. Even Bruce has bad times too. Even Batman struggles with his responsibilities. Both of you have yourselves convinced that you have to take on all this responsibility and pressure because if you don’t, you’re not worthy of love. But even with all that, neither of you think you’re enough. And I love you for your heroism and your courage and your goodness. I really do, but you need days off. You need time to just be Dick Grayson. Not Nightwing, not the Wayne heir, not the socialite the tabloids love. Just Dick. The same one who I fell for.”

He stops sniffling for a few seconds, just breathing irregularly. “You love me?” He whispers then, breaking the silence. He pulls back, your arms falling loosely to his sides. You hadn’t realised you’d said it.

“Yes,” you whisper back. “Yeah, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, hands cupping your face. “So much.”

You smile, and it’s the first time tonight that he’s smiled and it’s felt genuine. He kisses you, softly, lovingly, every inch of his soul poured into you. It’s such a simple kiss. Neither of you dare deepen it - you both know it’s not the time. It’s just ordinary, small, wet with his tears, but it’s the most wonderful, caring action.

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, pulling away from him.

“No.”

“How about a bath? Or a shower?”

“No, I just want to hold you.”

You smile softly, nodding. “Let me find something for you to wear. It’s colder tonight.” You stand, moving around your room to find any of his clothes that he’s left behind. You think you might’ve run out of clean things of his in his allocated drawer. “It’s getting really difficult, working with only one drawer of your clothes.”

“Especially when you use my shirts to sleep in,” he comments.

“True.” You hum as you find a pair of his sweatpants, folding them over your arm.

“Maybe it would be easier if we just lived together,” he says.

You turn to him, now holding one of your baby tees, mistaken for a shirt of his. The words “I’m too sexy for this shirt” stare at him, standing out against the white cotton. “Do you mean it?” You ask.

“I do. I want us to live together. I love seeing our shoes next to each other when we stay together. I love seeing your things at my place. I love cooking together. I want to stay up late talking to you. I want to dance in the kitchen in the middle of the night. I want to come home to you.”

You smile, practically attacking him with the way you hug him. “I want all of that too.” You kiss his cheeks, then his forehead, then peck him on the lips before you roll off the bed to look for a t-shirt. You throw the items at him when you’ve found them.

When he’s changed, the two of you lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. And you look up at him while the first hints of the sunrise filter through the crack in the curtains.

You look up at him, and he meets your eyes, a loving smile on his face. “I love you, Dick Grayson. And I can’t stand to see you destroy yourself.”

“I love you too. I’ll stay together for you.”

#gonna read this later

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v44lentine · 11 hours ago

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Desperation Bruce Wayne x fem!Reader

MDNI wc: 1.8K warnings: smut, softdom!bruce, p in v, light spanking (?), praise, was too lazy to write the aftercare, so just imagine it summary: Bruce gets frustrated at the charity event and eventually takes it out on you once you are home. a/n: divider (@saradika-graphics), i felt myself cringe while writing this, and that usually means that i did well. but still, im sorry if it's too cheesy or unrealistic, i did my best to give you my vision😖

You know that Bruce despises events like these, too many rich people who never had to work a single day in their life, who always try to brag to him about the most unimpressive stuff, or try to have intelligent conversations about economics or social studies. It‘s all the same stuff as well, it‘s always the same ‘intelligent‘ discoveries these people try to tell him about. Fortunately, you only had to hear about Bruce complains and never had to fave these people on your own. Unfortunately, you convinced your husband to tag along with him tonight.

You didn‘t expect for a lot of people to approach the both of you, but it still happened, as Bruce is used to. But when they did, they never really acknowledged you. The very least someone did acknowledge you, was to simply give you a side glance before continuing to ‘subtly‘ brag about about how many cars he has.

Bruce‘s hand stays at its familiar place, around your waist, giving you an occasional squeeze. The squeezes become more frequent as the people around the round table keep talking to him, not giving him a chance to even steal a sip of his drink. You notice his growing frustration, even when he hides it well. The guests around the ball room are chatting amongst themselves, creating a bubble of mixed conversations, together with the subtle scent of alcohol and different perfumes. No doubts, expensive.

Finally, Bruce has a brilliant idea, and excuses the two of you from the table, before standing up and walking to the middle of the dance area.

»All this talk about money and expensive models gets on my nerves… they don‘t even bother talking about the topic of today‘s event.« He murmurs lowly as he smoothly glides you along with him, one hand holding yours, the other propped up against the curve of your waist.

You chuckle softly in return, studying his tired features, »I know... they actually make me feel like an intelligent person for once.«

Bruce expression softens finally, keeping his eyes glued to you.

»You are intelligent… even if it‘s not hard to be smarter than them.« He can‘t help but tease lightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. You pinch his shoulder in return, crinkling his perfect suit slightly.

Your peaceful dance under the classical music from the romantic era gets interrupted as a rather old man approaches the both of you, wearing a rich smile on his face. Bruce‘s expression falls immediately, reluctantly stopping the dance, even though he selfishly wants to keep going and ignore everyone else. But that would be childish, too.

»I sincerely apologise for interrupting your wonderful dance, but I was wondering...«

Your husband restrains himself from letting out the most annoyed sigh ever, keeping himself composed in front of the unfamiliar man. Maybe another economics man, ready to ramble his ears off about nothing other than his spendings on money and begging for Bruce‘s opinion about his decisions.

You watch them interact with a faint smile, knowing very well about your husband‘s annoyance, noticing his jaw clench every now and then. Luckily, the older men steps away, leaving you alone.

»He could‘ve just… nevermind.« Bruce sighs out, not bothering to curse him out, considering you are both still at a public event. He shakes his head lightly and focuses his gaze back on you, expression growing less guarded. »Ready to leave? It‘s getting late.«

You can‘t deny his offer, getting sick of the sticky air inside the ballroom as well. Bruce feels more than reliefed once you step out of the large, barouque building, approaching the car, where Alfred‘s already sitting inside, waiting to drive you both home.

◖

Once inside, Bruce gets rid of his tie and hangs up his suit jacket, before he finally turns his full attention to you. You just got rid of your high heels and can‘t wait to slip into bed to give your feet a break, but once you glance at Bruce, you‘re sure this won‘t be happening anytime soon.

»I don‘t know ‘bout you, but this evening made me really worked up...«

He slurs out quietly while taking some steps closer to you, secretly hoping you feel the same way. He doesn‘t need to hope though, because you‘d be happy to provide him in anything. You nod in response, letting him come closer and almost close the gap between you both.

»Oh, definitely… but I kinda enjoyed seeing you frustrated for once.« You smirk up at him, a mischivous glint in your eyes. It makes him shakes his head lightly in return, although the corners of his lips curl up slightly.

»Cheeky,« he exhales softly before pulling you closer by your hip, gently connecting your lips into a sweet kiss. Your hand props up at his chest, curling around the cool fabric while Bruce deepens the kiss. He makes you tilt your head, his larger hand resting by the nape of your neck.

It takes a lot in him not to finish what he started in the hallway, but he eventually breaks the kiss and takes steadying breaths, his eyes trained on you like a prey.

Your back hits the door as soon as you reach your master bedroom, making you huff out softly. Bruce doesn‘t waste his time to attack your neck with open-mouthed kisses and light bites, working his way down to the column of your throat, and down to your collarbones. A quiet hiss escapes you as you feel his bites become harsher, probably enough to create faint marks the next day. Your hands desperately clinge to his shoulders, one at the back of his neck, keeping him close while keeping you steady on your feet. A soft growl escapes him, seeming impatient. His hands finally stop roaming over you curves, picking you up by the back of your thighs. He sets you up against the next furniture, his moves being rushed and needy. Due to his rushed demeanor, he placed you down on the surface of the dresser messily, making you shift to be more comfortable on it.

»Sorry, I… I didn‘t hurt you, right?« He catches his breath as he takes you in on top of the dresser, noticing your flushed demeanor.

»I‘m all good, just didn‘t expect this,« you answer, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. Bruce grows smug at your action, letting himself be pulled close again. His breath fans against you before he nuzzles to your neck. You feel a gentle tap at your thigh, his voice coming out low and commanding.

»C‘mon… spread,«

A light shiver goes through your spine, listening to his words without a single thought in your head. He settles in once your legs allow him to, pushing your evening dress a little more up.

You feel his cool hands trace your body until one of them travels down to your middle, gently rubbing and starting to work you up further. A breathy sigh leaves your lips before Bruce crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing all of your sounds. You weakly grip to his upper arm, supporting yourself as best as you can. His hand quickens its pace against your core through your lacy panties, making your brain melt. Your lips part further as your mind goes slack, allowing him to deepen the kiss and rub slow circles against your tongue with his.

A quiet whine leaves you as he suddenly stops, breaking the kiss too.

»Sorry, darl‘… patience.« He mumbles softly as he starts to undo his belt, keeping his hazy eyes trained on your face. You grow hotter under his eyes, trying to rub your thighs together again, but it‘s impossible with him between your legs. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, dragging his teeth against his bottom lip once his pants finally fall down.

Your eyes fall to his boxers, noticing the light patch on the front. Without further hesitation, Bruce‘s boxer briefs get pulled down, mixed with a quiet groan from his side.

He leans in again, his hot skin pressing against yours, feeling like you‘ll melt any second. You feel the way his lips trace along the side of your neck while he gently teases you, feeling his tip nudge against the outside of your panties. Your hand shoots out to hold onto him again, settling against his shirt as you grip tightly on him.

Having had finally enough of it, he pushes your panties to the side and dives in, being as gentle as he can, even in his desperate state. You tense up at the sensation, not used to his size, due to the busy lives of you both.

»Shh… it‘s okay. I‘ve got you,« Bruce gently shushes you and wrap his arms around your torso, keeping you close against him as he continues to gently drive in further.

You slowly relax again and regain your breath, keeping a tigh grip against his shirt. Once he bottoms out, you can‘t help but tremble slightly, being overwhelmed with the hotness and full feeling he provides. You nod against his shoulder, giving him the final sign for him to start out properly.

His rhythm starts out slow and sensual, but it quickly evolves into a quicker and rougher pace. He drives more urgently into you, trying to be gentle at the same time. The strokes are deep, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He adjusts his grip on you, changing the angle lightly as he continues to shove his hips against yours, not giving you a break.

The room fills with soft flaps from skin slapping against skin, your breathy moans mix with his deep groans, making the scene more erotic than it already is. The sensations finally start to kick in, making your breath hitch. He notices the slight shift in you, knowing it won‘t take long for you to come undone before him.

He leans back a bit to watch your face, his hands keeping a firm grip on your hips as he pushes himself into you even harder than before. Your eyes roll back, moans growing higher in pitch. He relieshes in the way you melt because of him, the way you look like you are losing your mind, all because of him.

He groans and a possesive feeling overcomes him, making his hips snap rougher against yours. Sure enough, your climax comes in after a few final thrusts, his jaw going slack as he feels how tightly you squeeze him.

His pace doesn‘t die down, if anything, he‘s trying to speed up a little further. It‘s not until he feels himself grow closer to the edge until he pulls out and continues to drive himself to pleasure with his fist. You hear him moan out softly and nestle his head against your shoulder once he finishes, white spurts of his cum painting your panties white. You run your hand along his back in a soothing motion, helping him calm down too. He comes down faster than you, meeting his eyes again after catching his breath.

»Let‘s clean ya‘ up… did so well for me.« He mutters as he rubs your upper thighs, eventually picking you back up into his arms and walking to the attached bathroom.

←MASTERLIST

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v44lentine · 17 hours ago

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CRUSH- D.GRAYSON

pairing: richboy! dick grayson x girly! innocent!fem! reader

part one here!

word count: 2.7k

summary: its the morning after your prince charming had swooped you off your feet, and somehow- dicks secret superpower is diminishing hangovers, by taking care of you.

warnings: sexual thoughts/ implications, kissing/ slight make-out session, pet names, mentions of masturbation, size kink implied, swearing, dick asks reader out on her first date and kinda acts like a sugar daddy lol, he's kinda a soft dom in a way...

Your head felt like a truck had run over it.

As if you had been tossed on the road, and a Ford F150 had slowly taken its time driving its tires over your head.

You woke up, still in your clothes from the night before, makeup smudged and jewellery tangled. Groaning, you slowly pulled each limb out of bed, feeling like a jello.

The clock hands ticked just past ten thirty, but it felt like you had got an hour of sleep, tops.

You were in definite need of a nap today, you thought to yourself as you slowly rocked up to your feet, tugging off your clothes from the previous night.

The fact you had worn outdoor club clothes in your bed… yeah, you’d need to wash your sheets today too.

You let the morning light that peaked through your thin curtains illuminate the path to your dresser, where you tugged on a new pair of panties and an oversized band tee. Kicking past skirts and thongs, you placed your head in your hands before you managed the courage to go out and brave the bathroom.

And the kitchen. But the thought of greasy bacon and eggs made you excited, just a little.

You creaked open your door, starting to walk to the bathroom before stopping in your tracks.

Oh fuck.

Dick Grayson lay sprawled on the couch, blanket covering practically nothing as he snoozed. His legs were spread, one out on the floor, the other over the arm of the couch.

And his abs… Oh god.

Here was this man- completely sprawled out in your living room- that you had completely forgotten about him staying- mind you. You didn't know why he stayed- the couch clearly was not suited for him- but you were glad he did.

You just needed to get things ready before he woke. And put pants on.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck…” you mumbled, feet pattering on the hardwood as you scurried to the bathroom.

What you didn't know of course, was the man was already awake- and had been for a while. He had learned to “pretend sleep”, so his roommates would leave him alone when they came home and he was in the living room.

You didn't even let the water warm up before you were scrubbing at your face frantically, like a mad woman before trying to fix your bedhead.

Soon he’d be awake, and you wanted to make him breakfast in bed (on the couch? You didn't know what the hell to call it).

It was the least you could do for him, for taking care of you. He was so sweet. It made your heart flutter, remembering how kind he was to you last night. And here he was on your uncomfortable ass sofa!

A true gentleman indeed.

You frantically rushed to the kitchen, seeing his body still splayed out as you darted to the kitchen, trying your best to be quiet.

“Fuck fuck okay make coffee, make him coffee and find eggs…” you whispered to yourself, making him smirk to himself. He cracked an eye open, shifting so he rested his head over the sofa, watching you silently.

You were in your own little world, trying to reach for a mug on the highest shelf.

“Need any help with that bun?”

You jumped, whipping around to face where he rested his arms and head over the couch back- a smirk on his face.

“You scared me! How long have you been awake for? I’m so sorry if I was loud-”

“A while. You werent loud sweetheart. Dont need to get yourself all worried about me, okay?”

He stood with a stretch, ruminging around on the ground before he found his target- tugging on his pants from last night. You quickly averted your gaze- covering your eyes with a hand as he tugged them on, pulling your fingers apart just a peak to try and get a glance.

You felt guilty but- oh well. You already saw him when he was “sleeping”.

Heat spread throughout your body as he made his way over to you, trapping you in against the countertop- facing his chest as he reached up with ease to grab the mug you were after. You were frozen in place for what felt like forever, as if you were a statue, just marveling at the sight of him.

“T-thanks.” you managed to mutter out as he handed you the mug, cocky grin plastered across his face- knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

Oh but wait! Things get better! Your inner monologue shouted at you as his hand reached up to brush a stray eyelash of your cheek, rough thumb so gentle across your skin.

“You feeling okay?” he asked gently, knowing last night was… something.

“I’m okay. I have this throbbing in my head- like a drum. S’annoying.”

He snorted, grabbing another mug for himself.

“Yeah that’ll do it. Coffee will fix you up.”

“Do you not have a headache?” you asked, suddenly broken from your trance as he neared the coffee machine, reminding you of your duties before he decided to flip flop your heart around.

“Me? You’re cute.”

You frowned, forehead lines crinkling in a way that made him swoon. You were so adorable when you frowned. Like a little bunny, crinkling its nose.

“Thats not fair.”

“Sweetheart, one of us here is a lightweight, and one of us here is not. Thats the way it goes. Plus, I’m a lot bigger then you.”

You raised your eyebrow, flicking on the machine, the hot liquid beginning to trickle out into his mug.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. And stronger too.”

You swallowed, the distance between the two of you becoming smaller, and smaller. You’re apartment wasnt exactly a penthouse suite, but it wasnt super small either. Yet, your kitchen felt like it was crammed with him in it, the room turning hot, your cheeks filled with heat.

“I-I think your coffee is done Dickie.” you murmered, watching as he reached right past you, grabbing the cup and taking a sip.

He drank it black. Of course.

Whistling a little tune as he opened your fridge, craining down to dig around in your fridge, as if he had lived here for years. “Do you want some fruit?” he asked, pulling out a container of berries, and a carton of eggs.

“Please. God I need a strawberry in my system, or I’m gonna crash out.”

“What- you haven't already?”

You lunged at his remark, wacking his bicep lightly, making him laugh. “Make me eggs or I’ll crash out even more.” you smiled, snagging the milk out of the fridge door to pour in your own coffee, adding some sugar.

Popular opposites, it seemed.

He raised his hand to his forehead, giving you a stern salute. “You got it sweetheart.”

----------------------------------

It was the best hangover morning you’d ever had.

You didn't even know those existed, but with Dick Grayson- they did.

He made breakfast in your kitchen, like it was his house. Serving up perfect eggs and toast, with your fruit- it was as if it was gourmet.

Planting a soft kiss on the top of your head, before serving it to you was the cherry on top.

The two of you talked as the sun steadily filtered through the clouds, laughter and utensils clattering. He was just- you couldn't even put your finger on it. It was like he was your boyfriend- honestly.

You just met him the other night, and here he was, making you breakfast and laughing at your stupid jokes after staying the night on the couch- AFTER taking care of you.

There was no sex. No trade offs, no nothing.

It made your head spin, at the complete 180 he seemed to be from most college guys. He was older, yes, but not by much. A few years at most. But he carried himself as if he was matured, older and wise.

Like he could get anything he wanted, if he talked slickly enough- which he always did.

You were captivated under his spell, watching his blue eyes sparkle as he talked, and the ink black strands that would fall in front of them.

He was smart, he was funny and he was oh so sweet.

You wanted him to stay forever, just as company- in all honesty. He was amazing company. The silence was never awkward, when there was some that hung in the air. He’d just admire you from where you sat at the breakfast nook.

“You’re so pretty. You know that? The prettiest girl.”

It made your skin heat, always looking down at your hands fiddling in your lap, when his compliments became overwhelming (they all did).

But when the coffee grew cold, reality had set in, and he had to leave. As much as it pained you to let him go from your safe haven, you knew he had his own life to attend to- and you had yours. But that didn't stop you from trying to convince him, nonetheless.

”I think you should stay.” you teased as you opened the front door, leaving it swung open- as if to coax him back inside.

He groaned. “Bunny, you know I’d love to. But-”

His phone started to buzz, and he rolled his eyes, fishing it out of his pocket. Tim’s name flashed across the screen, a man you presumed was his friend.

“Speak of the devil. I gotta get back to help my roommates with something I promised them sadly, but I promise I’ll be back. Okay?”

You nodded, stepping out from where you were shielded by the door, body coming into full view. His eyes darkened, as he saw your thighs that poked out at him from your t-shirt in the dimmed hallway lighting.

“I’ll text you as soon as I can. Would you like to get dinner sometime this week?” he asked, stepping closer to you, so your breaths were practically intermingling.

You crained your head up to look at him with wide, doe eyes- and he nearly melted into a puddle. “I’d love that Dickie.”

“Yeah I know you would. Now cmere, I wanna kiss you. That okay?”

You licked your lips as he slowly backed you up against the doorframe, caging you in as his hand slipped up to grasp your jaw, holding it gentle- yet firm.

“I’d love that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah? This okay sweetheart?” he breathed, leaning down so his lips were almost touching yours.

Before you could answer, his lips were on yours, the sweet taste of him sending shocks up your spine- nerves coursing on fire at the sensation, as his tongue coaxed your lips to part, begging for entrance.

You moaned, muffled by his lips as he swallowed you whole, consuming you as he gripped your waist, tugging your hips closer to him, so your back was arched against the old wooden frame.

You felt dizzy, when the two of you finally parted, your lips feeling flushed and swollen, a dazed look in your eye as you just stared at him.

Was that the best kiss of your life? Yes.

Were you going to tell him that? Hell no.

You knew his ego did not to be inflated anymore.

He smiled mischievously, like a feline as he planted a kiss on your forehead, and then another, before he turned down the hall. Like he didn't just sweep you off your feet, leaving you dazed like some swooning princess who had just found her prince charming.

“I’ll call you sweetheart.” he called, waving without a second glance, before he disappeared down the stairs, and out the door- leaving no trace of him but your flushed skin and the door swinging on its hinges.

--------------------------------

Dick was hounded the second his foot stepped in the door.

“So? When do we meet her?” Tim asked from the living room, perched beside the IKEA boxes of parts for the new couch he was supposed to help put up (even though they could easily do it without his help).

He slammed it behind him, hard. “Don't even start.”

Jason let out a little whistle, not even sparing Dick a glance, though he knew the look in his eye would set him off anyways. “He really likes this one Drake. Means he’s gonna get all possessive and not share her with any of us.”

He tossed Dick a wink, making Dick clench his fingers into fists. God they knew how to get under his skin.

“He’s scared she’ll decide she likes us better, don't worry Dickie, I get it.” Tim called, watching as Dick rolled his eyes, making his way over to the mess on the hardwood floor.

“When do we need this done by?” he ignored Tim, starting to pry open one of the boxes.

“Uhh I don't know, when do you want a couch for?”

“I don't know why we need a new couch. Our old one was fuckin fine.” Jason grumbled, flipping a screwdriver between his fingers, even though he was strong enough to probably just press the damn nails in.

“Because it was disgusting and I’m tired of breaking my ass on a spring whenever I watch a game.” Tim mumbled.

Dick was in his own world, tuning out anything that wasn't the thought of you. He already missed your presence. Your soft touch, your sweet smell, the little noises you made when he kissed you, pressing you firmly against the door.

So close he could feel your hardened nipples brush against his chest, skin hot to the touch.

He needed to see you, and soon. Where the hell did he want to take you for dinner?

Up on the East end?

No, not fancy enough.

He needed something spectacular for you. Ideally, he’d want you ending the bed in his bed, in his car- he didn't care where. He just wanted you again, your lips and your pretty little sounds that he would most definitely be imagining tonight when his hand was wrapped around his cock.

He’d take his time with you, unravelling you like a gift. Whether that was on leather seats or memory foam mattresses, he didn't care.

He’d needed this extra special for you.

He’d call in some favours.

---------------------------------- It was nearing the late evening when your phone buzzed, the only name you wanted to see popping up on it.

You were all ready for bed, facemask completed, everything shower done, soft pjs on, nails painted and candle lit. Seeing his name flash on the screen made your heart flutter, and you quickly opened his message, not even bothering to pause your show before responding.

Dick: Hey pretty. Does Tuesday work for dinner?

You: Hi :) Tuesday is perfect!

Even if you had plans that night- you’d push them aside.

Dick: Perfect. Be ready for 8pm, sharp ;)

You: Yes sir:)

You watched his message bubble up, before disappearing again. Then it popped up again, a notification alerting you that he had sent you money.

Your jaw dropped.

This man had just sent you $800 dollars.

Dick: You’re gonna accept this okay? Or I’m going to be very upset and I’ll find a way into your apartment and hand you the money myself. Get yourself something nice for Tuesday.

You were gobsmacked.

How the fuck were you supposed to accept this?

You: Dickie… I don't think I can accept this. And I don't even know what to wear.

Dick: You’ll accept it, and you’ll find something. Anything you pick will be beautiful, I promise bunny.

Your hands were shaking as you held your phone between twitching fingers, in a state of shock. You had known this man for two days, and he was splurging $800 on you? You didn't even know how to respond.

Although to him, you supposed- it probably was next to nothing.

Here he was, making you play dress up to some date planned- that you were unaware of. You had no theme to go off of, no idea of what was happening.

You bit your lip, fighting a little more, even begging for a clue or hint of what to wear- but he gave you nothing. Claiming he wanted you to be authentic, to wear whatever you wanted.

It was too much creative freedom.

Your head swarmed with thoughts of all the possibilities, $800 was a lot of money, and you didn't even know where to start. You let yourself have a mini freakout, and be overwhelmed, before you tucked yourself under the covers, pulling out your laptop to start browsing Pinterest.

You had no time to mess around.

You had a crush to impress.

--------------------------------------------------------

eek so dickie is gonna go all romantic and take reader on her first date? hmmm ;)

@gwyneveire <3 if anyone else wants to be tagged i can try and remember to add you in the future!

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v44lentine · 1 day ago

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“ 𝐆𝐎 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐘, 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ”

# 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘽𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙚 𝙒𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ☆

# 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 : 𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘦? 𝘏𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘖𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦...

# 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘴, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱𝘴, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳/𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘋𝘕𝘐.

# 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑺 : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦.

Bruce remembers the first time he met you.

You were five years old. A tiny thing, too small, too delicate, all bright eyes and soft hands, clinging to his leg like a lifeline.

Your father—one of his most trusted business partners—had laughed, shaking his head.

“She’s taken a liking to you,” he had said, ruffling your hair.

And then, with all the confidence of a child, you had beamed up at Bruce and declared,

“I’m gonna marry you one day!”

The room had erupted in laughter. Your father had chuckled, his business partners had teased him. But Bruce—

Bruce had only smiled.

It was harmless. Just childish innocence.

Or at least, that’s what he had told himself.

You grew up fast.

Too fast.

One moment, you were that little girl clutching his hand at charity galas, giggling when he lifted you into his arms. The next, you were nineteen, standing in his home like you belonged there, a young woman too beautiful for her own good. all soft curves and knowing smiles.

Bruce didn’t know when it started—when his affection for you twisted into something ugly.

All he knows is that one day, he looked at you—really looked at you—and something inside him snapped.

Because you were beautiful.

And it was wrong.

So, so wrong.

And Bruce—he was not a good man.

He tried to be. God, he tried.

Bruce tried to ignore it. He told himself it was natural—a fatherly protectiveness over the daughter of his closest friend.

But a father wouldn’t think about you the way he did.

A father wouldn’t ache like this.

A father wouldn’t watch you when you weren’t looking.

Wouldn’t stare when your nightgown slipped off your shoulder.

Wouldn’t feel his throat tighten when you called him “Mr. Wayne”, your voice so sweet, so innocent, so cruel.

You had no idea what you were doing to him.

And that was the worst part.

You make it impossible.

Because you’re thoughtless. Careless.

You touch him too much. Press yourself against him in hugs that last too long, your fingers curling around his arm, your breath warm on his neck.

He told himself it was innocent. That the way he watched you wasn’t wrong. That the thoughts in his head were just passing moments of weakness—nothing more.

It gets worse when you start talking to him about boys.

You sit on the couch in his study, curled up in one of his expensive leather chairs, talking about your boyfriend problems while he nurses a glass of whiskey, fingers tightening around the crystal.

“Ugh, I don’t know,” you sigh. “Liam’s being so... needy.”

Bruce doesn’t answer.

You don’t notice the way his jaw clenches. The way his fingers tighten. The way his thoughts turn ugly.

You just keep talking.

“He wants to have sex, but I don’t think I’m ready.” You stretch your arms above your head, your crop top rising just enough to show a sliver of your stomach. “I mean, I don’t want my first time to be... disappointing, y’know?”

Bruce stares at you.

His blood boils.

Your first time.

With some boy.

Some child who doesn’t know a damn thing about you.

He hates it.

The thought of your soft little body under some clumsy boy, of you making those sweet little sounds for someone who doesn’t deserve them—someone who doesn’t know you like he does—it makes something inside him snap.

He wants to tell you the truth.

That boys don’t know how to take care of a girl like you. That they’ll use you. That you need a man—someone who can be gentle, who knows how to take care of you, how to teach you.

He wants to say all of it.

But instead, he just takes a slow sip of whiskey and says,

“Be careful who you trust.”

You don’t see the way his eyes darken.

You don’t hear the warning in his voice.

And the worst part?

You ask him for advice.

“Mr. Wayne,” you say sweetly, resting your chin on your palm, “why do men always want one thing?”

Bruce’s jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists under the table.

You don’t understand what you’re playing with.

You don’t see the way his eyes darken when you talk about them. The boys who touch you. The ones who don’t deserve to even look at you.

You don’t understand the filthy thoughts he has when he imagines you with them.

You don’t understand that he wants to ruin you.

Bruce stares at you, at your bare skin, at the way your lips part as if waiting for him to take.

And God help him.

He does.

His hands clench against the couch. He leans in, close enough to breathe you in.

Close enough to claim.

Close enough to ruin you.

He doesn’t remember when he started following you.

Not just in the manor. Not just in his home.

Outside. In the city.

You don’t notice.

Or maybe you do.

Maybe you like knowing he’s watching.

Watching as you go on dates with boys your age—pathetic, fumbling boys who don’t know how to take care of you the way a man like him would.

You always seem disappointed after those dates.

And Bruce tells himself it’s because you know.

You know they aren’t enough.

That they’ll never be enough.

That no one will ever love you the way he does.

But then, one night, he looked at you—really looked at you—and something inside him snapped.

Because you weren’t a child anymore.

You were soft curves and bright smiles and whispers of silk.

And it was wrong.

So, so wrong.

He tries to ignore it.

To pretend that nothing has changed. That you’re still just the daughter of his friend—a girl he has known since childhood.

But you make it impossible.

Because you’re cruel.

You don’t even realize it, but you are.

The way you hug him just a little too long. The way you press against him, your body warm, your scent too sweet, too intoxicating. The way you laugh—tilting your head back, exposing the soft skin of your throat.

The way you call him “Mr. Wayne” in that sweet, teasing voice—like you know exactly what it does to him.

But you don’t.

You don’t understand how dangerous it is to tempt a man like him.

But you will.

Soon.

He thinks about it too much.

The way you look at him. The way you look for him at every party, every event. The way you light up when he pays attention to you.

He shouldn’t.

You’re too young. Too innocent.

He should be ashamed of the way his fingers tighten around his glass when he sees you in those short dresses, the way his breath hitches when you cross your legs, letting the hem ride up—just enough.

And he knows, deep down, that you aren’t doing it on purpose.

That you trust him.

That you have no idea how sick he is.

That you have no idea how long he’s been watching you, how long he’s been thinking about you in ways he shouldn’t.

That you have no idea how badly he wants to ruin you.

It happens late one night.

You’re staying at the manor while your father is away, wandering around in nothing but a silk nightgown that barely reaches your thighs.

And Bruce is watching you.

He shouldn’t be.

But God help him, he can’t look away.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, scrolling through your phone, completely unaware of the monster lurking in the shadows.

Then, without looking up, you murmur,

“You’re staring, Mr. Wayne.”

His blood runs hot.

You’re doing it again. Pushing him. Testing him.

You don’t even know what you’re playing with.

“What are you doing up?” His voice is calm. Controlled. But there’s an edge to it, a tension that wasn’t there before.

You stretch, your nightgown riding up, exposing too much skin.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur. Then, you turn to him, eyes dark, playful. Inviting. “But maybe you could help with that.”

Silence.

A long, dangerous silence.

Then, Bruce is in front of you, his hands gripping the couch on either side of your body, caging you in.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, voice low, deadly.

But you just smile.

And Bruce?

Bruce finally snaps.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not soft.

He grips your wrist, too tight, dragging you forward until you gasp, your balance thrown off.

You fall against him, your body flush against his, and he hates himself for how good it feels.

For how warm you are. For how easily you fit against him.

His breath is hot against your ear, his hands shaking as they hover over your skin.

He shouldn’t.

He can’t.

But he wants to.

So, so badly.

“You think this is a game?” His voice is hoarse, strained.

Your lips part, confusion flickering across your face.

And for the first time, you see it.

The way he looks at you.

Like a starving man staring at his last meal.

Like a man at war with himself, a man who has spent years trying to fight something that was always meant to consume him.

You blink up at him, lips slightly parted.

His breath shudders. His grip tightens.

Then, he’s kissing you.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. A collision of heat and teeth and pent-up want that’s been festering inside him for too long.

You gasp against his lips, and he drinks it in, pressing you deeper into the couch, caging you with his body.

And when he finally pulls back, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged—

And Bruce—Bruce knows he’s going to hell for this.

But maybe he was always meant to burn.

And maybe you were always meant to burn with him.

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v44lentine · 2 days ago

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Low quality Jason my beloved

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v44lentine · 2 days ago

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MORNING SEX MORNING SEX MORNING SEX🤝🤝

🔥HEATWAVE🔥

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 3,1k

Plot: It's too damn hot outside, and the only thing keeping you from melting is Dick—lazy mornings spent tangled in sheets, trying to avoid the heat, but failing miserably.

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, overstimulation, creampie, lazy mornings

It's too fucking hot, even with the AC on.

The sheets stick to your skin, damp with sweat, and the air is thick—stifling in a way that makes it impossible to get comfortable. The weak breeze from the fan does nothing to help, just pushing warm air around, and every time you shift, your body practically glues itself to the mattress.

But the real problem? The real reason you're burning up?

Dick.

He's right next to you, bare-chested, hair messy from sleep, tanned skin glistening with sweat, and somehow still wrapped around you like he isn't overheating, like he isn't also suffering in this heat. His arm is heavy over your waist, one leg hooked between yours, his breath slow and deep against your shoulder, and fuck, it's making you crazy. Every inch of you feels too sensitive, too warm, too needy, because the way his body presses against yours is unbearable in the best way.

You bite your lip, shifting just enough to feel the hard press of his morning wood against your ass. Yeah, that's not helping.

You should be trying to cool down, should be avoiding touching him, but you don't. You can't. Because despite how hot it is, despite how sticky and unbearable it feels, you want him.

And that's how it starts.

A slow, teasing grind of your hips back against him, just enough to see if he's awake—if he'll react. He shifts slightly, lets out a quiet sigh, but doesn't wake up. So, you do it again, rolling your hips back a little harder this time, letting the curve of your ass drag against the outline of his dick through his boxers.

That gets you a reaction. A low, sleepy groan against your shoulder, fingers flexing where they rest on your hip, his grip tightening slightly. But still, he doesn't wake up.

So, of course, you push further.

You let your back arch, pressing flush against him, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm, feeling the heat of his dick through the fabric. You're barely doing anything, barely moving, but the friction is delicious—all lazy, teasing pressure against your already aching cunt, making your breath hitch as a slow, lazy pulse starts to build between your thighs.

And then? Dick grunts, low and rough, and suddenly moves—hips pressing forward, grinding himself right against you, a slow, unconscious rutting motion that makes your breath stutter.

Oh, fuck, he's still half-asleep.

But his body knows exactly what it wants. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you back into him, his hips rolling in a deep, lazy grind, chasing that friction in slow, unconscious movements. His dick is so fucking hard, pressing against you, and the sleepy, needy little sounds slipping from his throat are driving you insane.

Your panties? Already ruined. Sticky and damp against your cunt, making every little shift so much worse, and when you drag your ass back against him again, the way he shudders against you almost makes you whimper.

"Mmnh... baby..."

His voice is rough, thick with sleep, and fuck, that does something to you. You don't stop.

You should, you should probably let him wake up properly, give him a second to adjust, but you can't—not when he's already moving against you like this, not when his cock is pressing against you so perfectly, not when every slow, sleepy grind makes your clit throb with desperate, aching heat.

"God, you're so needy," he mumbles against your skin, voice still sluggish with sleep, but there's a hint of amusement there—because he knows.

"Mmm," you hum, rolling your hips back again, pressing right against him, letting your ass grind slowly against his dick. "You're the one humping me in your sleep, baby."

That gets a low chuckle from him, but it's cut off by a sharp inhale when you push back again, dragging your soaked panties right against him. His fingers dig into your waist, gripping you tighter, his hips pressing forward a little harder this time.

"Oh, fuck, baby..."

And that's when he snaps. One second, you're teasing him, and the next? He's rolling you onto your stomach, pressing his weight over you, his dick grinding against your ass in slow, desperate rolls. His lips are on your shoulder, trailing messy, open-mouthed kisses down your spine, lazy and wet, his hands pushing your thighs apart as he settles between them.

"I—" you gasp when he ruts against you again, hard, pressing your soaked panties right up against your swollen clit.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he murmurs against your skin, voice all slow and lazy, thick with sleep and arousal. "Thought you wanted this."

You do. Fuck, you do.

But you can barely breathe, barely think, because the heat is unbearable, the air thick and heavy, and the way his cock presses against you is too much—sticky and messy, his boxers damp with sweat and precum, making every slow, teasing grind feel filthy.

"Dick, please," you whimper, rocking your hips back, desperate for more.

"Please what?" His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down over your ass, peeling the damp fabric away from your needy cunt. "Tell me what you need, baby."

You don't hesitate. "Fuck me."

That's all he needs. He groans, low and desperate, before shoving his boxers down just enough to free his cock, the thick, flushed head pressing against your entrance. He doesn't tease, doesn't wait—just grips your hips and slides in, slow and deep, punching a gasping moan from your throat as he stretches you open.

"Ohhh, fuck," he groans, forehead dropping against your shoulder, hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts, dragging his cock through your soaked, messy heat.

It's slow. So slow.

Not because he's teasing you—because he can't go any faster, not in this heat. Every shift, every movement is sticky, your bodies damp and sweaty, sliding against each other in a way that makes it so much worse, so much better, so much hotter.

And God, the way he's fucking you—deep, slow, grinding against you with every thrust, letting you feel every inch of his cock as he moves—it's driving you insane.

"You feel so good," he groans, mouth hot and wet against your shoulder. "So fucking wet."

He's right. You can hear it, can feel the way he slides against you, the sticky, messy friction of it, the obscene little squelch every time he fucks into you.

It's so fucking hot. Too hot. But you don't care. You just take it. Take every slow, dragging thrust, take the heat of him, take the way his hands grip you, holding you down as he fucks you slow and deep and messy.

He's not rushing. He can't. Not in this thick, unbearable heat, not when every shift, every grind of his cock inside you is so much—sticky and heavy, your bodies sliding against each other, sweat pooling in the dips of your back, making every movement smoother, every slow push inside you feel slicker.

And fuck, he's deep. So deep you can feel the hot press of his cock stretching you open, every slow roll of his hips sending a hot, aching pulse straight to your clit. He doesn't pull out much—just enough to make you whimper, just enough to let you feel every inch drag against your swollen walls before he presses back in, slow and thick and perfect, grinding himself deep inside your cunt.

And you need it. Fuck, you need it. You push back against him, hips rolling, greedy and desperate, wanting more—wanting it harder, faster, wanting him to ruin you. But he doesn't let you.

His hands tighten on your hips, holding you still, keeping you pinned beneath him as he grinds against you, slow and deep, pressing the weight of his body over yours, letting you feel him, letting you take it exactly how he wants to give it.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick and wrecked, forehead pressed against your shoulder.

He drags his dick out so slow—just the fat tip stretching you open, making you clench—before rolling back in, filling you up again, pressing himself as deep as he can fucking go.

And then it happens.

The pleasure doesn't just hit you—it takes you, swallowing you whole, ripping through you in deep, melting waves that leave you trembling. You gasp, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your thighs twitching as your body locks up—hips jolting back against him in frantic, desperate little rolls, grinding onto his cock, trying to chase it, trying to sink into it, trying to drag him in deeper even as your muscles go taut.

"Oh, fuck—"

Your cunt squeezes down hard, pulsing around him in fluttering, greedy little clenches, sucking him deeper, milking his cock in helpless, uncontrollable aftershocks. And fuck, the sound—so filthy, so wet, the messy squelch of his cock grinding through the slick, dripping heat of you as he keeps moving, keeps fucking you through it, stretching you open, dragging out every aching, shattering wave until you're left gasping, raw and sensitive and so fucking full—

You whimper, pushing back against him, grinding yourself onto his cock, desperate for more, for everything, as your climax rolls through you. And he feels it. He groans, deep and wrecked, hips jerking forward, pressing deep into you as his cock twitches, thick and hot inside you.

"F—fuck, baby—oh, fuck—"

And then he spills. His cum pours into you in thick, hot pulses, filling you up deep, the heat of it overwhelming, too much, making you gasp, making you clench around him again. His breath is ragged against your shoulder, his hands tight on your hips as he grinds into you, slow and desperate, working his cum deeper, fucking it into you, making sure you take all of it.

And fuck, you do. You can feel it, thick and hot, sticky inside you, making your cunt feel full, wet, messy, your walls still fluttering around him, milking every last drop.

He doesn't pull out—not yet.

Just stays inside you, cock still buried deep, his hips rolling in slow, lazy grinds, fucking his cum deeper, pressing it further inside you, stretching you open with every slow, messy push.

Your head falls forward, body still trembling, breath shallow as you try to recover. The heat, the mess, the way his body stays wrapped around you—it's overwhelming in the best way. You feel him shift slightly, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles over your hip, grounding you.

"Shit, baby," he breathes against your shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss to your damp skin. "You feel so fucking good."

You shudder, whimpering softly, loving the way he still moves inside you, the way he's still grinding himself deep, still filling you up, still making you take it.

Still making it so much worse. Still making you want more. And he knows it. Feels it.

Feels the way you clench around him, still soaked, still needy, your cunt fluttering with every slow, grinding thrust, milking him for everything he's worth, even when his cum is already leaking out of you—thick and hot, slicking up the mess between your thighs, making every slow push easier, deeper, wetter.

"Still want more, huh?" he murmurs against your ear, voice low and wrecked, thick with heat as he presses into you, hips rolling, cock stretching you open again, making you gasp.

And you do.

You want more. You want him to keep fucking you, keep filling you, keep ruining you until you can't think—until all you know is the slow, grinding press of his dick stretching you, fucking his own cum deeper into you, making you drip, making a mess of you.

You nod—whimpering, desperate, rolling your hips back against him, taking every deep, thick thrust as he grips you tighter, holding you open for him.

And then he gives it to you.

Not faster, but harder—a slow, deep grind turning into a filthy, pounding rhythm, his hips snapping into you, making you shake, making the bed creak under the force of it, his cock pressing so deep you can feel the thick, heavy drag of it in your fucking stomach.

And then—fuck—his hand slides around to the front, fingers slipping through the mess between your thighs, dragging over your swollen, aching clit.

Your whole body jolts.

The second he touches you, you know you're done. His fingers are slick—so slick, slipping and sliding through the mess between your thighs, rubbing your clit in slow, lazy circles, and fuck, fuck, fuck—

It's brutal. Instant. Your whole body jerks, legs kicking out, muscles locking up as your vision blanks—pure static, pure sensation, pleasure tearing through you so violently that your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out, just a wrecked little gasp, a high, broken cry that barely makes it past your lips—

And he just keeps fucking you.

Deep and slow, grinding through it, forcing your cunt to take every aching pulse, every fluttering, milking squeeze, every little aftershock that leaves you twitching, shivering, your thighs trembling so bad that they almost give out.

Your walls squeeze down tight, so tight, sucking him in, gripping him, dragging him back in every time he pulls out even an inch, so fucking wet that every thrust is sloppy, messy, obscene, making the filthiest little squelching noises that make him groan against your shoulder.

"Holy fuck, baby—"

He keeps rubbing, keeps fucking you, keeps pressing deep, slow, grinding thrusts into you—until your body gives up.

Until your orgasm floods through you, sharp and overwhelming, white-hot pleasure ripping through your spine as you clench around him, your thighs trembling, your whole body shaking as you cum with a gasping, broken moan, walls pulsing in greedy, desperate waves.

And fuck, it's so much.

So intense, so deep, dragging out for what feels like forever, your breath catching in your throat as he works you through it, fucking you through it, forcing you to take every second of it, forcing you to keep clenching around him, milking his cock, keeping him buried deep inside your spasming, dripping cunt.

And he groans, voice wrecked, hips jerking against you, grinding deep as your orgasm drags him down with you—

No—

Not yet. He grits his teeth, forces himself to hold on, even when your cunt is squeezing him, even when it's too good, too tight, even when he aches to cum again.

Because he's not done. He won't stop—not when you're still trembling, still gasping, still too sensitive to take it, and fuck, that's exactly why he doesn't stop.

He keeps fucking you—hard, deep, slow and messy—rubbing your clit in slick, sloppy circles, overstimulating you, keeping you right on the edge.

And you whimper, your body writhing, hips jerking, trying to escape the unbearable pleasure, but he doesn't let you.

"Take it," he grits out, voice thick, hand tightening on your hip as he slams back inside you, sending a shudder through your spine, making your whole body jerk.

And you do. You take it. Take every slow, deep, brutal thrust, every slippery drag of his fingers over your swollen, aching clit, every messy grind of his cock rubbing against your raw, twitching walls.

And it builds—again.

Faster this time, sharper, meaner—your orgasm ripping through you so fast, so hard, it makes your vision black out. You don't just cum—you break.

It's deep. So deep. It rips through you like liquid fire, white-hot and unbearable, tearing the breath from your lungs, making your whole body jolt as your cunt clamps down so fucking hard around his cock it's painful.

Your hips stutter, shaking, back arching as pleasure wracks your spine in brutal, unrelenting pulses, dragging you under, drowning you in it, forcing you to take it—

And he feels it. Feels the way you grip him, tight and wet and throbbing, your walls spasming around his cock, milking him, making his rhythm stutter—

"Fuck—"

His voice is wrecked, his grip tightening, his cock twitching inside you, thick and heavy and right there, rubbing up against that sweet spot so perfectly that it feels endless. Like you're caught in it, like you're floating in that raw, overwhelming pleasure, like every slow, deep grind of his hips drags you right back into it—until you're gasping, squirming, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes because fuck, fuck, it's so much, too much, but you still want it—

He's barely holding on. You feel it, feel the way his cock twitches, the way his thrusts get harder, rougher, the way he's practically grinding himself into you now, rutting deep, chasing it, chasing the way you're pulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him—

And then—fuck—he breaks.

He slams inside you, deep and hard, hips jerking, body shuddering as he cums again, groaning wrecked against your shoulder, voice thick and hoarse, cum flooding inside you, spilling deep, so much, too much, so fucking hot you whimper, your cunt milking him, sucking out every last drop.

And he just—keeps moving.

Grinds against you, fucking his own cum deeper, spreading the mess between your thighs, rubbing your clit through every aftershock, making you twitch, making you whimper, making you shudder in overstimulation.

And fuck, it's not just good.

It's too much—too wet, too deep, too fucking full, his cock still buried inside you, his cum still thick and hot, seeping out in slow, sticky dribbles, slicking up the mess between your thighs. He's still grinding against you, fucking it deeper, slow and lazy, like he knows how wrecked you are, like he knows you can't take it, like he wants to see how much more you can handle—

And you love it.

You whimper, thighs still shaking, cunt still fluttering around him in weak, clenching little aftershocks, overstimulated and fucked raw, but he doesn't stop. His hips keep rolling, smooth and easy, spreading his cum deeper, making sure you feel every last drop of it, making sure you take it, letting you feel the heavy, slow drag of his cock pressing against your swollen, spent walls—

And it's filthy. So filthy.

Your skin is damp, sticky, your body trembling, oversensitive, your breath ragged, but he just kisses the back of your neck, lazy and so satisfied, his voice warm and wrecked when he finally groans, "Fuck, baby... you're perfect."

And you just melt. Completely. And you whimper, exhausted, fucked out, and so full of him you can barely move. And fuck, you can't even breathe. You're both a mess, sticky and sweaty and shaking, chests heaving as you collapse onto the bed.

"It's too hot for this," you mumble breathlessly, and he chuckles, lazy and spent, pressing a slow, messy kiss to your shoulder.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough and satisfied. "But totally worth it."

317 notes · View notes

v44lentine · 2 days ago

Text

ugh i miss my howlett content i miss u cookie😭

Wine and Dine

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

Content: Worst! Logan and Hairdresser! Reader. Laura and Althea show up a bit too. Wade is only mentioned, he doesn't show up (sadly). Alcohol consumption. Winery fun. Reader will get tipsy. Logan will be like a guard dog for most of it. Then a rom-com watch! Dubious consent kinda as Reader and Logan will be intoxicated. Vaginal Sex. P in V. MINORS DNI!

A/N: Oh Logan...we meet again. I haven't wrote about him in a minute so I hope you all enjoy! Also tagging @yxtkiwiyxt and @lubdubology to make this a part of their Loveuary challenge.

Cookie's Love List

All of these activities look stupid.

Kayaking, pottery classes, cooking classes. Well, the cooking classes didn't sound bad, but Logan hardly saw himself enjoying any of these.

“Whatcha doing?” Laura asks, sitting next to him on the couch.

Logan turns the laptop towards her to give her a better view, “Looking for stuff couples do on this stupid holiday.”

“Ah, for your lady?” He nods, “You two getting serious, huh?”

He grunts, “I wanna make sure she has a good day.”

You told him how you don't do much when the holiday rolls around. Staying in, grabbing a box of chocolate and wine while watching a romantic comedy. He wanted to make you feel special on Valentine’s Day. And if that means doing something he didn't really want to do, he'll do it. For you.

“What do you have in mind?”

Logan hands her the computer, letting her scroll through the endless amounts of deals and savings for Valentine’s.

“There’s pottery.”

“You think I'm capable of making a dumbass mug?”

“You'd probably be better than Wade.” Althea comments from the chair next to them, finishing up her podcast. “He made me one for Earth day and I can still feel the bumps on that motherfucker.”

“Forget it. I'm not doing any arts and crafts.”

Laura tsks, “Okay then the painting class is out. And the glass making one…” She scrolls through a few more options. A hiking retreat, couples yoga, trivia night.

The most romantic day of the year and there's hardly anything for him to do with you.

“Oh, you can go to a winery!” Laura shows him the laptop of a tour of an establishment. “You like to drink. Does she?”

“She drinks occasionally.”

“See.” She pulls up the description, “A free tour, tasting with lunch and a gift basket of their famous wines. Romantic and fun.”

He stares at the description. Going away for a few hours to drink and eat. Maybe you would like that.

“Okay, book it.”

“Bring me back the strongest wine they got.” Althea tells him, “And don't tell Wade about it either. He always manages to get in my good stuff.”

The day is set, now he needs to tell you.

When stopping by to take you home, your salon is covered with hearts. Pink and red overtaking his vision with hearts plastered on your windows. Dangling pink decorations in the shape of cupids from the ceiling. Logan almost expected the floor to be covered with rose petals.

You are finishing up with your last customer when he walks in.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hey, sugar.” He stands to the side as you finishing shaping up the rest of your client's hair. How smooth you are with the razor, giving him a clean shave. Brows lowered in concentration. You're so impressive.

After finishing up, you throw yourself in his arms. Logan catches you, spinning you around and burying his face in your neck. Your fresh scent clearing his head. So he can focus on you.

“Day went well?”

“Mhm.” Your lips pepper his forehead, moving down to his cheeks, going against the stubble before reaching their destination of his lips. Gentle pecks to express how much he missed you today. “Yours?”

“It’s fine. I want to tell ya something.” Logan puts you down, but keeps his hands on your hips. “You think you can close up shop for the day? On Valentine’s day?”

“Hmm, I'm usually open for a bit on that day. What's up?”

“It’s just…I wanna take you out. Just you and me.”

“And do..?”

“It’s a surprise.”

You playfully tsk, “Lo’, really?”

“What? I can't treat my lady to something nice?”

“You can, I'm not saying that. It's just…” You sigh, pouting. “You know what I usually do on that day.”

“I do, but I'm here now and I wanna treat you right. None of that stay at home and watch romantic comedies shit.” Logan doesn't like how you're moving away from him, so he pulls you back to his chest. “We're gonna do what couples do on this dumbass holiday.”

You snort, “Are you sure? You just bad mouthed it.”

“I did, but I'm spending it with you so I don't care.”

He cups your bottom, making you giggle, “I can't believe you're convincing me to go out. Last month I was struggling to get you to do the double date with Wade and Vanessa.”

“I see that asshole everyday. If we're going on dates, I want to focus on you.”

Logan kisses you once more, helping you seal the deal of going out for Valentine’s day.

“Oooh…” You momentarily part, “What should I wear?”

“Something pretty.”

“I need more details than that.”

He grunts, “You’re right. Everything you wear is pretty to me.”

Logan wasn’t a planner.

He's the type to hardly ask any questions and just figure it out as he goes along. He wasn't doing that to you. He ordered flowers and coordinated an outfit that allowed him to clean up nice. The heartbeat pounding in his chest didn't stop every time he thought about his date with you.

It's different and new. You're different and new. Every time he gazes at you he wants to say that word that might change his life forever. So why shouldn't he strive to bring joy into your life?

His heart kept going when he stood outside your door, fixing his leather jacket. Logan hoped you got the flowers. Otherwise, he'd kill the delivery guy and then Wade for suggesting that florist by the apartment.

He didn't need to worry about that when the door opens, a fresh bouquet of roses on your kitchen counter.

“Good, you got the roses-”

You give him a big kiss on his cheek, “They’re beautiful!”

Logan revels in your touch, failing in holding back a smile, “Glad ya liked them. Was worried they weren't gonna show up in time-” You give him two more kisses, instantly shutting him up. “You keep doing that and we're not making it to the winery.”

“Sorry, sorry. It was just a nice surprise.”

“You didn't think I'd give you flowers?”

“Now, you know I didn't say that. I just…” You glance back at the flowers, smiling wide at how they add more light into your home. Logan thought you already did that on your own, but the arrangement maximizes the view.

He's staring at your happy face, taking in the slight wrinkle in your eyes. Your pretty lips in a position that he hopes will stay like that all day.

Your outfit is a mixture of comfort and attractiveness. A simple, white turtleneck, blue jeans, and brown boots.

“Oh! I have your gift too.” You point behind yourself, “Did you want to open up before we leave?”

Logan shakes his head, “I can open it when we come back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure, sugar. Let's go.”

He takes your hand and leads you out of the apartment and to the car.

The drive to the winery is around a hour.

The Summit Isle Winery is stationed in the middle of open land. When Logan researched the place with Laura, they noticed the animals that anyone who’s touring can pet. A field filled of grapes that seemed to stretch for miles. And a cobblestone covered building that allowed guests to mingle while taking a tour of the inner workings of the winery.

A perfect place to get drunk. Well, for you. Logan’s made a pact to hardly drink to the point where's drunk today. At least until he takes you back to your apartment.

Your gasp doesn't go unnoticed when he pulls up to the parking lot. He can't help but grin at you already liking your gift.

“You didn’t need to take me here.” You’re looking around, eyes blown and filled with excitement. “Although, this seems on brand for you since you like to drink.”

Logan scoffs, “Did you wanna see me try out pottery instead?”

“No, but…I do need a mug.” He shakes his head while you giggle, taking his hand when he opens the car door for you.

There's a few more cars in the lot and at a distance, Logan notices more coming up the driveway. He underestimated how many people were planning to go a winery today.

Inside is just as gorgeous as the outside. Long, wide windows covering every wall of the building. The stone floor accenting the rest of the wooden décor, creating a rustic atmosphere. The fireplace going in the far corner helping warm up the space.

“Welcome to our winery!” A worker greets. “If you're all here for our special Valentine’s Day tour, please put in your coupon code here.” She shows off the touchscreen, only two displaying on the podium.

“A coupon code…” You smirk, “You have trouble deleting your history on the laptop so I know you had help. Was it Laura? It was her wasn't?”

The Wolverine tsks as he slowly puts in the code from his phone, “She might've helped me.”

“You’re adorable.”

After he signs up, they're led to the back, each given a glass of wine.

“Please enjoy our signature chardonnay before the tour begins.”

Logan can smell the sweetness from the wine. Before he took a sip, you emit a hum.

“This is good.”

“It's alright.”

“You like your liquor dry and strong.”

“Just the way it should be.”

You shake your head before taking another sip and admire the open fields through the window. You hold your wine glass by its stem on a tilt. The golden colored drink not perceiving a threat of spilling and staining the floor. Somehow the crystal stud on your ear captures the light of the sun, decorating your glass and his with an array of colors.

“Look at you…”

You're caught out of your gaze, “Huh?”

“Look at you.” He repeats, eyes scanning up and down your form. “You don't wanna know what I’m thinking right now.”

“Dirty thoughts, I'm sure.”

“Not even-”

Logan quickly moves you out of the way, hand on your shoulder as he takes the brunt of the collision. A woman not paying attention to where she's going, ending up spilling a little bit of her wine on his jacket.

“Oh my god!” The woman stumbles before laughing it off, “I didn't see you there.”

“You almost bumped into her.”

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not.” He glowers at the woman.

“I didn't see her! I'm a little tipsy because we just came from another wine spot.”

Logan's heart drops at the increased influx of people coming in. All couples, who are slightly inebriated, piling in the building. They're giggly and loud and it hits a nerve.

“The fuck?”

“Do I need to remind you what day it is?” You pull a wet wipe out of your purse, wiping off his jacket.

“I just didn't expect this many people.”

“It shouldn't ruin our day, right?” Your soft gaze causes his shoulders to relax.

“It shouldn't. Just…stay close to me.”

You snort under your palm. “Okay.”

Logan wasn’t expecting his patience to be tested today. He wanted to enjoy the day with you, while not being surrounded by semi-drunk couples. He didn’t want to think about how the hell they're going home like this.

Whatever. Today is about you.

The tour leader is a woman who's been doing this for decades. Her brim hat, blue apron, on top of her casual attire with a warm smile that made anyone feel comfortable. She hands everyone a small pamphlet of the types of grapes the winery uses. Connecting each color of grape to how sweet or dry the wine will be.

She leads everyone out to the land where bushels of grapes are organized upon rows. The lady hands out crackers and suggests picking the grapes to see what they taste like.

You eat one and perk up at the flavor.

“Ooh, this one is good.”

Logan scowls at the couples being loud and rambunctious. Everyone feeding each other grapes, laughing too loudly when some doesn’t go in their mouth all the way. The tour leader has to gently tell them to lower the volume, which they follow for two minutes before going back to being disruptive.

“Hey.”

He turns and a grape is plopped in his mouth. The fruit not as sweet as the wine he just had.

“It’s good right?”

“Yeah, it's good.”

“Great. I figured you liked the dry ones.” You show him the pamphlet that lists all the grapes the place grows and the colors. “I can't even tell the difference.”

Logan smirks, “Just eating the grapes, huh?”

“Guilty.”

You eat another and he focuses on your face lighting up at the taste. A chuckle threatens to escape when you make a comment about how the grape still tastes the same, before sipping on your wine.

“I love…fuck.”

He suddenly downs his entire glass. Hoops and hollers from the people nearby egg him on into grabbing another one, but Logan shows some restraint.

“Someone was thirsty.”

“Throat’s getting dry.”

No, it wasn’t a good time to say that word. Especially in front of rowdy, kind of drunk couples. Before you comment, Logan sniffs the air. Clouds suddenly start rolling in, blocking out the sunlight.

“Shit, it’s gonna rain soon.”

He didn’t count for that. When he checked the weather in advance, it wasn’t supposed to rain until the evening. When they are already home. He didn’t even bring an umbrella.

You shrug, feeding him a cracker. “It’s alright. I’m sure we have some time before the tour is over. Stop worrying.”

“I’m making sure you have a good time-mmh.”

Logan chomps on another cracker followed by a sip from your wine glass. “I am, but I want to make sure you have a good time too.”

He simply grunts, following behind you as the guide leads the group further across the land.

You’re right. He’s supposed to have a good time too and not worry about things he can’t control. You won’t have fun if he’s not having fun.

It’s hard to focus when the clouds continue to roll in when reaching the stables. Besides the winery, the lot also includes a few small animals. Primarily sheep, goats, and llamas. The package Logan purchased also included some petting time with the animals. Where they can also be fed by tipsy people.

Good thing, you can hold your liquor as you still kept your same stride when being handed another glass of wine by the stables.

The red wine this time was not as sweet, but not that strong either.

“Oh my god, we get to pet the animals?” The woman that almost bumped into you says with a tone that Logan can’t stand. It’s high and shrilly, matching her blonde hair and blue-eyed look.

“Yes, we have some feed over here too so you can feed them.”

The tour showcases the buckets on the side that anyone can grab. Logan immediately knows where you’re going without saying it, heading towards the goat enclosure. He saw it before you did, a baby goat who was busy roaming around by the fence. The animal is frail, little legs shaking with every move it made.

“Look at the baby!”

You aww, taking the bucket as the workers opened up the fence.

“This is Lucky. He’s recently recovering from an illness.” The worker lets you and him go up close to the baby goat, who had no problem burying his head inside to eat. Logan holds on to your wine glass so you can get better control of the bucket.

“The little badass knows how to eat.”

“That’s all this fella’s been doing since he recovered.”

You giggle when Lucky finishes eating, going to your side and rubbing along your calf. That gives more goats the opportunity to take their turns in eating in the bucket. Now, you’re surrounded by goats.

“Oh, I guess they’re all hungry.”

“A beautiful woman is giving them food. I’d flock to you too, baby.”

“Hmm, you’re biased.”

“Damn right I am.”

It’s a sight to behold as all the goats dive in to get a taste from the feed basket. All while Lucky is resting beside you now, pretending that no one else is in the stables besides you. Your kind nature extends to wildlife, as it should.

“Ugh, we’ve been waiting forever to feed the goats.”

Your words to tell him to behave momentarily slips from his mind. The urge to scare that woman with his claws and threaten her is high. Because they just arrived seconds ago. He heard their footsteps not too long ago.

“There are more buckets over there.” You point, “There’s plenty of goats to go around.”

“Says the person hogging all the goats.”

Your eyes twitch for a second before getting back together. “Oops, I guess I am.”

Logan goes to protest, but you shake your head at him while slowly making your way out of the enclosure. He rarely sees you get upset. You have a skill of holding in your disdain until everything is all over. But he knows that lady ticked you off when you suddenly grab your glass after putting everything back. Chugging down the wine until there’s hardly a drop left.

He’d comment on how hot that was, but he knows you’re annoyed.

“Careful, only one of us has a healing factor here.”

“You can still get drunk.”

“For a few seconds.”

He holds out his arm and you wrap yours around it. The two of you let the woman and her partner play with the goats, who’s barely paying her any attention.

A drop lands on his forehead.

“Fuck, it’s about to rain.”

You look up and get hit with a raindrop in your eye, “Oh yeah. You were right.”

The tour guide notices the incoming rain and stops the petting section early. She suggests everyone go inside to finish the rest of the tour. The woman who was adamant about petting the goats, wasn’t happy.

“But I barely managed to pet the goats yet!”

“Sorry, don’t want our guests to get soaked.”

Logan notices you hiding a smirk when he takes you back inside. Most of the group complaining about their experience when stepping back inside. As if the rain was the winery’s fault.

Speaking of the rain, droplets hit along the windows, staining the glass, creating puddles outside. It was coming down and he didn’t want to think about how he was going to get you out of that once the tour is over. Maybe he should get a little drunk.

The next part of the tour took everyone behind the scenes of the wine making process. The distillery was a large, spacious area filled with machines that mixed, crushed, bottled, and packaged the alcohol.

Everyone is handed another glass filled with moscato, with their choice of a lemon bar or white chocolate. You complimented how delicious the lemon bar was and fed him a piece. Logan nodded at the fluffy texture with the sweet drink. This one is stronger than the others, the taste lingering on his taste buds.

“Okay, this one is my favorite.” You whisper as they follow the tour guide. “You think Althea would like this one?”

“It’s strong as shit so yeah.”

The history of the winery was fascinating. The place opened in 1874 and has been passed down from generation to generation. The recipe for the wine never changed since all of those years, wanting to keep it authentic unlike other wineries.

Despite his body language displaying as uninterested with his tense shoulders, he was interested. He wasn’t a history teacher at the professor’s school for nothing. It would help if the other people are fascinated. Some sighed loudly, looking disinterested, deciding to not pay attention to the guide.

They’re also disrupting you as you occasionally glance over, eyes filled with annoyance.

The tour was coming to an end. Gift baskets lay out for all of the couples by the cafeteria. Four bottles of the wine they had today all packaged neatly inside. Other treats like chocolate, meat and cheese, crackers filled out the basket. And it’s all topped with a big, red bow.

Logan wanted to bring up just taking the basket and leave, but remembered that you didn’t eat much today. You settled on a flatbread, relishing in the taste as the rain continued to pour down. There’s a slight rumbling from afar, which makes him wonder if there’s going to be bad storm.

“Did you figure out a plan of how we’re not going to get wet?” You snort when Logan takes a while to answer, hiding behind his burger. “It’s okay, not like we’re going anywhere else nice. Right?”

“Yeah, this is all I got in me. I hardly…do things I like this.”

The rough exterior he carries is often mistaken with the idea that he doesn’t have to capacity to conduct sophisticated outings. He would do it, as long as he cares about the person. And with you, he loves you. More than you know.

“Shocker.” He rolls his eyes at your teasing. “It’s okay though. I like that you tried.”

With the basket in his arms and his jacket above you, the two of you break to the car. Still managing to get in the front seat wet from head to toe. More him than you, but you hardly fared any better.

“We have to do this again back at the apartment.”

“Don’t remind me.”

The drive paired with the heat gave a chance for your clothes to dry. Logan wasn’t looking forward to running out in the rain with you. But he did, taking your hand and leading you to the apartment. Not once letting go when closing the front door. Backs against the door, basket on the floor, clothes soaked from the rain while you two took a breather.

Despite being drenched, you’re smiling. Holding on to his wet leather jacket, chuckling at the day. Even when you’re covered in rain water, you’re so breathtaking. Beautiful with the ruined make up and the clothing sticking to your skin.

“I love you.”

His words cut through your laughter, leaving you stunned. Your eyes going wide, jaw practically slack at his confession. You weren't expecting that.

“Shit, fuck, sorry I take it back.”

“You don't mean it?”

Logan's ready to storm off, head to the closest bar and drown himself in alcohol. He turns back to you, ears ringing out of fear of his next words.

“I do.”

“I love you too.”

He lets out a laugh of disbelief when you step closer. Logan takes a step back, clenching his fists.

“You shouldn't. Today could’ve been better…”

“Don’t you start this.” He allows you to get closer, your hand sliding along his. “We just had a few slip ups, no date is perfect. And I still had fun.”

He groans when you fully face him, cupping his face, thumb running across his stubble.

“You…really love me, huh?”

“Every damn day, sweetheart. I'd do anything for you. Except pottery. I don't have the hands for it.”

You laugh when his hands rests on top of yours. “Me neither. We'd both end of breaking something.”

When he kisses you, every negative thing goes away. The doubt, the fear, the worry that you'd hate him, break up with him is gone.

“Say it again…” You mutter under his lips.

“I love you.”

He chuckles when you rub your nose again his, “One more time.”

“I love you…”

“I love you too.”

Logan wants to remain in this moment, by the kitchen countertops, picking you up and hugging you until you can hardly breathe. But he’s back in reality when your wet shirt collides with his, reminding them that they’re soaked.

“We should change.”

“Good idea.”

After washing up and changing into some fresh clothes, Logan immediately grabs a beer. Once you’re cleaned up, he notices a box you’re carrying. It’s red with a pink bow on it. You’re smiling wide when you give it to him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He opens it to see chocolate. Not just any chocolate though. They’re all infused with a special type of ale. You explain how you had to order it in advance to get it time as the chocolates were from Ireland. He likes chocolate and he likes ale. Win win in his eyes.

“Damn, you didn’t need to do all of this for me. I was fine with a pack of cigars.”

You shake your head, “As someone who loves you, I didn’t want to just give you the same ol’ thing. You can get cigars any day, but not beer infused candy.”

Logan couldn’t argue with that logic.

He takes a chocolate, admiring the small round shape before eating it. The alcohol immediately overpowering his tongue and the sweetness from the chocolate filling the rest of senses.

“This is good. Try one.”

You purse your lips, “I don’t like beer like that.”

“You never had the right one. Try.”

He feeds you a chocolate, watching your face pucker up at the taste. You unexpectedly shiver and he finds that so attractive.

“Ugh, okay I can say that I had it.”

“More for me.”

The rain continues to pour down when he sits next to you on the floor. Getting comfortable on the plush, white rug. You immediately have a glass of wine while scrolling through endless movie options.

“Looks like we can still do our romantic comedy tonight!”

Logan grumbles when you nudge him, “Of course, you still managed to slip that in.”

“Hey, hey before you knock it…”

You show him a piece of paper. It’s designed like a bingo board, filled with lines, scenes of what usually happens in romantic comedies. Each time one of those things appear on the board, they have to take a sip.

“And why didn't you start with saying you get drunk on Valentine’s day?”

You shrug, “It’s not as exciting as the winery.”

“Bullshit, we should've done this instead.”

Logan gets another idea, grabbing a few more bottles of beer. You’re already scrounging your face as he sets them down on the coffee table.

“You’re torturing me, aren’t you? What did I say about beer?”

“I heard you, sugar, but we gotta make it fun.”

He motions to the row of different kind of beers for you to select for the game. Four bottles, each with a different color label. You think it over while rubbing your chin in thought.

“Can I get a taste test before I pick?”

“Fine, I’ll go easy on ya.”

After opening the bottles with his claws, you take a sip of each one. Your face going through a whirlwind of emotions like disgust and disappointment. You manage to tolerate the beer with the blue label the most. He figured you’d pick that one as it’s not as strong as the other beers.

And he’s sure you’re already tipsy.

“The one who gets the most crossed off wins.” You declare, handing him a piece of paper and a pen.

“Should’ve said whoever gets the drunkest because you’re halfway there.”

He cackles when you push his face away before pressing play on the movie. This one was about a maid who pretends to be a guest in a prestigious hotel she works at and falls in love with a politician. Logan took a sip with you with the main character having a kid.

As the movie went on, Logan thought he’d win when you were the main one taking sips from your beer. But when the meet-cute happened he was in for it. The movie wasn’t horrible though, even if a drinking game wasn’t attached to it, he’d be interested. Sure, the premise worked for its time, but he can see why you liked this one.

The lights started flickering when lightning cracked nearby. It made you curl up beside him on the couch. He took in your clean scent and noticed your outfit. The casual t-shirt, your breasts rubbing along his side. He knows you’re not wearing a bra and somehow that’s the only thing he can focus on right now.

He starts rubbing your exposed legs, going all the way up to the trim of your shorts and down to your knee. Logan forgets about the game when he presses his nose against your head, taking in your scent. Your fingers loosely colliding with his tank and scraping along his belly button.

The beer is gone and he’s groping your breast, gently squeezing it to test the waters. You don’t do anything as you’re focusing on the movie. Completely unbothered. That’s what he thought until your thighs pressed against each other.

“You’re not looking at the movie.”

“Mmm, no. I’m looking at something better.”

He angles your neck so he can cover it with kisses. Logan grins at your heavier breathing, your nipple getting harder under his touch. The blood rushing to his cock at your sighs. You barely set your beer down before he’s on you. Kissing you, tugging on your bottom lip before mixing his tongue with your own.

Any moans you utter is drowned out from the movie and the pitter patter of the rain.

Logan’s cock constricts in his pants when he pulls off your shirt. Your chest in his peripheral vision. He then decides that you should be naked immediately. He doesn’t waste any time removing your shorts, pulling your panties off with it. You’re now in his lap, kissing and sucking on his lips while grinding along his bulge.

He strokes your back before cupping the globes of your ass. He swallows any noises you make while taking in the delectable scent of your arousal.

You remove his shirt, your nails scratching along his shoulders. They create a burn that would make him harder if possible. The beer on your lips sucks him in even further.

Logan suckles on your neck once more, rubbing along your cheeks. Your wet cunt creating a small wet spot right above the tip of his covered cock. He shudders at the spot cooling from the air, pre cum staining his pants.

Without any issues, you help him remove his pants, leaving his cock out and pressed against your stomach. He’s groaning in your mouth as you stroke him, cum spreading to his shaft and in your palm. You take your time as you pump him, giving his length a small squeeze here and there. He’s trying not to submit due to how you stroke him. While his thumb creates circles on your thighs.

“H-Hey, you’re not overly drunk, right?”

You chortle, slowly peppering his face with kisses. “A bit late too ask that…”

“If you ever feel dizzy, we can always stop-” Logan’s breath catches when your circle around his tip before putting your thumb in your mouth, sucking the cum away.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He helps you hover above his shaft, fingers pressing into your thighs as you lower yourself on him. Logan nips at your skin to keep from blowing inside you so early. He holds you close to his chest, taking in how you’re whining above him.

“Fuck, you always feel good.”

You lift your hips up, hovering above his tip before sinking back down. You try doing that for a few moments before he took over. Clutching you to him, helping you lift up and down, your clit rubbing along the base of his shaft. He grunts, his brows furrow. Your cunt molding to his cock. His tip brushing against walls before bumping against your cervix.

Logan sears your moans into his memory. Taking in how good he’s making you feel.

“Don’t stop…” You plead, head back as you’re barely holding on to him. “Shit…Logan…”

His chest rumbles at your desperate pleas, rutting his hips harder into you.

“I love this fucking cunt. ‘m never gonna stop…”

That’s when he leans back, flat against the carpet. He takes you down with him, allowing you to sob into his chest. Large hands taking their rightful place on your bottom. Your back arching as he fucks up into you. Heavy and slow breaths mixing against each other. The sounds of his dick fucking your slick pussy being music to his ears.

“You love when I fuck you like this? Huh?” His stomach stirs when you only nod, “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes…yes I love when you…oh…” Your sex clenches around his length and Logan stutters. His balls tightening, ready to release inside you at any moment.

“Shit, if you do that again I’m…”

You’re gone, eyes rolled back as you’re grinding against his fast thrusts. Chasing the climax that ripples across your entire body. Your cries filling up the living room. Your cunt squeezing Logan’s cock tightly to the point where he’s right behind you. His seed shooting inside as he releases a strangled groan, painting your insides.

Logan doesn’t stop the thrusts, making sure his cum is pushed further in as much as possible. Your coos egging him on for a few more minutes.

He kisses your forehead while coming down from his high. Your back rises and falls while you play with his chest hairs. The movie is over, credits finishing and a black screen remaining on the tv. Rain pounding on the windows while thunder rolls in.

“I love you.”

Logan smiles, stroking your back while locking eyes with you. “Love you too, sugar.”

This dumb ass holiday wasn’t too bad after all.

Tags: @nanamincreampie @pochapo @rushman-natalierushman

#hyperfixation took me away from marvel from #still reading still missing💔#love you lots

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v44lentine · 2 days ago

Text

Sports Car

Red!Clark x Female Reader

Warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected p in v, maybe like 1 swear word?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

To say that Clark had been acting strange was an understatement. The once wholesome farm boy was now mouthing off to teachers and riding around on a motorcycle. It was almost as if his personality had done a complete 180 overnight. However, this sudden change had almost no effect on your massive crush on Clark. If anything, his new persona had only increased the amount of salacious thoughts that ran through your mind as you stared at him during class. You chalked up all of his typical chivalrous acts to him just being a nice guy. But his longing glances and lingering touches made you think that just maybe, he might feel the same way about you.

As the bell signaling the end of class rung, you were making your way out of the room until a familiar husky voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

"You're looking nice today, Y/N."

You turned around to see none other than Clark Kent sitting nonchalantly on a desk, eyeing you up and down as if you were on display just for him. Was it delusional to think that he was checking you out?

"That skirt fits you real nice, Y/N." He rose from the desk and walked closer, almost too close, to where you were standing, frozen in place.

"You wear that just for me?" he asked, now inches from your face. Up close, you could see his blushy cheeks and perfect dimples. His pouty red lips that you had daydreamed about looking more kissable than ever. Stunned by his brazen attempts at flirting with you, you paused a minute to consider your response.

"Maybe I did," you reply, shy smile forming on your face. Clark, in turn, began to smile back. It wasn't his usual earnest grin. This time, a sly, knowing smile had overtaken him.

"I knew it," he began, "I always notice you glancing over at me during class when you think I'm not watching."

Your eyes widened as weight of Clark's revelation hit you. Maybe your secret crush wasn't such a secret after all.

"Relax, Y/N," he assured you before leaning in close, "I've been watching you too." He took both of your hands in his before continuing.

"Look, Y/N, I've had feelings for you for a long time, and I know you have feelings for me too. So I think we should stop pretending."

Unsure of what to make of his confession, you ask "so, what? Is this supposed to be some all new Clark Kent?"

"That depends, do you like him?" he quips before pressing his lips to yours. You let him kiss you, hoping that this is one dream that you'll never wake up from. He cups your cheek with one hand while using his other to steady you at the waist. His touch even more dizzying than before. Your hands press on his chest to confirm that this is all really happening before he pulls away.

"You wanna go for a ride?" he asks. While you'd assumed he meant a ride in his car, you fervently nodded in reply, down for whatever he had in mind.

Clark took your hand and led you through the hallways and out to the parking lot, only to find a red sports car with the letters LEX XIV spelled out on the license plate. Confused, you raised an eyebrow and asked Clark, "what happened to the big red pickup?"

"Figured I needed an upgrade if I was going to be driving around with the prettiest girl in school."

Just then, you felt a surge of heat creep up to your cheeks and down to your core. He motions for you to get in the car and you oblige without a second thought. You barely had a moment to fasten your seatbelt before the engine revved and Clark took off. His driving was erratic which had you gripping the “oh shit” handle and squeezing your eyes shut. You could feel the car swerving and you just prayed to God you made it to wherever you were headed. Sensing your uneasiness, Clark's hand found its way from the steering wheel to your bare thigh. Between the new jacket, the car, his behavior, you didn’t know what to make of him. Is it bad that you liked this version of Clark? He was bold and daring and not afraid to make a move, which was exactly what you both needed.

As you made your way further and further down the backroads of Smallville, Clark's hand made its way further and further up your thigh. The tension in the car becoming unbearable as you spread your legs just enough to let him snake his hand up to your soaked panties. Delighted by the surprise, a wicked grin began to form on Clark's face.

"Wow baby, all this for me?" he teased. A breathy "mhmm" was all you could muster at this point because his fingers had pushed their way past your panties and into you. "Why don't we see how wet you can really get?"

He drove another mile or two before abruptly pulling off the road down a dirt path. When he finally parked the car, we were in an empty field just past a thick covering of trees. You moaned at the loss of contact from his fingers, but you could barely comprehend what was happening before his lips smashed into yours. His left hand tugged forcefully on your hair while his right hand went straight for your lips. Before he could even ask, you sucked your own juices off of his fingers.

"Such a good girl," he cooed as he removed his fingers. "Come here baby," he said, reaching for your waist with one hand and pulling you onto his lap with an insane amount of strength.

"We could share one seat,"

"Clark, who even are you right now? What is this" you giggled, pointing between the two of you.

He let out a chuckle of his own before replying, "I think you know what this is." And just like that, his lips were attacking you once more. This time, his kisses trailed from your lips down to your neck with his hands firmly gripping your ass. While his lips got to work on your neck, his hands pushed your skirt all the way up to your waist. You were both a mess of grunts and whines as your hips ground against each other in perfect sync. Inspired by Clark's bold actions, you took matters into your own hands and began unhooking his belt.

"Woah somebody's eager," he teased as his cock sprung free from his boxers. God it was even bigger than you’d imagined all those times you daydreamed about him during class.

"Shut up," you shot back before finally sinking down onto his length. It was at this moment that you lost all control in the situation. Your hips were bound by Clark's tight grasp and he drilled into you from underneath. He was fucking you with such fervor that you had grip onto his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

"Oh my god, Clark!" you practically screamed.

"Not so shy anymore are you, Y/N?"

Growing accustomed to his pace, you began to grind down on his cock as he railed you from below.

"Fuck, Clark, you're gonna make me cum," you groaned.

"I know baby, just let it out for me." His words were enough to send you over the edge, with his name tumbling out of your mouth and your juices completely soaking his lower half. But Clark was relentless. He kept pounding into you until finally you felt his cum coating your insides.

"Jesus, Y/N, I didn't know you had that in you."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Clark."

"We're gonna have a lot of fun together aren't we?" he slurred. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before replying, "definitely. . .but we should probably get the car cleaned up before returning it to Lex."

"I wouldn't worry about it, I don't think he'll be getting this car back for a while." ;)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘

AN: this is my first time writing for Smallville Clark Kent and it was inspired by a tate mcrae song that I’m currently obsessed with. lmk how I did <3

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v44lentine · 4 days ago

Note

BAHHAHAAAAA i kinda need this now

HELP.....why did i just think of clark shopping for victoria's secret and thinking abt you in it but also being a clumsy farmboy bc there's so many people in the store he gets confused why everyone's looking at him weird LMFAOOO and he's just staring at the bombshell bra's like they owe him some money

omgg !!!!! yesssss !!!!

i can seriously imagine you sending him to probably just pick up your online order, but as soon as he steps in, he’s flustered !!!! bonus if it’s packed bc i literally used to work there and pls its always packed during the holidays

like his tall ass towering over everything and everyone, just awkwardly standing in line, hands shoved in his jean pockets, lips pressed into a straight line, as he tries to focus on the cashier ahead but his eyes cant help but scan the room, taking in every single detail, every little piece of lingerie, imagining what you would look good in, his eyes land on a set. soft, baby pink with delicate lace. he can almost picture you wearing it. that image hits him harder than he expected. he knows how you’d look, how the fabric would hug your curves, how you’d move with such ease, and suddenly, the air feels thick. he has to swallow, forcing the image out of his head, and the girls in the store? giggling, whispering, “can you imagine him buying lingerie? bet it’s for a girlfriend, right?”

the girls in the store are waiting for his reaction. will he laugh it off? will he blush? will he try to make a joke to hide the awkwardness? his face is so stiff, so serious, they almost want him to crack a smile, anything to break the tension. they’re watching so closely that they don’t miss a single movement, and when the woman in front of him moves aside, he takes a quick step toward the counter, trying to look casual but failing miserably. eyes glancing quickly at the cashier who’s smiling a little too knowingly, reaching behind her to grab the pink bag. the bag that’s holding your lingerie—whatever it is that you picked out online, and that clark, a little out of breath, is now picking up for you. it feels absurd, but there’s something about it that gets his heart racing.

his thoughts run wild as he watches the bag swing from his hand. is the lingerie something soft and sweet, or bold and daring? does it have lace or silk? does it match the way you make him feel—carefree, bold, seductive? every detail he thought about as he looked through the store comes rushing back, giggling and whispering behind him fade into the background, and all he can think about is the smile you’ll have when you see him walk through your door, handing you that bag like it’s some big reveal.

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v44lentine · 4 days ago

Text

𝘺𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘺

·.✧ ✦ ✧.·

Your boyfriend was sitting on the couch, the lighting was dimmed as you had just finished putting away the dishes. The words which splayed in the book he was reading painted his mind as the rain painted the glass windows outside.

He looked so gorgeous, edible even. The way his eyes were frowned as he was focused on his book; biceps tensed with each shift on the couch, the way his head slightly moved to follow the words and his thick digits turned each paper with a short flick.

Your eyes diverted to his position, his legs spread and his back quite slouched on the leather couch. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, growing desire pooling in your stomach.

“Jay..” you whined lowly, slowly inching towards the couch as he just hummed, but didn’t acknowledge you further. “—Jason.” your tone was more firm now, almost raising authority as his head turned, now glaring at you plopping down next to him.

“What?” he looked almost perplexed, his brows furrowed but his gaze flickered between your sharp features. “Don’t give me that face.” you faux pouted, and it only earned an eye roll from him though there was a hint of a smirk forming in the corner of his lips.

“‘s just my face, babe.” he sighed at the abrupt interruption of his reading, and went back to glare at the book. You narrowed your eyes at him, though they quickly fell to his arms, his toned biceps which flexed under this small shirt, almost bulging out of the sleeves.

Something turned inside of you, like burning desire just took over you and forced you to lean into his arm, grasping onto the tough skin and sinking your teeth into his flesh.

He didn’t flinch, in fact, he didn’t even say anything until you bit down particularly hard, maroon marks forming at your wake. “Fuck—“ he winced, glaring down at your glued shut eyes, fingers digging into his skin and biting his arm like your dessert.

His palm abandoned his book, now moved up to grab your chin and lift you away from his bicep. Your mouth left his skin and a light groan erupted from your throat in hunger.

“You a cannibal now, or somethin’?” he raised a brow, a small smirk on his pink lips and you chuckled, leaning into the warmth of his chest. His book was now on the floor as he stroked your hair; fingers intertwined in the soft locks as you hummed.

“So I can’t show my love for my beautiful.. strong, yummy boyfriend?” you ended your sentence with another giggle, your hand coming up to cup the side of his face and he was biting back a smile, cheeks now reddening and flustering.

“Yummy?” he scoffed, looking away for a second to contain his composure. “Jesus, you are a cannibal..” his fingers came up to squeeze the side of your hip, earning an enduring giggle from your lips. “—gotta add that one to your list of crazy, hm?” he let out a dry chuckle after you . “You’ve got a list?” you gasped exaggeratively.

“Yikes.. you are obsessed with me.” you scoffed mockingly, but humorously and he shrugged you off of him playfully, “Careful,” he snickered as you forced yourself back down into his chest, not allowing yourself to escape his domestic affection.

“If i’m crazy, what are you?” you challenged, head tilting against his chest, sending waves of electric along his skin. “I’m your beautiful, strong, yummy boyfriend, remember?” he smirked smugly before leaning into your lips, planting an intimate kiss on your lips which was strangely soft but nonetheless comforting as he pulled you onto his lap.

You straddled his warmth, “That you are, baby.” you hummed contently and wrapped your arms around his waist, head leaning against his shoulder and you two just laid there in a tranquil silence as you inhaled eachothers familiar scents, nourished in the ambience of electric devotion.

·.✧ ✦ ✧.·

a/n: sorry this is so bad guys im working on like 3 things rn in my drafts. xox T.

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v44lentine · 4 days ago

Text

— ❝𝘛HE LOᐯELY MᗩID❞

contents bruce wayne x fem!reader, maid!reader au, fluff, 2k+ wc. synopsis bruce absolutely does not have a crush on his employee. nope. not at all. or at least… that’s what he keeps telling himself—over and over—whenever she smiles at him like that.

He's captivated. There's no other way to explain it.

Captivated by the sweet woman in front of him—the one serving dinner to his family and him. The same woman he originally hired to assist his aging butler, Alfred.

This was unlike him. Bruce Wayne, a 35-year-old billionaire, didn’t do crushes. Sure, he’d had his fair share of fleeting affections, even pursued a few women in his younger years. But that was before. Now, nearing forty, he had no business developing feelings—especially not for her.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"Huh?"His head jerks up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, instantly focusing on the source of that soft, melodic voice.

The young maid blinks at his reaction, her brows lifting slightly before she smiles—polite, composed. She gestures toward his untouched plate.

"Your supper is getting cold, Mr. Wayne."

Oh dear heavens—or whatever’s up there—Her voice, her gestures, her kindness, her grace. Everything about her is just—And her smile! God—everything about her is—

"Stop ogling the maid, father. Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Damian’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a blade.

Bruce barely has time to register the words before his eyes find her again—this time, assisting Tim, carefully slicing a piece of bread for him.

The tenderness in her actions makes something tighten in his chest. He forces himself to breathe, the corners of his lips lifting slightly as he finally picks up his fork and eats.

"Is the food to everyone's liking?" she asks, scanning the room.

The family responds with nods, murmured approvals, and a few hums of agreement. She turns back to Bruce then, and when their eyes meet—

ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum

His heartbeat stutters.Her expression is warm, her gaze unwavering. It’s as if the world slows for a moment, like she’s silently pulling him in, like—

"Mr. Wayne? All done? How was supper?"

"Huh—? Oh! Yeah, yeah, supper was amazing, doll—Dear! I mean dear... It was, uh—fantastic."

Stop talking. Stop rambling. Just smile, Bruce. Act normal.

She blushes. Just slightly. But it’s enough to make his heart hammer against his ribs. Was it because of the way he’d called her doll? Or was she just being polite?

He wants to believe the former. But doubt seeps in, as it always does. Because he could read people—always had, ever since childhood. He could pick apart a liar, a manipulator, a fraud, all with a single glance. But her?

She was a mystery. No matter how simple or complex her actions were, he couldn’t read her.

And that terrified him.

Because every time he thought, Maybe she likes me, too, logic would intervene, reminding him of the facts. Why would a woman like her ever look at me that way if I weren’t her employer?

"Mr. Wayne, I’d appreciate some help carrying the dishes to the sink."

Her voice yanks him from his thoughts, and he’s grateful for it.

He clears his throat, nodding as he stands. Without thinking, he starts stacking plates, piling them into an unstable tower.

He lifts it, wobbling slightly—

She reaches out to steady it.

"No, no—I got it all under control. T’his is all easy peasy lemon squeezy!"

What the hell did he just say?

Bruce cringes so hard he wants the earth to swallow him whole. He quickly turns, marching toward the kitchen before he embarrasses himself further.

Behind him, his four sons watch in varying degrees of amusement.

"Huh..." Jason mutters, raising an eyebrow as he plucks a toothpick from the table.

That alone is enough to make Dick snort, nodding in agreement.

"Is Bruce—"

"In love? Probably," Damian interjects flatly, wiping his hands with a sanitary wipe.

"Father’s behavior is completely illogical. That is the only reasonable explanation."

Tim doesn’t say much. He only shrugs—but there’s a knowing smile on his lips as he glances toward the archway, where Bruce and their maid have disappeared.

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v44lentine · 4 days ago

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# DAMN BABY .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When you smack their ass.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, 90s Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

☆⁠ BRUCE WAYNE

You are never getting this opportunity again. Bruce is standing in the kitchen, wearing sweatpants. His back is turned. The ass is right there. You act on impulse. SMACK. Bruce freezes. You grin, leaning against the counter. “Damn, Daddy Wayne. Is that Batcake for me?” The silence is deafening. Bruce slowly turns his head, staring at you like you just committed a felony in broad daylight. “…Excuse me?” You wink. “You heard me, sweetheart.” Bruce stares for ten more seconds. Then, without a word, he leaves. OH NO. You realize too late what you’ve done. Bruce is disappearing into the Batcave. You hear him booting up the Batcomputer. “…Bruce?” TAP. TAP. TAP. He’s typing furiously. You peek over his shoulder. He’s running an analysis. On himself. “BRUCE—” “I need to reassess my stealth levels,” he mutters. “If you could land that strike, I’ve grown careless.” OH MY GOD.

☆⁠ DICK GRAYSON

You see him walking down the hallway, all smug and confident, wearing those tight jeans he knows make people insane. You can’t help yourself. You smack it. Hard. SMACK. Dick gasps.

LOUDLY. “Damn, Grayson,” you whistle, “is that thing double-cheeked up on a Thursday?!” Immediate. Dramatic. Reaction. Dick clutches the wall like he’s fainting. Then—he spins around so fast he almost trips. “Babe.” His eyes are wide, teary, shaking. “DO YOU MEAN IT?” You blink. “Huh?” Dick grabs your hands. “Say it again. Say it with your whole chest.” “…What.” “Do you mean it? Do you mean the ass thing?” “…Yeah?” Dick grins so wide he looks insane. He winks at you before immediately turning around and sticking his ass out. “Go ahead, babe. One more for the road.” “OH MY GOD.” You are never doing this again. Maybe.

☆⁠ JASON TODD

Jason is minding his business. Jason is walking past you. Jason’s fat ass is asking for it. You strike. SMACK. Jason IMMEDIATELY turns, hand on his gun. OH SHIT. You throw your hands up. “WAIT—” His eyes narrow. Suspicious. Dangerous. Then—he relaxes. “…Did you just smack my ass?” You grin. “Yup.” He blinks. Then—he smirks. “…Oh.” You squint. “Why do you sound happy?” Jason shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Nah, it’s just funny.” You relax. “Good, ‘cause—” SMACK. JASON JUST DROPPED HIS WHOLE BODYWEIGHT INTO SLAPPING YOUR ASS BACK. YOU FLY ACROSS THE ROOM. “JASON, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO.” Jason just cackles.

☆⁠ 90s TIM DRAKE

Tim is exhausted. Tim has had three hours of sleep in the past two days. Tim is running on caffeine, crime, and sheer force of will. So, naturally—you strike when he’s at his weakest. SMACK. Tim jumps so hard he drops his coffee. “WHAT—” He spins around, eyes wide, looking like a scared raccoon You grin. “Damn, baby bird. You always keep that wagon on you?” Tim stares. Tim processes. Tim crashes. He grabs his head like he’s having an existential crisis. “Oh my God.” “Tim?” “Oh my God.” He’s stumbling backwards, running into the table. “I—I was not prepared for this.” “Tim, breathe—” “I HAVEN’T EVEN FINISHED PUBERTY. AM I EVEN LEGALLY ALLOWED TO HAVE A WAGON?” “TIM—” He grabs your shoulders, looking deep into your soul. “…Do I actually have ass?” You blink. Tim shakes you. “TELL ME THE TRUTH.”

☆⁠ DUKE THOMAS

Duke is chilling. Duke is relaxed. Duke is having a nice, peaceful day. So, naturally—you ruin it. SMACK. Duke immediately whips around, betrayal in his eyes. “EXCUSE ME?” You lean against the counter, smirking. “Damn, sunshine. Didn’t know you were carrying all that.” Duke freezes. Then—he laughs. “Oh, word?” He steps closer. You narrow your eyes. “…Duke?” “Oh, word?” He’s too calm.Too smug. He leans down, real close, real quiet. “…Bet.” Then—he disappears. For three days. And when he returns—he waits. Until you’re completely unsuspecting. Until you’re relaxed. Until you think it’s over. And then— SMACK. “DUKE—” “EQUALITY.”

☆⁠ DAMIAN WAYNE

You spot him. You see the perfect opportunity. Damian is standing by the window, arms crossed, looking all broody and serious. SMACK. The moment your hand connects, Damian jumps like he’s been electrocuted. Then—he spins around with his sword half-drawn. “WHO DARES—” You grin. “Damn, baby. Didn’t know you were packing all that.” Silence. Pure, horrified silence. Damian just stares. Then—he slowly processes what you just said. His entire face turns red. “You—you dare—” He grabs his chest like he’s having a heart attack. “You speak of my body so… so FILTHILY?” You cackle. “Yes.” He looks away sharply. “This… this is inappropriate.” “And?” “…Say it again.” “…What.” “Say it.” “…Damian, are you—” “SAY IT.”

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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v44lentine · 5 days ago

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Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 1,5k

Plot: Nightwing comes home starving, but it's not the food on his mind ✨

CW: 18+, established relationship, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, teasing

Dick drops to his knees like a man on a mission, eyes burning with hunger as he tugs your panties down and spreads your legs. His hands, still gloved, grip your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wants you—wide open for him.

The dark blue of his Nightwing suit clings to every muscle, every flex of his body a reminder of just how tightly coiled his need is. He doesn't bother with teasing, doesn't waste time—his mouth is on you before you can even take your next breath.

And fuck, he eats like he's been starving for it. Maybe because he has been.

His tongue flicks over your clit, sharp and relentless, before dragging through your slick folds, tasting everything you have to offer. A deep groan rumbles through him as he sucks at your clit, the vibrations making your legs shake. His hands keep you pinned in place, his grip firm but reverent, like he needs this, needs you.

"God, baby—" your head tilts back, thighs trembling against his hold. "Always so fucking good for me."

He hums against you, shoving two fingers inside your greedy cunt, fucking them in deep as his tongue works over your swollen, aching clit. He's got you on edge in minutes, pushing, pressing, curling—like he knows exactly how to pull you apart.

And he does.

The orgasm builds sharp and hot in your core, a coil twisting tight, every flick of his tongue drawing you closer to the edge. His fingers are relentless, fucking you open, stretching you, dragging against that perfect spot until your thighs tense, your back arches, and you break, fingers tighten in his dark, messy hair.

It slams into you, a rush of white-hot pleasure that has your hips rolling against his mouth, chasing every last wave. He loves it, moans like he's the one cumming as he keeps his mouth locked to your clit, working you through it, not stopping, never stopping.

Your mind is spinning, your body too sensitive, too hot, but he doesn't give you a second to catch your breath.

He adds a third finger, stretching you wider, and you feel it—the way he groans against your cunt, how he shifts like his dick is aching inside his suit, straining for relief. He loves you like this, loves making you fall apart, pushing you past what you think you can handle.

The second orgasm crashes over you faster, sharper, your entire body seizing up as pleasure floods your senses. It's overwhelming—so intense that it borders on too much, your nerves sparking like live wires, every muscle tensing as the pleasure crests and breaks over you.

Your breath stutters, coming in ragged gasps as your fingers curl into the sheets, legs trembling, your body unable to do anything but take it—all of it—the pleasure still pulsing through you in hot, unbearable waves. Your voice catches, somewhere between a sob and a moan, utterly wrecked, utterly gone, shaking beneath his hold.

And he still doesn't stop.

"D-Dick, I—"

"You got one more for me, my love," he rasps, voice thick with need, his lips and chin shining with your slick. "C'mon. Give me another."

You whimper as he flicks his tongue over your clit, soft, teasing, while his fingers curl just right, hitting that sweet spot over and over. Your body fights it, too sensitive, too much—but fuck, he makes it feel so good.

His fingers sink deep, fucking into your cunt at a relentless pace, wet and obscene, the slick sounds of it mixing with the lewd slurps of his mouth on you. Every thrust is deliberate, each stroke pressing against that spongy spot inside you, dragging pleasure out of you even as your body trembles from overstimulation. You try to squirm away, to close your legs around his head, the pleasure too much, too sharp—but he won't let you.

His free hand presses against your inner thigh, keeping you wide open for him, holding you still as he works you open, stretching you out with three thick fingers. He groans into your cunt, lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks, flicking his tongue over the swollen, throbbing bud, the sensation shooting straight to your core. Your body shakes, twitching beneath him, teetering on the edge—again.

"Can't, baby," you gasp, your voice breaking, but he doesn't stop.

He hums against your clit, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through you. His fingers press deeper, curling, twisting, fucking into you so good you don't know where the pleasure begins or ends. Your walls clench around his fingers, gripping him tight, your body betraying you, giving in even as you try to fight it.

You're going to cum. You know it. He knows it. And fuck, he's going to drag you over that edge whether you think you can take it or not.

Your third orgasm is blinding, a desperate, choked-out cry leaving your lips as pleasure wracks through you, your cunt clenching down hard on his fingers. Wetness drips down, slick and messy, proof of just how wrecked you are, how he's undone you completely.

And fuck, he loves it.

His dick is throbbing, leaking precum like crazy, the tight press of his suit unbearable against the ache. He's painfully hard, desperate for relief, but he doesn't stop, doesn't even think about it—because this?

This is everything. The way your body shudders, overstimulated and twitching, the way your cunt clenches around his fingers like you're trying to milk them, sucking him in, even though you're trembling from how much he's pushed you.

He moans against you, lips still latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit, flicking his tongue in slow, lazy strokes just to watch you squirm. He knows it's too much, knows you're oversensitive, body wracked with aftershocks, but fuck, he could eat you out for hours if you'd let him. If you begged him to. If you grabbed his hair and whimpered please.

His fingers are soaked, glistening in the dim light as he fucks them into you, slow and deep, savoring the way you pulse around him. He groans, rutting his hips against the mattress, chasing even the smallest bit of friction, but it's not enough—not even close.

He wants to be buried inside you, wants to feel your cunt squeeze around his dick just like it is around his fingers, but he holds back because this? This is better. Watching you fall apart, watching your body shake, your breath come in short, broken gasps, your voice hoarse from moaning his name.

Your body shakes, your breath stutters, and all you can do is feel—the way he works you through it, the way he moans like he lives for this, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

And he knows—knows you can't take another, not right now. As your body still shudders in the aftermath, you feel it—the hard press of his cock against his suit, straining, leaking, aching for you.

"Need it," you murmur, breathless, reaching for him. "Need your dick so badly, baby. Please."

Dick makes a move to strip, but you stop him, pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his lap. Your fingers work fast, freeing his cock from his suit, letting it slap against his stomach—thick, flushed, soaked with precum, sticky strings of it smearing against his abs. He's so fucking hard, so desperate, twitching in your grasp.

"The suit stays on tonight, baby," you whisper, dragging the head of his cock through your soaked folds, making a mess of him, mixing your slick with his precum.

You roll your hips, teasing, watching the way his jaw clenches, his hands gripping your thighs like he's trying to hold himself back.

He groans, deep and wrecked, his fingers digging into your flesh. "That's fine by me, doll, but you better not tease."

But you do—just a little—pressing the tip inside, feeling the way he throbs for you, desperate, needing more. His breath stutters, hips twitching up, but you keep him there, hovering, stretching you open just enough to feel it.

Then you sink down, taking him all at once, all of him, and the noise he makes is guttural, a deep, broken moan punched out of his chest as your cunt swallows him to the hilt.

"Fucking shit," he groans, head falling back against the pillows, fingers tightening on your ass, spreading you wider, making sure he's balls deep inside your needy cunt.

You gasp, nails biting into his chest through the suit, because fuck—he's thick, stretching you wide, every ridge of his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, sending another sharp pulse of pleasure through you.

His hands flex, hips rolling up, grinding deep. "Feel that, baby? Feel how fucking deep I am?"

You moan, hands gripping his wrists, barely able to breathe. "So full, baby. Feels so good—"

And he's already moving, already pulling you into it, guiding you into a slow, grinding rhythm that has your clit rubbing against the slick, hot mess between you.

He's not gonna last—not after everything, not when you're still soaked, still trembling around him, gripping him like you don't wanna let go. But he's gonna make sure you cum on his cock first.

And the night is just getting started.

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