#flockofffeatherface

Jason Todd stands in front of the bathroom mirror this fine Gotham morning (read - horrible, terrible downpour, fog that can only be described as 'Silent Hill-esque' in nature, and that strange feeling that someone's always somewhere that only Gotham carries), looking back at his reflection.

Well, no.

He's not really looking, is he?

He's.. staring. With that crease between his brows that only you can kiss away, those piercing eyes that seem to glare at everything and anyone that isn't you and a frown plastered across his face, he's staring.

Because Jason Peter Todd has greys. In his hair…

Not the ones after he was resurrected! No, no, those were always there. And to be honest - he'd come round to them. At the time, they felt like a silent, quiet rebellion (one he hadn't chosen, but still).

No, these were the other greys. You know, the greys that come with… age…

Not just greys though. The crow's feet beside his eyes, lines accentuating his face. The way his bones ached a little more after every patrol. How he'd wake up every morning with a new muscle cramp or pain. How he could no longer push himself past his limit without severe consequences (lying face down in bed and groaning as you rub your hands over his aching muscles).

The way he looked like.. him.

It was strange, to be honest. Still is, he thinks, as he stares at his features in the mirror - hand grazing over the stubble before he sighs and slowly begins shaving it down. Of all his children, Jason was the one that looked most like Bruce. Jason. You know, Jason 'not the golden child' Todd. Jason 'shoot first ask questions later' Todd. Jason 'oh I died except not really so now I'm back. But also different from before. Hey what's up?' Todd. That very same Jason, now stared back at himself in the mirror.

And this time, his eyes don't find his own. No, instead they find a softer, kinder set of eyes - looking back at his with a love and adoration he still doesn't feel he deserves. One that he still blames himself for corrupting, for ruining with… well, him. Your arms snake around his shoulders from behind him, chin barely resting on one shoulder as you stand on your tip toes. There's something in your eyes today - something that glimmers and glitters as his thoughts shift away from the depressing thoughts bathroom mirrors often hold, to a more natural calm. As if you know exactly what he's turmoiling himself with.

Things weren't always like this. Once upon a time, Jason was a man filled with a rage so unbridled, so unrestrained and unstoppable, that he'd rarely know such a calm like this. Then again, you had changed that.

You're not quite sure of what goes on in Jason's brain right now (though, who is?), but the softened smile across his face as his eyes shift from that overly critical glare he stares back at himself with to a much gentler, sweeter look he keeps reserved just for you has you practically melting. All without saying a single word.

He turns towards you, raising an eyebrow as he pulls your body against him. He thinks about you for a moment. Properly. The way you never stopped loving him - even in his worst days. How fiercely you fought for him, held him close to you after every horrible night. And now he holds you close before lifting you over his shoulder. Of course you squeal and gasp as he walks the two of you over to your shared bed. Where the young, fiesty Jason would have thrown you down and teased you, the older, gentler Jason lowers you with a sweetness that makes your heart melt. Gently pulling off his shirt and pants - leaving him just in his boxers.

And year - he could rush into this, get straight to fucking you into the mattress until you're raw and sore. You wouldn't complain, but he would. So instead he sits on the edge of the bed, beckoning you closer as he waits for you.

You join him, hands immediately splaying across his collarbone first as your thumbs roll circles into his skin. He sits patiently as you eagerly explore his body, his own hands pulling you into his lap and holding you steady.

You've changed too, he realises. Where once you'd look at him with that lustful gaze, now you look at him with a sweete- No, wait. It's still there. Still that lustful gaze. Except there is a sweetness to it now. Something softer underlines it this time.

Your nails lightly trace over each and every scar, lips pressing a kiss to them as you reclaim him to be yours once more.

For at night, he may belong to the city of Gotham and its people, but now? Here and now? He was yours. And only yours.

Nothing else matters as he leans back onto the bed, his own hands trailing up your body - slowly pushing up the night shirt that held back what he had yearned to see all night, pulling it up and off you. All as you lower yourself down to him - pressing your body against him as lips trail up his body. Starting low at his abdomen, snaking up towards his chest as you pause. He knows what comes next, and a smile graces his face. He watches you slowly lick your lips, tongue flicking across them as if to wet and prepare them for him. He's not much better - biting his lower lip and lowering his gaze as your hands splay across his chest once more. Your arms push your body closer as you do, and he still can't tear his eyes away from your chest. His hands snake up higher, finding the sides of your chest as his thumbs move out over your already hardened nipples.

Just like always, your back immediately arches - body leaning further into his touch as your own hands lift ever so slightly from his chest. He continues to circle his thumbs across your chest, slowly picking pace as you begin to roll your hips over his painfully hard cock - still restrained by the cloth that separates the two of you. Your hips move faster, eager to relieve the growing heat in your lower belly, until his hands snake back down.

Stopping you.

And suddenly you're frowning, sighing as you pout back at him.

Dear Gods is he a susceptible man, when you look at him like that. He should be stronger, able to hold himself back from giving in to anything. Surely he can hold out longer, no? But then your eyes are so pretty and wide, practically begging he take you so sweetly. And your lips push out in that pout that only makes him want to drag you down to him and bite you. And you're so, so soft and gentle - how could he ever deny his sweet girl like that?

Plus, that delighted gasp you make when he finally takes control - flipping you over as his lips press against your ear - is so very worth it all,

"Hello there, pretty girl. Miss me last night?"

"Miss you every night, Jay…"

"Still so good f'me, after all these years…"

Now - just because Jason is older and takes his sweet time loving you, does not mean that he wastes time. Not when he knows you, so well like this. He knows you're practically soaked at just the thought of him making love to you, and you're already so antsy - twitching and shifting around as you whine at him.

So Jason does what every good husband should.

He starts by pulling your panties up and off you - finally letting the cold, cool morning air around you hit your folds as his hands spread your thighs open. Then, he lets himself free - tugging his boxers off as his achingly hard cock springs out, coated in cum. You giggle and he sighs, raising his eyebrows,

"Oh, Jason!"

"What's up, pretty baby?"

"Wet and ready f'me? I'm flattered~"

"…You can't use my own words against me, ya know that, right?"

"Yet here we are?"

"Yet here.. we are.."

Despite his words, he can't stop himself from smiling as your blissfully saccharine giggles bounce around the room, tickling his brain in all the right ways. All as he lines his cock up to your folds once more, tapping it against your clit. He practically revels in how your body writhes and stretches as he slowly sheathes himself into you - pausing only when each and every thick inch of him fills you.

When he pauses, he lowers his forehead to yours. Chapped lips find your own, and traces of stubble tickle against your cheeks. His hands find the small of your back, holding you up to him once more as he begins to very slowly rock in and out of you. Savouring you. He hums into your lips, eyes pressed closed as you hum back. And there's nothing more you'd want in the world, than him like this right now.

Because sure - you could have him pound you over and over again, body twisted and contorted into angles as he works you the way only he could. Your nails could be digging into his back, dragging down as he fucks you into the mattress below - bed creaking aggressively as he entirely ruins you.

But that's not what you want. Not right now, when he feels so tender and loving. Filling you with both his thick, long cock but also a sweet warmth that trickles into each and every part of you. Each thrust is slow and gentle - only picking up pace when you ask him, with that satin soft voice of yours,

"Please, Jay! Faster, baby, faster!"

"Anything for my pretty girl.."

Yet even when he picks up pace, he still keeps himself just slow enough to really relish in each movement you make. The way your walls still remember and welcome him after all these years. Or how you push up further into him when he thrusts in at that one specific angle.

Especially though, he savours your sweetened, cock drunk babbling. Words entirely lost as you lose yourself entirely on him. And there's something else about it too - the way you trust him entirely, to feel comfortable enough to be like this with him. Reminding him that he is your safe space.

Similarly, his own thoughts begin to tear and wisp away - because what is your safe space is also his safe space. He allows his thoughts to loosen, and strands practically float around in clouds of lost thoughts as the only thought remaining is just how perfectly you wrap around him,

"F-fuck, pretty girl, you take me so well, huh? So fuckin' pretty, all f'me, all like this. Always f'me baby, fuck.. Never, ever gettin' tired of this.."

You're long past words, your walls tightening around him as you feel yourself climbing higher and higher with each thrust. He's messier now - less practiced and accurate, and more needy and desperate. One hand sneaks lower as his thumb teases over your clit, rolling circles into you as you only grip on to his forearms even tighter.

He drives you over the edge, hand only leaving your clit when you begin to shake under him. And then it finds your back again, holding you close as he now flips you to be on top of him. As much as he'd love to continue, rounds and rounds of endless sex as the two of you find your releases in one another, he only thrusts up into you long enough to finish his own high. You sigh as he finally cums, thrust stuttering in you as he holds your body flush against his. One hand raises up to your hair, pulling your head into his chest and slowly stroking your hair as you sigh (somewhat wistfully, he might add).

"My love… you have bewitched me… body and soul…"

"Pride and Prejudice, Jay?"

"Mhm."

The two of you remain entangled within one another for a while, actually. Before, Jason might've rushed to clean you up and hold you in his arms - the two of you drifting into dreamland -but now he reaches for his reading glasses (you know - the one's that drive you wild, the one's that practically have you foaming at the mouth, biting your lip as you whine and moa- another time.) and slightly tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice. He flicks through the pages, before landing on Chapter Thirty Four (where the two of you had last left off, last week), and begins to read to you,

"When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against Mr Darcy…"

And so - as Gotham resumes its regular hustle and bustle of every Gotham morning (oh, you know. The horrible, terrible weather, the crowds of people brushing past each other and the absolutely awful traffic), the two of you lie in bliss and in peace.

For Jason Todd has aged gracefully, with his sweet wife.

xoxo, roe~

btw yall need to see what my setup was (watching re5 playthroughs as i write smut LMAO):

Yes, you read right. The hammer.

Jason had long since given up trying to take away your trusty dusty hammer, an old, heavy thing you had always kept by your bed. Because if the Joker was going to break into your apartment, there was no way in Hell he was leaving without a hammer shaped dent in his skull.

Scary.

And sure - Jason may have had a point. Something along the lines of, 'It's not gonna stop him, babe'. But there was something comforting about knowing it was there if you needed it, you know?

So here you are, carefully treading around your apartment in your soft, pink slippers, with a hammer in one hand raised above your shoulder (which, Jason would only be more than eager to tell you just how bad form that was). Each step you took had your heart racing, and not in a good way. Where was Jason?

You had checked the bathroom. Clear. The kitchen? Clear, but for a messily opened box of doughnuts. Suspicious, but clear. Laundry room? Sorted. So all that remained was the living room.

The living room - and the suspiciously boyfriend shaped figure lying under a blanket, snoring away as his hand dropped onto the floor, where the 'Red Hood' helmet lay just out of arm's reach. You lowered your fighting hand ever so slightly, before another fear entered your mind - what if it wasn't Jason, and this was a trap?

You creep ever closer, peeling the blanket back. And sure enough, there he was. Grey streak and all, Jason Peter Todd snoring away on your couch. You let out the biggest sigh of relief, hand immediately dropping as you place the hammer carefully on the coffee table, as well as Jason's mask. Part of you wants to just snuggle up to him, let your worries dwindle away as you sleep, but part of you remembers… last time…

"…F-fuck! Jason…."

"Please? Princess, please?"

And oh fuck, he can't help but let one hand lower down to his cock, palming himself through the very much soaked material as you whine over him. You haven't even sat on him properly yet, and yet he's already throbbing again!

"One.. last one, Jay.."

"Better make it count then, hmm? C'mere, sit on me…"

And so here you are, evil plan formulating as you carefully discard of your lace panties, tossing them to the side. You align yourself over his face, pulling his head up slightly so at the very least he can be a little more comfortable too, before grinding down slow on him.

His hands, even in sleep, grasp onto your thighs (though not nearly as tight as he ordinarily would). You feel his mouth parting slightly, his nose as he breathes you in, with you still sat over him. You play the long game - unmoving as you wait patiently for him to finally wake up. It'll happen soon enough, you know it will.

After all, Jason Peter Todd is a pussy munch first and foremost, and will not stop at anything to make the most of that.

So when you hear him groaning under you, green eyes flitting open to stare up at yours. You can't help but to roll your hips off him, lower down over his abs as your face lowers to find his, pulling him towards your own to kiss him. He's still slightly groggy from sleep, as each kiss of yours brings him awake again,

"My sweet boyfriend.."

"..huh? This is.. one way to wake up, hmm?"

"What, you'd rather I wake you up differently?"

"…no, get back up on here f'me, yeah?"

His hands pull your hips back up onto his face, the usual tight grip you're used to. You let out a small gasp when his tongue finds your folds, and move your hips with his hands, eager and needy for him to work his magic over you. He's more than happy to please, letting you set the pace for him. Because truth be told? Jason loves nothing more than for you to take control, to let you do as you wish with him.

Because nothing could be sexier than the two of you, chasing your high, your release.

So you're rolling your hips on him as his hands remain stuck on your thighs, the only thing anchoring you as his tongue words diligently though your folds. In between, he finds your clit, lapping and swiping with need, passion and pure desire.

You like to think you're fairly good at keeping your composure, especially in difficult situations.

This is not a situation in which you remain composed, not when he's bringing you ever closer and closer to your release, tugging your hips over him as you feel the coil of pure pleasure tightening more and more within you. It's not exactly helped when he helps lower you onto the couch, his lips and tongue on your clit again as his fingers now find your folds, plunging in and out with a crazed pace that only a madman like him could chase.

Your hands find his hair, tugging and pulling at his locks as you whimper and whine under his meticulous ministrations, each one pulling you closer to your release. In fact, it's no real shock that when you finally cum, the whole sensation fully overwhelms you, with you wrapping your legs tight around his face, continuing to roll yourself over him as his lips stay latched onto your clit, still sucking and pulling at you, tugging out more of your orgasm for him.

For in the Hellish landscape that is Gotham, cursed by any and all beings to ever lay its horrible sights on the tortured city, Jason finds his sweet salvation in you and you alone, his sweet angel in the city of demons.

And each and every drop of you, he savours, as though it is his last night on this mortal realm.

xoxo, roe~

Logan Howlett has it out for you.

You're sure of it.

Why else would your dear boyfriend, and fellow teacher, be lying in bed with you, arm draped lazily over you at 4am?

"Lo..gan… get… off…"

And you just know he's awake. You know him, and how he wakes up around 3:30am, just to drape himself round you.

"Baby… c'mon, s'too much..!"

His face, pushed up against your ear, lowers slightly to your neck, growling and shaking his head. You're huffing and puffing, pushing against him as you whine.

Oh.

That does something to him (you know it does. You know what you do to him..), and now he's sat upright, pulling you by your waist into his lap, his huge hands wrapped round your waist. You're gasping (as though you didn't know he'd do that) as his form looms over you. He's practically pulling you over him, and you can feel him through your thin panties, as his hands travel up your body, groping and tugging at your nipples.

You could say you tried to stifle a moan, feeling him push through his boxers and your panties. But you'd be lying, given how he'd not even let you had a chance to try, his teeth crashing down onto your neck, sucking softly first, before becoming needier with want, as your hands drag across his back,

"L-Lo…gan..!!!"

He's humming in response, before laying you down, grabbing a pillow and shuffling it under your hips, pressing kisses to your waist as he briefly rests his head on your stomach. Your hands absentmindedly find his hair, roaming and sighing, revelling in the briefest moment of peace he gifts you, the calm before the storm.

Speaking of, just outside your shared room, rain and thunder powered down through the grounds, cold and relentless, a harsh contrast to the (somewhat) sweeter nature of the two bodies, entagling together under the moonlight. He pauses, just to look up at you, your hand caressing his face as his softened honey eyes stare longingly at yours. Just the way he looks back at you, lovingly, adoringly, needingly, has you falling in love with him, all over again. Your shirt (or rather, his old shirt) rides up, revealing your bare skin to the cold air of the night. Not cold for long though, as his kisses press across you, whilst his hands work to reveal yourself to him, one finger hooking under your waistband and tugging until they rip off,

"Logan! I liked those!"

"…I'll buy ya more, 'kay?"

"You better.."

His face lowers further, hot breath fanning over you, teasing you. His lips hover over you, his tongue reaching out dangerously close to you, tasting the air around you as he pulls your thighs open, holding them down with his hand across your thighs,

"Lemme at'ya baby.. C'mere.."

With barely any warning, he dives in, tongue immediately lapping at you, needy and hungry. Your back immediately arches up and off the pillow, lifting as he relentlessly chases your high, hands still pressed down on you, the pressure sure to leave bruises in the morning.

He pauses briefly, just to appreciate his work (much to your dismay), before an idea flashes across his brain.

He lowers himself again, slowly, teasingly dragging his tongue across your clit, lowering to your folds, spelling out his name (the full name, mind you). Each letter has you writhing, grabbing the sheets so tight that they might just rip up from your hands. Yet his pace remains consistent, never wavering nor speeding up, even when your thighs practically shatter round him on your release as he reaches the final 'T'. He lets go of your thighs, letting you wrap round his head, holding him in place as he continues relentlessly lapping at you.

His arms travel upwards, supporting your upper body as he lifts you over him, turning round so you'd face the headboard and lowering his body, knees up (in case you do fall backwards). Your hands instinctively reach out to the headboard for support, gripping tightly as his hands wrap round your stomach. You can feel yourself coming closer and closer, as he finally starts to speed up, his hunger and sheer need to taste you, gushing over his tongue only increasing. You're moving your hips over his mouth, whining and moaning as you cum (again!) all over him, finally resting your hips on his face, feeling his grin against your folds.

He's lowering you again, climbing over you. You can feel your juices, on his beard, swiping over your skin as he presses kisses all up your body, lifting your shirt as he does. When he finally reaches your chest, he pulls the shirt off, throwing it across and pulling one nipple, teasing with his fingers, and wrapping his mouth over the other, sucking and groaning against your soft skin. Your hands find his hair again, one leg hooked over his thigh, and the other creeping over his other thigh. You lower your hands down to his back attempting to pull him up you. Yet he shakes his head, chuckling as he releases one nipple, dragging his spit (still mingled with your slick) over to the other nipple, each receiving equal treatment. When he's finally satisfied, he reaches up to you, pulling you into his embrace as his lips find yours (the higher ones, this time). There's something about how you can taste yourself on his tongue, somehow only turning you on even more.

Yet, you find an issue with the situation, given that his boxers remain on, trapping himself in ways that, well, don't sit quite right with you.

So you push him back slightly, against the other pillow at the headboard, lowering your own body down his and tugging his boxer down, releasing his thick, bright red cock to the air. Sure, you could call that pre-cum, coating his cock, but both you and I know he came when he ate you out, like the madman he is.

He hisses, throwing his head back over the headboard as your nails feather over him, teasing him before your fingers wrap round his length, pumping up and down. You don't need to spit down on him, but you know he needs to see it, so you lower your lips, spitting down, continuing to stroke as you finally slip your tongue up and over him, wrapping your lips round him, and slowly sucking, with small movements going up, and down, and up, and down. With each one, you take more and more of him into your mouth, gagging slightly at his full length in you, eyes rolling back with how he fills your mouth so perfectly.

Meanwhile, he's barely held together, hands tangled in your hair as he pulls your head up and down on him, guiding your mouth over his cock. He's moaning, groaning and panting as you hum here and there, the vibrations moving through his body.

It's no surprise that he cums quick, thick cum covering your mouth and throat. As always, you devotedly attempt to take it all in, swallowing him whole, only to pull your open mouth away with a thick string of cum and saliva dripping down you. His lazy smile and softer hands pull you in, and hold you close, before he flips you, adjusting you so your knees sit perfectly on the bed, you in front, him behind,

"C'mon baby, ass up, let's go."

"Mmmm, Lo…"

"Not gonna ask again."

"Fiiiiinnnneee.."

You comply, raising yourself up to him as he adjusts himself behind you, his hands roaming your hips, your waist, your ass. He spreads your legs just enough for himself, pumping himself twice before he pushes into you, moaning at just how perfectly you wrap round his thick cock,

"Take m'so well, baby, c'mon, jus' a little more, you can take it baby.."

"Fuuuuck… Lo… s'been too long…"

"I know baby… doin' s'well.."

You clench round him slightly, right as he fills you out, head resting just behind your ear, hot breath coating your neck as he inhales deep before slowly moving out, and back in, a slow pace just to get his gorgeous girl situated for him again.

Your hand begins to reach down, only for him to swat it back, pulling your elbows onto the mattress,

"Stay. Don't move now, gorgeous."

You whine in response, but otherwise remain as he's placed you, his right hand lowering to your clit, rubbing small circles as you lower your face further, slipping from your slightly raised position, into one that only takes him in deeper,

"Jus' like that baby.. C'mon.. take me in gorgeous.."

His pace is brutal, slamming in and out, each time accompanied by obscene, lewd sounds of the two of you mixing, mingling, your higher pitched moans, his lower pitched groans. He's lowering his lips to your ear, whispering into you, only heightening your intense dizziness as he does,

"Gonna fuck a baby into this sweet pussy, yeah? C'mon pretty girl, wanna see you full, round and perfect f'me.."

You're babbling incoherently, unable to form any sentence that consists of words outside of 'yes!, 'please!', "logan!', 'more, baby', and somewhere along the line,

"Fill me up, Logan, please, need ya t'fill me up, baby!"

Something snaps in him, as his hands fly to your hips, locking you in place as he slams in through your release. You should be going limp in his hands, he should be slumping over you, but instead, he's never been more driven, moaning and groaning into your ear as you claw at the sheets beneath you. All the while, he's whispering into your ear, evil, evil, man,

"C'mon babe, don't want the others to hear, d'ya? Or do ya.. wan'em to hear me fill y'up? Wan'em hear ya pretty noises, y'cummin' all over me? That whatcha want baby? Tell me, pretty girl, use those big girl words y'got, c'mon.."

"Nee….d… Logan I need, need, nee-! Need it s'bad.. please? Please, baby, m'so close!"

"Little more, c'mon, gotta let it take, c'mon babe."

He's nearing his own release, and can feel you tightening round him, your walls pulling him in as he thrusts in and out. When you finally cum, releasing with a sound that - if not muffled by the pillow beneath you - would have definitely woken people up. Your hips and walls tighten even more, attempting to hold him where he is, except he keeps pushing in and out, before finally painting your walls with his release, working slowly through his release, slowing his pace before slumping over you, pressing kisses on your shoulders.

He doesn't pull out, not for a very long time, choosing to stay buried in you as his hands wrap round your torso. You're very near to falling asleep, when he finally pulls himself out of you, his hand scooping off the slick and pushing it back in as he whispers, just low enough for you to hear,

"Gotta let it take, baby girl.."

You're whining at the loss of him, aching slightly until he pushes your mixed cum back in with his fingers, before grabbing a soft clean cloth, soaking it down with warm water before he cleans you up, joining you back in bed and pulling you over his chest,

"C'mere gorgeous… get some rest, baby.."

Out of words and energy, you quietly curl up into his chest, head pressed against him, eyes closed softly as you trace small patterns on his skin. His arms hold you securely in place, muttering sweet nothings as the two of you drift off to sleep.

So, given the night's… events, it's no wonder the two of you wake up mere minutes before class, rushing around, your room a mess as you scramble to prepare for the day. The two of you stumble out of the room, muttering and mumbling curses under your breaths, only to bump right into Professor X. He stares at the two of you, and the two of you stare at him. And he stares at the two of you again, and the two of you stare at him again.

"…"

"…"

"…so. Long night, I presume?"

xoxo, roe~

the usual reactions of course:

logan howlett the man that you are. logan and you had long since been sneaking around together, behind everyone else's backs. from secret, quiet sneak aways in close closets to quick fucks behind lockers - the two of you had done it all!

well...

not quite all.

you see, there's one thing about logan. he's been nice. too nice. nice to the point that it's weird. and let's be entirely honest here folks - mean logan... well, you'd be lying if you said it didn't do something to you, everytime he'd get rough and tough.

which is how tonight, as he's snuck into your quarters, you finally muster up the courage to ask hi-

"-be mean, lo."

"mean???"

"yes! i can fucking take it!"

"...ya sure???"

"yes. be mean!"

"..."

"..."

he thinks it over long and hard (hey, guess what else is long and har-). you can practically see the cogs turning in his brain before he sighs and nods, shrugging his shoulders before slowly stripping down in front of you,

"get to it, princess. ya want mean logan, ya get mean logan."

he's stripping and you're stripping. his eyes scan over your body - filled with lust and hunger - as your own eyes scan over his. what you don't quite expect then is his arm darting out around your waist, yanking you into him,

"get down, now. on ya back, princess."

you don't dare say no, the change in tone suddenly sending pulses through your body. you can't hold back the moan's in your throat as he practically manhandles you - pushing your knees up beside your face. he takes one slow look down your body again, smirking as he takes in just how we- well, he says it better,

"all this, baby? already wet? gonna need ya to last f'me, princess.."

he's mocking you. he's mocking you and you're wetter and wetter than before. it's... well, it should be humiliating, but your brain doesn't know the fucking difference right now.

he pulls your legs open, letting a bead of spit dribble down from his lips for a moment, before actually lowering down - spitting on your clit. your body unintentionally tightens and convulses slightly as he presses your legs down properly.

"oh, ya like that, huh?"

one thing you've learnt is logan is really, genuinely, truly into eye contact. eye contact does everything for him. he makes intense, deep eye contact as you squirm under his arms. he doesn't really wait for you to respond - plunging his thick length into you as your back arches under him.

he should be going slow, he should be taking his time and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. he should be making you feel reaaaaal good as you wrap your arms around his neck, whining into his ears. instead, he's fucking you rough and hard from the get go - not giving you time to adapt and get used to him. weirdly enough, it works. the rough pace, the way his hands hold you (in a way that does not allow you to close your legs, or run away) and how he mutters filthy, dirty words into your ears...

"...gonna fill you up- oh, ya like that too, huh? want me to fill ya up, peach? wanna get ya allll full f'me, yeah? what if i don't, pretty girl, then what?"

cut to you whining, begging, needy as he continues to pummel into you - relentless with his pace,

"f-fuck, lo-! please? p-please, baby?"

"gonna have to beg prettier, peach~"

"fill me u-up-! please, baby, please, i n-nee- oh, fuck m'close-"

and all of a sudden, he stops. all of a sudden, the high that the two of you had been climbing together plummets down into the ground. he pulls out, with that awful smile on his face that you can't tell - does it turn you on, or piss you off? both?

as your hands reach out to him, attempting to claw him back to you, he swats them away,

"patience is a virtue, princess."

as you lie there - shivering and shaking - you can't ignore the part of you that practically falls apart. he.. he promised! your eyebrows furrow over as you think it through, clarity slowly returning to you.

no, no, no - logan can't have that! clarity?? in bed with him??? not whilst he's still naked, hot and hard!

he pulls you by your hips, down to the edge of the bed and slowly enters you again. the thick squelch and pop of slick and your thick gummy walls wrapping around his cock have the two of you arching back, moaning into the humid air that surrounds the two of you.

in, out, in and out. over and over again as your nails dig into his arms. his hands press into your hips in a way that will definitely leave heavy bruises. and for once, logan is somewhat dejected at his quickened healing. the idea of your scratches up and down his arms as you tug him closer and closer, whining and moaning and begging him for more, and more has him wetter. needier.

"p-please, fuck, lo - i can't t-take i-"

"take it, baby, fuckin' take it all-"

"-gonna fuckin' cu-m, pleasepleaspleaselemmecu-!"

this time he's kind enough. this time, he doesn't stop you, nor does he pull out like an evil fucking bastard. this time, he pounds into you intentionally. over and over again until you cry out. arms and legs convulsing as he does not stop! he does not fucking stop - fucking hell, logan!

your brain is entirely gone. turned into mush as the only thing remaining is the imprint of his cock, buried deep in you. the remainder of his never ending thrusts are blurry for you, until he starts rushing. thrusting sloppier, groaning and breathing heavy until-

his thick cum fills you. each and every crevice, filling you wholly and fully. it's thick, hot and.. well. a lot. a whole, fucking, lot.

he lifts your knees up to your head, pressing them up against the mattress and holding you there as you whine. pouting, as he smirks down at you again. your teeth dart out, biting your lower lip, and his low voice sends shivers up and down your spine again,

"now, now pretty girl - gotta make it stick f'me, yeah~?"

xoxo, roe~

Four P.M. Most people are out away at work, grinding through the gruel 9-to-5. For Gotham runs on the burnt out fuels of drained souls slaving over dull, drill desks. Gotham howls its regular rains down, and the people continue their usual, dry days.

The tears of heavenly bodies are.. well, the norm for this godforsaken city. Or, kids are at schools, studying. Playing away at nurseries and playgrounds. Burying their pressures with coffees and shopping instead of actually studying. The usual, of course. Just a usual, regular Thursday.

Still, every single person in Gotham is busy.

Except… a certain someone.

"SHE HAD DUMPS LIKE A TRUCK! TRUCK! TRUCK!"

Where? Where could this ever be coming from? And what is that… almost heavenly tune that fills your ears on such a grim, dull day?

"THIGHS LIKE WHAAAAT? WHAT? WHAT!?"

…Well. Apparently she had thighs like what. How very peculiar. One must wonder where this truly comes from.

"BABY MOVE YOUR BUTT! BUTT! BUTT! I THINK I'LL SING IT AGAAAAAAIN, SHE HAD-"

Please Gods above, no! Save us from this sweet voice! You're actually on your way home. A long day at work has you exhausted, of course, and you still have to pick up the kids from school. You're practically dreading it - the sheer thought of trying to explain to your littlest that no, ponies can't eat KFC has you even more drained. If anything, all you want is to flop on the couch and lie there. Lie there and scream into a pillow as your sweet husband lies on top of you.

So when you get closer to the front door, carrying bags of groceries, pardon the shock you feel when-

"-ALL NIGHT LOOOOOOONG. LEEEEET MEEEEE SEEEEE THAT THOOOO-OOOOO-OOOOOOONG!"

Huh. You pause, stepping back slightly as your keys jangle around, bags rustling in your hand. It does not stop.

"I LIKE IT WHEN THE BEAT GO - DUN-UH DUN-UH!"

You step inside, carefully closing the door behind you as you slowly creep inside. Gods forbid you make a noise, because when you stand in the door of the kitchen, there he is.

In all his glory. Dressed in nothing but a very frilly apron and that thong you (jokingly) brought him last Christmas. You know, the lacy pink one, with the dangly jewel in the middle. The one he immediately threw into a basket. Yes, those. And the way he's moving his hips as he practically screams the words. My God. The.. movement in those hips, as he goes from one side of the kitchen to the other, easily taking out beautiful trays of muffins that waft off soft wisps of fragrant lemon and blueberry. And as he places the muffins down, turning towards the entrance of the kitchen - where you still stand in shock, he can't help but jump in shock, jiggling his muffins,

"Baby! You can't just- Well. Aren't you early?"

"It's four, Jay?"

"..So it is. Welcome home..?"

"Mmhm, I'm feelin' very.. very, welcomed. You know - I could really get used to this. Coming home to a fresh batch of muffins and such a stunning view. Yeah, I could get used to this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well.. those muffins need time to cool down.. before the kids finish up after school programmes. And it's just you and I, all alone, pretty girl. Wanna uh.."

"See that booty go, dun-uh, dun-uh?"

"Oh God."

"What? Don't you wanna see that thong th-thong thong thong?"

"Shoot me. Kill me again."

"All night long?"

He sighs, shaking his head and lowering it to your shoulder. Yet you don't miss the smile on his face as he presses kisses to your skin. Nor how his hands dip to your waist, slowly rolling small circles as your body relaxes into his. His arms dip lower, hoisting you up in the air and rushing over to your shared bedroom. Of course, you protest briefly, hands and arms flailing before giving up,

"Jay! The food-"

"-will be fine. Our kitchen is cold enough, it will be fine. More importantly, a certain someone needs tending to, hmm?"

He lowers you onto your bed, waiting for you to wiggle around and adjust yourself before he slowly removes that apron. One. Strap. At. A. Time. It's slow and teasing, and despite it just being a stupid, frilly apron, you can't help but bite your lip and look up at him. And as it falls, dear God.

Carefully sculpted muscles, each one carved by the Gods themselves (read: the horrors of being a vigilante in Gotham. You know, the usual shit.). Each scar dances pretty along his skin, trails of faint pinks as your eyes lower across his body. Speaking of things over his body, your hands find his chest - grasping and grabbing as your hands move down. Your eyes find the trail of hair, lowering further and further as you lick your lips,

"Fuck me, pretty boy. Look at you - all gorgeous f'me, huh?"

"Always, baby girl. Always."

"Wait. Wait, wait - it's still daytime! What if people hear us.."

"Shit, you're right. Wait, I've got just the thing. Dick gave me a dumb CD, lemme go do this."

"Oh, God, I dread to think what's on that.."

So imagine your shock then, when a certain song begins playing. Not Thong Song, actually, unlike what you had expected. Actually, it starts with someone calling out,

"I call a girlie-girlieeeee-!"

"Jason???"

"Shit! What the fuck is this?"

"The way I mate-"

"The way you WHAT?"

"Workin' on it, baby girl."

"-the way I, way I, way I mate-"

"Oh my God, Jason. Jason - I can't this is-"

"I know! I thought it'd be.. well.. I don't know, not this!"

And so a very much almost naked Jason rushes over to pause, pull out the CD and stare at it in disappointment. Sure enough, there it is - written in stupid black sharpie, 'The Way I Mate - Rednex'. It was right there! And he didn't even see it. He's rolling his hand over his face, sighing and groaning as he turns and shows you. In response, you're only raising your eyebrows in.. concern as he chucks it away somewhere, walking back over to you,

"No music. No fucking music, no stupid thong - just you and I now, baby girl."

"Just us?"

"Just us. No stupid shit."

He tugs his own.. thong off first and then his hands strip you down from your work clothes, chucking them here, there - everywhere. Anything to forget what had just happened. Your hands grasp on to him, lips attacking each and every part of skin you can find. All as his own hands wrap around your skin, grasping and grabbing, squeezing each handful as he groans,

"Fuck.. all I needed today, beautiful.."

"Mmm, c'mere Jay~"

You guide his head down, as his tongue flicks across your skin. He pauses briefly at your hip just to suck on your skin, before finding himself kneeling at your altar. Small kitten licks reach out over your clit, soft kisses over that sensitive rosebud as you already writhe under his grasp. His hands find your thighs, pressing them open as he lowers his tongue to your folds. Dipping and licking long, slow stripes. Each long, slow lick has your body shivering and arching, back raised as his hands rise up to the small of your back - practically pushing your body further into him.

His tongue is relentless as it continues to attack your folds, only ever pausing to rise up to your clit - where it circles and sucks before flicking over it and lowering back down to your folds again. Your moans and gasps fill his ears in ways that no godforsaken song could, practically wrapping around his dick as he ruts into the mattress below. In between he makes time to lift his head and whisper the most foul, filthy words into your clit.

This man - the father of your children. A pillar of the community, who bakes muffins for his daughters' bake sales every month. The man who shows up to each and every PTA meeting as a proper, put together parent. Yes, this man is now circling his own name into your clit as your body becomes weaker and weaker with every movement that he makes.

It's as though he's playing with you - teasing you as you come ever closer to releasing over his face, but never actually letting you. Every single time you come close, the coil within your lower belly tightens and tightens, and your thighs seem to press closer - attempting to close in on him. And yet he slows down just enough to let you come back down from your high. Kisses pressed along your thigh as he works you up again.

And so when you do finally, fucking finally, cum - it's uncontrollable. Tears stream down your face as your body shakes from his relentless tonguing. He never stops, continuing through your overstimulated release - lapping up each and every droplet that dribbles out of you. When he's done, he looks up at you with that hazy, pussy-drunken look that only has you weak again. But as the two of you consider another round, the alarm finally rings,

* BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! *

"Shit. Gotta get the girls.."

Perhaps Sisqó knew what he was on about, you know.

"That thong, th-thong, thong thong~!"

xoxo, roe~

"Babe. I look good."

"…"

"C'moooooon - admit it! I look good good, look!"

"Dick…"

"My ass has NEVER looked finer tha-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Richard John 'Dick' Grayson or so help me God-"

"Copy that."

Ahhh, the Winter holidays. A time for joy, cheer and general festivity. For family and friends, for warm cups of cocoa sat by the fireplace. And, somehow, for Dick Grayson being roped into dressing up as Santa for the GCPD.

In his defence - Bruce wasn't gonna do it!

And someone has to do it - for the kids, at least! Think of the kids… their sweet faces dropping as they find out Santa won't show up?

Which is how the two of you find yourselves in his apartment - you, ensuring he actually looks like Santa and not just a man in a large red coat, large red pants and a red hat, and him staring at himself in the mirror. Really, really appreciating himself. Damn, Grayson, maybe you do look good as Santa!

You're tweaking the beard ever so slightly and he's holding himself back from tugging and ripping it off. And then you're helping him pad out the costume, and suddenly he's posing in the mirror again, hands plastered over his ass as you hold your head in your hands, sighing and groaning whilst he really, really takes his time. Seriously - the kids are expecting him soon! And instead of making his way down, he's stood here.

"Dick!"

"Babe!"

"We. Are. On. A. Time. Crunch!"

"My. Ass. Looks. Good."

"Okay, yes! It does! Now can we please get you down town?"

"…Fine."

Twenty five minutes later, the two of you have finally bundled onto the Green Line of the subway system, all whilst being stopped by many excitable children and their awfully tired parents. Yet each time, Dick never says no - taking his time to take pictures and interact.

Though it's definitely a little stressful (given that the two of you definitely have to get to the station soon), you can't ignore how your heart swells when Dick interacts with every kid he sees. The way his voice softens and he kneels down to their level, listening to each and every ramble before cheerfully responding in that awful Santa voice he has-

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Little Timmy-"

Wait - Timmy?

"Dick. I'm literally seventeen we do not have to do this."

"Seventeen and taking the Green Line alone? Such a grown little boy - ho! Ho! Ho!"

"Please don't do this."

"And what would you like for Christmas, little Timmy?"

You see Dick lean in, presumably to whisper something along the lines of, 'Help me out here man, these kids are gonna cry if ya don't… Just ask for some toy or somethin, I'll keep the demon brat away from you tonight at Bruce's… I'll buy you that expensive ass coffee machine ya want..?' before leaning back, resuming his Santa character once more. Tim, on the other hand, locks eyes with you and sighs, before finally giving in and replying through gritted teeth,

"Oh Santa. I want the Batmobile 3000. The one that flies."

"The Batmobile 3000? The one that flies?? Well, well, little Timmy-"

Poor Tim.

"-be a good boy tonight and check under the tree tomorrow, for your extra special gift!"

"Gee, thanks, Santa. Yaaaaaaaaaaayyyy."

"Ho! Ho! Ho! And a Merry Chris- Is that Conner????"

"WOW LOOK OUR STOP GOTTA GO BYE BYE BYE"

And as though they were never there to begin with, Tim and Conner rush off the train, leaving the two of you in a strange place of shock, surprise and general confusion. Still, your stop approaches next, and you both make your way down to the police station…

…where little Damian Wayne awaits the two of you, dressed as an elf as Jason Todd stands beside him with both a camcorder and a shit eating grin.

"Keep that foul thing away from me, Todd."

"No way, Demon Brat! Oh hey! Santa's hereeee~"

Both Jason and Damian turn to the two of you with opposing… reactions. Jason and his shit eating grin only widening, and Damian with his scowl only deepening at the thought of being coddled by Dick.

"No. Fucking. Way."

"Yes. Fucking. Way."

"You actually did it, Jay!"

"Yep. I know, I know. I am the greatest."

"How?? Did you do it??"

"What can I say - I'm the Demon Brat-tamer."

"Yeah?"

Damian turns to you, nodding respectfully before answering your boyfriend's question in the most deadpan voice a nine year old can muster,

"He promised me Batburger."

"I promised him Batburger!"

"He promised him… Batburger… that's all it took…"

"There, there, Grayson. You will come to terms with being lower than Drake on my list soon enough."

"LOWER THAN DRAKE???"

"Yes."

Behind the four of you, Commissioner Gordon sighs and clears his throat, signalling both Dick and Damian to get into character (or, for Dick to stop sulking and Damian to at least pretend he enjoyed this. Although… you didn't miss how his eyes briefly lit up upon seeing the two of you. You'd never tell, of course!)

"Kids! Here come Santa and his elf! Now, now - one at a time! Form a line, and they'll see you one by one!"

Naturally, both you and Jason have your respective cameras prepared, giggling and snickering as Damian and Dick make their way through. Damian fighting back scowls as Dick struggles to move through the crowd of children.

And so it begins. The next few hours are filled with the trials and tribulations of Santa, a grumpy elf, and many many children rushing around a police station. All as Jim Gordon, Jason and you attempt to herd the children back towards the clearly designated safe Santa space.

As it all comes to an end, the two of you finally make your way back to Dick's apartment (after finalising the Christmas seating arrangement for later on at the Manor, of course. Because seating Dick next to Damian after all that might actually end in a crime tonight), where Dick immediately rips out all padding from his suit, yanks off his beard and slumps onto a couch, clearly exhausted.

Until you come out of his bedroom, wearing nothing but that brand new 'Naughty or Nice' lingerie you bought just for tonight and the pretty red bottom-ed heels he loves so much,

"Hey there, Santa~"

"Hmm? Oh? Oh. Oh! Ohhh… hey… you.."

You saunter over, swinging your legs over him as you straddle his lap - rolling your hips over him as his hands immediately grip on to your waist.

"Well~?"

"'Naughty or nice', huh babe? This one f'me?"

"Always, baby~"

"You… are somethin' else, pretty girl."

His lips press against your neck, hands quickly shifting round your bra as they tug the straps loose - setting your breasts free. And naturally - because Dick Grayson is Dick Grayson - his mouth leaves your neck as his hands help to manoeuvre you around and down onto the couch, before placing his lips down onto your chest.

Your body arches up into him as his tongue wraps around your buds - swirling and tugging as two fingers pinch the other. Teasing you, before he removes his other hand. For a moment, you whine, before you feel him remove his own pants - just enough to free his already hard cock - and line himself up to your folds, pulling your pretty panties to one side.

"F-fuck.. you're so pretty like this, baby."

"Dick… need you real, real bad, pretty boy."

"Y-yeah?"

He plunges his cock in through your folds, each inch slowly filling you as his hands pull your thighs open wider. As he does, his lips continue to peck at your chest, leaving behind kisses and marks across your skin before leaning back up to marvel at his work. At the same time, your own hand finds his face - caressing his cheek. For a moment he leans into your touch, before slowly rocking himself back and forth.

And dear Gods - you're so tight, sweet and so perfect for him, wrapped round his cock like he was meant to be there. As if you were made for him and he for you. His stunningly thick, girthy cock stuffs you full - fills you just right, and he holds you flush to his body as your nipples press up against his chest. Any and every thought that once dawned upon you is lost, as the only thing remaining, swirling in your brain is him. Him, and how well he fills you as he thrusts in and out - pressing your thighs open to allow him to push deeper, into angles and areas you haven't felt before. His thick, full cock and your tight, gummy walls. How they suck him in with each and every thrust. Even just the noise of his skin slapping against yours reverberates around your brain, as he leans down and groans into your ear.

Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, tangling themselves into his hair and tugging him closer to you as you babble into his ear. You're not sure exactly what it is you're saying - but it doesn't matter. Not when he completes you like this. Not when he fills you, over and over again as you lie in his arms, moaning and whining and begging for-

"-more-! Oh, baby p-please? Please, baby, I'll be so good for you-"

"Always so good f'me, pretty girl-! Fuck, you're so perfect like this-"

Dick Grayson dicks you down for Christmas - over and over again, as you lose track of just how many times you've cum from how perfect he is. However, as all good things do, this too comes to an end.

Specifically, when he finally slows down and turns the two of you around, so that now you're resting on top, in his lap as he holds you close. He thinks about another round - just briefly - but his phone rings at the worst time possible, and the two of you groan as he reaches for it,

"Hey ther- Oh, B? … Y-yeah, what time? … Oh, uh, we're just.. watching a movie, yeah… Yeah, of course we'll be there soon! See ya then, B!"

As he tosses his phone back onto the table, he leans back, and you climb up to kiss his cheek. His arms wrap around your waist again, and you hum into his neck as he sighs,

"You, my love, will be the death of me."

"Merry Christmas..?"

merry roe-mas ❅.ೃ࿔

The weekend. Finally. After what felt like forever, the weekend had finally arrived. Most kids from the institute spent their weekends out, playing games, going shopping, doing whatever it is kids do. And teachers? Teachers spent their time supervising, forever on a cycling rota.

It just so happened, then, that both you and Logan got the weekend off.

So of course, when Logan realised, he wasted no time booking off that old cabin you liked, and planning the trip. Naturally, he'd never let you lift a finger, packing for the two of you as soon as your final lesson had finished, and practically throwing you over his shoulder.

Sure, a few weird stares from newer students, but they'd get used to it soon enough. Probably still wouldn't be the weirdest thing they'd see here.

Anyway, Logan bundles you into his truck, swaddling you in with a blanket and handing over a flask of hot chocolate as your roll your eyes,

"Really, Lo? This all necessary, baby?"

"Don't want m'sweet peach freezin' up on me already, yeah?"

"…Make a good point there.."

He huffs, before placing your joint overnight bags in the back, crossing round to his side of the truck, jumping in. All these years have passed by, yet you still can't help but to trail your eyes over his hair, his eyes, his nose, his lips, tracking down his neck, lowering over his chest. And as always, his eyes whip round to find you, huffing with a smirk this time, catching you red handed,

"Y'never change, pretty Peach."

"Well, not m'fault y'look so good, is it?"

Chuckling and shaking his head, the two of you finally begin setting off for your journey, only a quick two hours out. It's smooth, especially since you fall asleep so early on, snuggling into the blanket, hands still wrapped round the flask. Logan looks over, sighing contently at the sight of his 'sweet girl' so wrapped up nice and tight (there's a joke to be made here. Go on. Make it. I'll wait.).

Eventually enough, the truck slows down in front of the cabin, coming to a gentle stop. You're rousing from your sweet slumber, eyes still blearly as you whine into the silence. Logan walks round again, easily scooping you into his arms, letting you curl up to his chest as he carries you inside, gently placing you down on the bed inside. As he walks away, you reach out for him, your eyes pleading for him to stay.

But he presses a small kiss to your forehead, before walking away, grabbing your bags, your jackets and everything else from the truck, settling them all down and adjusting the heating (which of course, should be the first thing anyone does upon entering a cold cabin).

You peer out of the window, the snow covered pines branching down to greet you as always. Though the journey was only two hours, the sun had already set quickly, a soft, yet dark blue blanket sheet crossing the skies, with barely painted on clouds dotted around. You're so lost in staring out the window, that you don't realise two big hands wrapping round either side of your wiast, gripping you and resting a head in the crook of your neck. The action takes you by surprise, as you left out a soft gasp, before giggling and attempting to turn around.

Yet those same big hands won't let you, holding you down, ensuring you don't move. His face moves towards your ear, his hot breath flaring down your neck as he groans quietly, words quietly mumbled just for you,

"Waited so long f'this. Wanna make it count, hmm, gorgeous?"

You only hum in response, sinking back into his touch, and his chest. His hands move round to your front, as he peppers small kisses across your neck, down to your collarbone, biting down and sucking as your head lolls back over his shoulder,

"Lo…"

"Tell me, baby, tell me 'bout today, hmm?"

One hand presses you tight against him, splayed across your stomach. The other sinks lower, playing with your jeans as he makes quick work of them, unzipping with ease and lower his hand past your waistband, palm pressed against your mound, just cupping you for now. You whine and writhe in his grasp, needing more from him. He only responds by tutting, and shaking his head as he pulls back from your collarbone,

"C'mon now, baby, gotta hear them words, hmm?"

You're nodding, trying to form sentences in your brain, trying to remember what had actually happened today.

"'Kay.. wait.. uh… Good! Was good, spent the mornin' teachin' Pride and Prej-! Lo-!"

He cuts you off with a quick bite at your shoulder, his tongue smoothing over the mark to soothe you as he goes back to suck at it, ensuring a beautiful mark blooms across your skin. Yet he never stops you, encouraging you to keep going, keep talking as he teases you, pulling you further back into his embrace properly. He starts slowly circling your clit, small movements that only make you jitter and shudder in his arms.

"…a-and then wh-! Wait, wait, Lo-!"

Except the moment you actually start taking too many breaks, pausing too much for his liking, he pulls away fully. Lips, teeth, tongue and fingers, all pulled back as you gasp, immediately turning around, doe'd eyes staring back at him with need, with want, as you whine so sweetly.

Christ, he could practically hear angels singing everytime you opened your mouth. But he's not giving in so easily, not when you've gone against his instructions like that! He's clicking his tongue, shaking his head as you bat your eyelashes up at him, pleading, begging for more.

"Told'ya to keep talkin', no? But y'keep stoppin, pretty girl."

"S'not my fault.. s'too much, Lo… Please..?"

He's sighing and rolling his eyes, moving you round from his lap and lowering you down instead, one hand firmly pressed into the arch of your back. His head naturally fits perfectly against your chest as you stretch under him, adjusting to the position change,

"Y'kay there, sweets?"

"Mmmm, jus' adjustin'"

He huffs, before pulling himself and his hands back, pulling off his stupidly warm jumper and tossing it over the other side of the room. He lets your hands reach out to his waist, up his abs, across his pecs and over his arms, before ripping off the skin tight shirt that held him back. He sits over you for a moment, letting you have your.. moment.

"Take a picture."

"Ohhh m'tryin'. With m'brain, Lo."

"Brain picture, huh?"

"Yup. Brain picture."

He sighs again, before reaching to your own shirt, tugging at it before you relent to him, lifting your body and letting him pull it off. His hands travel up your body, resting at the plush of your chest, before squeezing at the plush of your chest, rolling his fingers over your nipples under your bra. Your head rolls back as you push your body up into his hands, but his touch moves on too quickly, pulling further down your body until he finally pulls your jeans and panties off.

The harsher cold air hits your folds immediately as he spreads your legs, lowering his face to your stomach first, pressing small kisses across as he moves lower and lower. Your eyes trail over his perfectly huge shoulders, that only flex as he presses his hands against your inner thighs, holding you perfectly open for him. He glances back up at you, flashing that signature grin of his, toothy and dizzying before he dives right in, his tongue immediately finding your sweetest spots, lapping at you like some starving madman.

Which, as far as descriptions go, was not inaccurate.

One month. A whole month had passed since Logan had last touched you, or you last touched Logan. Not that the two of you hadn't tried, no, more that something would happen exactly as the two of you would find each other.

The first time you recall, was in the storage room. You had gone to find the reading material for the next semester, and he had gone to find spare textbooks (two students had 'lost' theirs, in the lake). Yet as his eyes lingered over yours, he quickly placed the books down, hands wrapping round you and pulling you close, so close to kissing you, his lips just hanging above yours until Scott walked in, looking for the engineering books. And as soon as Logan's hands had found you, the sooner they had left, huffing and grabbing his textbooks before leaving. Not without Scott teasing the two of you, of course.

Incident number two was only a few days later, mind you. You had finished up cooking for the night, two plates of pasta for yourself and Logan, and were sat in the staff kitchen, waiting. Ten minutes passed before he finally made his way in your direction, sinking onto you, on the couch. The two of you stayed like that, for seven blissful minutes, until the fire alarm went off. Perfect! So now, neither of you had dinner, and the two of you had to line up, with your students, in the cold rain as Logan grumbled and you sighed. It didn't help, then, that for this academic year, Charles had gifted two halves of the same cohort to you both. The more 'unruly' kids in Logan's class, and the others in yours. Something about the two of your personalities balancing them out. So when one side started throwing claims that the other had been.. supposedly, throwing leaves at the other side, naturally the two classes began yelling, just opposite each other. Between Logan's yelling, and you pinching your nose bridge to relieve some amount of stress, neither of you were getting action that night.

And then there was the worst time. Dear gods. The two of you had finally gotten back from a slightly… spiced up workout, with him teasing you and you teasing him, until he led you both back to your room, locking the door, turning the lights low and drawing the curtains. He took his time with you, unwrapping each layer and pressing kisses across you, pushing you back towards the bed as he did. So when your knees finally hit the bed, and he tumbled over you, his head lowering to your chest immediately to attend to you, of course the bell had to go off, calling all available teachers to the student dorms. Logan growled and hit his head in the bed next to her, lifting and throwing a shirt on, before helping you dress and making your way down. Turns out, two of the boys had the brilliant idea to start a fight. At almost 1am. Each and every student was covered in a condiment of some sort, screaming and yelling and punching and fighting as you, Logan and the other teachers attempted to pull them apart.

Safe to say, whilst an exhaustion-based sleep came easy that night, neither you, nor he, came.

Yes. The month had been a nightmare.

So of course, Logan would take his time, attending to you as you writhed under his tongue, under his touch. Every few laps, he'd pull his tongue back, a satisfying popping sound as he did, before diving right back in. To make matter worse (better), the hands holding your thighs open finally moved, one arm draped across your stomach, pinning you down as the other hand moved to your clit, circling with his thumb, so soft, so sweetly as his tongue continued moving over your folds, each drip melting into his mouth, coating his tongue, his beard, dripping down his neck.

He savours the taste, taking small pauses to swirl your slick round his mouth, as though he had been fed the Holy Grail itself, each droplet his saving grace, pulling him higher and higher. Where most would consider his actions sinful, he revels in his sweet, unholy temple, kneeling at your warm altar. You welcome your sweet sinner with warmth, and receive his every loving devotion with praises that even the Heavens' highest Seraphim would covet. He needs this. You. He needs you.

When he's pleased with how you feel on his tongue, he dips back in, chasing your high with long, slow strokes first, before speeding his tongue between your folds. Meanwhile, his hand has never pulled away, his thumb continuing to move across your clit with a perfectly steady pace, each circling ministration causing your hips to move round too, as you find yourself needier, your eyes hazing over, rolling back.

He loosens his grip on your stomach, both hands on the outside of your thighs now, holding him up to your face like a meal of sorts. Like you were his sacrament, cleansing his soul, his sins. His sweet, stunning angel, subject to his loving devotion. As he holds your hips up, you can't help but to roll them into his face more, aiding his tongue as it swipes between your folds up to your clit, and back down again. Your breathing becomes more and more erratic, as he moans sweet passages into your folds, soft, gentle - unlike the Logan everyone else knew.

The humming vibrations of his voice through your walls shiver up and down your body, as you jolt up, finally snapping and releasing over him, his sworn fealty, the vassal to his dear angel, finally paying off as you reward his prayers, grasping at his hair with your fingers, tangling into the strands as you tug gently.

Yet he does not stop.

No, instead he lowers himself further, lined up just perfect to explore past your folds, holding your thighs open again as his tongue explores you. Of course, it doesn't go quite as far as you'd like, but it's still enough for you to cry out his name, begging for his mercy as he only chuckles, taking his fill before finally pulling away.

Oh?

Oh.

What a sight. Logan Howlett. The Wolverine. Your sweet partner. Coated, in your slick, licking his lips like an animal, sweat dripping down his chest (which, actually. Might also be mixed with your slick. The thought only gets you hotter), as he brushes his hair back again, shaking his head and sighing as he slows his breathing back to normal. You do the same, your more unstable pants becoming slow sighs, the sweetest sounds tumbling out from your throat.

It's then when you realise it, as your eyes trail lovingly over him. His jeans, soaked, in one particular spot. It was bound to happen, given how well he took care of you, but that doesn't change the way you softly giggle at him, tugging at his jeans, undoing his belt, button and zipper for him. Nor does it change the smile on his face, as you switch places, with him over the edge of the bed, and you kneeling below, between his legs tugging the jeans down lower and lower, pulling them off before you attend to him. He leans back, grabbing a pillow for your knees, and kissing you, which only drives you even more insane, given how you can taste yourself on his tongue, over his mouth. When you finally pull away, his eyes, filled with.. well, love never fail to make your stomach flip, nor your heart skip.

Your hands palm over him, teasing him through his boxers as he hooks a hand under your chin, lifting your head up,

"C'mon, gorgeous. Ya know what I need, hmm?"

"…Fine… Only 'cause I love ya.."

"Hmm, whatever would I do without ya?"

He lifts up slightly, letting you pull his boxers all the way down, tossing them aside before taking in just how big, how thick and dripping he was, all for you. His cock twitched as you licked your lips, striping one long, languid lick up, teasing the bulging vein on the left as he twitched again, throwing his head back. As your lips finally settle on his tip, you push down slowly, sucking slow and gentle first, each stroke deepening and taking more and more of him as you go on. His hands quickly find your hair, rooting himself to you as you take him, each inch filling your mouth, your throat just perfectly.

One hand drops low, fondling his aching balls, giving them much needed and desired attention as your mouth works so sweetly around, up and down his cock. In between, you hum on him, and physically feel him tense beneath you, gripping your hair tighter, pulling your head further down on him.

Unfortunately for him, he can't quite savour this the way he had just savoured you, given how close he already was, barely holding back from thrusting up into your mouth as he cums, quick, hot and fast, loads dumping down your mouth, your throat. You diligently swallow each and every drop, your eyes glassing over slightly as you pull your tongue up, swirling it round his tip and the end and pulling away with a kiss, and a string of cum and saliva, dribbling down your neck and settling over your tits.

His arms reach beneath you, pulling you into his lap, words no longer necessary as you spread your legs, letting him hold you open as you push yourself down on him, your walls quickly wrapping round him. He moves his hands up and around your back, gripping onto your soft flesh as you finally fit all of him in you, pausing to just.. feel him, there.

You clench slightly, his cock sure to leave an imprint over your walls, forming and shaping itself around him and his thickness. All the while, he's trying to memorise each and every miniscule measurement of your flesh - fuck knows when the next time'll be, in this line of work. When you're both finally ready, you tap his cheek twice, and he taps your.. other cheek twice. An old tradition of yours, everlasting through the years as he slowly helps you lift yourself up off him, and lower back down onto him, his hips meeting you in the middle.

His mouth finds your collarbone again, sucking the opposite side this time, eager to leave a matching mark on you. For what is he, if not an attentive, loving partner? And how would his sweet angel go without jewellery like that? He sucks as your hand finds his hair, tousling through the locks as you rest your head on his, still bouncing gently on him as one hand cups your cheek, helping you move up and down, and the other wraps round your waist.

As he lifts his head, he smiles, before pressing his lips to your ear,

"Wanna lemme fuck ya good now? Fuck you silly, pretty girl, wanna get dumb on this dick?"

And holy shit, did his voice trail down your spine, settling in your stomach as the familiar pool of heat recollected itself, preparing for the waves that'd inevitably crash over you. Words are lost upon you, with you resorting to nods and whines as he flips you over, laying you down, lifting your legs up and pressing them against you, kissing the tops of your knees as he slowly thrusts into you, savouring the moment once more.

"F-fuck… pretty pussy.. all f'me, huh?"

Oh, how you wish your voice wouldn't fail you in such moments, dying down into whines and moans as he filled you so perfectly, one hand above you, holding the headboard as the other hand lowered to your clit again. He pauses briefly, only to lower a dribble of spit from his mouth down over your clit, the harsh cold of his spit hitting your warm soft clit. You almost buckle up into him, the feeling tightening in your stomach again.

So you focus on the room around you, instead.

The gentle light from the lamp, bouncing round the room, and off your bodies, joined in perfect harmony. You can see each and every drop of sweat dribbling down his chest now, perfectly dropping over each nipple and falling onto your ribs. Your hands reach out to him as he quickens his pace, lowering his body closer to yours, letting your hands roam over his chest, squeezing him in between.

Each squeeze earns a sweet moan, a groan and a quicker thrust, and before long, you can feel yourself snap again, releasing as you buckle forwards into him. He catches you (he always will), pulling you back into his lap as he works you through your comedown, close to his own release as you clench your walls around him.

And the feeling of you clenching? Fucking. Divine. He could die here, a happy man, as you tighten round him, your nails digging into his back and dragging as you feel him pushing your walls open, his tip only bullying up into you. He's close - he knows that, you know that, and he's very aware that you know that, holding you as close as he can as he paints your walls, thick layers coating you, dribbling out over him. He's slowing down slightly, just enough for the two of you to catch your breath, kissing your neck, your chest, your nipples as he pauses to pay attention to them, mouth wrapping round one and clamping down, sucking harsh and needy as he rocks himself up into you. Your hands, having faltered round his back, tense up again, clawing into him, leaving red lines, your nails acting as your paintbrush, and his body his canvas as you drag along him, anchoring yourself. He pulls away from the one nipple, his teeth grazing over it as he switches to the other nipple, equalling the attention given.

How on earth he still manages to fuck you throughout all this, you have no idea, the only remaining thought in your brain being how fucking good he feels, how much of him you can feel in you, filling you up yet again, as your second release only comes quicker, your body lifting to meet his. He finally presses kisses to your neck, up to your ear, before doing that thing. You know, the one that only drives you insane? Where he whispers in your ear, teasing your skin with the softest whispers, breath fanning down your skin as he-

"-C'mon baby girl, pull me one more, hmm? One more, f'me, y'got it in ya, angel.."

"Gonna fuck a baby into this gorgeous pussy, yeah? Make y'mine, all mine pretty thing.."

"…Fuck.. fuuuuck.. y'so pretty under me.. jus' like that, yeah.."

On the other hand, you can barely get a sentence out, begging for him with your sweet pants, moans and gasps. The heat finally begins coiling again to his words, as he guides you through your high, as through he physically reaches in, twisting your heat round in his hands himself for you. It's not surprise then, that when you finally cum, your body convulses into his, sweet tears of love dripping over his neck, your nails finally dropping from his back. You look up into the mirror, your eyes trailing his body in the reflection, proof of your masterpiece covering him, marks of red, blooming across his body, trails streaking down as crimson droplets dribble down his skin.

The sight only makes you groan in more need, your hands pawing at him again, your honey dripped voice begging for more,

"Think y'can handle one more f'me, angel?"

His words stir your stomach yet again, as you nod your head, still dizzy from your release. He chuckles and nods into your neck, his voice rumbling through your skin,

"Lemme finish here first, hmm? Then we'll get one more from ya."

When he finally releases again, it's somehow even more dizzying than the first time, filling areas and gaps you didn't even think you had. He presses down on your stomach, forcing you to feel exactly where he is as he coats you in his thick, ropey cum. He nuzzles into your neck, fluttering kisses across your collarbone as he manhandles your very pliant, limp body with care, yes, but need too. When he finished, moaning into your ear, he slowly pulls out as you hiss, his hand still pressed down on your stomach, before very quickly flipping you over, down into the pillow.

"C'mon baby, one more, yeah?"

You only hum in agreement, as he chuckles back, spreading you open for him and slowly pushing into you again. His hand reaches round your front, rubbing your aching clit as you cry out, your sweetened whining and gasping becoming uncontrolled moans and groans, noises you don't even recognise reacting to him.

And the new position only angles him better in you, somehow reaching deeper, and better than before. You can feel him everywhere, all over you, as one hand wraps around your throat gently. Never tightening, just present, on you. Staking his claim over you, as you push you hips back against him, arching your back into him. He lowers your face into the pillow, his head just barely above your ear, not even speaking full sentences anymore, just moaning into your ear everytime his heat climbs another high. Not that you're any better, moaning, crying into the pillow, his relentlessness overstimulating you.

His hand on your clit speeds up, borderline bullying at this point as you sob into the pillow, feeling him oush your over the edge as you cum again, releasing with a gush, crying out as you lift your head. He presses kisses to the back of your shoulder, feeling you cum over him, and pulls out slowly again. You hiss and whine at the loss, your walls aching and begging for him to return already.

He flips you over one last time, trapping you under his thighs as he strokes himself languidly over your body. You blink and bat your eyelashes, gulping as your eyes finally settle, less blearly, less teary and staring back up at him, whining needily as he quickens his pace. You can see the smallest, tiniest amount of white coating his tip, as his cum finally paints over you, ropes dragging over your nipples, down your ribcage, thick and hot as you shudder from the weight of each thick load, coating your bare form. He leans down to kiss your bruised lips, pretty as he bites your lower lip. You whine again, arms reaching out for him, and he pushes them back down, leaning back only to admire his work. His art, his magnum opus. Your face, coated in sweat, dribbled saliva and cum, coated in him, in his reminders, his love, his devotion. His bites and bruises, patterns blooming across your body as sweet ropes of jewellery, that he of course would always adorn you with.

The two of you remain like that for a bit, before he finally runs you both a bath, scooping you into his arms and holding you gently, as though you'd break if he were to apply the lightest pressure to you, in any way shape or form. You let him clean you up, practically falling asleep in his arms as he takes care of you, only waking back up when he nudges you for water, and then laying back to sleep, in his sweet embrace.

The rest of the weekend goes by in a blur, between the two of you and your long walks, through the snowy forests, and by the lake, warm home cooked meals and watching shitty reality tv shows, cuddles up on the couch as yet another season of Below Deck comes to an end. On the Sunday, he bundles you back into the truck, and the two of you mentally groan at the idea of having to teach yet again, the weekend of rest only making you want more. Still, it doesn't change the excitement of coming back, seeing everyone after a long, restful weekend away.

Nor does it change the excitement of everyone else, as you walk around, your decorated collarbone on full display as Logan leads you back to your room, eager to rest the Sunday evening away. Students and teachers alike, giggle, sigh and roll their eyes, either fawning over your love, cursing themselves and their inabilities to 'find true love' (just ask her already, kid!) or awkwardly shoving their heads into books, barely peeking over (little voyeurs~).

Professor X finds you both, as you're about to enter your room, and gives a.. knowing glance, raising his eyebrows with a smile,

"Restful weekend, hmm?"

Ahh, winter. Winter break truly was the one holiday you looked forward to. Between the crisp crunchy snow beneath your boots, the warm candlelights lit around town and the general warmth of Winter, you found yourself absolutely enamored.

Especially since… well, you know. You finally have time and space where you're not surrounded by mutant children, rushing around as you attempt to create a level of peace. In fact, the only person you are… surrounded by is a certain spiky haired, gruff and grumpy mutant, as he bundles you up to your shared cabin.

There's something sweet about how he carries you inside, kicking the door shut behind him and immediately shuffling to the couch - where he promptly drops you, smirking as you squeal and flail,

"Lo! How dare you!"

"Aww, baby! Where's ya Christmas cheer, huh?"

"….Christmas cheer is NOT dropping your girlfriend on the couch!"

He only chuckles as he walks away, preparing the hot chocolate you are bound to ask for soon enough as you sigh, flicking through tv channels. What had initially started as a desperate respite from the woes of teaching had quickly become a tradition over the years. This cabin held memories - your first time together, aggressively marking papers together as you sped through them in an attempt to maximise what little time you'd have alone together and so on so forth. In fact - you couldn't really imagine your relationship without the cabi-

"Walk. Now."

"Now?"

"Now."

"But Looooooooo-"

"No 'Looooo!" - get up! The snow's out, the sun sets soon and if ya don't get out there now, you're gonna do my head in tomorrow mornin'. C'mon, sweets, let's go."

Despite it paining you to admit it, he did have a point.

Which is how you now found yourself, trudging through the snow as you clung on to his arm. Each breath you took in felt new - fresh, as the cold air swam through your lungs. Each tree you passed carried the soft, nutty scent of the Earth - renewing you with every step you took. Here and there, you'd pause (or rather, Logan would clear his throat and you'd pause to take in the view around you), pulling your phone out and taking as many pictures as possible.

Where he used to roll his eyes irritably, Logan now finds himself smiling as he watches you. There's something sweet about how you find joy in every little thing, even in the cold, awful snow that freezes your feet below. Or in the painfully icy breeze that hits your throat, stiffening your arms and legs as he practically drags you back into the cabin.

As the two of you, he pushes you against the door, lips immediately finding your neck as they pepper down your skin. He only pulls away for a moment, just to whisper against your skin,

"It's jus' you and me baby… gotta keep ya warm somehow now, don't I?"

You can't help the gasp that tumbles out of your mouth, especially when he continues to attack your neck so lovingly. So needy, as his lips latch on to you, sucking and tugging at your skin. His hands find your back, lowering around the curve of your ass as he pulls your legs up around his waist - walking the two of you to your shared bedroom and lowering you into the bed that already sits prepared. Waiting for the two of you.

It's only when he leans back away from you to remove his sweater that you take a moment to look around you. Candles and flowers, all around the room. Logan really did put in the time for this year's trip. Your eyes lie on the aftercare basket he already has prepared and ready for you - when did he get the time to do all this? The warm, hazy glow from the candles only looks better when your eyes finally find him.

And dear Gods, does he look good. Your eyes trail down his body - warm and flushed under the light, small droplets of sweat dribbling down as you subconciously bite your lip. You lift your body off the bed, inching towards him and tugging him forwards as your hands find his hips. From there, they slowly move up and around - exploring him as your head tips over onto his shoulder. The sigh that escapes you has you leaning further into him, as his hands find you too. Holding you close as he pushes the two of you back down onto the bed,

"C'mere pretty girl.. wanna hear those pretty noises - think ya can do that f'me?"

You can only nod in response.

His lips find your neck again, sucking sweetly and leaving marks behind each and every loving spot of your skin. As promised, each mark pulls another sweet noise from your throat - hitched gasps And when he's satisfied, he pulls back just enough to appreciate his work. His works of art, each mark and bite he leaves across your skin, patterns glowing warm under the soft candle light. The harsh contrast between the warmth of his love, blooming across your body as heat pools in your lower stomach and the powdery, cold snow trickling down outside in the cold Winter night is not lost on you.

In fact, it's only made sweeter when he nuzzles into your neck, kisses slowing as his body's weight presses comfortably against yours. He only pauses to whisper quietly into your skin, sure that you wouldn't hear him.

Of course, he's wrong, and your heart swells when you hear his sweetened words murmured against you,

"Missed this, pretty girl. Missed you."

And so, where the rest of the world got mean, grumpy man Wolverine - with his sharpened claws and even sharper tongue - you got sweet, gentle Logan. Pretty boy Logan, who takes his time kissing and loving on you, slowly moving down your body with a love that's so saccharine sweet it almost hurts. Beautiful, gorgeous Logan, who finds his rest and comfort with his head tangled between your thighs, hair tousled by your wandering hands as he slowly licks a stripe up and across your folds - relishing in the pretty noises you make as you arch your back off the bed.

He can't help but to go slow on you - especially when your sweet hymns hit his sinful ears, warping around him as he continues to work diligently at your aching clit. And you can't hold yourself back - thighs clenched around his head as he laps away each sweetened drop of ambrosia that trickles down your folds.

For he is naught more than a sinner, begging and praying mercy as he takes sacrament at your sweet altar.

Each lick and swipe is accompanied by you and your gasps and moans as you find yourself climbing higher and higher on him, rolling yourself over his face as he relishes in your slick dripping over his face. When you finally release, it's practically a waterfall, flowing over him as he continues to lick and lap at you.

He's not quite done with his meal, not until he's savoured each and every drop.

So even as you lie there, writhing in pleasure, he continues to work his tongue over you. Even when you whine (to which he only hums back, rolling circles into your thighs with his thumbs). When he's finally satisfied, he lifts himself up, making eye contact with you as he wipes the remnants of your slick from his face with his arm - before pressing his lips against your forehead,

"Lo…"

"I know. Too damn cold, huh?"

"Mmmm…"

"Lemme clean ya up, be in bed with ya soon, 'kay?"

You can only hum in response, as he chuckles and kisses your forehead again. You whine again as he walks away, only to come back with a warm, wet cloth and slowly wipe you down. When he finishes cleaning you up, he presses one last kiss to the skin just above your clit, before finally joining you - wrapping his arms around you as you re-adjust yourself around him. He can't hold back the smile on his face, as the two of you drift off into a quiet slumber, warm and loving in the dead of a cold, Winter night.

Maybe the Winter holidays weren't so bad.

merry roe-mas ❅.ೃ࿔