poofi

You smelled especially nice today. Logan wasn’t sure what it was — new shampoo? That honey-lavender lotion he liked? — but it was richer, deeper, and dangerously intoxicating. His nose twitched. His stomach clenched. His fingers were already flexing like he needed to dig them into your waist and hold you still until his scent was soaked into your skin.

He didn’t wait for class to end.

“Hey,” came his gravel-soft voice from the door, deep and low enough to vibrate the floorboards.

You turned, smiling brightly when you saw him, and his chest damn near ached. That smile. That softness. The way your hair fell over one shoulder. Home. She smells like home. She is home.

“Logan,” you laughed lightly. “Class isn’t over yet.”

“Don’t care,” he murmured, already stepping into the room. Kids looked up, a few whispering and giggling —“It’s Wolverine!” — but Logan didn’t even glance at them.

He came straight to you.

“Y’smell real good today,” he said against your ear, voice just a breath now. “Better than usual. Sweet. Kinda spicy. S’drivin’ me crazy, darlin’. Can’t think.”

Your cheeks went hot, especially with several wide-eyed children looking right at you. “Logan—”

“Shh,” he mumbled, burying his nose into your neck like an oversized feral cat. “Jus’ lemme—just for a second.”

His arms slid around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest with zero shame. You barely had time to react before he was nuzzling and mouthing lightly at your jaw, his stubble ticklish and his breath warm. He definitely purred. Deep and low, like a jungle cat trying to crawl under your skin.

“Logan, you're—you’re purring,” you whispered.

“No, I ain’t,” he muttered, lips against your throat.

You stifled a laugh. “You definitely are.”

“S’not purrin’. Just rumbly. S’normal.”

A throat cleared beside you.

You looked down to see little Tommy, age 8, blinking up with an eager hand raised.

“Miss, can I ask you a question?”

Logan didn’t even move.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop rubbing his face against your neck. His grip only tightened slightly as he kept mouthing at your skin like he was trying to taste whatever was making you smell that good.

You blinked, unsure whether to be mortified or... flattered?

“I—uh—sure, Tommy,” you said, giving your best teacher voice while your feral boyfriend was actively scent-marking you like an animal in heat.

Tommy tilted his head. “Is Mr. Logan okay?”

“He’s... just having a moment,” you managed.

“Is he gonna eat you?”

That made you laugh —and Logan finally cracked open one eye, glancing lazily down.

“Nah, kid,” he grunted, lips brushing your cheek. “M’takin’ real good care of her.”

“Ew,” a choir of children said at unison.

“Is he always like this?” one girl whispered.

“Only when he smells something good,” another boy added, very seriously.

Logan barely acknowledged them. His full attention was still on you, and every small inhale had him humming deep in his chest again like he was drunk on you.

When the kids wandered back to their desks, used to Wolverine’s weirdness by now, Logan finally straightened a little, though he still didn’t let you go.

“Y’gonna finish class?”

“Trying to,” you teased.

“Y’want kids, right?” he asked suddenly, voice low and serious.

You blinked. “What?”

Logan rubbed his nose along your jaw again, sniffing, groaning faintly.

“Can see it. The way y’are with them. Makes me—” He paused, then grunted, voice thick. “Makes me want to make you a momma.”

You opened your mouth, heart skipping into a gallop, but Logan cut you off with a kiss to your cheek —then your temple— then a whisper right against your skin:

“Wanna make a life with you. Cubs an’ all.”

You stood frozen, warmth blooming like wildfire under your ribs, feeling the weight of his devotion pressing against you. “You’re insane,” you whispered fondly.

He grinned, finally pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. There was mischief there. And softness. And an absolutely unshakeable love.

“Yeah,” he said. “Crazy for you.”

LOGAN HOWLETT

You’re mid-argument. Something about him leaving his dog tags on the nightstand again, something about the smell of cigar smoke clinging to your favorite sweater. He’s doing the thing where he just growls instead of using words, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking like a man carved from angry marble.

You are trying to be mad. You really are.

But then your eyes drift down. To the hem of his worn, grey henley. To the way it’s riding up just a fraction of an inch above the waist of his jeans.

“and you never listen, and you just—Logan, hold still.”

He stops mid-snarl. “What?”

You don’t answer. You just walk forward, grab the damp, frayed cotton, and yank it straight up to his collarbone.

Silence.

For a full three seconds, he just stares down at you. Then at your hands on his shirt. Then at your face, which is currently doing a very poor job of hiding the fact that you are openly ogling the geography of his abdomen. The map of scars. The ridges of muscle that look like they were carved by a very angry, very horny god.

“…The hell you doin’?” he finally asks, voice dropping an octave.

“Checking for injuries,” you lie, voice barely a squeak.

He catches your chin with two fingers, tilts your face up. His eyes are unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Bub. I heal.”

“Then I’m checking for… symmetry.”

He stares at you for another long, agonizing moment. Then he sighs, the kind of sigh that carries the weight of a century of suffering. He gently pulls his shirt down, but not before you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, turning back to the argument. But now he’s holding his coffee mug a little lower. And the next time he crosses his arms, he makes sure the shirt rides up just a little more. For the sake of symmetry.

WORST WOLVERINE

You find him on the couch. It’s 2 PM. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of Wade’s hot pink sweatpants (they were the only clean ones), a stained white tank top that has seen better centuries, and an expression of profound, feral exhaustion. Dogpool is licking his own foot on the floor. Blind Al is somewhere in the kitchen, loudly trying to microwave a fork.

You are supposed to be bringing him a beer. You do bring him the beer. But as you lean over to set it on the coffee table, your gaze snags on the hem of that tank top.

It’s already barely there. But you want more.

So you do it. You just grab the thin, greasy fabric and hoist it up to his armpits.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at you with those dead, tired eyes. His torso is a mess—a spectacular, horrifying, fascinating mess. Hair, scars, the memory of a thousand deaths. You could count his ribs if you wanted to, but you’re too busy looking at the way the muscles in his obliques twitch.

“…You done?” he asks, voice like gravel being dragged over broken glass.

“No,” you whisper.

He sighs. It’s the sigh of a man who has seen the multiverse crumble and found that this (his girlfriend ogling his post-apocalyptic abs) is the final indignity.

“You’re as bad as the red one.”

“I’m worse,” you admit, not letting go of the shirt.

WADE WILSON

You don’t even get to pull the shirt up. You barely reach for it.

One second your fingers are brushing the hem of his faded, chimichanga-stained t-shirt. The next, he has exploded out of it. The shirt is in tatters on the floor. He is standing in the middle of the living room, arms spread wide, wearing nothing but a pair of unicorn-print boxers and a triumphant grin.

“BABY! Why didn’t you SAY so?!” he bellows, striking a bodybuilder pose. “These bad boys have been DYING for a curtain call! Say hello to the lads! Upper management! The twins! The abdominal ambassadors!”

You blink. “I was just going to-”

“Shhhh.” He presses a finger to your lips. “No talking. Only looking. Feast your eyes, my little goblin. Feast upon the glistening, scar-riddled, perfectly-healed-from-forty-seven-stab-wounds terrain of TRUE LOVE.”

He then proceeds to do a full, unironic, unhinged strip tease to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” on his phone speaker. He flexes. He points at each individual ab (he counts nine, there are four). He makes the muscle dance. He asks you if you want to “leave a tip in the tip jar” while gesturing vaguely below the belt.

By the end of it, you are crying with laughter, curled up on the floor. He takes this as a win, scoops you up, and carries you to the bedroom, whispering, “I knew my degenerative muscle disorder would pay off one day.”

You never did get to pull the shirt up. You didn’t need to. He pre-emptively detonated it.

ORIGINS! WADE WILSON

This Wade is smooth. Dangerously smooth. You two are sparring (lightly) when you trip him—not hard—and he lets you pin him just to see what you’ll do.

You lift his shirt.

He doesn’t flinch. He grins. “Checking for wounds, or checking for weapons?”

“weapons,” you say, eyes on the perfect V-line.

“Plot twist,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “the only weapon I’m hiding is right—"

You slap your hand over his mouth. “Finish that sentence and I’m leaving.”

He shuts up and lets you look. He even does a little half-crunch so the lighting shifts. But the second your fingers drift too low, he catches your hand, kisses your knuckles, and flips you effortlessly.

Now he’s on top. His shirt is still up. “Your turn to show me something.”

“I don’t have abs like that.”

“Did I say abs?” He grins, all teeth. “I said ‘something.’”

REMY LEBEAU

You’re sitting on his lap in a booth at some dimly lit New Orleans bar. He’s in the middle of a truly insufferable poker story. You’re bored. So you lift his shirt.

He doesn’t stop talking. He just smirks.

“—and den de man, he say, ‘Gambit, you cheat,’ and I say, ‘Monsieur, I never cheat at cards. Only at love.’ Ah, chère, you likin’ what you see, non?”

You nod, transfixed. His skin is warm. There’s a fine trail of hair below his navel.

He finally looks down, still smirking, and flicks a playing card from his sleeve. He tucks it under his own shirt, right above his hip bone. “Find dat one, and you get a prize.”

You spend the next hour with your hand up his shirt, searching for a card that keeps changing positions via kinetic energy. The bar loves it. He loves it. By the end, you’ve forgotten the card entirely and are just holding his waist.

He kisses your forehead. “You cute when you focused.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Oui.” He pulls his shirt down. Then up again. Then down. Then up. “But you ain’t complainin’.”

KURT WAGNER

You are both in the X-Mansion’s library. It’s late. Rain is pattering against the windows. Kurt is reading a battered copy of The Three Musketeers in German, his tail curled contentedly around your ankle. He’s wearing a soft, black long-sleeved shirt that fits him like a second skin.

You’re not reading. You’re watching the way the fabric pulls across his shoulders. The way his biceps flex every time he turns a page. The way his tail flicks.

You lose the battle.

You lean over, grab the hem of his shirt, and yank it up to his chin.

He yelps. Actually yelps. The book goes flying. He bamfs—teleports—out of your grasp and reappears on the other side of the room, clinging to the ceiling like a startled cat, his shirt still bunched up around his neck, his golden eyes wide.

“Mein Gott!” he gasps, a flush spreading across his blue-furred cheeks. “What-why- schatz!”

You are laughing so hard you can’t breathe. He’s still on the ceiling, tail lashing, looking like a very confused, very sexy gargoyle. His abdomen is a work of art. Lean, powerful, dusted with the same velvety blue fur as the rest of him.

“I just wanted to see,” you wheeze.

He drops down from the ceiling in a puff of sulfur, landing in front of you with his shirt still askew. He looks at you, really looks at you, and his embarrassment melts into something softer. Something warmer.

“You could have asked,” he says, his accent thickening. He takes your hand and presses it to his stomach, right over his navel. The fur is incredibly soft. “You never have to steal what is already yours.”

EDDIE BROCK (& VENOM!)

You come home to find Eddie in the kitchen, hunched over a tub of tater tots, looking like a man who has made several poor life choices. He’s wearing a faded Newsies sweatshirt (don’t ask) and sweatpants.

You don’t even say hello. You just walk up, grab the hem of the sweatshirt, and hoist it up.

Eddie freezes, a tater tot halfway to his mouth. His stomach is… well. It’s not a six-pack. It’s a soft, solid, eat-a-whole-pizza-and-still-look-good kind of stomach. A little hair. A little scar from that time he got impaled by a symbiote hater. It’s perfect.

Before either of you can speak, a black tendril shoots out of Eddie’s chest and gently pushes the sweatshirt back down.

“No,” Venom’s voice growls, low and possessive. “Ours. Only WE get to look.”

“Venom, dude, they’re my girlfriend,” Eddie says, still not moving.

“Then WE will look at HER. Not at US.”

Another tendril wraps around you, and before you know it, your shirt is being torn off of you by a very insistent alien goo monster. Eddie chokes on his tater tot. You shriek.

“Better,” Venom rumbles, apparently satisfied with the view. “Now we are even. We will keep the sweatshirt down. You will keep YOUR shirt up. This is the new rule.”

Eddie buries his face in his hands. “This is not the new rule.”

“VOTE.” One tendril raises Eddie’s hand. Another raises an invisible one for Venom. “Two against one. New rule passes.”

You are now sitting on the couch on your bra, eating tater tots, while Eddie pretends to not be staring. You consider this an absolute win.

STEVE ROGERS

You’re in the kitchen of the Avengers Tower. Steve is making breakfast: pancakes from scratch, because of course he is. He’s wearing a soft, cream-colored henley and an apron that says “Kiss the Cook.” You have never wanted to kiss a cook more in your entire life.

He flips a pancake. His forearm flexes. The henley strains across his back.

You crack.

You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and yank his shirt up.

He doesn’t react violently. He’s Steve. He just freezes, pancake flipper in hand, and looks down at your hands splayed across his bare stomach. His body is a monument. A tribute to the pinnacle of human (superhuman) achievement. Every muscle is defined, even after years of retirement. There’s a light dusting of blond hair below his navel. You could cry.

“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice that low, patient, dangerous captain’s voice. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring American history,” you whisper.

He turns off the stove. Slowly. Deliberately.

“We are in a common area. With cameras. That Tony definitely watches.”

“I wanted to see your abs.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Rubs the back of his neck. “You… you see them every day. When I change.”

“Not up close.”

He looks left. Right. Then, very quickly, he lifts his own shirt for exactly 1.7 seconds—then drops it. “There. Satisfied?”

“No. That was a crime.”

“You know,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his perfect lips, “in my day, a lady would simply ask to see a gentleman’s torso.”

“In my day,” you retort, “we just took what we wanted.”

“If I let you look for five seconds, will you stop doing this in transited areas of the Tower?”

“Deal.”

He lifts his shirt. You stare. He counts down from five out loud, but he goes slower on the “two.” And when he says “one,” he doesn’t let go.

You end up with your hands on his waist, him holding his own shirt up like a gentleman, for nearly a minute. Sam walks in. Sam walks back out.

Steve buries his face in your hair. “I am never going to hear the end of this.”

“Worth it.”

TONY STARK

You are in his workshop. He’s under a car (one of his classic convertibles) wearing a grease-stained band t-shirt and jeans that hang low on his hips. DUM-E is handing him wrenches. He is muttering about torque ratios.

You crouch down, slide a hand under the car to grab at the plank he's laying on and tug it out, and before he can say “Friday, what the hell,” you grab his shirt and yank it up to his neck.

Tony blinks. He’s on his back, covered in grease, and his girlfriend is now straddling his thighs, staring at his stomach like it’s the last slice of pizza on earth.

“...Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ve been in a lot of situations. Hostage situations. Space situations. That one time in Budapest with a goat. This is… new.”

“Shut up, Tony.”

“I’m not complaining!” He holds up his greasy hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, most people buy me a drink first. You went straight for the home run. I respect it. I’m a little scared, but I respect it.”

You run your fingers down the middle. He shivers. Actually shivers.

“Friday,” he whispers, “cancel my three o’clock.”

“You don’t have a three o’clock, boss.”

“Then cancel my existence. I’m busy.”

He pulls you down on top of him, shirt still up, and kisses you until you taste like motor oil and twenty-year-old guilt. When you finally come up for air, he’s grinning like the man who has everything, and just found out he gets to keep it.

PETER PARKER

He is hanging upside down from the ceiling. Because he’s Peter Parker, and he cannot just sit on a couch like a normal person. He’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt that says “I ❤️ NY” and has a small hole in the armpit.

You walk under him. He grins, upside-down, all big brown eyes and messy hair. “Hey, my lov—”

You grab his shirt. You pull it up (or is it down?).

It slides down all the way to his chin, revealing his entire torso. And oh no. Oh no. He’s lean. He’s wiry. He’s got that swimmer’s build, all long muscle and narrow hips, and a faint trail of dark hair that makes you want to do things that would make your Catholic grandmother faint.

His face, already upside-down, goes nuclear red. “Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa-!”

He tries to flip off the ceiling, but he’s so flustered he miscalculates and falls directly on top of you. You both crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs. His shirt is now down. He is now on top of you. He is very warm.

“I- you—why- my abs?!” he squeaks, his voice cracking like he’s fifteen again. “You wanted to see my- I have- they’re not even- they’re just-muscles!”

“Nice muscles,” you say, reaching up to poke one.

He makes a sound like a deflating balloon. “Oh my God. Oh my God, you’re touching them.”

“That’s generally what happens, yeah.”

He buries his face in your shoulder, ears burning red. But he doesn’t pull his shirt down. And he doesn’t get off you. And after a minute, you feel him mumble into your neck: “…do you want to see the back too?”

You have never loved anyone more.

THOR ODINSON

You are in New Asgard. Thor is on the couch, wearing a flannel shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course), eating a bowl of popcorn the size of your head. He’s in his “comfortable” era, softer around the edges, happier, more him.

You climb into his lap, because you fit there now. He grins, that big, golden, sunshine-in-human-form grin. “Hello, my love! Would you like some popcorn? I have also procured-"

You grab his flannel. You pull it open. Buttons fly everywhere. The shirt hangs off his shoulders, revealing his broad, glorious chest. He’s not as cut as he used to be. There’s a softness there now, a layer of warmth over the godly muscle. It is, objectively, the most attractive thing you have ever seen.

Thor freezes, a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth. Then he looks down at his exposed torso, then at you, then back at his torso.

“…Did you just… de-shirt me?”

“Button-de-shirted you,” you correct. “And yes.”

He considers this for a moment. Then he puts the popcorn down, leans back slightly, and spreads his arms wide on the back on the couch. His smile turns slow, warm, and devastating.

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping to that low, register-rattling rumble, “on Asgard, it is customary to ask before one disrobes a prince.”

“On Midgard,” you reply, “we do what we want.”

He laughs a full, booming laugh that shakes the couch, and pulls you against his bare chest. He is so warm. So soft. So impossibly huge.

“Then by all means,” he murmurs against your hair, “take what you want, little mortal.”

You stay there for hours. The popcorn gets cold. Neither of you moves.

JOHNNY STORM

You are in the middle of a fight. A real one. He forgot your anniversary. You are screaming. He is deflecting. The Human Torch is currently being verbally immolated by his very angry girlfriend.

“and you said you would remember this time, Johnny, you promised!"

“Babe, I’m sorry, I was fighting a Mole Man—”

“THERE IS ALWAYS A MOLE MAN!”

You are so angry. So furious. Your blood is boiling. And then your eyes drop to his waist. He’s wearing his Fantastic Four uniform, the blue and black one, and the top is slightly untucked from his bottoms.

You grab it. You yank it up.

Johnny stops mid-sentence. His abs are obscene. A perfect, chiseled, airbrushed-by-the-gods six-pack that looks like it was designed in a lab specifically to make you forget why you were mad.

You stare.

He stares at you staring.

“…Are we still fighting?” he asks cautiously.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “I forgot.”

His cocky grin returns. Slow. Smug. Infuriating. “So my abs just… saved the day?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m not pushing anything. You’re the one who pulled up my shirt in the middle of a screaming match.”

You drop the shirt. It falls back down. You immediately pull it back up again.

He throws his head back and laughs, bright and loud and Johnny. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, sweetheart.”

“Shut up and take off the rest of the suit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

PETER QUILL

You are on the Benatar. In space. There’s a nebula outside the window. It’s very romantic. Peter is trying to impress you by playing Come and Get Your Love on his Zune and doing a stupid little dance.

He’s wearing his iconic red leather jacket, a grey t-shirt underneath, and that stupid, gorgeous, annoyingly charming smirk.

You walk up to him. He thinks you’re going to dance with him. He holds out his hand.

Instead, you grab his t-shirt and yank it straight up to his chin.

The music stops. Peter looks down. There’s a faint line of hair from his navel down. He’s suddenly blushing all the way to his ears.

“…Okay,” he says slowly. “I was not expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno. A slow dance? A compliment about my eyes for once? Not-not a surprise shirt-ectomy!”

You run a finger down his sternum. He shivers violently.

“Dude,” he whispers. “My nipples are out.”

“I’m aware.”

He looks at you. You look at him. The nebula glows purple outside the window. The song is still playing, forgotten.

“…You wanna see the rest?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly.

“Peter Quill, are you offering to strip?”

“I’m offering to negotiate.”

You said you were making a few things, but the amount of ingredients you had made him wonder. “How many people are you planning to feed?”

“Enough.” You said, going back to your pot, which he found out was pasta. “Colossus and Peter will be there. We both know how much they like to eat.”

“Don’t push yourself.” His tone was rough but you knew it was his way of caring.

“I won't.”

Logan grabbed himself an afternoon shot of bourbon before excusing himself to get ready. Trying to prepare himself for socializing and dealing with Wade.

When he came back clean and not as rugged, you were finishing up, putting white icing on the strawberry cake. Logan swiped his finger on the cake and licked it, cream cheese on his tongue.

“That’s good.”

“Don’t lick it anymore.” You lightly threaten, smacking his hand away. “Save it for the party.”

“Fine.” Logan kisses your cheek and stands behind you to watch you finish icing the cake. In your beautiful handwriting ‘Welcome back, Domino’ in pink icing. “Would ya look at that? You should be on those baking shows.”

“Nuh uh, I'm okay with just watching videos.”

Once you were finished, he helped you place the cake in the dome, ready to go with the rest of the food. You gave him an order to not eat any of it before you ran into the bathroom to get ready. Logan gave you about five minutes before inspecting the tins. He smiled when he saw you only made a few items, a large tray of pasta salad and spinach dip. Just to make sure it wasn't poisoned, he took a swipe of each, humming at how good it tasted.

He knew you were going to be a while so he opened a window, grabbed a cigar and lounged to smoke. Logan knew you didn't like it when he smoked in the apartment, but said it was okay as long as he let in some fresh air after.

As usual, you took almost a hour getting ready, but it was well worth the wait.

When you stepped out of the room, Logan started coughing, blowing smoke out the window to make sure a lot didn't linger. His eyes trailed your outfit, a tie dye colored maxi dress with thin straps, and cute, brown sandals to match. Logan didn't care when you scolded him for obviously taking a bite of your pasta salad. His breath was stolen away.

“I like your dress.”

“You're changing the subject, but thanks.”

He steps in front of you, eyes lowered as he kept gazing at your form. The dress hugging your body while still being appropriate. Logan's hand rests on your ass cheek, giving it a firm squeeze.

“I really like your dress.”

You avoid his lustful gaze, “Don’t you start.”

“Start what?” He steals a kiss from you, careful not to mess up your lipstick. “I can't compliment my lady?”

“You can compliment me by using your words.”

“It's not as fun that way.” He dips his head between your neck to smell you. You weren't wearing any perfume this time, but the honey scent from your lotion was enough to complete the entire package. Logan growls, squeezing your ass some more and making you giggle.

“We should go, I don't wanna be late.”

“We won't. I swear.” His hand cups the nape of your neck, putting it back so he could kiss you some more. Parting your lips to dive his tongue right in. Your moans spurring him on.

It didn't last long though.

“Logan.” You gently push him away, “We will have some time later.”

He sucked his teeth before grabbing all of the food you made.

Logan remained a scowling mess when you two arrived for the potluck.

You were the more social one out of the relationship, so you immediately flocked to the crowd who welcomed you with open arms. Even Domino, despite that this was the first time you two saw each other. Logan makes his usual rounds of saying hi before picking a corner with a drink in his hand and observing.

It was his way of enjoying himself without being easily annoyed and overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in the apartment. Best of all, he could watch you socialize. Your face lighting up at the conversations while that gorgeous dress clung to your body. Logan always likes to admire you in your element, but you wearing that dress was more than enough to make him want to do things to you. His hands involuntary flexed at the idea of feeling your body through the dress.

“There’s my grumpy kitty!” Domino says to Logan, who scowled at her, but there was no malice behind it.

“Hey, Dom.”

“Wade told me that your hair was getting better and now I see why.” She motions to you talking to Peter about him getting highlights. Logan's lips curl upwards again at the sight of you. “She's cute.”

“Thanks. I heard she scheduled you an appointment?”

Domino nods, “Gonna try something new. This is getting stale.” She motions to her afro.

“Don’t you dare change it.” Wade joins in, pointing at her. “You know how I feel about change.”

“Aww.” Domino pinches his cheek, “We all gotta grow up sometime.”

“You know who you're talking to right?” Logan comments under his drink.

“Your afro was one of the reasons you were so likeable in the second movie. Now what do we have, a woman with luck powers? I still don't believe that's a thing, by the way.”

Domino shakes her head at the audacity of it all, “I missed you too.”

She excuses herself, leaving Logan and Wade together. The latter started getting a little giddy, cradling his cup, while shooting multiple glances. Logan promised you that he was going to play nice during the party and not get easily annoyed at Wade.

“What?”

“We’re having cream pie.” Wade mentions, “Do you wanna know what flavor it is?”

Logan holds back an eyeroll, “Sure.”

“It's boston cream pie. I know we have a lot of sweet things considering we also have the cake your lady made, but I really wanted some. Actually, it's been a while since you've had cream pie, right?”

“I guess.”

“Oh you'll enjoy this one. You have a bit of a sweet tooth.” There was a moment of silence between them as they watched everyone enjoy themselves. You were getting many compliments on your food, asking for the recipes to make at home. “ Vanessa and I are huge fans of cream pie. Does your lovely lady like it too?”

Logan glared at him for a second before thinking about the question, “I think so.”

“Has she had it in a while?”

“No.”

“I think she'll be very happy when she gets some-”

“Why…in the fuck do you keep talking about the damn cream pie?” He feels a slight headache coming on.

Wade shrugs before taking a sip of his drink. “I can't like pie?”

Logan growls, ready to toss him out the apartment when you inadvertently save Wade, walking over with a huge smile on your face.

“Hi.”

“Hey, sugar.”

You embrace him with arms around his neck. Your lips kissing his cheek, taking in the aftershave.

“Hi Wade.”

“Hi. Your grumpy boyfriend and I were just talking about cream pie. Do you know we're having pie later?”

Logan felt his eye twitch at the question, his hand on your hip to keep himself from punching Wade.

“No, I didn’t!” Your eyes light up, “What kind of pie?”

“Boston cream. One of the best pies in the world, I should say.”

“Ooh, you know what, I haven’t had cream pie in a long time.”

“Oh really?” Wade tilts his head a little, while you nod. “Well, obviously you gotta have some. I think you'll enjoy it. The author knows what I'm talking about.”

And just like that, he's gone.

Logan didn't want to acknowledge whatever that was so he pulls you amongst his body. The most handy you'll ever allow him to be in public.

“We should go.” He whispers in your ear.

“Hm? We've only been here for two hours.”

That was enough, he wanted to say. Everytime he focuses on you and that dress, he wants to forget behaving and take you back home to lavish on you all night. For those two hours, Logan was trying to keep his thoughts pure enough to get a raging hard on. He didn't know how long he could last.

“Just hang in there a bit longer, okay?” You give him a kiss for encouragement. Logan takes in the imprint of your lips as you go back to socialize. No, he wasn't going to make it.

He hangs on when everyone sits around the table, laughing and talking. You're beside him, hand on his thigh to stabilize him and keep him in the conversation. Logan wants you to go higher, feel the impending hard on.

He needs to get you alone, show you that he was failing at behaving. There weren't a lot of places where you two wouldn't be disturbed. And he didn't want to take you outside and fuck you in an alleyway.

But God answered him.

You excused yourself, making your way to the bathroom. Logan watches you go as everyone continues talking. He gives it a minute before getting up and pretending to grab another drink. Instead, he beelines to the bathroom, standing beside the door and waits. His heartbeat in his chest.

“Who wants some cream pie?” Wade asks, everyone roaring with excitement once you finally open the door.

Logan pushes you back into the bathroom, lips immediately on yours. Your surprised gasp eggs him on while he traps your body against the wall.

“This is all your fault.” He mutters, constantly stealing kisses.

“Huh? What?” You try to keep up with him as his hands are all over your body, feeling your soft curves through the dress.

“You know what. Wearing this dress, not letting me do something to you before we came here. Torturing me.”

As he spoke, his lips were everywhere. Your face and neck. Trying to wear you down and submit.

“Torturing you? That, that wasn't my intention-oh.” His teeth latched on to your shoulder, having some self control to mark you in a place no one could see.

“I need you.” Logan starts bunching up your dress.

You try to stop him by pushing his hands down, “L-Logan? Logan, baby you didn't lock the door.”

“It's gonna be quick.” You let him bunch up your dress, seeing a glimpse of your panties, which he now sees that it's the lacey blue ones he liked. The ones you mentioned reminded you of the accent colors of his suit.

Logan's jeans were getting tight when he removed them, stuffing them in his pocket. Without saying a word, you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. You whimpered under his lips as he was finally able to touch you while wearing the dress. Large hands molding your breasts through the fabric, still managing to locate the nipple and pinching it. His hips rolling against you, creating a nice friction against your cunt.

You were doing so good at keeping quiet for him, only managing the occasional whimper when he hit a perfect spot. Making sure you were stable on his arm, Logan reaches down to your core. His chest rumbles when he feels how wet you're getting. Sinking one digit inside while his thumb presses on your clit. Making circular motions while he was getting you ready.

“Didn’t need to do much, huh?” He said, watching you twist and turn. “You wanted this as much as I did.”

You didn't say anything but he smelled you. His finger coated in your delectable arousal. If you two weren't on a time limit, he'd reach down to get a taste.

Once you were ready, Logan maneuvers to unzip his pants. Even though you were dazed out of your mind, you remember something.

“I left my purse out there.” Your purse had condoms and knowing Logan, he didn't bring them as you insisted on being prepared in case something like this happens. But now both of you were unprepared.

“I'll get ya plan b at the store.” He continues to unzip his jeans.

“Don’t forget…”

Logan pulls his cock out with one motion, using some of your wetness for lubrication. “I won't.”

He then slips into you. You clutch on to him for dear life, your nails digging into his shirt. Curse his healing factor. He wanted to see the marks you'd leave on him.

He keeps you stable against the wall, sinking into you completely before starting to move. Quick and sharp thrusts in and out of you. Low, wet sounds filling his ears besides your shaky sobs.

“O-Oh god…”

Logan rolls his eyes back at your desperate tone, “God's not here, honey.”

His own voice comes out strained as he's fucking you. How he wants to pull your dress up further to see your breasts move. But having you like this was much hotter. Wanting you to remember that this was the dress that made him go crazy.

“Mmh Lo’…” He almost comes right there when your hand grips the nape of his neck, pulling the hairs.

Logan grunts, picking up speed, feeling some of his cum leaking out into you. His tip pressing against your cervix that was making you croon. Goosebumps forming on your skin as he hit that spot repeatedly. Making you whine and wince under him.

“Squeeze around me, sweetheart.” He commands and you do so. Your walls molding around his cock as you silently cried out. Even at the height of your pleasure, you still managed to be quiet, mouth agape and he wanted to shut those lips with his own. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Logan wasn't far behind, pounding into you mercilessly before shooting his cum inside you. He stilled for a moment then pumped into you a few times to make sure all of his load made it inside. You capture him in another kiss, both of you sighing against each other.

Laughter nearby caused you two to come down from the high. Logan put you down, handing you your panties. He grabbed a few paper towels to make sure no cum stained his jeans. You were checking yourself out in the mirror, making sure Logan didn't mess up your makeup. He did ended up getting some on his face, which had you quickly trying to wipe it away with your thumb.

“I'm good, I'm good.” Logan reassures you before fixing his shirt. “I'll go out first.”

“Okay.” Before parting, he gave you another kiss, completely not caring if lipstick stained his lips.

The party continued as if the two of you weren't missing for the last fifteen minutes. Logan played it cool by grabbing another drink. When you came out the bathroom, you two momentarily locked eyes, before acting like nothing happened.

“Did you enjoy the cream pie?”

Logan jumps at Wade's sudden appearance, “What the fuck? How did you know that I-?”

“The pie's right there.” Wade points to the cut up pie on the kitchen counter. Logan stares at it, a bit dumbfounded. “It's good right?”

Logan's eyes land on you as you're speaking to Domino once more, “Yeah. It was good.”

You're pretty sure Logan brought it up to him one day, but you didn’t question it. You thanked him with a hug, and he mentioned something about doing a fashion show for Mary Puppins when he left your apartment.

It was nice of Wade to give you a gift. He's always been generous towards you since you were with Logan, but you didn’t expect something like this.

You even mentioned Wade's generosity to Logan later on, who gave a questionable raise of an eyebrow.

“Really? He bought you perfume?”

“Yeah.” You pull out the bag and show him the bottle. “Wasn't that sweet of him?”

Logan squints at the bottle, still not convinced. “I guess so.”

“You guess so.” You rolled your eyes. “Can’t you believe that he wanted to be nice? He doesn't seem like the type to play a cruel joke.”

“Cruel isn't the word I'd use.” He grumbles.

You place the pink gift bag back on your dresser, reminding yourself to use it the next time you go out.

That next time was for running errands. You had to restock the kitchen, enough to last you and your superhero boyfriend, who loves to eat and drink, for a couple of weeks. Plus, you needed to get more supplies for the salon. Logan would meet up with you at the store since he spent the night back at Wade's to prep for Mary Puppin's first day at doggy school. You could tell from the brief phone call last night that he was worn out.

You throw on an oversized t-shirt, leggings, and sneakers. Not the most attractive outfit. Before you left, your eyes landed on the gift bag. Harmlessly, you sprayed Wade's perfume behind your ears and the space between your bicep and forearm.

Running errands was serious for you. You weren't the biggest fan of spending hours at the store, wasting time grabbing groceries. Logan agreed with you on that front, as he didn’t want to waste time either.

Once you stepped foot inside the store, you were ready. With a list in hand, you were filled with total concentration. A few minutes later, there was a shift.

You received a lot more attention.

Many people coming up to you to tell you smell good. You just started in the produce aisle, and four people approached you. It surprised you the multitude of compliments you were getting despite having the appearance of a bum. Others were making conversation while you were trying to shop, asking you simple questions about good salad dressing brands. Or how many spices you have in your home. Trying to get closer to you.

One man didn't seem to get the hint that you were busy. He offered to help you with your groceries while you were in the cereal aisle. Logan's favorite brand of raisin bran was on a high shelf, causing said man to grab it for you. You were polite, but maybe you shouldn't have been, as he constantly hovered around you. Drawn to you for reasons you can't explain. Talking your ear off about whatever he could think of.

“You probably have your own shopping to do. I don't want to distract you.” You say, hoping politely declining him would make him take the hint.

“No, no, it's alright. I don't want to leave a defenseless person like you.”

You hold back at getting annoyed, “…it's a grocery store.”

“Still, I just think-”

“You got cotton in your fucking ears?” In a blink, Logan grabs the intruding guy by his shoulder, effortlessly pushing him away. “She didn't need any fucking help, bub.”

The guy scoffs, rolling his hips to make himself look more arduous, “And who are you?”

“Her boyfriend, who isn't afraid to make you a pathetic stain on the ground.”

You knew he meant it, but you also didn’t want to get banned as you really liked this store. The guy took the hint, leaving the cereal aisle like a defeated puppy.

“My hero.” You kiss Logan's cheek and see him sniff the air. He turns towards you, pupils almost blown. Before you can ask if he's alright, he grabs your wrist, smelling the space between your bicep and forearm. The action makes you laugh a little.

“What's that smell?” Logan takes a few more sniffs, and you feel blood rush to your cheeks. “It's sweet. Really fucking sweet.”

“O-Oh, I put on perfume today.” You didn't need to ask if he liked it as he was glued to your form, sniffing behind your ears, his breath fanning your neck.

“Is this new? I've never smelled this before.”

“Yeah, it's the one from Wade.”

Logan lets out a groan that sends straight to your core. Goosebumps coat your flesh, and you shudder when his hands creep under your shirt to feel your bare skin. His touch was hot, almost making your back arch. You had to remember you were in a grocery store. There were eyes on you two, and you had to regain some control, or else there'd be two new names on the sex offender list.

“Baby, we got things to do.”

You pull away from him, trying to ignore Logan's dejected face at the fact they had errands to run. He hardly said anything else after that. He delegated his role to being the silent shopper, pushing the cart and responding briefly whenever you talked to him. To anyone else, he gave off the appearance of a man not wanting to go grocery shopping. You knew it was something else when you noticed his knuckles turning white from gripping the cart. Everything in your body warned you not to get close to him until the errands were done.

An unsettled feeling arose inside your stomach when the two of you were outside, a cart filled with groceries. Logan mentioned he brought Althea's car, which is one of the few words he's said since then.

He told you to wait in the car while he put the groceries in the trunk. You wanted to help, but he pushed you to go inside, almost gritting his teeth. There, you sat on the passenger side while waiting for him to finish. Logan was taking his time and acting completely different from your usual outings. At one point, you saw him with his head towards the sky, taking heavy breaths, hands on his hips.

You had a feeling this was your fault somehow.

When Logan got inside, you ask, “You okay?”

“No.” He doesn't start the car yet. You could see the veins across his hands when he gripped the steering wheel. “You don't know how fucking good you smell right now. It's everywhere. My nose, my head, my thoughts. You don't know bad I'm trying not to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the backseat. ”

You didn't know what to say, but you liked it. Your thighs squeezed together at how a couple of spritzes of perfume were affecting him.

“Is it that bad? Do you wanna go home instead?”

Logan shakes his head, “You still have to go to the beauty store.”

“I can get those things another day-”

“No, sugar. I'm not ruining your plans because of a damn perfume.”

Butterflies tangle in your stomach. This man still had ways to make you shiver. You just needed to be a responsible adult for a bit longer.

The beauty store was five minutes away, but being in the car with Logan felt like an eternity. His large hand rested on your thigh, creating heat through his palm. Your thoughts wanted him to go higher, near your sex, to feel how horny you were getting. The car started getting warmer too, sweat forming on your brow. If Logan hadn't smelled you earlier, he would probably have smelled you now.

“I'll go in with ya.” He offers when pulling into a parking spot.

“No need! I'll probably be a bit anyway.”

You rush out of the car before he can say anything else. Practically running inside the store so you can get your mind straight. Your boyfriend's words were hovering in your mind, and you resisted the urge to turn back around and have him go by his word.

You needed to calm your mind. Hopefully shopping for more supplies would help and Logan staying in the car.

“Now, what kind of man would I be if I let my lady go in alone?” Logan's gruff tone sent chills across your spine and his arm around your waist to press against your back. No words escaped you as he sniffed behind your head. “Say something.”

“Logan…” You let out a shaky breath, trying not to falter at the proximity. He couldn’t resist copping a feel on your breast, which made you bite your lip. “There are cameras.”

He grunts, burying his face in your neck as you two stand awkwardly in the shampoo aisle. Thank goodness there was no one nearby to witness it.

“I'm behaving.”

“Barely.”

When you were usually out to restock, you were quick, decisive, a separate list on hand to make sure you had everything you needed for the salon. This time, you were slower and more distracted as Logan was glued to your hip. Giving you extra hugs after picking up an item you need on your list. A gentle kiss to your neck. His arm possessively around your waist. The man wasn't even a massive fan of pda either. Whatever this perfume was had him forgo his usual self.

When people were nearby, he didn't leave your side. His large pupils were on them as if they were a threat as if they were going to take you away from him.

If you had any more errands to run, that would have to wait another day. Once you two checked out from the store, your man was about to snap.

Logan was dead silent when he started the car, his knuckles almost turning white again. The apartment was only fifteen minutes away, and you weren't sure if he would be able to hold on that long. You only noticed deep, heavy breaths that overshadowed the radio you turned on to distract yourself. You weren't sure if you wanted to ask if he was okay again. You had a feeling he was going to go true to his word to fuck you in the backseat.

Once pulling up to your apartment, you were ready to get out, but his hand held yours to stop you.

“I'll get the bags.”

“There's a lot of them, I can help-”

“No.” He cuts you off, bringing your wrist up to his face and taking a long sniff. You squeezed your thighs together at the sight. A whimper almost escaped your lips. “Go wait in our room.”

You had nothing else to say after that.

You did as you were told, sitting on the edge of the bed while holding your hands. Your heart pounding in your chest as you heard Logan bring the bags inside. You weren't sure why you were nervous. You were doing what you were told.

Maybe he told you to wait because the scent was becoming unbearable. That he couldn’t focus, or your scent was dampening his enhanced abilities. Did you mess up? All you did was put on perfume. Or did Wade mess up? Did he accidentally bring you something that affected mutants? You should’ve thought twice before accepting a gift from him.

Slow and heavy footsteps made it's way into the room. You watched Logan close the door and lock it as if there was anyone around to disturb you.

“Take off your clothes.” He starts pulling off his own shirt.

You did so, albeit a bit slower than him. Your thighs clenched as you knew your cunt was wet from all of the waiting, the touches, and kisses from the stores, his filthy words. Logan's eyes scanned your naked body when he got closer. You tried not to focus on his hard cock, red around the tip, cum leaking from it. You wondered how long he was holding that in.

“You got some type of power I don't know about?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer when he presses against your naked body. Heat coming from his chest that was making you flustered. “You secretly a mutant, and you decided not to tell me?”

“No! No, I'm not a mutant. I swear all I did was just put on some perfume-”

Logan silences you with a kiss. Hands on your sides while groaning between your lips. You thought he was mad at you, yet he was sticking his tongue down your throat. His rough hands on your sides. You hold on to him for dear life when he parts, sniffing the air, and you feel yourself getting wetter.

“Motherfucking perfume should not make you smell this good, Jesus fucking Christ.” Logan swears while he's buried against your neck again, licking and sucking along your skin. You whine at how rough he's getting, as if he needs more of you. “I won't get mad if you tell me you are a mutant right now because fuck…”

Logan picks you up and tosses you on the bed. You barely have time to recover when he flips you over on your stomach. A hand presses on your back, keeping you firmly against the mattress. His lips kiss behind your earlobe before giving it a gentle nibble. That makes you shift underneath him, causing him to shush in your ear.

“Hold still.”

You do as you're told, whimpering at the touch of his lips against your nape. A light kiss, one that makes you want to put your head back, which is followed up by a nibble. Logan does the same while trailing down your back. You feel his hands palm the globes of your ass while he does so, creating tiny circles with his thumbs.

You moan into your pillow, and you know you're embarrassingly wet now. Your cunt is pulsing with the need to have him inside you already. His fingers dip inside you, and you gasp in surprise. Logan's able to pump his thick digits into your aching hole while leaning over you again, taking another whiff of your perfume.

“Lift your hips up for me, baby.”

You struggle to move your hips as he’s still two fingers inside you, but he helps you, a firm hand on your hip. When he does so, he moves down to your clit. The two fingers coated with your wetness parted your folds, rubbing that sensitive bud. It was getting harder to do as you were told. Keeping still as he played with your pussy. Taking in how delicious you smelled with the perfume.

“Logan.” You murmured against your pillow, “Please…”

“Please? My lady's begging for me?” Logan lets out a short laugh, not stopping his fingers. “You want me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, huh?”

“Please…” You were on the brink of tears, that familiar feeling in your stomach about to tip over. Logan didn't show you any mercy, making you sob against your sheets. His fingers rubbed your sensitive clit until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You ached for him to be inside, cunt pulsing for him to slip his cock in. Once again, the tip of his nose brushed against your ear lobe as well as his cock in your sex. Your body quivered as his chest was on your back, hovering over you for complete control.

“Think you can give me another?”

You didn't have time to answer as he started pounding into you. Sticky, wet sounds in your ears as you were pinned. Not having a single thought every time Logan's hips met with yours, mouth wide open as you were being fucked dumb. A hint of your drool staining the sheets.

The headboard banging against the wall, mattress squeaking as Logan kept going. Grunting in your ear, saying that your scent was even better after your orgasm. That he wasn't going to come until you squeezed around his thick cock. And he meant it when he rubbed against your pulsing clit. You shook, moaning at his touch and how his cock pistoned into you.

Logan was angled perfectly to where he started hitting your G-spot, causing your vision to get blurry. Still not stopping on the assault on your clit.

“Lo…Logan…” Your body was getting hotter, another climax on the horizon.

“You almost there, princess?” Your answer was only a whine, and that was good enough for him. “That’s it, that's it. Do it for me, baby.”

This orgasm was different. As you came undone, wetness coated Logan's cock, some dripping down your thighs and his own.

“Oh fuck-” Without warning, he shot up inside you. Grunting in your ear while his seed filled your cunt, mixing with your own arousal and trailing down your thighs as well. Logan lazily pumped into you to make sure you got it all while groping your ass.

You could hardly move with Logan on top of you. Thank goodness he didn't rest his total weight on you, or you'd be crushed. He waited a few moments before pulling out, leaving you to lie on your side, completely docile.

No words were said when he cleaned you up, towel between your legs as he kissed your forehead. You started getting coherent enough to realize the groceries were still out, but Logan said he already put them away for you.

With a sigh of relief, you glanced over at the perfume before reaching for your phone to look up the label. That's when your eyes went wide at the reveal.

Wade gifted you pheromone perfume.

No wonder Logan was acting unhinged all day. With his heightened sense of smell, of course something like this would affect him. That is definitely the last time you take a gift from Wade.

As you showed Logan what the perfume was, his brows furrowed in slight annoyance, calling him an asshole.

A thrill shoots through your body at his next words: “C’mere then.” He spreads his legs, clothed in jeans that strain around the thickness of his delicious thighs. You can see the outline of his abs through his tank top. You can’t believe this is happening – you’ve had a crush on him since you saw him for the first time.

Logan beckons you between his legs and you move to sit on the carpet, its fluffiness stopping your bare knees from hurting. Your short skirt rides up your ass and you pull it down self-consciously despite what you’re about to do.

“You sure about this, bub?” Logan asks again from above you. You gulp when you look up at him. How does he look even better from below?

“Yeah,” you assure him, your panties already growing wet. You sit down and try to patiently wait for instruction but you end up squirming. When you look back up at Logan he’s got one of his eyebrows raised.

“You don’t know how to open a belt either?”

“Well, yeah but don’t we have to–” your mouth starts to water when the rough clink of his belt interrupts you. He’s all but ripping open his belt; he unbuttons his jeans and takes out his hard cock. You almost get goosebumps.

“Oh,” you say.

“If a guy likes you, he doesn’t need any time to get ready. Foreplay is just to get the woman nice and wet,” Logan tells you, although you’re barely listening. All you know is that you wouldn’t need the foreplay either, you’re uncomfortably wet, trying to get friction against your legs that are folded underneath you.

Logan watches you stare at his erection, “Take your top off. I like seeing your pretty face but that’ll make it an even nicer view.”

“But I’m not wearing anything underneath,” you thumb at the thin straps of your top.

He smirks, “even better.” He reaches down to pull the top up by your waist but then hesitates.

You nod but Logan rolls his eyes. “Use your words.”

“You can take it off,” you say but you nevertheless put your arms in front of your tits when he pulls your top over your head. 

Logan chuckles, “Baby, I’ve been dying to see your tits since I first met you. You really think you gotta hide?” The nickname makes you melt and your arms immediately drop to your sides. 

You sit up straighter as Logan lets out a low moan, “God, look at you. So fucking perfect.” He reaches out to grope your tits almost clumsily. His cock bobs in front of you as he leans down to touch you and you feel yourself getting addicted to him already. You just want to start.

With a last rough squeeze of your tit, Logan leans back. “Wet your lips,” he instructs. You lick your lips.

“Wetter,” he says, and your eyebrows crease in confusion as you lick your lips again.

Logan huffs, spits into his hand, and smears his spit over your mouth, “There. Don’t you look fucking pretty like this.” You just about purr against his hand and then push against it with your cheek.

You place your hands on either of his knees and lean in to kiss the tip of his cock, all swollen and ready. You immediately feel the urge to go further but your shyness takes over, so you keep pressing wet kisses to his length.

“God,” Logan groans, leaning his head back in pleasure as you keep kissing, and you start to use some more spit.

“Look at you, don’t even need me to tell you what to do,” he pulls his arms behind his head smugly, like an asshole, and you smile, getting shy again. You kiss along the underside of his cock some more, getting more desperate with every second.

“What now?” You ask. 

Logan softly smiles at you for a second, pulling his jeans and boxers further down his thighs. You pull them off completely as he pulls off his top. He’s naked in front of you now, except for his socks, and you take a second to appreciate all the broadness and his muscles. The hair from his chest all the way over his abs and down to his cock is begging for you to kiss every inch of it but you force yourself to focus.

Logan takes his cock in his hand to lift it out of the way, and slowly starts to jerk off. His eyes go to you and then to his balls, and you get what he wants you to do. Still, he gives you one word: “Lick.”

You move forward, inhaling all his manly smell, instinctively going to press another wet kiss to his cock. You let spit pool in your mouth and begin to lick all over his balls, feeling the heaviness of them on your tongue.

“Take as much as you can, baby,” he rasps, continuing to jerk off. You almost slap his hand away – you want to be the one making him feel good – but you stop yourself.

You do as he tells you, opening your mouth to cover as much of him as you can, the warmth of his balls against your tongue making you drool.

“Yeah, baby, juuust like that. That’s a good girl,” he breathes heavily.

Your pussy clenches around nothing at his words, and you have to take a deep breath to focus on anything but the wet ache between your thighs.

His balls move against your tongue from his jerking off, and you gently suck on the skin, moving around a few inches every few seconds. But the movement from his hand on his cock is becoming distracting and, without thinking, you instinctively push his hand away. 

He stills and then smiles, lifting his hand away. He lightly leans his elbows on the back of the sofa to the sides of him. 

“You can start sucking my cock now if you’re ready, baby. Been doing such a good job.”

“I don’t know if I can take all of it,” you pout. Even just imagining his dick down your throat feels too much, though not in a bad way. He’s just so fucking big. 

“Just take as much as you can. I bet you can take more of me than you think.”

His words motivate you. You go up slightly on your knees, carefully wrapping your hand around his cock. You spit on it, letting it slowly slide down the sides as you begin to spread it with your hand. 

Logan huffs out a laugh from above you, “So adorable. You don’t need to be so careful. Here, do it like this.” He wraps his much bigger hand around yours and he starts to jerk off with your hand, showing you how rough you can be as he starts to fuck your fist. 

You clear your throat, “Can I use my mouth now?”

He bites his lip, “Ready when you are, baby. Just breathe through your nose and relax.” Oh, you’re relaxed. Being between Logan’s meaty thighs is the best you’ve felt in your life. 

You press another kiss to the tip of his cock and part your lips to take him in your mouth. The first second you feel the heaviness of his cock on your tongue is like heaven. Logan lets out a low moan and you look up to find his eyes already on your face. He looks like a god from below, his muscles starting to glisten with a thin layer of sweat.

Opening your mouth wider, you take more of him. You start to jerk him off where your mouth can’t reach but you do your best to go as deep as you can, moving up and down with your wet mouth.

The feeling of Logan’s cock in your mouth is addicting, and the quiet sounds he is making even more so. 

“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” he whispers, voice weak. You look up into his eyes as you suck his dick, spit starting to run down your hand, and a smirk spreads on Logan’s face.

“Such a pretty girl,” he leans his head back.

Your jaw is starting to strain because he’s so big but you never want to stop doing this. You swallow down the taste of his precum and can’t wait to actually make him come. He’s starting to pulse in your mouth, abs contracting with every time your tongue moves.

You’re wondering how much long–

“Y’gonna make me come, baby. Gonna come so hard,” Logan moans, and you figure he’s warning you but you want nothing more than his cum in your mouth.

You put in all the effort you can, sucking Logan’s cock further down your throat, cheeks hollowing. You start to feel him at the back of your throat, spit spilling from your lips.

Logan groans, and then he’s filling up your mouth, pumping his cum down your throat as you eagerly swallow. You look up at him through your lashes, taking in his face, his eyes shut and mouth hanging open in pleasure as a long, almost pathetic, groan comes out.

He’s coming longer than you’d expect, coming in your mouth in sticky ropes, a hand guiding the back of your head. You still pout when he’s finally drained and he slowly pulls his hips back.

Logan sighs a last breath of pleasure and holds his hand in front of your mouth. “What?” you ask.

“Spit.”

“Uh, I swallowed,” you say.

“Really?”

You stick out your tongue for Logan to see your empty mouth.

He smirks. “God,” he huffs, “so fucking perfect. C’mere.” He pulls you up to the sofa and sits you on his lap, your bare chest against his. Logan pushes his mouth against yours, kissing you like he’s filled with a new desire, as if you didn’t just make him come.

You don’t get to kiss him for very long though, because he pulls you to lie down on the sofa, turning so your legs are spread around him.

“‘m gonna show you what it’s supposed to feel like for someone to eat your pussy. Just so you know your date is doin’ it right, ‘kay?”

What date? You almost ask. You remember for a second but then, looking at him, all of your thoughts are replaced with Logan again. “Yes,” you nod hornily, “Please.”

“There you go, got you even saying please now. You want it that bad, huh?”

All you can do is nod as he pulls down your skirt and panties. He almost goes cross-eyed when he sees your pussy for the first time.

“God, baby, you coulda said something. Such an eager little thing. You got that wet from having my cock in your mouth, hm? Gonna make you come so good, yeah?”

You nod again and he bends down to press another sloppy kiss to your lips, kissing down your neck and stopping at your chest, “Can’t get enough of these,” he plays with your tits, desperately grabbing at them like a man seeing a woman naked for the first time.

He smiles up at you when he realises how much time he’s spent at your chest, pressing a last kiss to your sternum before placing one of his big hands on your tit and kissing further down. You assume he’s going to stop before he gets to your pussy, just to tease you, but he kisses all the way down from your belly button to your clit, starting to make out with your pussy.

“Logan,” you moan, your hand flying to his hand on one of your boobs.

“Feel good?” He asks, and you almost faint when you look at his head pushed between your thighs. He looks exactly right, as if this is where he was meant to be the entire time.

“Mhmm.”

He chuckles against your pussy, tongue darting out to play with your clit. The ache between your legs starts to get worse with him there, and you feel your pussy clenching around nothing.

Logan smirks and pushes your thighs further apart with a rough hand. He starts to gently rub your clit, and you’ve finally got the friction you’ve been needing this entire time. You’re already close. 

You let out an involuntary moan as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you, and you grip his hand on your tit harder, and he squeezes you there, lovingly. 

“I got you, baby,” he says into your pussy before starting to fuck you with his finger, pushing another one in as he begins to rub a sweet little spot inside that you can never reach yourself. 

He leans in to start licking your clit again, circling it with his tongue and, ever so slightly, beginning to suck. 

You’re so close, the waves of pleasure almost, just almost, flooding over you. You squirm, your knees pushing together, held open by his broad shoulders. 

Logan sucks harder, fingers fucking into you with your clit pulsing against his tongue. 

It only takes a few more seconds of Logan’s mouth on your pussy for you to come. Pleasure explodes within you and floods your entire body as you arch your back, pushing further into him and his wet mouth and thick fingers.

Logan doesn’t stop until you’re satisfied and your legs go numb around him.

He grins at you, biting his lip to stop his smile from spreading too far, and he presses a kiss to the middle of your belly, squeezing your tit gently before letting go. You feel cold without him there.

With your legs still around him, you instinctively pull him in and he lies down next to you on the sofa, gently caging you against the back of it to give you the more comfortable side as he balances on the edge.

“You wanna know how good you taste?” Logan asks, not waiting for an answer before he kisses you. You slide your hand behind his neck to pull him in, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He stops kissing you. “So.. you still going on your date?”

You feel your cheeks getting hot, “What if I told youuu…” you twirl a strand of Logan’s hair that’s hanging over his forehead, “that there never was a date. Or a guy.”

Logan breaks out in a smile, “You were too shy to ask me to fuck you so you made up an entire person?”

You hear the key turning in the lock in that moment, and even though you’ll be covered by the back of the sofa Logan shields you with his hands as best as he can, reaching for your clothes.

Wade comes in and you immediately sit up, holding Logan’s hand and forearm to your tits to cover them.

“Guess what happened?” you squeal at Wade.

Wade’s eyes go over to you and then to Logan, and he drops his bags of grocery shopping to jump up and down, “Was it my plan? I told you my plan would work!”

You grin, “It was your plan.”

Logan looks between you and Wade, rolling his eyes but he’s unable to hide a smile.

“It was a good plan, right? I told her she could just ask you out but she was too shy so I told her to make up a guy she’s dating,” Wade explains.

“Alright,” Logan laughs quietly, “Now fuck off so I can fuck my girl again.”

Wade’s eyes go wide and he says what you’re thinking, “My girl? I’d faint if he called me that. You owe me,” he points at you.

You blow a kiss at Wade and he pretends to catch it, pressing it to his lap. You roll your eyes and smile, waving at him, “You heard him, we’ve got stuff to do.”

The almost animalistic smirk Logan gives you when Wade is gone should scare you, but it only makes you want him more. He picks you up in his arms, carrying you to his room. You can’t wait for what’s to come.

-

He’s frowning now, “Why are you watching porn in the middle of the day?” “Scott!” you shout, and he chuckles in response.

“How do you know it’s porn?” you ask, crossing your arms and he lets out another laugh, leaning his head back. He goes back to stacking papers, completely ignoring your question in the process.

“Well?” you push, stepping closer and leaning your face in front of his work, watching the blush build up his cheeks. He presses his hand against your face, pushing, “I think everyone has gone there at least once..”

“Just once?”

“Ooookay, enough questions, I have work to do, like a normal–”

“Non-porn loving—”

“I said!-- Normal, person.”

⋆｡° ✮ : WOLVERINE / LOGAN HOWLETT .

“So, you’re crazy.”

“Huh?”

He’s sitting on the other side of the couch, beer in hand as he shakes his head at you like a disappointed father. You frown, like you don’t understand, “I didn’t know my volume was up..” you whisper, and he just laughs. “Suuureee. Watchin’ porn like some sorta freak when I’m right ‘ere.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He takes a big gulp of his beer, before setting it down on the table in front of him, crossing his arms.

“Why watch dicks n shit like that when I’m sittin’ right ‘ere?”

You should’ve expected this, from a guy like him especially. “So, what? Am I supposed to watch you?” you ask, setting your phone down, and scooting a bit closer to him now, watching his lips curl into a smile.

“Sure, why not.”

⋆｡° ✮ : GAMBIT / REMY LEBEAU .

His eyes widen before he just grins, his shoulder bumping against yours as he peeks at your phone, “Ohhh, is it any good?” he simply asks, like this was a normal event. You seem more shocked than him, “Are you crazy?”

“Ah?” he says, confused– pointing at himself, “Me?” he laughs out. You nod, “Yes you!”

“Gambit ain’t crazy, Cher, just curious what my love is into. I think that’s pretty normal, no?”

You stare, “I mean, well, yes. But you’re not shocked that I’m just, watching porn…?”

“Gambit watch porn all the time.” he replies, “What!?” you shout, “Now you’re just hurtin’ my feelings, Cher…” he says, pouting.

“Sorry! I just, do you… like, actually..?”

He crosses his arms, thinking for a second, “Yeah, I do. Gambit like porn, it ain’t like I jerk it to it all, it’s like a challenge to find which one look like you.”

“That’s.. Actually sweet,”

“See? Gambit ain’t no weirdo! I just like to see porn that remind me of you, Cher.” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and grabbing your phone as he does so, “But.. Gambit don’t want you watching porn ‘bout no other guys.. Y’here?”

You giggle in response to his antics.

⋆｡° ✮ : DEADPOOL / WADE WILSON .

“Well, well, well, we got Ms. Goonette over here. Let me guess, backshots? Creampies? …Jacking off videos…?” he says, awfully loud as well.

You hold in your laughter as you attempt to stay to the script, “I didn’t know it was turned up!” the eyes on his mask gets bigger, “Oh I’m sure, princess. Next time make it louder so I can hear the cheeks getting clapped– Seriously, this shit is crazy.” he laughs out.

You push him a little, just tossing your phone onto the couch. “Throwing evidence?” he says, sucking his teeth, “Yikes,” you slap his arm, “Shut up.”

He holds his hands up, as if surrendering, “Look, we all watch porn! No shame, no gain they say,” “That’s not what they say–” “I don’t care! What I do care about is what were you watching! I’m really curious.”

You pout, “I’m not showing you any of MY porn,”

“YOUR porn? Fine, fuck it, I won’t show any of MY porn–”

“Your dick is hard.”

“I’m a simple guy.”

“Okay, freak.”

“Damn, tryna make me cum already?”

LOGAN HOWLETT

The first time you curl into his side on the sofa in the mansion’s common room, he goes ramrod straight. A low growl rumbles in his chest. “What’re you doin’?”

“Cuddling,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“We don’t… I don’t…” He’s looking around like he expects Cyclops to leap out from behind a potted plant with a camera. “People are gonna talk.”

“Let them,” you mumble into his flannel, already half-asleep. He sits there, arms pinned to his sides, for a full twenty minutes before his posture finally, finally softens.

Cuddling Logan is an exercise in strategic positioning. You learn very quickly that a surprise back-hug while he’s sharpening his blades is a bad idea. You develop a system. A verbal cue. “Claws in, please.” He sighs, but you hear the soft snikt of them retracting. This is your equivalent of him saying “I love you.”

Logan runs hot, like a freshly stoked furnace. You run… normally. Cuddling him is like climbing onto a heated blanket set to ‘surface of the sun.’ You will last approximately four minutes before you start sweating. Then comes the dance: you peel yourself off, he grunts in protest, you lie on the cool part of the sheets, he shuffles over until his chest is pressed against your back again, and the cycle repeats.

He pretends to hate it when you insist on being the big spoon on the bike, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. “I can’t move my arms,” he’ll grumble over the roar of the engine. But he always rides a little slower, takes the longer way back to the mansion, and you can feel the tension drain from his shoulders against your cheek.

WORST WOLVERINE !!

The first time you try cuddling the first words out of his mouth are, “What the fuck is this? A petting zoo? I’m not a goddamn stuffed animal.” You just took a look at the blood-soaked, perpetually exhausted, emotionally unstable version of Wolverine and your brain says, ‘I can fix him. But more importantly, I can cuddle him.’ 

You learn soon enough that asking for cuddles results in a tirade about his tragic past and how he doesn’t deserve soft things. So you stop asking. You’ll just be sitting on the couch, and you’ll casually say, “Don’t come near me, I want to be alone right now. I’m definitely not cold or sad.” He’ll stare at you for a long moment, then silently sit down, throw a heavy arm over your shoulders, and pull you against his chest with the force of a man trying to prove a point. He will not make eye contact.

Logan hates Wade. But the one thing he hates more than Wade is when Wade is right. And when Wade sees you trying to coax him into a hug, he’ll yell, “Just let her love you, you sad, hairy avocado! Her serotonin levels are dropping and it’s making me sad, and I can’t be sad, I have a brand to maintain!” Logan will then pull you into the most aggressive, desperate hug you’ve ever received, purely out of spite.

WADE WILSON !!

cuddling with Wade isn’t a quiet activity. It comes with a full audio commentary. “And now, the viewer will see her snuggle deeper into my manly pectoral region, a region so chiseled it could cut diamonds. But wait! Is that a yawn? A yawn of contentment, or a yawn of boredom? The suspense is killing me!” You just shove your face into his chest to muffle him. It doesn’t work. He narrates your muffled protests.

You’ll be drifting off, head on his chest, when he suddenly freezes. “Hold on. Pause the cuddle session. I need to address the audience.” He looks directly at the camera that doesn’t exist. “Yes, I know. She’s adorable. And yes, I am aware of how lucky I am. No, you can’t have her. No, not me either. Get your own emotionally unstable, chimichanga-loving mercenary.” Then he resets, pulls you back in, and says, “Okay, we’re back. Where were we? Ah, yes, being worshipped.”

For the first few weeks, he refused to take the mask off while cuddling. “It’s part of the experience! The texture adds a certain… je ne sais quoi.” You didn’t push. You just started leaving lipstick kisses all over the mask. Forehead, cheek, where his mouth would be. He tried to act disgusted, but the next day the mask was suspiciously clean and he was in a remarkably good mood. He eventually started pulling it up to just below his nose for movie nights. Progress.

He knows you’re a cuddlebug. He uses it against you. You try to be mad at him for leaving his suit in the bathroom sink? He will don his softest, most worn-out hoodie (stolen from you) and sit on the couch, arms wide, and make a sound like a wounded puppy. Your anger doesn’t stand a chance. You’re cuddled up and forgiving him before you can even finish your sentence.

ORIGINS! WADE WILSON !!

This Wade is handsome, charming, and has the ego to match. He doesn’t just cuddle; he romances you into a cuddle. He’ll come back from a mission, spin you into his arms like you’re in a ballroom, and dip you for a kiss before carrying you to the couch. “A hero’s welcome,” he’ll murmur against your lips, before settling you on his lap like you’re the treasure at the end of a quest.

He is a master swordsman, and his hands show it. They are deceptively precise. When you’re cuddling, his fingers are never still. They trace patterns on your skin: lazy figure eights, the curve of your spine, the shape of your ear. He’ll be in the middle of a story about a mission with the X-Team, and his fingers will start gently massaging your scalp, and you will forget what he was even talking about.

He’s a mercenary, so his diet is 90% whatever he can get at a diner. Cuddling with him often involves him trying to eat a club sandwich with one hand while the other is wrapped around you. You’ve learned to accept the stray piece of bacon that ends up in your hair. He’ll pick it out, eat it, and say, “Waste not, want not, sweetheart.”

Cuddling is also his preferred method of decompressing from missions. He’ll lie on his back, you’ll lie on his chest, and he’ll narrate his day like it’s an old-timey radio serial. “—and then, with my sword at his throat, I said, ‘You have something I want. You have ten seconds to hand over the intel and apologize to my lady’s photo.’” He has a photo of you in his wallet. He’s not kidding.

He’s not invincible, and he knows it. This makes him hyper-aware of your safety. If you’re cuddling and he hears something outside, his arms tighten around you like a vise. “Stay down,” he’ll whisper, suddenly all business, even though it’s just a stray cat. His reflexes are so fast that you’ve never once felt unsafe. You just feel like you’re wrapped in a cocoon of swords and charming confidence.

REMY LEBEAU !!

Remy charges everything. Including his affection. When he’s happy to see you, he doesn’t just hug you; he scoops you up, spins you around, and you swear you can see a faint pink glow around his hands. “Chère, you are lookin’ like a sunset I’d like to get lost in.” He sets you down, but keeps an arm around your waist, his thumb tracing circles on your hip.

Remy’s version of cuddling often takes place in the kitchen. He’ll be cooking something that smells divine, and you’ll wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back. He’ll just keep stirring the gumbo, talking to you in a low, honeyed drawl about the Saints, or a card game, or the way the light hits your hair. He’ll occasionally feed you a piece of sausage from the pot. It’s domestic, it’s intimate, and it’s pure Remy.

You’ll be sitting on his lap, and he’ll be playing with a deck of cards, making them dance between his fingers. He’ll hold a card up. “Pick a card, chère.” You do. He doesn’t even look at it, just tucks it back into the deck, shuffles, and then pulls a single card from behind your ear. It’s the ace of hearts. “Seems de cards are tellin’ me what I already know.” He then wraps his arms around you, and the cards are forgotten, scattered across the couch.

His hands are his livelihood. They are also your downfall. When he’s cuddling you, he’s not just holding you. He’s exploring. He’ll find the spot behind your ear that makes you shiver, the small of your back that makes you melt, the inside of your wrist that makes your heart race. He treats your body like a lock he’s trying to pick, and he’s an expert thief. “Jus’ learnin’ ya, ma petite,” he’ll murmur against your neck. “Knowin’ where to find de treasure.”

Despite his charm, he’s intensely territorial. When you’re cuddling in a common area of the mansion, and someone (usually Scott) walks by, Remy doesn’t move, but his eyes follow them with a lazy, dangerous glint. His arm around you tightens almost imperceptibly. He’s not being mean; he’s just reminding the world that this specific cuddlebug is his cuddlebug.

KURT WAGNER !!

Kurt is soft. And not just metaphorically. His fur is lit like velvet. Your first instinct upon meeting him is to pet his face. He allows it, bemused. Cuddling with him is like cuddling with a living, breathing, blue plushie that smells faintly of brimstone and has a three-toed foot in your ribs. You become inseparable. You are the human to his koala, or he is the koala to your human. The roles are fluid.

Cuddling with a teleporter is an adventure. You’ll be reading on the couch, he’ll bamf in behind you, wrap his arms and tail around you, and bamf you both to a quiet rooftop to watch the sunset. He does this constantly. You’ve learned to always have shoes on. “I wanted to show you de stars, mein Schatz,” he’ll say, his tail curling around your leg while you cling to him, laughing.

Kurt is a man of deep faith and deep thoughts. Cuddling is often accompanied by whispered philosophy. “Do you not think it is a miracle?” he’ll ask, his cheek resting on your hair. “This moment. Your heart beating against mine. A gift from God, ja?” You’ll mumble an agreement, too comfortable to form a coherent sentence. He’ll smile and press a kiss to your forehead.

His tail has a mind of its own. It’s an extension of his emotions. When he’s happy, it curls. When he’s relaxed, it’s limp. When he’s cuddling you, it’s wrapped around your waist, or your leg, or sometimes it’s just… there, offering you the tip to hold like a hand. It’s become your comfort object. You absentmindedly hold the spade-tip while you sleep, and he finds it so endearing he almost can’t breathe.

Despite his growing confidence, there are moments where he pulls back. “Are you… comfortable? I know I am not… conventionally… soft.” You look at him, this beautiful, kind, blue-furred man who smells like heaven and brimstone, and you proceed to demonstrate exactly how comfortable you are by wrapping yourself around him so thoroughly that he has to teleport to get a glass of water. He never asks again.

EDDIE BROCK ( & VENOM ) !!

Cuddling is a three-party affair. It requires a pre-snug summit. “We want to watch a movie.” Venom’s voice rumbles from Eddie’s shoulder.

“I want to be the big spoon.” you counter.

“We are always the big spoon. We are the protective one.”

“Eddie, help me out here.”

Eddie, who is already a prisoner in his own body, just sighs. “Can we all just agree to not eat anyone for the duration of the movie?” Followed by a tense silence and a reluctant: “…Fine.”

Once the negotiations are over, it’s the best cuddling experience of your life. Venom forms a living, breathing, temperature-regulating blanket. You are the little spoon. Eddie is the middle spoon. And Venom is the outer layer, a cocoon of inky black tendrils that wrap around both of you, purring like a V8 engine. It’s like being swaddled by a very protective, slightly homicidal weighted blanket.

Venom has a unique way of showing affection. When you’re all cuddled up, a tendril will snake out and… lick your head. Just a long, slow, exploratory lick. “You taste of affection and strawberries. We like it.”

“Babe, your alien is licking my head again.”

Eddie, eyes closed, face smooshed into the pillow: “Just let 'im, baby. It’s easier this way.”

You will often be woken up at 3 AM by a conversation between Eddie and Venom happening inches from your face. “No, we will not let go. She is warm.”

“I gotta pee, man.” “You will hold it.” “I can’t hold it, the symbiote bladder situation is complicated!”

You don’t even open your eyes. You just mutter, “Venom, let him go pee. He can come back.” A pause. A tendril loosens. Eddie practically flies to the bathroom. Venom wraps tighter around you. “He is weak. You are strong. We like you better.”

STEVE ROGERS !!

You learn very quickly that Steve Rogers cuddles like he’s posing for a war bond poster. You try to drape yourself over him on the couch, and he sits there, back ramrod straight, hands in his lap, like he’s waiting for a photographer.

“Steve,” you say, your face squished against his unmoving bicep. “You know you can relax, right?”

“I am relaxed,” he says, with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb.

It takes weeks to get him to understand that modern cuddling is not a prelude to a formal proposal. He holds you like you’re made of glass. His hands are always in appropriate, PG-rated places. You once fell asleep with your head on his thigh, and he didn’t move for four hours because he didn’t want to “disturb” you. His legs had gone completely numb. He considered it a sacrifice worth making.

Like Logan, Steve runs hot, but his heat is more… controlled. It’s a clean, radiating warmth. Cuddling him is like lying next to a fireplace. He’s also incredibly solid. You can’t squirm or adjust without him noticing. You try to shift your weight, and his arms immediately tighten. “Are you comfortable? Do you need another pillow?” He’s such a caretaker that you almost feel bad. Almost.

Steve’s primary love language is acts of service, but he’s learning yours. He’ll be in the middle of reading a mission report, and you’ll just crawl under his arm and rest your head on his chest. He’ll pause, put the report down, and wrap both arms around you. “Was this what you needed?” he’ll ask, so earnestly. “Yes, Steve,” you’ll murmur. “This is exactly what I needed.” And he’ll hold you like it’s the most important mission he’s ever been given.

TONY STARK !!

Cuddling Tony is a challenge because he’s allergic to stillness. The moment you get comfortable, he’ll have an idea. “Hold that thought,” he’ll say, already trying to extricate himself. “I just realized how to fix the repulsor efficiency.”

You have a failsafe: you just tighten your grip and call out, “DUM-E, fire extinguisher!”

The little robot will race over and spray Tony with a cloud of foam. He’ll sigh, covered in foam, and settle back down. “Fine. You win. Ten more minutes.”

Once you’ve pinned him down, he uses his resources. The lights dim. The AC adjusts to the perfect temperature. The AI, FRIDAY, will play your favorite movie on a screen that descends from the ceiling.

“I’m creating the optimal cuddling environment,” he’ll say, pulling you against his chest. “It’s a statistical fact that a comfortable environment increases the duration of physical affection by 43%.”

“Did you just run a calculation on how long I’d cuddle you?”

“I ran several. This is the most efficient model.”

The arc reactor in his chest is a small, blue, glowing circle of light. It’s also slightly warm. You’ve discovered it’s the perfect spot to rest your head. It’s like a little nightlight and a heating pad combined. Tony pretends to be annoyed when you nuzzle into it. “You’re using my life-saving technology as a comfort object.”

“Mmhmm,” you mumble, your cheek pressed against the cool metal ring. “It’s very comfortable.”

He watches you for a moment, a soft, unguarded look on his face. “…Yeah, okay. It’s pretty comfortable.”

After a rough mission, Tony doesn’t really talk. He comes home, peels off the armor, and finds you. He’ll sit on the couch, pull you onto his lap, wrap his arms around you, and just… breathe. His face is buried in your hair. You don’t say anything. You just hold him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on the back of his neck. This is the only time he’s completely still, completely quiet, and completely yours.

PETER PARKER !!

Cuddling with Peter is a delicate operation. He’s been alone, forgotten, and has developed a case of touch-starvation so acute that the first time you lean your head on his shoulder during a movie, he freezes, webshooters instinctively half-raised, before his brain catches up. He doesn’t relax for the entire movie. He just… absorbs it. When you move to get up, he makes a sound like a wounded puppy.

His fingers and toes have a mild adhesive quality. When he’s relaxed and cuddling, he doesn’t always control it. You will be spooning, and you’ll try to roll over, only to find that his hand is gently, but irrevocably, stuck to your hip. “Peter,” you say, muffled by the pillow. “Your hand.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” He panics, flails, and in trying to unstick one hand, sticks the other one to your shirt, and his foot to the blanket. It takes five minutes to detach him. You both end up in a tangled, laughing heap on the floor.

His spider-sense is always on, always buzzing at a low frequency. It’s exhausting. He’s told you that the only time it truly quiets is when he’s with you. Specifically, when you’re cuddled up. He’ll come back from patrol, drop his suit in a corner, and crawl into your bed, wrapping his entire lanky frame around you like an octopus.

“It’s quiet,” he’ll whisper into your hair, and it’s the most vulnerable he ever sounds.

Peter cannot sit still. Cuddling him is like cuddling a golden retriever puppy during a sugar rush. He’ll be holding you, but he’ll also be bouncing his leg, fiddling with your sleeve, and narrating the entire plot of the movie you’re watching. “Wait, no, go back. Did he just—no, that doesn’t make sense because in issue #147, the Lizard’s formula was—” You just hold on and enjoy the ride.

For a skinny kid, he is surprisingly heavy. He doesn’t realize his own strength or density. When he decides to be the big spoon, he doesn’t just wrap an arm around you; he drapes his entire torso over you like a very affectionate, very warm, very heavy blanket. You can’t move. You don’t want to. “Is this okay?” he’ll whisper, his breath warm against your ear. “Is this… is this how you do it?” You give him a hum of appreciation up from underneath his body. It is, in fact, perfect.

THOR ODINSON !!

Thor does not understand the concept of a "gentle" cuddle. His version of pulling you into his lap is akin to a friendly giant picking up a doll. You are lifted, spun, and deposited onto his thighs with a booming, “There! Now you are comfortable, yes?” You are winded, but also deeply, deeply cozy, surrounded by muscle and Asgardian leather.

Thor’s emotions are tied to the weather. When he’s cuddling you, feeling content and peaceful, you’ll notice that the perpetually overcast sky outside your window suddenly clears, and a warm sunbeam streams in, right onto the two of you. When you have to get up to go to work, a tiny, localized raincloud forms over your head. “Do not go,” he’ll say, his arms like vices. “The mortals can wait another day.”

Thor loves to talk. Cuddling is just an excuse for him to regale you with tales of the Nine Realms. You’ll be lying with your head on his chest, and he’ll be telling you about the time he and Volstagg wrestled a Bilgesnipe. His voice is a deep, resonant rumble that vibrates through his entire body and into yours. You could listen to him for hours. You often do.

You’ve learned that braiding his hair is a form of bonding. He’ll sit on the floor, you on the couch behind him, your legs on either side of his shoulders. You’ll braid his golden locks while he tells you about his day, his head leaning back against your knee. It’s one of the few times he’s perfectly still, perfectly content. When you finish, he’ll turn and wrap his arms around your waist, looking up at you with such unabashed adoration that it makes your heart clench.

You cannot cuddle him while he’s holding Mjolnir. It’s impossible. The thing is, by Asgardian rules, also a part of him. If he’s holding it, he’s not fully relaxed. You’ve established a rule: “No hammer in the cuddle puddle.”

He’ll look at you, then at the hammer, then back at you with the expression of a man being asked to choose between his two children.

“It is my weapon, my companion, my—”

“Thor.”

“…Fine.”

He sets it on the nightstand, pouting, and immediately wraps himself around you. He forgets about the hammer within two minutes.

JOHNNY STORM !!

Johnny does not cuddle. Johnny is “too hot to handle” (his words). But you are a cuddlebug, and you are relentless. The first time you ambush him with a hug, he flames on for half a second out of pure reflex, singeing your sleeve. You just stare at him.

“Did you just—?”

“I panicked! You can’t just sneak up on a guy who is literally made of fire!”

Eventually, he learns to control it. But his baseline is still about 102 degrees. Cuddling him is like cuddling a space heater. In winter, it’s glorious. In summer, you have to keep a spray bottle nearby. He thinks it’s hilarious. “What’s wrong, babe? Too hot for ya?” You spray him in the face. He yelps, and you use his moment of weakness to wrap your arms around his neck and plant a kiss right on his lips.

Johnny is a showman. He loves being seen. And he really loves being seen with you. Cuddling with Johnny is never a private affair. He’ll pull you onto his lap in the middle of the Baxter Building’s common room, right in front of Reed and Sue. “What?” he’ll say, with a smirk. “I’m just appreciating my girlfriend.” Reed looks uncomfortable. Sue just sighs. Ben Grimm gives you a slow, deliberate thumbs up from the corner.

Johnny insists he’s the big spoon. “I’m the flame. I engulf things. I’m the dominant force.” You point out that he’s the size of a very lean, very smug string bean, and you can easily wrap yourself around him like a vine. The argument ends in a tickle fight. He loses. You are the big spoon. He’s too busy laughing to care.

PETER QUILL !!

Every cuddle session with him has a soundtrack. Peter will put on his Zune, pick a song (it’s always something from the 70s or 80s), and then pull you against him. “This is a cuddling song,” he’ll explain, as if it’s a specific genre. “It’s got to have the right vibe. Not too fast, not too slow. Good bass. Lyrics you can kinda mumble along to.” Your life is now a montage set to ELO and Hall & Oates.

On the ship, cuddling is a zero-gravity adventure. You’ll be in his bunk, which is essentially a metal alcove, and he’ll have to wrap his arms and legs around you just to keep you both from floating away.

“This is efficient cuddling,” he’ll say, his face pressed into your neck. “It’s multi-dimensional.”

“You’re just holding me hostage so I don’t float into the engine room.”

“Same thing.”

Peter cannot sit still for a cuddle without initiating a dance-off. You’ll be trying to snuggle, and he’ll start tapping your hip to the beat. Before you know it, he’s trying to twirl you around the cockpit. “Come on! Just one song! It’s a classic!” You’ll groan, but you’ll be smiling, and you’ll end up slow-dancing in the middle of the ship while Rocket makes gagging noises from the ceiling vent.

You tried to have a serious conversation with him while cuddling once. You were talking about relationship stuff, and he was listening, nodding, his arms around you. Then, you felt it. His foot started tapping. Then his leg started bouncing. You stopped talking. He was staring at a point over your shoulder.

“Peter.” “…What?” “Are you listening to ‘Footloose’ in your head?” “…It’s a very catchy song.”

You sigh, accept your fate, and just hold on while he quietly hums and air-drums against your back.

For all his bravado, Peter has deep-seated insecurities about not being enough—not Earth enough, not Celestial enough, not a good enough leader. You’ve learned that the best way to combat this is with aggressive, overwhelming affection. When he gets in his head, you simply tackle him onto the nearest flat surface and wrap yourself around him like a starfish. He’ll protest for a solid minute “What are you—hey, I’m trying to brood here!” before his arms come up to hold you, and his body goes limp with a sigh. “Okay,” he’ll whisper against your hair. “Okay. This is good.”

Pain. So much pain flooded through him as he jolted, suddenly awake with a sharp gasp.

The stuttering gasp got caught halfway in Matt’s chest as more sharp pain flooded his ribs and body at the slight movement.

He coughed weakly, harsh against his dry throat and tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Most of it old, but when he just coughed, new red liquid added to the awful texture in his mouth.

Suddenly, Matt realised he wasn’t alone. He felt something moving, shifting, over to the side of him and panic started to grip his chest.

He hadn’t even known anyone was there.

He couldn’t hear anyone. He couldn’t hear anything at all.

Matt felt his blood starting to pound through him as his breath and heart rate spiked in distress.

He could barely even move due to his agonising injuries.

He’s fucked, he thinks. So fucked.

You’d been half asleep on the bed next to him when he awoke suddenly, his movements making you stir back into consciousness.

Curled into a ball, half drifting in and out of sleep as you watch your boyfriend on the pillow next to you, breathing shallowly, every breath rattling in his lungs. Hoping, praying it doesn’t just… stop.

Claire worked with you to patch Matt up as much as best as you both could with limited resources, but he was in rough shape.

You didn’t even really know what happened to him.

You’d texted your good friend Frank, if there had been any sight of your devil, after he was home later than usual.

Castle said he’d keep a lookout. Code for I’ll find him.

About an hour later, Frank had dumped Matt on your shared bed, calling you before hand in warning that he was hurt, badly.

You’d called Claire immediately after he hung up, managing to convince her not to call an ambulance, just.

As a compromise, you ended up calling Night Nurse to help him too.

Matt wouldn’t be mad at you for taking him to a hospital. He knows you’d never jeprodize his career, and identity lightly, a last resort before he’s literally dead. He’d just… well he’d be mad at the whole situation.

Matt could somehow heal himself faster than a normal person, you knew this, so after the three of you stitched his wounds, trying desperately to stop the bleeding, set his broken bones, checked for punctured lungs and severe head injuries, doing all you could for him, the only thing left to do was wait, and hope.

You sat up quickly when Matt suddenly gasped awake, spluttering blood as he was thrown back into consciousness. His blood shot eyes fly open, darting around the room, not focusing on anything in particular.

Watching him for a second with wide eyes, you freeze as he quickly starts to panic, chest rising and falling faster with every breath.

“Matty, baby, it’s okay, it’s me” you say in a soft voice, desperately wanting to bring him comfort.

Reaching out, you go to touch his sweaty forehead, but his hand clumsily gripped your wrist at the contact, hard.

He groaned quietly at the quick movement which had clearly pained him to do so as well, only acting on instinct.

“Who’s there?” Matt managed to croak out.

“Matt? It’s me” You said louder, confused but he just held your wrist, panic rising in both of your throats as you repeated his name louder and louder each time, to no avail. All of which he was unaware of.

He couldn’t hear you, you realised.

You raised your free hand to the one that gripped your wrist, and he tensed even further, waiting with baited breath for the stranger to do something to him.

Matt could tell, at least, that he was in a bed of some kind, that your touch was soft, and he wasn’t already dead, which helped him feel like he wasn’t about to be stabbed, though only just.

He could feel the way stitches pulled at his skin, the bandages and adhesive keeping him together.

Whoever was near him had obviously tried to patch him up, he tried to rationalise, to calm himself.

As a way to let Matt know it’s you, you begin to tap your fingers over his hand in a wave, back and forth, in the same way you did while you were holding hands and you got anxious. A grounding technique you had adapted from touching your thump to each one of your fingers, except now you always have his hand in yours instead.

He lessened the hold on your wrist immediately, and let out a big shaky breath of relief as he choked out your name in a question, the word more of a sob.

You tapped him twice on his wrist, your bedroom signal for yes that you both used when you were…otherwise unable to speak.

“I can’t hear anything, I can’t hear, I think I got hit in the head, I can’t even smell, there’s nothing” Matt rushed out, fear rising in his voice, able to tell you what was wrong now that he knew he was safe.

He’d had his nose broken in the fight, his face and head were covered in dark, purple bruises, surrounding the deep split skin from the impact. He’d been brought to your shared apartment so bloodied, you thought he was dead. Hit was putting it lightly.

Bringing his bloodied hand to your mouth, you kiss softly over his injured knuckles, using the other that wasn’t trapped to stoke the backs of your fingers over his face, trying to keep your touch light. Matt leaned into the touch heavily, unfocused eyes staring at where he thought you were, well as much has his swollen eyelids allowed him to.

Matt suddenly started trying to sit up, gasping in pain again as he did so.

Quickly but carefully, you put your hand that was on his face, on his bruised chest and pushed him back down. Cupping his hand to the side of your face, you shook your head as you tapped his wrist once for no.

He started to shake his own head, chest still rising and falling in panicked breaths. Eyes squeezing shut as he fought back stinging tears.

“I can’t- I can’t-“ he choked out, whimpering slightly as his voice broke.

God you wished you could just talk to him, explain how bad of a shape he’s in and he can’t be moving like this.

Matt started to try and pull you on top of him instead, which was equally as bad. You resisted, tapped him no again and he nearly sobbed.

“Please, please I need to feel you” he barely got out in between fast breaths, pulling you towards him again.

Resisting the pull again, you grab his other hand gently and run it down the length of his bare chest, so he can feel the extent of his serious injuries and stitches.

“I don’t care, it doesn’t hurt, I don’t care” he panted insistently, deep in a panic attack now, desperately wanting you to ground him with your touch and weight.

Tears were also falling from your eyes at this point, desperately wanting to give him what he so obviously needs, but you know you’d only end up ripping his stitches open if you do what he wants.

He sobbed your name, begging pleas between his frantic breathing and your resolve starts to crumble.

Ever so slowly, you laid your body as carefullly as you could over the very top half of his, across him, burying your face in the side of his bruised neck.

Wanting to try and at least keep some of the weight off the deep stitches in his stomach, where they were worst.

His big, bruised arms immediately wrap around you to hold you tightly against his chest. Matt took a big, deep, shuddering breath as your comforting weight on top of him started to calm him down slightly.

Matt hated this. He couldn’t tell about anything that was going on around him. Completely submerged in nothing. Apart from you.

He didn’t care about the pain of his injuries, he just needed you touching him. Needs something he could feel, real and solid against him. Needs you in his arms more than anything else in the world right now.

You stroked the side of his face, moving to run your fingers carefully through his hair, as he relaxed further into the bed, shock slowly leaning his system.

As you laid there, slowly drifting off, your fingertips touched him comfortingly anywhere you could reach, trying to keep him calm somewhat. They traced his face, along his jaw, back into his scalp for a bit because he loves that, down his throat.

Matt slowly starts to fall asleep again, injuries and the adrenaline leaving his body exhausting him further.

The next morning, Matt wasn’t much better at all.

He’d began to panic again as soon as he woke up, realisation dawning on him once again that he couldn’t hear anything.

Feeling the weight and warmth of you on his chest immediately helped soothe him. He wrapped his strong arms around you, fingertips brushing over your face and playing with your hair, before his hands dipped to feel the rest of your perfect body, anywhere he could reach. His fingers lingered anywhere they could feel your pulse, hearing your heartbeat is something he seriously missed right now.

You woke gently to his actions, but stayed and let him comfort himself by running his hands all over you, never staying in one spot for long as his breathing slowed again to a somewhat normal rate.

Satisfied that at least while he was like this, you’re safe, you’re with him right now, in his arms.

Once he’d settled again, you carefully sat up to grab the glass of water you’d left on the bed side table last night. Matt quickly trapped you with his arms as soon as you moved, scared you were leaving.

“Please don’t go” he said roughly, voice louder than he would usually say, due to being unable to hear himself. His hand moves to hold the side of your face, waiting to feel your response.

You held your hand over his, and tapped his wrist solidly once for no. He seemed to relax slightly, understanding your signal and let you move again. His hands still did not leave your body though.

You reached to grab the glass, then cradled the back of his head to help him sit up slightly. He let you move him, managing to sitting up with a bit of a grunt.

“What’s wrong?” He mumbles curiously.

You brought the glass down to his hand for him to feel. Matt flinched slightly at the unexpected cold but quickly caught on, his fingers on top of yours on the glass as you help bring it to his lips.

As soon as the cool water touches his tongue, Matt realises how thirsty he is. He starts taking big gulps, draining the whole cup.

“Thank you” he says softly, after he’d had his fill, before slowly laying back down. He takes another deep breath, trying to keep himself calm.

“Fuck this sucks” he tries to joke, but his voice is strained and waivers.

“I’ll be okay. Believe it or not, this has happened to me once before, and it got better. I didn’t have you last time either” he tries to reassure himself as much as you.

You frown at him, imagining him going through this alone.

Dragging your eyes down to his sculpted, bruised chest, you see the stitches have mostly held. It might be a good idea to try and get him in the shower, wash off some of this blood that had dried on his skin.

You didn’t even know if it was all his and the thought made you cringe a little. It would be easier to change dressings and you could check the rest of his injuries that way as well, if he was cleaned up a bit.

Continuing to run your fingers through his hair as you looked down at him, you gnawed at your lip trying to think how to communicate to him you want him to get a shower, when he suddenly announced in a smaller voice, “I uh- need to pee…”

You helped him up slowly, trying to ignore the stabbing feeling in your chest every time he made a pained noise, and lead him to the bathroom.

You turned to switch the shower on, his hands never leaving your waist and Matt could at least feel the sudden temperature change in the air.

“You getting a shower?” He asks, tilting his head slightly in question. You tap no on his wrist and then lightly poke him in the chest.

“You want me to get a shower?” He asked, trying to figure out what you mean. You tapped yes.

“Trying to get me naked?” He joked lightly, but his smirk didn’t reach his eyes. You could tell he was just trying to get you to feel better.

Stroking his cheek affectionately, you manage to smile slightly as he leans into you, but then you brought his hand up to feel the flakey, crusty blood all over his skin.

He cringes at the texture that he’s suddenly all too aware of, skin crawling at the realisation.

“Ah okay angel, you wanna clean me up?” Matt asks, clocking onto what you mean.

You tapped him yes again, suddenly immensely glad you had come up with this communication system for completely unrelated situations.

Matt’s hands wasted no time, and hooked his thumbs into the band of his boxers before he slipped them off unceremoniously, clearly agreeing.

As unsexy as this whole situation is, you’re reminded that you’re only human as your eyes dragged over your boyfriends naked form. Any arousal you might have felt is quickly dampened by the sheer amount of injuries he has though.

He’s got stitches everywhere, his arms, chest, stomach, thighs, back, as well as purple and black bruises littering his skin too.

Once you got him under the water, after helping him pee, since you know, his aim was off, you led his hand to the controls to let him adjust the temperature to his liking. He sighed in relief once he turned the water hot, steam quickly filling the room.

You shed your clothes and got under the spray with him, picking up the body wash to use your hands to wash him. You could be extra gentle that way, no risk of scratchy material irritating his already sore skin.

By the time you’d finished, he was practically purring.

No doubt his sense of touch is skyrocketing right now, it being the only thing he could actually focus on.

Scrubbing his scalp as he kneels down in front of you, his face is pressed into the skin of your soft stomach, just under your breasts.

You could feel his tongue slipping out to collect the water droplets from your skin, giving you slow, open mouthed kisses.

Wrapping his strong arms around your waist, Matt keeps you pulled close to him. Your heart fluttered when he started to kiss you, but then your stomach sank when you realised he can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore.

After you’d washed his hair, Matt stood up and held his hand out expectantly.

“Let me do you?” He asked softly, his other hand never leaving your waist.

You smile and put some soap in his waiting hand and he gently starts to wash you.

Matt has no problems whatsoever remembering the shapes of your body, already having it memorised like it’s his own, and it makes him feel ever so slightly better being able to do something for you too.

He absolutely didn’t have to be on his knees again to wash your front.

You watch the slight blush start to rise on his cheeks when he starts to wash your slippery chest.

Despite his alarming, unsettling, completely not arousing predicament, apparently his quickly swelling cock didn’t get the same memo.

He leans in to press his face along your breasts once the soap is washed away, giving you more of those open mouthed kisses. You ran your fingers through his wet hair as he did this, sighing at the intimate feeling. You were glad he seemed to have relaxed a little bit.

Both of you stood in the shower, content to be wrapped in eachother for a while. Matt pressed soft kisses everywhere he could, hands running all over your body, never staying still too long.

He was still hard, heavy against your stomach but his touches weren’t sexual, just comforting, self soothing even. He just couldn’t help his bodily reactions to the feeling of your smooth, water slicked body under his palms.

Settled back in bed, Matt had his head on your bare legs while you continuously ran your hands through his hair again, while you watched some shitty movie on the TV.

You’d ordered some food for lunch, and now Matt was dosing, or maybe meditating, you couldn’t ever really tell. But he was tired, and still in a lot of pain.

The only difference you had noticed between them was he was actually a little more wriggly when he was asleep, mild twitches and movements coming through to this world from his dreams.

You spent the rest of the day in bed with him, Matt adamantly protesting any time you even shifted in a way that suggested you were getting up, not wanting you to leave him alone even for a second, even to go the toilet alone.

He let you lead him around like a lost puppy, unwilling to be apart from you but unable to just follow you like usual. This behaviour wasn’t really new, but you could tell how insecure he was feeling, how truly lost.

It pissed Matt off with how dependent he felt, but he needed to be with you more. You’d changed his bandages, made sure he was fed and watered, given him pain killers, even helped him pee, which he hated. He spent most of the time over the next couple of days asleep, too achey to do much else.

The days that followed were much of the same, just focusing on healing him, getting him better.

Very early in the morning, a few days after he’d been carried home half dead, before it was even light, Matt shot up with a start.

“Holy shit” he grunted in shock as an extra loud siren drove past the apartment, just as something popped in his ears and suddenly, he could hear again.

The intense sound being the first thing he heard made his head ring and he winced, scrunching his face up in pain.

You’d been laid across his chest again to keep off his deeper wounds, since Matt literally wouldn’t let you go, but you were rolled onto your back to look up at him when he sat up.

Startled awake at the movement, you looked up at him confused and half asleep. Concearn laced your features when you managed to make out his pained face in the low light.

“Matt?” You question softly, raising your hand to cup the side of his face, stroking his cheekbone. His unfocused eyes snap to your mouth immediately.

“I’m okay just… loud” he mumbled still half asleep, hearing the concern in your voice. You hummed, eyes falling shut again, but then they snapped open again a second later.

“Matty, can you hear me?” You said quickly, sitting up to sit next to him. His own eyes widened then as well, realisation cutting through the fog of sleep.

“Oh thank fucking God for that” he sighed loudly, immensely relieved, smiling wider at you as he pulled your face close to his.

His eyes darted around your features as he hummed softly, as if he was looking at you, which you guess he kind of was, which explained the small sound he made to help enhance the, for lack of a better term, echolocation.

He’d been submitted to complete and utter darkness while his sense of hearing and smell were gone, radar sense completely out of commission.

You both smiled widely into the loving kiss he gives you, finally hearing your heart beat flutter again was truly music to his ears.

After he kissed you for a while, Matt eventually got up to go to the bathroom unassisted for the first time in a few days.

As you started to get up to come help him, he gently laid you back down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Go back to sleep baby, I’m fine” he muttered against your hair, smiling softly as he heard your heavy lids slip shut again.

Matt slowly stumbled to the bathroom, he might be able to hear again but his body is still giving him some grief. He still couldn’t smell anything either, so he pulled out an old neti pot. He filled it up with water and tipped it back into his nose, then suddenly he coughed, spluttering blood everywhere.

“Shit” he mumbled at the mess, nearly gagging as the intense smell iron hit him. But, at least he could smell again. His nose had clearly been blocked with clotted blood, not blocked from the damage anymore.

He cleaned himself up, and the bathroom, before slowly crawling back into bed with you. It’s way too early to be awake, and the toll from his injuries was still going strong. The broken bones, the stab wounds. Even with his meditative healing, he’s going to be hurting for a while.

Matt pulls you into his chest, careful not to wake you and after taking way too many deep inhales of your scent he’d missed dearly, he falls asleep listening to the sound of your steady heart beat, able to completely surround himself with you once again.

The heat woke you up this time, slowly, feeling warm and sweaty all over. You scrunched your face up at the uncomfortable sticky feeling, trying to move away from the absolute furnace behind you, but the muscular arms caging you in wouldn’t budge.

The next thing you noticed is something warm and hard grinding into your ass cheeks, in a slow, uneven rhythm.

Matt’s breath was hot against your neck, coming out in short little puffs. The sluggish, unaware movements he was making told you that he was still asleep.

His hands were wrapped in your clothing, one gripping his shirt you had on, pulling it up to show your stomach, and the other was in the waistband of your underwear, gripping it tightly, pulling it against your flesh.

Matt shifted behind you slightly, moaning your name softly between his rugged breaths, pressing his hips even harder against your ass. He pulled you impossibly closer towards him, and you felt yourself getting hopelessly turned on at the thought of him dreaming about you like this.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve woken up like this, Matt is an… active dreamer. For some reason though, it seemed to happen more often when Matt had been hurt.

Usually, he would stop after a few minutes, and end up waking up in the morning hard as hell, so he’d wake you up too with his head between your legs.

You let him rut his cock against you for a few more minutes, but he just kept going, your name leaving his lips in soft little whimpers, and you were getting increasingly sweaty and needy too.

“Matty, baby” you whisper quietly into the partial darkness, reaching back to run your hand through his damp hair.

He half moaned, half groaned at the action, tightening his grip on you and pushing his face further into your neck. You kept stroking his scalp, easing him awake, till he suddenly froze when he became all too aware of what he was doing.

“Shit, angel I’m sorry” he gasped in your ear, suddenly extremely aware of how ungodly close he was to cumming in his boxers in his sleep.

Before you could even say anything, he was then hit by the smell of your arousal seeping from you.

“Or not?” He huffed in amusement, humming in approval as he slid his hand under his shirt you’re wearing to grope at your soft breasts, as he started to press gentle kisses to your throat.

You sighed quietly at the feeling, pushing yourself further into him and bending your neck to give him better access to kiss and suck at your neck.

“Aren’t you still hurting?” You manage to ask, through the haze of arousal that was quickly pulling you under. It’s one thing to be humping you in his sleep, but Matt didn’t exactly do sex half arsed.

“‘m fine baby, promise” Matt mumbled in between kissing and sucking love bites onto your neck.

Moaning softly at the feeling of his fingers playing with you nipple, you trail your hand behind you, grabbing the base of his thick length through his boxers.

He gasps a rough “fuck” into your neck, surprised by the action from being focused on his own actions to pay much attention to yours.

You use his distractedness to spin in his arms, and push him back so you could very carefully climb over him to straddle his hips.

“Oh okay, hi” he smirks up at you, looking delighted as he runs his hands up and down your soft thighs.

“Hi yourself, Mr Murdock” you try to purr, though it ends in a soft giggle as he pulls you down to catch your lips in a heated kiss. His hands help you to grind down on his covered length, making you both moan into each others mouths as you make out like horny teenagers.

Usually, you’d have sex at least once a day, more if Matt had his way all the time, so maybe he’s feeling a little eager.

“Feeling a bit better?” You break away to ask softly, running your hands through his hair, feeling the wounds on his head gently. Matt nods while chasing your lips again with his own.

“Mhm” he mumbled against your lips, other things on his mind, then moved his face to your neck and took a big, clear breath of you through his nose to help enunciate his point, as he pulled your hips down to grind against his throbbing cock even harder.

You start to make your way down to sit between Matt’s legs, wanting to make him feel good since he’d had a rough few days but he stops you as your fingers curl in his waistband.

“Wanna hear you baby, missed that perfect voice of yours, don’t want you to be quiet today, can’t have that pretty mouth full” he explains between kisses, tone deep with want after he pulls you back up to him.

“Take these off angel” he mumbles against your lips again, snapping the elastic of your underwear against your ass lightly. Lifting your legs, you discard them, flinging them off to the side as Matt pulls his own underwear down and kicks them off too. You quickly shed the t shirt as well.

When you sit back on his hips, you’re both bare and moan at the feeling of your soaking core against his impossibly thick, hard cock.

Pulling you down to kiss him again, Matt’s other hand sneaks between your bodies and starts to rub slow circles on your clit lightly. You moan against his lips, but the feeling doesn’t last long as he moves further and sinks two fingers into your core without warning.

Gasping at the feeling, you move to bury your face in his shoulder, kissing and biting at his neck. Matt holds you tightly against him as he works you open slowly, never impatient enough to hurt you (unless you ask for it.)

You’re writhing in his arms by the time his fingers leave you, ceasing their assault on your g spot, and Matt’s hand moves to line up his throbbing cock with your now soaking entrance.

His hand moves back up to your clit once the leaking tip is in, and he rubs in circles as he slowly raises his hips while pushing yours down. You sink down onto his length, gasping as the feeling of every hot, hard, vast ridge of him stretching you open deliciously.

The intense feeling of being split open, paired with the teasing way he had fingered you, and his digit now circling your clit, makes you come embarrassingly fast.

You moan out Matt’s name loudly, walls fluttering erratically around his twitching cock and you start grinding your hips against him as you chase your pleasure.

“Oh fuck baby, that’s it, let me hear you, missed your pretty sounds so much, missed your pretty voice, your pretty heart beat” Matt babbles between deep groans at the feeling of you tightening impossibly around him, already drawing him closer to his orgasm than he would like.

Matt hates going even a day without sinking some part of himself in between your thighs.

His last little bit of self control had finally snapped, and he starts eagerly fucking up into you, while he holds your hips tightly with one arm, other hand coming to tangle in your hair at the back of your head holding you to him tightly. The mouth watering size of his cock always sets every nerve alight within your clenching walls.

With lethal accuracy, his cock is hitting the sweet spot inside of you every time, every intense roll of his hips is sending you closer and closer to oblivion.

His actions cause you to cry loudly, your orgasm not completely finished, and you’re unable to do anything other than moan and whine for him, taking what he’s so eagerly giving you.

He fucks up into you hard and fast, feet planted into the mattress as he tries to pull out every little sound he physically can from you.

You’re a wreck above him, crying out his name and incoherent babbling, drooling into his neck, biting occasionally when you have half a mind to worry about the neighbours. Every time your teeth sink into his flesh, his hips rock into you just that little bit harder, earning a rough sound from his lips.

The nails on your fingers bite into his shoulders and chest, where you desperately use the very last of your brain power to avoid his injuries.

Matt’s moaning and grunting his pleasure too, desperately willing himself not to come just yet, wanting to hear your perfect sounds, feel you exactly like this, for as long as possible.

You go to lean up, pushing yourself up with your hands on his body, wanting to watch him like this, but you accidentally press on one of the deeper wounds on his sternum.

Your wide eyes meet his matching, shocked expression, as he suddenly moans out “fuck” loudly, followed by a quick babble of “wait, wait” then finally a kind of defeated “shit.”

A rough, deep groan spills from Matt’s mouth as his hips stutter, before thrusting up into you hard enough to tip you back into his sweaty, firm chest.

You manage to catch yourself on your hands, and watch in fascination as his face contort in pleasure as his orgasm rips through him uncontrollably.

You feel his cock twitching deep inside you as he comes, filling you with his load as he keeps trying to push himself deeper through the waves of pleasure.

As he comes down from his surprising high, you bite your lip to hold off a small giggle.

Matt hears it though, of course he does. He huffs and cracks one unfocused eye open and it stops at your mouth, the source of the sound.

“You really are such a masochist Matty” you giggle playfully, smiling as you run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

Suddenly you’re flipped, back pressed against the mattress before you even realise what’s happening, and Matt is on top of you, caging you in.

“Maybe I am a masochist, but unfortunately for you sweetheart, I’m a sadist too” Matt all but growls in your ear, pressing his still rock hard cock against your sensitive core, catching your clit, before starting to kiss and nibble his way down your flushed body.

You gasp and bite your lip at his sudden change in demeanour, humming at the feeling of his lips on your skin. Your hands tangle in his hair and tighten up enough to pull a groan from Matt when his teeth press into your skin, leaving his marks behind. He’s going lower, and lower.

By the time you’re both falling asleep, the sun has started to rise, light streaming in through the curtains, casting a golden hue over both of your breathless, sweaty, satisfied bodies.

Thank you for reading! <3

Pain. So much pain flooded through him as he jolted, suddenly awake with a sharp gasp.

The stuttering gasp got caught halfway in Matt’s chest as more sharp pain flooded his ribs and body at the slight movement.

He coughed weakly, harsh against his dry throat and tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Most of it old, but when he just coughed, new red liquid added to the awful texture in his mouth.

Suddenly, Matt realised he wasn’t alone. He felt something moving, shifting, over to the side of him and panic started to grip his chest.

He hadn’t even known anyone was there.

He couldn’t hear anyone. He couldn’t hear anything at all.

Matt felt his blood starting to pound through him as his breath and heart rate spiked in distress.

He could barely even move due to his agonising injuries.

He’s fucked, he thinks. So fucked.

You’d been half asleep on the bed next to him when he awoke suddenly, his movements making you stir back into consciousness.

Curled into a ball, half drifting in and out of sleep as you watch your boyfriend on the pillow next to you, breathing shallowly, every breath rattling in his lungs. Hoping, praying it doesn’t just… stop.

Claire worked with you to patch Matt up as much as best as you both could with limited resources, but he was in rough shape.

You didn’t even really know what happened to him.

You’d texted your good friend Frank, if there had been any sight of your devil, after he was home later than usual.

Castle said he’d keep a lookout. Code for I’ll find him.

About an hour later, Frank had dumped Matt on your shared bed, calling you before hand in warning that he was hurt, badly.

You’d called Claire immediately after he hung up, managing to convince her not to call an ambulance, just.

As a compromise, you ended up calling Night Nurse to help him too.

Matt wouldn’t be mad at you for taking him to a hospital. He knows you’d never jeprodize his career, and identity lightly, a last resort before he’s literally dead. He’d just… well he’d be mad at the whole situation.

Matt could somehow heal himself faster than a normal person, you knew this, so after the three of you stitched his wounds, trying desperately to stop the bleeding, set his broken bones, checked for punctured lungs and severe head injuries, doing all you could for him, the only thing left to do was wait, and hope.

You sat up quickly when Matt suddenly gasped awake, spluttering blood as he was thrown back into consciousness. His blood shot eyes fly open, darting around the room, not focusing on anything in particular.

Watching him for a second with wide eyes, you freeze as he quickly starts to panic, chest rising and falling faster with every breath.

“Matty, baby, it’s okay, it’s me” you say in a soft voice, desperately wanting to bring him comfort.

Reaching out, you go to touch his sweaty forehead, but his hand clumsily gripped your wrist at the contact, hard.

He groaned quietly at the quick movement which had clearly pained him to do so as well, only acting on instinct.

“Who’s there?” Matt managed to croak out.

“Matt? It’s me” You said louder, confused but he just held your wrist, panic rising in both of your throats as you repeated his name louder and louder each time, to no avail. All of which he was unaware of.

He couldn’t hear you, you realised.

You raised your free hand to the one that gripped your wrist, and he tensed even further, waiting with baited breath for the stranger to do something to him.

Matt could tell, at least, that he was in a bed of some kind, that your touch was soft, and he wasn’t already dead, which helped him feel like he wasn’t about to be stabbed, though only just.

He could feel the way stitches pulled at his skin, the bandages and adhesive keeping him together.

Whoever was near him had obviously tried to patch him up, he tried to rationalise, to calm himself.

As a way to let Matt know it’s you, you begin to tap your fingers over his hand in a wave, back and forth, in the same way you did while you were holding hands and you got anxious. A grounding technique you had adapted from touching your thump to each one of your fingers, except now you always have his hand in yours instead.

He lessened the hold on your wrist immediately, and let out a big shaky breath of relief as he choked out your name in a question, the word more of a sob.

You tapped him twice on his wrist, your bedroom signal for yes that you both used when you were…otherwise unable to speak.

“I can’t hear anything, I can’t hear, I think I got hit in the head, I can’t even smell, there’s nothing” Matt rushed out, fear rising in his voice, able to tell you what was wrong now that he knew he was safe.

He’d had his nose broken in the fight, his face and head were covered in dark, purple bruises, surrounding the deep split skin from the impact. He’d been brought to your shared apartment so bloodied, you thought he was dead. Hit was putting it lightly.

Bringing his bloodied hand to your mouth, you kiss softly over his injured knuckles, using the other that wasn’t trapped to stoke the backs of your fingers over his face, trying to keep your touch light. Matt leaned into the touch heavily, unfocused eyes staring at where he thought you were, well as much has his swollen eyelids allowed him to.

Matt suddenly started trying to sit up, gasping in pain again as he did so.

Quickly but carefully, you put your hand that was on his face, on his bruised chest and pushed him back down. Cupping his hand to the side of your face, you shook your head as you tapped his wrist once for no.

He started to shake his own head, chest still rising and falling in panicked breaths. Eyes squeezing shut as he fought back stinging tears.

“I can’t- I can’t-“ he choked out, whimpering slightly as his voice broke.

God you wished you could just talk to him, explain how bad of a shape he’s in and he can’t be moving like this.

Matt started to try and pull you on top of him instead, which was equally as bad. You resisted, tapped him no again and he nearly sobbed.

“Please, please I need to feel you” he barely got out in between fast breaths, pulling you towards him again.

Resisting the pull again, you grab his other hand gently and run it down the length of his bare chest, so he can feel the extent of his serious injuries and stitches.

“I don’t care, it doesn’t hurt, I don’t care” he panted insistently, deep in a panic attack now, desperately wanting you to ground him with your touch and weight.

Tears were also falling from your eyes at this point, desperately wanting to give him what he so obviously needs, but you know you’d only end up ripping his stitches open if you do what he wants.

He sobbed your name, begging pleas between his frantic breathing and your resolve starts to crumble.

Ever so slowly, you laid your body as carefullly as you could over the very top half of his, across him, burying your face in the side of his bruised neck.

Wanting to try and at least keep some of the weight off the deep stitches in his stomach, where they were worst.

His big, bruised arms immediately wrap around you to hold you tightly against his chest. Matt took a big, deep, shuddering breath as your comforting weight on top of him started to calm him down slightly.

Matt hated this. He couldn’t tell about anything that was going on around him. Completely submerged in nothing. Apart from you.

He didn’t care about the pain of his injuries, he just needed you touching him. Needs something he could feel, real and solid against him. Needs you in his arms more than anything else in the world right now.

You stroked the side of his face, moving to run your fingers carefully through his hair, as he relaxed further into the bed, shock slowly leaning his system.

As you laid there, slowly drifting off, your fingertips touched him comfortingly anywhere you could reach, trying to keep him calm somewhat. They traced his face, along his jaw, back into his scalp for a bit because he loves that, down his throat.

Matt slowly starts to fall asleep again, injuries and the adrenaline leaving his body exhausting him further.

The next morning, Matt wasn’t much better at all.

He’d began to panic again as soon as he woke up, realisation dawning on him once again that he couldn’t hear anything.

Feeling the weight and warmth of you on his chest immediately helped soothe him. He wrapped his strong arms around you, fingertips brushing over your face and playing with your hair, before his hands dipped to feel the rest of your perfect body, anywhere he could reach. His fingers lingered anywhere they could feel your pulse, hearing your heartbeat is something he seriously missed right now.

You woke gently to his actions, but stayed and let him comfort himself by running his hands all over you, never staying in one spot for long as his breathing slowed again to a somewhat normal rate.

Satisfied that at least while he was like this, you’re safe, you’re with him right now, in his arms.

Once he’d settled again, you carefully sat up to grab the glass of water you’d left on the bed side table last night. Matt quickly trapped you with his arms as soon as you moved, scared you were leaving.

“Please don’t go” he said roughly, voice louder than he would usually say, due to being unable to hear himself. His hand moves to hold the side of your face, waiting to feel your response.

You held your hand over his, and tapped his wrist solidly once for no. He seemed to relax slightly, understanding your signal and let you move again. His hands still did not leave your body though.

You reached to grab the glass, then cradled the back of his head to help him sit up slightly. He let you move him, managing to sitting up with a bit of a grunt.

“What’s wrong?” He mumbles curiously.

You brought the glass down to his hand for him to feel. Matt flinched slightly at the unexpected cold but quickly caught on, his fingers on top of yours on the glass as you help bring it to his lips.

As soon as the cool water touches his tongue, Matt realises how thirsty he is. He starts taking big gulps, draining the whole cup.

“Thank you” he says softly, after he’d had his fill, before slowly laying back down. He takes another deep breath, trying to keep himself calm.

“Fuck this sucks” he tries to joke, but his voice is strained and waivers.

“I’ll be okay. Believe it or not, this has happened to me once before, and it got better. I didn’t have you last time either” he tries to reassure himself as much as you.

You frown at him, imagining him going through this alone.

Dragging your eyes down to his sculpted, bruised chest, you see the stitches have mostly held. It might be a good idea to try and get him in the shower, wash off some of this blood that had dried on his skin.

You didn’t even know if it was all his and the thought made you cringe a little. It would be easier to change dressings and you could check the rest of his injuries that way as well, if he was cleaned up a bit.

Continuing to run your fingers through his hair as you looked down at him, you gnawed at your lip trying to think how to communicate to him you want him to get a shower, when he suddenly announced in a smaller voice, “I uh- need to pee…”

You helped him up slowly, trying to ignore the stabbing feeling in your chest every time he made a pained noise, and lead him to the bathroom.

You turned to switch the shower on, his hands never leaving your waist and Matt could at least feel the sudden temperature change in the air.

“You getting a shower?” He asks, tilting his head slightly in question. You tap no on his wrist and then lightly poke him in the chest.

“You want me to get a shower?” He asked, trying to figure out what you mean. You tapped yes.

“Trying to get me naked?” He joked lightly, but his smirk didn’t reach his eyes. You could tell he was just trying to get you to feel better.

Stroking his cheek affectionately, you manage to smile slightly as he leans into you, but then you brought his hand up to feel the flakey, crusty blood all over his skin.

He cringes at the texture that he’s suddenly all too aware of, skin crawling at the realisation.

“Ah okay angel, you wanna clean me up?” Matt asks, clocking onto what you mean.

You tapped him yes again, suddenly immensely glad you had come up with this communication system for completely unrelated situations.

Matt’s hands wasted no time, and hooked his thumbs into the band of his boxers before he slipped them off unceremoniously, clearly agreeing.

As unsexy as this whole situation is, you’re reminded that you’re only human as your eyes dragged over your boyfriends naked form. Any arousal you might have felt is quickly dampened by the sheer amount of injuries he has though.

He’s got stitches everywhere, his arms, chest, stomach, thighs, back, as well as purple and black bruises littering his skin too.

Once you got him under the water, after helping him pee, since you know, his aim was off, you led his hand to the controls to let him adjust the temperature to his liking. He sighed in relief once he turned the water hot, steam quickly filling the room.

You shed your clothes and got under the spray with him, picking up the body wash to use your hands to wash him. You could be extra gentle that way, no risk of scratchy material irritating his already sore skin.

By the time you’d finished, he was practically purring.

No doubt his sense of touch is skyrocketing right now, it being the only thing he could actually focus on.

Scrubbing his scalp as he kneels down in front of you, his face is pressed into the skin of your soft stomach, just under your breasts.

You could feel his tongue slipping out to collect the water droplets from your skin, giving you slow, open mouthed kisses.

Wrapping his strong arms around your waist, Matt keeps you pulled close to him. Your heart fluttered when he started to kiss you, but then your stomach sank when you realised he can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore.

After you’d washed his hair, Matt stood up and held his hand out expectantly.

“Let me do you?” He asked softly, his other hand never leaving your waist.

You smile and put some soap in his waiting hand and he gently starts to wash you.

Matt has no problems whatsoever remembering the shapes of your body, already having it memorised like it’s his own, and it makes him feel ever so slightly better being able to do something for you too.

He absolutely didn’t have to be on his knees again to wash your front.

You watch the slight blush start to rise on his cheeks when he starts to wash your slippery chest.

Despite his alarming, unsettling, completely not arousing predicament, apparently his quickly swelling cock didn’t get the same memo.

He leans in to press his face along your breasts once the soap is washed away, giving you more of those open mouthed kisses. You ran your fingers through his wet hair as he did this, sighing at the intimate feeling. You were glad he seemed to have relaxed a little bit.

Both of you stood in the shower, content to be wrapped in eachother for a while. Matt pressed soft kisses everywhere he could, hands running all over your body, never staying still too long.

He was still hard, heavy against your stomach but his touches weren’t sexual, just comforting, self soothing even. He just couldn’t help his bodily reactions to the feeling of your smooth, water slicked body under his palms.

Settled back in bed, Matt had his head on your bare legs while you continuously ran your hands through his hair again, while you watched some shitty movie on the TV.

You’d ordered some food for lunch, and now Matt was dosing, or maybe meditating, you couldn’t ever really tell. But he was tired, and still in a lot of pain.

The only difference you had noticed between them was he was actually a little more wriggly when he was asleep, mild twitches and movements coming through to this world from his dreams.

You spent the rest of the day in bed with him, Matt adamantly protesting any time you even shifted in a way that suggested you were getting up, not wanting you to leave him alone even for a second, even to go the toilet alone.

He let you lead him around like a lost puppy, unwilling to be apart from you but unable to just follow you like usual. This behaviour wasn’t really new, but you could tell how insecure he was feeling, how truly lost.

It pissed Matt off with how dependent he felt, but he needed to be with you more. You’d changed his bandages, made sure he was fed and watered, given him pain killers, even helped him pee, which he hated. He spent most of the time over the next couple of days asleep, too achey to do much else.

The days that followed were much of the same, just focusing on healing him, getting him better.

Very early in the morning, a few days after he’d been carried home half dead, before it was even light, Matt shot up with a start.

“Holy shit” he grunted in shock as an extra loud siren drove past the apartment, just as something popped in his ears and suddenly, he could hear again.

The intense sound being the first thing he heard made his head ring and he winced, scrunching his face up in pain.

You’d been laid across his chest again to keep off his deeper wounds, since Matt literally wouldn’t let you go, but you were rolled onto your back to look up at him when he sat up.

Startled awake at the movement, you looked up at him confused and half asleep. Concearn laced your features when you managed to make out his pained face in the low light.

“Matt?” You question softly, raising your hand to cup the side of his face, stroking his cheekbone. His unfocused eyes snap to your mouth immediately.

“I’m okay just… loud” he mumbled still half asleep, hearing the concern in your voice. You hummed, eyes falling shut again, but then they snapped open again a second later.

“Matty, can you hear me?” You said quickly, sitting up to sit next to him. His own eyes widened then as well, realisation cutting through the fog of sleep.

“Oh thank fucking God for that” he sighed loudly, immensely relieved, smiling wider at you as he pulled your face close to his.

His eyes darted around your features as he hummed softly, as if he was looking at you, which you guess he kind of was, which explained the small sound he made to help enhance the, for lack of a better term, echolocation.

He’d been submitted to complete and utter darkness while his sense of hearing and smell were gone, radar sense completely out of commission.

You both smiled widely into the loving kiss he gives you, finally hearing your heart beat flutter again was truly music to his ears.

After he kissed you for a while, Matt eventually got up to go to the bathroom unassisted for the first time in a few days.

As you started to get up to come help him, he gently laid you back down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Go back to sleep baby, I’m fine” he muttered against your hair, smiling softly as he heard your heavy lids slip shut again.

Matt slowly stumbled to the bathroom, he might be able to hear again but his body is still giving him some grief. He still couldn’t smell anything either, so he pulled out an old neti pot. He filled it up with water and tipped it back into his nose, then suddenly he coughed, spluttering blood everywhere.

“Shit” he mumbled at the mess, nearly gagging as the intense smell iron hit him. But, at least he could smell again. His nose had clearly been blocked with clotted blood, not blocked from the damage anymore.

He cleaned himself up, and the bathroom, before slowly crawling back into bed with you. It’s way too early to be awake, and the toll from his injuries was still going strong. The broken bones, the stab wounds. Even with his meditative healing, he’s going to be hurting for a while.

Matt pulls you into his chest, careful not to wake you and after taking way too many deep inhales of your scent he’d missed dearly, he falls asleep listening to the sound of your steady heart beat, able to completely surround himself with you once again.

The heat woke you up this time, slowly, feeling warm and sweaty all over. You scrunched your face up at the uncomfortable sticky feeling, trying to move away from the absolute furnace behind you, but the muscular arms caging you in wouldn’t budge.

The next thing you noticed is something warm and hard grinding into your ass cheeks, in a slow, uneven rhythm.

Matt’s breath was hot against your neck, coming out in short little puffs. The sluggish, unaware movements he was making told you that he was still asleep.

His hands were wrapped in your clothing, one gripping his shirt you had on, pulling it up to show your stomach, and the other was in the waistband of your underwear, gripping it tightly, pulling it against your flesh.

Matt shifted behind you slightly, moaning your name softly between his rugged breaths, pressing his hips even harder against your ass. He pulled you impossibly closer towards him, and you felt yourself getting hopelessly turned on at the thought of him dreaming about you like this.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve woken up like this, Matt is an… active dreamer. For some reason though, it seemed to happen more often when Matt had been hurt.

Usually, he would stop after a few minutes, and end up waking up in the morning hard as hell, so he’d wake you up too with his head between your legs.

You let him rut his cock against you for a few more minutes, but he just kept going, your name leaving his lips in soft little whimpers, and you were getting increasingly sweaty and needy too.

“Matty, baby” you whisper quietly into the partial darkness, reaching back to run your hand through his damp hair.

He half moaned, half groaned at the action, tightening his grip on you and pushing his face further into your neck. You kept stroking his scalp, easing him awake, till he suddenly froze when he became all too aware of what he was doing.

“Shit, angel I’m sorry” he gasped in your ear, suddenly extremely aware of how ungodly close he was to cumming in his boxers in his sleep.

Before you could even say anything, he was then hit by the smell of your arousal seeping from you.

“Or not?” He huffed in amusement, humming in approval as he slid his hand under his shirt you’re wearing to grope at your soft breasts, as he started to press gentle kisses to your throat.

You sighed quietly at the feeling, pushing yourself further into him and bending your neck to give him better access to kiss and suck at your neck.

“Aren’t you still hurting?” You manage to ask, through the haze of arousal that was quickly pulling you under. It’s one thing to be humping you in his sleep, but Matt didn’t exactly do sex half arsed.

“‘m fine baby, promise” Matt mumbled in between kissing and sucking love bites onto your neck.

Moaning softly at the feeling of his fingers playing with you nipple, you trail your hand behind you, grabbing the base of his thick length through his boxers.

He gasps a rough “fuck” into your neck, surprised by the action from being focused on his own actions to pay much attention to yours.

You use his distractedness to spin in his arms, and push him back so you could very carefully climb over him to straddle his hips.

“Oh okay, hi” he smirks up at you, looking delighted as he runs his hands up and down your soft thighs.

“Hi yourself, Mr Murdock” you try to purr, though it ends in a soft giggle as he pulls you down to catch your lips in a heated kiss. His hands help you to grind down on his covered length, making you both moan into each others mouths as you make out like horny teenagers.

Usually, you’d have sex at least once a day, more if Matt had his way all the time, so maybe he’s feeling a little eager.

“Feeling a bit better?” You break away to ask softly, running your hands through his hair, feeling the wounds on his head gently. Matt nods while chasing your lips again with his own.

“Mhm” he mumbled against your lips, other things on his mind, then moved his face to your neck and took a big, clear breath of you through his nose to help enunciate his point, as he pulled your hips down to grind against his throbbing cock even harder.

You start to make your way down to sit between Matt’s legs, wanting to make him feel good since he’d had a rough few days but he stops you as your fingers curl in his waistband.

“Wanna hear you baby, missed that perfect voice of yours, don’t want you to be quiet today, can’t have that pretty mouth full” he explains between kisses, tone deep with want after he pulls you back up to him.

“Take these off angel” he mumbles against your lips again, snapping the elastic of your underwear against your ass lightly. Lifting your legs, you discard them, flinging them off to the side as Matt pulls his own underwear down and kicks them off too. You quickly shed the t shirt as well.

When you sit back on his hips, you’re both bare and moan at the feeling of your soaking core against his impossibly thick, hard cock.

Pulling you down to kiss him again, Matt’s other hand sneaks between your bodies and starts to rub slow circles on your clit lightly. You moan against his lips, but the feeling doesn’t last long as he moves further and sinks two fingers into your core without warning.

Gasping at the feeling, you move to bury your face in his shoulder, kissing and biting at his neck. Matt holds you tightly against him as he works you open slowly, never impatient enough to hurt you (unless you ask for it.)

You’re writhing in his arms by the time his fingers leave you, ceasing their assault on your g spot, and Matt’s hand moves to line up his throbbing cock with your now soaking entrance.

His hand moves back up to your clit once the leaking tip is in, and he rubs in circles as he slowly raises his hips while pushing yours down. You sink down onto his length, gasping as the feeling of every hot, hard, vast ridge of him stretching you open deliciously.

The intense feeling of being split open, paired with the teasing way he had fingered you, and his digit now circling your clit, makes you come embarrassingly fast.

You moan out Matt’s name loudly, walls fluttering erratically around his twitching cock and you start grinding your hips against him as you chase your pleasure.

“Oh fuck baby, that’s it, let me hear you, missed your pretty sounds so much, missed your pretty voice, your pretty heart beat” Matt babbles between deep groans at the feeling of you tightening impossibly around him, already drawing him closer to his orgasm than he would like.

Matt hates going even a day without sinking some part of himself in between your thighs.

His last little bit of self control had finally snapped, and he starts eagerly fucking up into you, while he holds your hips tightly with one arm, other hand coming to tangle in your hair at the back of your head holding you to him tightly. The mouth watering size of his cock always sets every nerve alight within your clenching walls.

With lethal accuracy, his cock is hitting the sweet spot inside of you every time, every intense roll of his hips is sending you closer and closer to oblivion.

His actions cause you to cry loudly, your orgasm not completely finished, and you’re unable to do anything other than moan and whine for him, taking what he’s so eagerly giving you.

He fucks up into you hard and fast, feet planted into the mattress as he tries to pull out every little sound he physically can from you.

You’re a wreck above him, crying out his name and incoherent babbling, drooling into his neck, biting occasionally when you have half a mind to worry about the neighbours. Every time your teeth sink into his flesh, his hips rock into you just that little bit harder, earning a rough sound from his lips.

The nails on your fingers bite into his shoulders and chest, where you desperately use the very last of your brain power to avoid his injuries.

Matt’s moaning and grunting his pleasure too, desperately willing himself not to come just yet, wanting to hear your perfect sounds, feel you exactly like this, for as long as possible.

You go to lean up, pushing yourself up with your hands on his body, wanting to watch him like this, but you accidentally press on one of the deeper wounds on his sternum.

Your wide eyes meet his matching, shocked expression, as he suddenly moans out “fuck” loudly, followed by a quick babble of “wait, wait” then finally a kind of defeated “shit.”

A rough, deep groan spills from Matt’s mouth as his hips stutter, before thrusting up into you hard enough to tip you back into his sweaty, firm chest.

You manage to catch yourself on your hands, and watch in fascination as his face contort in pleasure as his orgasm rips through him uncontrollably.

You feel his cock twitching deep inside you as he comes, filling you with his load as he keeps trying to push himself deeper through the waves of pleasure.

As he comes down from his surprising high, you bite your lip to hold off a small giggle.

Matt hears it though, of course he does. He huffs and cracks one unfocused eye open and it stops at your mouth, the source of the sound.

“You really are such a masochist Matty” you giggle playfully, smiling as you run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

Suddenly you’re flipped, back pressed against the mattress before you even realise what’s happening, and Matt is on top of you, caging you in.

“Maybe I am a masochist, but unfortunately for you sweetheart, I’m a sadist too” Matt all but growls in your ear, pressing his still rock hard cock against your sensitive core, catching your clit, before starting to kiss and nibble his way down your flushed body.

You gasp and bite your lip at his sudden change in demeanour, humming at the feeling of his lips on your skin. Your hands tangle in his hair and tighten up enough to pull a groan from Matt when his teeth press into your skin, leaving his marks behind. He’s going lower, and lower.

By the time you’re both falling asleep, the sun has started to rise, light streaming in through the curtains, casting a golden hue over both of your breathless, sweaty, satisfied bodies.

Thank you for reading! <3

Matt had a… fantasy, if you will. He’d thought about it for a while, unable to stop once he’d had the idea.

He would argue that it is actually a very understandable request, but absolutely kind of kinky none the less.

He’d been out for a while doing his vigilante work, in the pouring rain.

Coming back early tonight, decidedly too distracted by his idea, he’d texted you to meet him on the roof of your shared building.

He could hear you were still awake as he approached. His little night owl, he smiled at the thought while biting his lip.

In the flat below him, you’re curled up in one of Matt’s soft shirts, you had been laid in bed reading when a text came through from an unsaved number.

You recognised it though, as Matt’s burner phone.

Snatching the phone up, you quickly scan the text, scared he’s in some kind of trouble.

He wants you to meet him on the roof.

It’s absolutely pouring, you’d been listening to it loudly thud against the windows while you read.

You scramble out of bed, running around frantically to find yourself a hoodie, trousers and shoes before you quickly make your way upstairs. Fearing the worst, that he’d been badly hurt and needed help.

Bursting out the roof door into the pouring rain, you spin round quickly as you try to look for Matt.

A hand suddenly clamps over your mouth from behind, as another arm is wrapped round your waist and you’re pulled into a firm, warm body.

You yelp, the sound muffled by the glove.

“Hey angel, fuckin’ missed you” came a deep rumbling voice in your ear not a second later. Not giving you a chance to really be scared.

He took the hand off your face and moved it to rest on your neck. You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding as you recognised it instantly. Matty. Your Devil.

Your horny devil, apparently, you think to yourself as you feel him grind the crotch of his rough suit into you from behind. Clearly needy already. It makes your stomach swoop in arousal.

“I had an idea” he starts, lips leaving kisses up and down your throat, licking up the rain drops that slipped down towards your chest.

“Been thinking about it for a while now” he continues, kisses coming up to your ear again, then your cheek. He suddenly span you around to face him.

You looked up at Daredevil through wet dewy eyelashes. A small gasp escapes your shiny lips as you take in the sight of him. He’s drenched. The rain rolling down his red suit.

Matt had taken the mask off as soon as he got there, hating the feeling of it being wet and steaming up.

His head was tilted towards you, hair sticking to his forehead. You could see some bruises on his cheek bone from the LED lights opposite, a small gash that was new. His lip was split, the rain washing the blood away since he reopened it kissing your skin.

He looked gorgeous. Even if his grin right now was positively sinful.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you continue to look up at him, “oh yeah?” You ask softly. You blink at some of the drops of rain that fall on your face.

He’s just still for a second, head tilted slightly as though he was listening to something, as though he hadn’t really heard you.

“Matt?” You ask, searching his face for a clue.

“You’re so beautiful” he replied, earnestly, all the teasing from his voice gone.

You almost rolled your eyes at his teasing, but then a wide smile spread across your face when you remembered that he can in fact actually see you right now.

Well, in a way.

Matt could hear the individual water droplets on your skin, your clothes, helping to create the clearest picture of you he could possibly get.

You always took his breath away when he gets to sense you like this.

He’d been thinking about it since he left and it was already pouring, looking forward to an excuse to fuck you as Daredevil.

Not that he needs one, he thinks you might love it even more than he does. But as soon as he saw your face up close, he got distracted, too full of awe for you.

The water trick kind of worked while you showered together, just not as well, the water came in streams rather than drops so there wasn’t as many individual sounds to pick up on. You were a bit blurry. The shower didn’t hit your whole body at once like this.

Snapping back into himself, Matt’s devilish smirk returned as he worked his lip. He started kissing up and down your throat again, coming up to whisper his gravely voice in your ear.

“Let me fuck you up here baby” he licks at the raindrops on your cheek “please angel, let me see you” he begs, almost using his devil voice.

You hesitated slightly, worried about being caught by one of your neighbours, but the thought left as quickly as it came knowing Matt could hear anyone coming.

As soon as you start to nod your head, heart rate picking up significantly at the idea, Matt’s wet lips smashed against yours. The smell of your arousal flooding you at his suggestion, breaking what little self control he had left.

He led you into a filthy kiss, tasting the rain and small amount of tangy copper from his lip. He explored your mouth with his wicked tongue.

Suddenly, he bent to grab the backs of your thighs and lifted you up against him effortlessly, wrapping your legs round his waist. You moaned slightly as he resumed his consuming kissing, feeling the hardness under his tight red trousers at your core. He takes the time to grope your ass and grind you against him as he kissed you.

He walks you both over to a small raised garden area, in the centre roof, the wide brick base surrounding it, almost like a big square brick plant pot. The centre had some small bushes and flowers, adding some nice decor to the otherwise dull rooftop.

When Matt had been planning finer details, he’d found the perfect height for his hips to meet yours if he laid you along the wall.

Gasping between kisses, you both continued to devour eachother in a deep, slippy kiss. Matt’s hand came to rest on your throat, as he broke away from you slightly.

“Can’t wait to see your pretty fucking face as you come on my cock” he all but growls, as the hand on your throat began to push you down, your legs staying around his hips. He follows, bending over you and begins to work at your clothing.

Ever considerate, Matt leaves your hoodie under you, to save you from being the cold damp wall directly. His hands run up and down your body, grasping at your breasts, stomach, hips.

He starts kissing your neck again, moving down across your collar bones. Tounging away at the rain droplets across your skin.

He dips down more then drags his tongue all the way through the valley of your breast in a vulgar display, moaning as the taste of your pheromone filled sweat and the rain mixed in his mouth.

“You taste so good angel” he groans roughly. You hum out his name, hands tugging on his damp hair, tugging him impossibly closer with your legs.

A shiver ran through you as Matt worked his way down to your stomach, leaving you open to the assault of the heavy rain from above.

Without thinking, you use your arm to cover your eyes from it, too focused on the way Matt’s lips felt against you.

He paused, head tilted up towards you so you could see the rain slipping down his face.

“Uh, honey” he half laughed in his normal voice, breaking his devil persona, “the whole point of this is that the rain hits you so I can actually see your beautiful face while I fuck you” he smiles up at you amused.

You immediately huff out a laugh and remove your arm, “sorry baby” you say guiltily but with a smile on your lips.

You’d forgotten that he could “see” you right now you while under the rain, which meant he could see your face clearly as he made his way down towards your waistband. You’re so used to it not mattering if your face is visible when he goes down on you.He’s usually pretty preoccupied too.

Right now, he could sense every part of your body in detail, with his nose still pressed against your wet stomach, from where every heavy drop of the rain made tiny sounds all over your soft skin for him to pick up on.

He smiled proudly at himself for the idea as he works his way down to your waistband.

Quickly tugging off your sweatpants and underwear, he leaned back so the rain would splash all over your body.

You gasp and goosebumps cover your skin from the sudden cold hitting the warm skin of your crotch. You lift your head up to look at him after you don’t feel him come back.

Matt is just stood there for biting his lip, hand palming at the bulge in his pants like he can’t help it.

He bit the fingertip of the glove on his other hand to pull it off. Your eyes tracked the movement and your heart sped up even more at his unnecessarily attractive actions.

He picked up your leg again so he could come and stand inbetween your thighs, then took his other glove off and used his big warm hands to spread your legs open further.

He still didn’t lean over you though, making sure all of you was under the rain.

You gasped and squirmed as the cold rain hit your hot clit and already wet folds.

Matt groaned loudly, palming himself again.

“So pretty for me, let me see you touch yourself baby” he grunted, gripping your thigh tightly, not as collected as he was a second ago.

He hears your heart skip as you blush and slowly slide your hand down your stomach, finger dragging through the rain drops that littered your skin.

Watching, he started to undo his trousers, you hand made its way down to your warm core.

Your eyes slipped shut as you brushed your fingertips over your already throbbing clit and moaned, feeling overwhelmed with the feeling of the cold rain pelting down on you and your warm hand.

You start to rub a small circle on your bud and the hand on your thigh grips you tighter.

When you open your eyes and look at Matt again, he’s undone his trousers and stroking his throbbing cock firmly in time with your hand.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty, wish I could see your face like this all the time” he groans out, squeezing his length harder.

You hum at his voice, always loving how he sounds. You pick up speed a bit with your finger and Matt’s hand moves from your thigh to slip a finger inside of you.

You moan out “Matty” at the intrusion, and arch your back off the wall.

Matt immidiatly sets to work curling his finger into the spot that makes you keen for him. He adds another finger and matches the pace you have on your clit, humming to you about how good you are for him.

Both of you shiver and moan together in the pouring rain, while Matt took his time thoroughly indulging himself in the sight of you.

His fingers pick up speed and you can feel the water droplets of rain being flicked over your pussy and thighs from how fast his hand is working his cock now, he can tell how close you are.

“Come on angel, let me see you come please” he starts rambling, “let me see your pretty pretty face”he says, breathy moans escaping in-between his words.

He presses harder into your g-spot with an expert precision and your back arches as you cum on his fingers, keeping your rhythm with your clit to drag it out as long as possible.

Your free hand grips the wet fabric of your hoodie tightly. As you tense, your legs drag Matt suddenly stumbling even closer to you as he groans loudly.

He manages to keep his balance and comes on your hand, cunt, and up your stomach, towards your chest.

You shiver at the contrast between the cold rain and his hot spend hitting your skin.

Matt bends over you, shielding most of you from the rain and rests his head on your chest, catching his breath for a second. Then he suddenly sits up to pull you into a deep kiss. You moan again against his lips.

“You’re so beautiful when you come, god I love you” he mumbles, speaking into your mouth. Wrapping your arms round his neck, you pull him deeper into the kiss.

“I love you too” you mumble back. You can feel his warm, still hard cock resting along your slit, and he gasps slightly as you buck your hips slightly.

You’re suddenly not as satisfied anymore, wanting nothing more to feel him inside you right now. You tug his wet hair so you can whisper in his ear.

“Please, fuck me… Daredevil” you moan, before biting his earlobe softly.

“Oh fuck” he groans in agreement, nodding his head as he leaned back a bit so he can guide himself inside you.

“You wanna get ruined by Daredevil on the roof huh? Want everyone to hear you belong to me?” He teases roughly, deep voice coming out, as he slowly sinks into you, warming you up from the inside.

“Yes, yes, yes, please Matty please” you moan as your back arches at the feeling of his first slow, but deep thrust.

You’re both already overstimulated from your previous orgasms not even five minutes ago but that just spurs you on even more.

Matt leans back off you completely, so the rain falls back on you, lifts your hips to him, hands tight on your thighs and sets a rough pace.

He angles his hips so he slams into your spot with every thrust, making you cry out at the intense pleasure he is giving you.

All while using his sexy, deep voice to tell you how beautiful you are when you’re crying on his cock, how he’ll never get tired of the sounds you make when he’s deep inside you.

He grinds into your core deeply and it pushes a loud moaning wail out of you, the friction of his pelvis against your clit making it twitch.

“You gonna come like my good little slut?” Matt grunts out, close as well.

He can read your body so well, can hear how close you are. He thrusts just a little harder, while his finger starts to rub circles at your clit.

He’s completely mesmerised by the feedback he’s getting through the heightened senses, the way your back is arching off the wall when you snap, your face scrunched up in bliss, mouth wide open in a long drawn out moan, catching rain drops on your tongue

“Oh fuck baby, so pretty” he grunts out, feeling you walls squeeze and ripple over his cock. The sight of you has him thrown into his own orgasm.

He thrusts into you hard, his rhythm faltering as he comes deep inside you with a loud rough groan, filing you with his hot come.

He shifts so he’s leaning back over you, shielding you from some of the rain as he tries to catch his breath.

He kisses water droplets off your own heaving chest absentmindedly as you both came down from your highs.

Matt opens his mouth to say something, only to pause when he realises how cold you are.

Goosebumps littered your skin and the shaking from your orgasm had turned into shivering.

He slowly pulls out and tucks himself back into his boxers, leaving the trousers undone in a way that unfairly showed a sexy bit of his lower stomach and the trial of hair leading further down.

Suddenly you’re pulled to sit up, and Matt is lifting you up into his arms bridal style.

“Grab your stuff will you baby?” he asks, pressing his nose and forehead to the side of your face, leaning over slightly so you can reach it.

You grab your hoodie, pants and shirt, rolling them into a ball to hold. You press as much of yourself as you can into Matt’s neck and chest after he hoists you up a bit.

You don’t worry about being seen by any neighbours, trusting Matt’s senses to know if anyone would be a problem between here and your warm apartment.

They’d see him dressed as Daredevil as well so he makes quick work of the stairs, carrying you like nothing. It always makes you swoon, how strong he is. He carries you down with confidence, since he can sense where the stairs are and all.

Matt gets you to unlock the door in his arms, walking you both inside the safety of your cozy apartment, makes a b-line straight for your shared bathroom, and plops you down on the counter.

You gasp at the cold marble touches your ass, which he laughs at softly, leaning in to mumble an apology at your lips.

He starts the shower before standing in between your legs again and starting to give you a little show while taking off his suit, knowing how much you like it. You bite your lip and unbashfully watch him reveal his muscled torso.

You run your hands up his chest, brushing over his nipples on your way which makes him shudder slightly, to his shoulders, making your way up to stroke through his wet hair as he leans down to kiss your neck.

Sighing at the content feeling, you continue your movements with his hair, which always seems to make him almost purr.

“I love you Matty” you say quietly, voice full of adoration.

Matt pulls his head back up to you, and says “I love you too angel. God you’re so beautiful” earnestly.

He quietly thinks to himself how bitter he is that he can’t see you come for him every time like that.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome” you tease, running your hands over his solid stomach.

That makes him smile cheekily at you, pulling him quickly out of his thoughts.

Matt kisses you again sweetly, then pulls away to take his trousers off, then lifts you by the ass again and climbs into the shower with you around his waist.

Carefully setting you down on your unsteady feet, you both cling to eachother closely, washing and touching each other all over as the hot shower water worked it’s magic to warm you both back up.

After the chill had left your bones, you both climbed into bed and you wriggled into Matt’s warm chest quickly.

He wraps his arms round you, pulling you to him and kissing your head, whispering sweet nothings into your hair.

You swiftly fall asleep, the late hour catching up to you. Matt following quickly, once your heartbeat he was listening to became steady.

Thank you for reading! <3