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floodflameschosen · 2 days ago

Note

"You're shaking." – "So are you." or "You're mine now. Say it." with Noah please? I can't decide which one so you choose🥹

CW: first time, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), lots of fluff and gentleness, best friends to lovers, open/happy ending.

🔞 nsfw, minors please dni.

You hadn’t meant to say anything.

It just slipped out one night while you curled up next to Noah on your couch, the battered old thing in the tiny apartment you’ve been sharing ever since you had to move away for college.

You still remember how terrified you were during your last year of high school, when the time to leave started closing in on you. You were terrified of what it would mean to step out into a new life, of what it would mean to leave Noah behind.

You didn’t know how to exist without him. You didn’t want to.

But just when you were trying to figure out how you were supposed to say goodbye, he looked at you with those steady, sure eyes and said: “What if I wanted to go with you? You know there’s nothing left for me in this deadbeat town, anyway. Not if you’re not here.”

You couldn’t believe it at first.

Couldn’t believe he would choose to follow you, to start over somewhere unfamiliar, just because he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else if it wasn’t with you. And maybe it was selfish, but when he suggested you move in together—split rent, save money—you said yes so fast you barely remembered to breathe.

God, you were so excited.

Excited to finally move away from home, to meet new people and have all the privacy and independence you’ve always dreamed of. Excited by the prospect of living with your best friend, of not having to say goodbye when night came and it was time to go home for dinner—as childish as the thought could be, it was still true.

Now, six months into classes, the excitement had started to wear off a little—not the living with Noah part of it, but everything else. Being in a bigger city, surrounded by people who all seemed so grown up, so sure of themselves, you couldn’t help but feel like you were falling behind.

They talked about internships and life plans like it were all so simple. They talked about hookups and dating and sex—and you couldn’t even pretend to keep up. You didn’t even have the basic experiences they all seemed to take for granted.

You just felt a little… small. Inadequate.

And somehow, in the haze of tiredness and cheap beer and the warm, safe weight of Noah beside you, the words just slipped out.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, sounding almost pouty. “Maybe I’ll just… pick someone tomorrow at the party. Get this whole virginity crap over with, at least.”

You felt him freeze beside you. The air shifted, like the room itself was suddenly holding its breath.

When too many seconds passed and he still hadn't said anything, you turned to look at him, and the way Noah was looking at you—like you’d just given him the worst news in the world—made your heart stutter.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said quietly. His voice was low, tight, so heavy it almost cracked.

“Why not? You did.” You tried to argue, all of a sudden feeling uncomfortable talking about this with him. Still, you kept going. “You lost it to some random girl at that high school party when you were like, eighteen, remember? Why would it be different for me?”

Noah’s jaw clenched as he looked away, and the arm he had draped around you tightened, pulling you closer for just a second before his fingers curled into a fist in the soft material of your shirt, like he physically needed something to hold on to.

He didn’t answer at first, just stared at the TV, but when his gaze finally snapped back to yours, there was something raw and fierce and possessive flickering in his brown eyes.

“Because it is different.” He said, his tone almost angry. Like it was that simple, just because he said so.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“I didn’t think it through, alright? I was drunk and just went with it because it was there.” He shook his head, a rough, humorless breath of a laugh scraping out of him—and it made something inside you feel heavy. “I was going through some shit back then, so I just thought maybe if I fucked someone else, I’d stop feeling so fucking alone.”

You blinked at him.

“Wait. What?” You asked, pushing yourself up a little, trying to meet his eyes. “You never told me you were going through anything back then. What's that about?”

Noah faltered for a second, eyes darting away from yours again, and for a moment, you saw something almost panicked flicker across his face.

“It’s not important,” he said quickly, dismissively, his fingers tightening in the fabric of your shirt. “It was a long time ago, and that's not the point. What I’m trying to say here is that you’re not me, and it doesn't have to be like that for you. You have options.”

You swallowed hard, heart picking up speed inside your chest at the words, the mention of another option.

“It didn't mean anything to me, and I don't want you to have the same shitty experience.” Noah’s voice softened, but there was still an edge of something rough in it. “You deserve to have your first time with someone who actually cares—someone who’ll notice if you’re scared, who’ll be patient. Someone who’s gonna make sure it’s good for you.”

A lump formed in your throat, because—this was it, wasn’t it? You knew exactly where this conversation was headed, and it terrified you. This was the moment, the tipping point where everything could change.

The safe route would be to dismiss it entirely—just go to bed and pretend this talk never happened, try to protect that friendship you’d always had with Noah. But as you sat there, your stomach fluttered with a warmth that twisted something inside you.

With a rush of heat flooding your veins, you made your choice, and instead of shying away from this, you opened your mouth and went down the scary route, voice barely a whisper when you asked him:

“And who would that someone be, Noah?”

For a long moment, Noah didn’t say anything.

He just stared at you, his eyes holding you in place as if he were searching for something. His breathing was measured, controlled, like he was trying to hold himself together, but you could see it, just barely—that quiet breaking point inside of him.

You weren’t sure what to do, or if you even could do anything at all to make this easier. The silence between you two stretched long enough that it almost felt suffocating, but you didn’t dare look away. You needed to know.

His voice was barely audible when it finally came, hoarse and vulnerable.

“Me.”

The word hung there between you, fragile and burning.

You stared at him—at the boy who had been your best friend for years, who had held you through every heartbreak, who knew every single one of your fears and dreams—and suddenly everything made too much sense.

The way he touched you sometimes, lingering like he didn’t mean to. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he held you, like he never intended to let go if you didn't make him.

Your heart raced in your chest, thumping against your ribs like it wanted to break free. Your mouth felt dry as you stared into his eyes and realized the truth that had been there all along:

It was Noah.

It had always been Noah.

That feeling you hadn’t named yet, the things unsaid, were now slipping through the cracks.

“If you’ll let me,” he added quietly when you took too long to speak, scared, voice breaking at the edges. “I could be that person.”

You didn’t know what to do with that realization, but you didn’t need to figure it out right away. Not with him. Not at this moment. And for once, you didn’t overthink it. You didn’t run.

Noah was still staring at you, eyes wide and vulnerable, like he was waiting for you to reject him, to make everything easier to walk away from. Instead, you reached out and threaded your fingers through his, squeezed.

“Okay,” you whispered, the words trembling in your chest. “You, then.”

Noah froze for the second time that night.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might’ve misheard you. But then his eyes darkened with something intense—relief, yes, but also something much stronger, something you haven't seen in him before.

He reached out for you, fingers brushing your cheek softly before cupping it, his touch a mix of reverence and disbelief.

“I trust you,” you said, stronger now, your voice steady, even if your heart felt anything but. “I want it to be you, if that's an option.”

His mouth opened, like he wanted to say more—anything, everything—but all that came out was a shaky, amazed chuckle. He closed his eyes for a split second, like he was gathering himself, before looking back at you with such intensity you almost couldn’t stand it.

“We’ll take it slow,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything he was feeling. “As slow as you need.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding you even as your mind raced. Turning your head slowly, you nuzzled against his palm, feeling the roughness of his skin against your cheek.

The tenderness of the moment overwhelmed you in the best of ways, the heat between you building, and with it, the longing you’d tried so hard to pretend wasn't there for all those years.

And then, barely above a whisper, you breathed out:

“I’m not so sure I want slow now.”

Noah’s whole body seemed to tighten at the words, as if he were holding back a storm. The groan that left his chest was low, almost helpless, and when he finally kissed you, it didn't feel like just a kiss—it was everything he’d been holding in, all the years of tension and want finally crashing over you both like a wave.

It started almost shaky—his lips molding over yours carefully, tasting, testing.

But when you sighed into him, when your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his hoodie and tugged him closer, it snapped something loose. Noah kissed you harder, one hand sliding around the back of your neck, the other spanning your waist, big and warm and there as he pulled you into him.

You shifted without a second thought, climbing into his lap, straddling him on the couch. Your bare thighs bracketed his hips, your t-shirt brushing against the skin of his arms where he’d shoved the sleeves of his hoodie up. He groaned softly into your mouth at the feeling of you settling over him like that—like you belonged there—and let his hands roam.

He caressed his way up your thighs, squeezing lightly, making you gasp. Over your hips, your waist, the small of your back—exploring, learning, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

You gasped louder against his mouth when the tip of his fingers slipped under your shirt, barely skimming over your heated skin, and he shuddered, breaking the kiss just long enough to look at you.

“Tell me if you want me to stop…” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, already breathing hard.

“I don’t. I won't.” You whispered, breathless, and kissed him again, deeper this time.

After that, it got heated fast—hands everywhere, breathing uneven, small needy sounds spilling from you without thought.

Noah’s hoodie was bunched up between you, and you tugged at it blindly, a frustrated noise crawling up your throat because you wanted it off, making him chuckle against your mouth before helping you pull it over his head and toss it aside.

You flattened your palms against his now bare chest—feeling the steady thud of his heart, the solid warmth of him—and he squeezed your hips like he was grounding himself, trying to keep control, to be careful.

But you didn’t want careful, so you pressed your body closer, hips rolling without even meaning to, grinding your center against the soft front of his basketball shorts. You could feel his already hard length pressing against you through the thin material, and when you hesitantly grazed your fingers over the fabric, that seemed to do the trick—Noah groaned, swiftly wrapping his arms around you and lifting you effortlessly off the couch along with him.

You squeaked in surprise, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, arms around his neck, but he just chuckled—a breathless, beautiful sound—as he carried you down the hallway. Catching your gaze, his lips curved into that crooked smile that always made your breath catch.

“Bedroom,” he muttered before ducking down and pressing his soft lips to your throat, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses there as he walked. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on a couch.”

Noah kicked the bedroom door open and crossed over to his bed in two quick strides, laying you down gently, like you were something breakable, something precious. And when he climbed over you, bracing his weight carefully so he wouldn't crush you, and looked down with those stormy eyes of his—so full of want, so full of need—you just knew.

You were never getting over this, never getting over him.

You didn’t want to.

Noah just stayed there, hovering over you for a breathless moment—his chest heaving, arms trembling slightly from how hard he was holding himself back. You reached up without hesitation, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging gently on the soft strands.

The reaction was immediate: he groaned, low, borderline broken, and leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help himself—like you were gravity and he had no choice but to fall.

His hand reached up and closed around your wrist, gentle but firm, and he pulled your hand from his hair to bring it to his mouth instead, pressing a slow, lingering kiss into your palm, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough and tender all at once.

“So are you,” you whispered, accompanied by a shaky little laugh, heart slamming against your ribs.

That made him smile—small, a little unsteady. Like he was just as nervous about this as you were. He turned his head and kissed your wrist next, lingering there for a moment longer before finally letting your hand go.

And then he was leaning back in, sealing his mouth to yours again—slower this time, deeper—like he wanted to taste every single breath you gave him. His hands started moving again, reverent and hungry, skimming down your sides, over your hips, down to squeeze the soft skin of your thighs.

When his mouth finally broke from yours, he didn’t go far. He just kept kissing a path across your jaw, down your neck, leaving a few more warm, open-mouthed kisses that made your whole body arch toward him, desperate for more.

“You feel so good, baby… so soft,” he murmured against your throat, his voice low and raspy, like the words were being dragged out of him.

You whimpered his name, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Tell me if I do something you don't like, yeah?” He said softly but firmly. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he couldn’t help himself, needing to touch. “At any point, you tell me if you don't like something, and I’ll stop. I mean it.”

Your heart cracked wide open for him.

“I trust you.” You whispered, eyes shining as you nodded and reached forward, pulling him back.

Something flickered across his face at that, and then he was moving again. His hands slipped under your t-shirt fully this time, fingertips ghosting up your ribcage, and you gasped at the feeling of his palms against your bare skin. Noah eased your shirt up, pausing with a questioning look, and all you could do was nod again, breathless, heart in your throat.

Carefully, he peeled it over your head and tossed it aside, leaving your upper body bare to his gaze—his eyes darkened instantly, raking over you with a reverence that made your skin prickle. For a long moment, he just stared, like he couldn’t believe you were real, like he needed to burn the sight of you into memory.

“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, and then he ducked his head down, kissing along your collarbone, giving it his full attention before trailing lower.

You gasped when his mouth closed around your nipple—gentle, teasing—his tongue flicking slow, delicious circles over the sensitive skin. He gave it a soft, careful bite before soothing it with his tongue, pulling a broken little sound from you that made him groan against your chest. Moving to the other side, Noah gave it just as much attention, his big hands holding your ribs like he was scared you might slip away if he didn’t anchor you, if he didn't hold you down.

You arched up into him instinctively, needing more, needing everything, and Noah’s hands slid lower, gripping your waist, kneading the flesh there like he couldn’t get enough of you.

His fingers found the hem of your shorts at some point, toying with the waistband as he pressed his mouth lower, kissing a slow, hot path down your stomach, the scruff on his jaw dragging against your skin in a way that made you shiver. When he reached your lower belly, just above where your shorts sat, he nipped softly at the sensitive skin there, earning a whimper from you.

That’s when Noah stilled, mouth still pressed to your skin, and looked up at you through heavy, hooded eyes—his gaze burning. One of your hands threaded into his hair again, tugging lightly, and the way he closed his eyes at the feeling made your heart stumble. Wordlessly, you nodded once his eyes set back on you, giving him the permission he so clearly needed.

He kissed your stomach again, reverently, before hooking his fingers under the waistband and carefully, slowly, tugging your shorts down—inch by excruciating inch—exposing more of you to his hungry eyes. Once he pulled your shorts off and tossed them somewhere over his shoulder without taking his eyes off you, you were left trembling beneath him, stripped down to just your underwear, and Noah looked at you like you were a miracle he didn’t deserve.

You felt his gaze like a physical thing, heavy and hot, making your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat over and over.

Slowly, he ran his hands up your legs—starting at your ankles, dragging his palms over your calves, your knees, your thighs, until he was cradling your hips, thumbs stroking circles into your skin.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” He rasped, voice shaking, raw with emotion. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

And the way he said it—not just like he wanted you, but like he worshipped you—made your whole body ache with need, the throbbing between your legs almost unbearable by now.

You couldn’t stop the way your body shifted restlessly, legs spreading just that much wider, silently begging for more, needing him. It made Noah chuckle softly—like he could feel the way you were unraveling for him—and then he was lowering himself again, dragging the tip of his tongue just above the waistband of your panties, from one hipbone to the other.

You whimpered, and your hands found his hair again, tugging him closer without thinking.

Noah groaned deep in his chest at your touch, and his hands slid higher, smoothing up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, your ribs, until they found the swell of your breasts, squeezing gently. He paused, and looking up at you through his lashes, he grinned—slow, wicked—and moved lower to mouth over the damp fabric of your panties, pressing an open-mouthed kiss right against the heat of you.

You gasped, arching off the bed with a choked sound, and Noah groaned again, deeper this time, and kept going—kissing, licking, sucking, teasing through the thin barrier until you were clutching his hair in both hands, tugging hard, trembling.

“Fuck,” he moaned quietly against you, voice low and hungry. He nuzzled his face into you like it was the most natural thing, breathing you in, already addicted. “Oh, baby… you’re already soaking wet for me.”

Another slow, filthy kiss through the fabric, so warm it felt like burning. Another whimper ripped from your throat.

He lifted his gaze to meet yours again—eyes dark and glazed—and while one hand continued to tease your breasts, the other slid up your thigh, thumb stroking along the sensitive crease where your hip met your core, making you shiver.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” Noah rasped, kissing the damp cotton again, mouthing at it lazily. “Thinking about you like this. How fucking sweet you’d taste.”

You couldn’t stop the helpless little whimpers spilling from your lips, your hips rolling instinctively against Noah’s mouth as he kissed you through your underwear—slow, purposeful, almost torturous.

Your hands tightened in his hair yet again, needing something to ground yourself to, your heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

“Noah,” you gasped, the sound broken, desperate, and you felt him smile against you—the smug curve of his mouth pressed right where you needed him most.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured, breath hot against you. “Gonna take my time with you.”

You tried to bite back a moan, but the second he sucked gently at the damp fabric again, your thighs trembled around his head and the sound tore free from your throat. You felt dizzy, drunk on the feeling of him, every nerve in your body sparking to life under his touch.

“Noah, please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were asking for anymore—just more, just him, just now.

He hummed, pleased, and the vibration sent a sharp bolt of pleasure shooting through you.

“You sound so pretty when you beg,” he said, and your face flushed so hot it nearly burned.

But you didn’t stop—you couldn’t. Not when he slipped two fingers under the soaked fabric, finally pushing it aside, and leaned in to taste you properly, giving you a long, slow lick—flat and firm, from your entrance to your clit—and so good it made your whole body jolt.

You arched up into him, crying out his name again, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was clutch his hair, hips rocking helplessly against his tongue as your voice broke again.

“Don’t stop, Noah, please—don’t stop—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause.

As he kept tasting, taking, he groaned against you like he was the one falling apart, sucking your clit gently into his mouth and teasing it with the tip of his tongue until your thighs shook around his head.

“Fuck,” he muttered between kisses and licks, voice hoarse, lips slick with you. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

His free hand still around your breast started squeezing again, teasing your nipple with his thumb while his mouth worked you over relentlessly, eating you out like he was starved. You whimpered something broken and incoherent, tugging at his hair hard enough to sting, nails scratching his scalp. Noah just hummed against your clit as he enjoyed it, sending another ripple of pleasure straight through you.

“That’s it, don’t hold back.” He encouraged, tongue teasing you mercilessly, “Let me hear you. Let me feel you.”

And you did—because with the way he was worshiping you, savoring you, there was no way you could stay quiet, no way you could survive this slow, devastating pleasure without falling apart in his mouth.

You were already spiraling toward the edge, your body tensing and shaking and aching for release—and the way he kept murmuring sweet, filthy things against your skin only dragged you closer, unraveling every last bit of you.

It was too much.

It was not enough.

It was perfect.

You were so close—so close—your whole body tightening, hips stuttering against Noah’s mouth, and then a sharp, involuntary clench ripped through you.

Noah felt it—you knew he did, because he groaned low in his chest—and then he pulled back.

You sobbed out a desperate sound, trembling beneath him, but before you could even form the words to beg, he was hooking his fingers into the waistband of your soaked panties, finally dragging them down your legs and tossing them somewhere across the room.

“Shh, baby,” he rasped, voice rough as he soothed you. “I’ve got you.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, still shivering from the edge he’d left you dangling from—and then he was crawling up your body, covering you again with his weight, kissing you deep and slow. You whimpered against his mouth at the taste—your taste—on his tongue, and the filthy intimacy of it made your head spin.

He swallowed every broken sound you made, one of his hands cradling your jaw, the other braced beside your head, arm trembling slightly as he supported his weight, grinding his hips down against you.

You gasped into his mouth when you felt him—hard and so warm, even through the thin material of his shorts, pressing right against your core.

“Can you feel that?” Noah whispered against your lips, his voice low and hoarse. “Can you feel how hard you make me, baby?”

He rolled his hips again, harder this time, deliberately, and you whimpered helplessly.

“Do you get now just how fucking crazy you make me?”

Your hands scrambled at him, fingers digging into skin, desperate to pull him closer, to feel more.

“Noah,” you breathed, a pleading note in your voice you didn’t even try to hide.

He kissed you again, devouring—and rocked against you one more time, dragging yet another choked little cry from your lips.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, retracing a path he’d already explored. “And you’re mine, aren't you? You’re mine.”

You nodded frantically, your body straining toward him. Noah chuckled softly at your eagerness and kissed down your chest again, lavishing attention on every inch of you until he reached the curve of your stomach.

He paused there, hands sliding down your trembling thighs, gently spreading you open wider for him.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with need. “Gonna stretch you out on my fingers real nice now, get you ready for me.”

Your breath hitched loudly at his words, a rush of heat surging through you as you watched him settle between your legs again—this time with a kind of determined adoration that made your heart ache.

Noah pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, closer to where you needed him. And then he lowered his mouth to you again.

You gasped, hands flying to his hair like before, fingers curling tight when you felt the first slow swipe of his tongue over your aching core again, the wet muscle parting your slick folds.

You barely had time to process the overwhelming feeling of his warm tongue directly against you again before you felt one of his hands joining in, his fingers teasing lightly at your entrance, slick and desperate for him.

“Can I?” he asked against your clit, mouth still working you over in soft, devastating licks.

“Yes,” you gasped, tugging his hair, needing him, needing everything.

Noah moaned, and slowly pushed one thick finger inside you, the sensation making you whimper and arch into him.

“So tight, baby.” He muttered brokenly when you clenched around his digit, kissing the inside of your thigh like he needed to ground himself, too. “So fucking perfect.”

He moved slowly, working you open with careful, patient strokes of his finger, all while his mouth never stopped—licking, sucking, devouring you like he couldn’t get enough. When he thought you were ready, he slid in a second finger, stretching you wider, deeper, and you cried out for the millionth time, hips rolling down against him, chasing the friction you craved.

“That’s it,” Noah groaned. “Take it, princess. Gotta get you ready for me.”

You couldn’t even form words anymore, your whole world narrowing down to the feeling of him—his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, the heat of his breath, the filthy praises falling from his lips between long strokes of his tongue.

All the while, you could feel it—the slow, steady build of pleasure winding tighter and tighter inside you, ready to snap. You were so close again, completely at his mercy, and you didn’t want it any other way.

Noah felt it, too—of course, he felt it—the way your walls fluttered helplessly around his fingers as they fucked in and out of you, the way your thighs clamped around his head as if trying to keep him there forever.

“Go on, baby,” he rasped against you, voice thick and breathless, hand moving faster. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

Then he crooked his fingers, hitting something inside that almost made you scream, and that was all it took. You shattered completely, reduced to nothing more than a whimpering, broken mess as pleasure tore through you like a tidal wave.

Your whole back arched off the bed, your fingers fisting tight in Noah’s hair as he kept going, working you through every last pulse, every desperate little aftershock. You were vaguely aware of Noah moaning, too, while he licked all over your core, around his fingers still stretching you, like he was addicted to the way you tasted, the way you fell apart for him.

You barely registered when he finally pulled back, kissed his way up your shaking body, and hovered over you—his face flushed, his mouth and chin slick from you, his eyes dark with something wild.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you slowly, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue again. You whimpered into his mouth, still shaking, still high from your climax.

Noah kissed you again and again as he cradled your face in his hands like you were something fragile and precious, patient as he waited for you to come back down from your high.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured when your breathing wasn't so loud anymore, resting his forehead against yours.

You nodded, still breathless but less so now, still blinking back the tears of overwhelming pleasure pooling behind your eyes.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Fuck, I’m more than okay.”

Noah smiled against your mouth—small, crooked, so full of love. He pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you—and brushed a stray strand of hair off your forehead, his thumb stroking your cheek in soothing, grounding circles.

“Do you wanna stop here for tonight?” He asked, voice low and careful, gentle with the kind of patience that always made your heart ache. “We can, if you need to. We don’t have to do everything all at once. I’m not going anywhere.”

You blinked up at him, still flushed, trembling, and felt panic bloom in your chest at the thought of stopping now, at the thought of not feeling him completely.

“No—no, please,” you rushed out, voice cracking, hands sliding desperately up his arms, his shoulders. “I want you, I want all of you, Noah. Please.”

Noah’s eyes softened, so full of emotion that it almost hurt to look at him.

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours for a second before soothing you with a kiss to your temple, your cheek, your mouth. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. We’ll do it, okay? I want it too, princess. I want you so fucking bad.”

He said it like a confession before kissing you again, slow and lingering, like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn't achingly hard and craving relief himself. You could feel him, though—hot and hard through his basketball shorts, pressing against you—and a frustrated little sound broke from you because it wasn’t enough, the layers between you feeling unbearable.

Without second-guessing, you let your hands slide down his bare chest—hot and solid under your touch—until you were pulling impatiently at the waistband of his basketball shorts with clumsy little tugs.

Noah pulled back just enough to look at you, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth, his eyes dark with heat.

“You want them off me, princess?” He teased, voice rough and sweet all at once, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“Yes.” Your face burned, but you refused to look away—you nodded, all flushed and desperate, and whispered, “I—I want to see you.”

Something about that—the honesty of it, the way your voice trembled—made the teasing fall right off his face.

Noah sat back on his heels between your spread legs, kneeling there, before he pushed his shorts down slowly, the fabric sliding over his thighs until it bunched at his knees. He kicked them off the bed without ever standing up, leaving him in just his tight black underwear.

The sight of him made your whole body clench, heat flooding your core all over again.

His cock strained against the thin fabric, thick and heavy and leaking, leaving a dark wet spot at the tip, and your mouth parted at the sight, a needy little gasp slipping from your lips before you could even think to hold it back.

Noah’s smirk returned, lazy and devastating.

“See what you do to me, baby?” He rasped, palming himself through the thin material, deliberately showing off for you. He stroked himself lazily, the pressure making his hips jerk slightly, a low groan rumbling out of him.

Your entire body ached at the sight, heat flooding between your legs, making you shift restlessly on the bed. Noah watched you squirm, his hand still working himself through the cotton, and tilted his head slightly, voice rough with need, but still amused.

“Is this enough for you?” He murmured. “Or do you wanna see more?”

“More,” you whispered immediately, almost desperate.

He smiled again, much too pleased, and reached for the waistband of his underwear, fingers hooking into the sides. But before he could push it down, you shot forward, sitting up fast enough to make his eyes widen in surprise for a second.

Your hands closed around his wrists, stopping him.

“Let me,” you whispered, voice shaking with how badly you needed this, needed him, needed to touch, to see.

For a moment, Noah just stared at you, like you’d knocked the breath clean out of his lungs. Then he nodded, slowly, amazed, his hands falling away, surrendering himself completely to you.

“Go ahead,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m all yours, princess.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and hooked them into the waistband of his underwear. Noah stayed perfectly still—watching you with that reverent look you’ve seen so many times tonight, like you were something sacred—as you slowly peeled the last barrier down his hips, revealing him inch by agonizing inch.

You sucked in a shaky breath when his cock finally sprung free and you saw him fully—thick, flushed, perfect. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, and Noah groaned at the way your eyes visibly darkened, pupils blown, his cock twitching slightly under your hungry gaze.

"Jesus, baby," he rasped, voice unsteady. "You’re gonna kill me."

You didn’t even realize you were biting your lip while you stared at him until he reached out, brushing his thumb over your mouth, tugging it free with a soft, coaxing touch.

"You don’t have to be nervous," he murmured, so gentle, so patient. "We’ll go slow. I promise I'll take care of you."

"I know," you breathed, meeting his gaze. "I—I’m not nervous. I just..." Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t lie. Not now, not to him. "I want you so bad, Noah."

Something inside Noah snapped at the confession. His hands slid back to your body, pulling you against him as he kissed you hard—hungry—his cock pressing hot and heavy against your bare stomach.

He swallowed every whimper, every soft little moan you made, kissing you so deep it felt like you’d never be able to catch your breath again. His hands were everywhere—roaming your body, tracing every curve, every dip, like he couldn’t get enough of any part of you.

One of them slid down to your ass, gripping you firmly and pulling you tighter against him before Noah ground his cock against your stomach as he kissed down your neck. The weight of him there made your insides flip, heat pooling between your legs as your thighs tried to press together instinctively.

You couldn’t help it—you kept glancing down between your bodies, your face flushing deeper the longer you stared. You didn’t have much to go on—no frame of reference, not really. You’d never seen a dick in person before, let alone had one pressed against you like this, but Noah looked big.

Thick, too—perfectly thick. The kind of heavy weight that made your breath stutter in your throat, made you ache to feel him inside you even though you had no idea how you’d possibly take him.

Noah must’ve noticed where your gaze kept flickering, because he let out a soft, breathless chuckle against your neck.

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind if you keep looking at me like that, baby.” He teased, his voice a low rasp as he nipped at your skin. His hand squeezed your ass again, pulling you closer so you could feel every inch of him pressed right up against your belly, precum dampening the skin.

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding in your ears as you dragged your eyes back up to his, cheeks burning.

“I just—” Your voice cracked, and you bit your lip before forcing the words out, quiet and breathless. “I didn’t know it would be like that.”

“Like what?” He asked, tone soft but still dripping with amusement as he pressed a trail of kisses along your jaw again, following it up until his lips were lingering just below your ear.

Your breath stuttered, embarrassment and arousal tangling together when you whispered, “You’re just… really big. I guess.”

Noah cursed softly at that, his hips grinding against you harder, teeth grazing your skin as his grip on you tightened, the motion sending sparks of heat straight through your core.

You chuckled shyly at his reaction, cheeks burning hotter, but couldn’t stop yourself from looking down again—your curiosity overpowering the lingering nervousness fluttering in your chest.

You hesitated for half a second, and then, in the smallest, breathiest voice, you whispered, "Can I touch you?"

Noah’s whole body jerked—a rough sound breaking free from his chest, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or moan or cry.

"Fuck," he hissed. "Yeah, baby. God, yes. Please."

He let himself fall back a little, settling more heavily on his heels as he knelt between your thighs, giving you the space, the invitation.

Your fingers still trembled a little as you reached out, but the moment you wrapped your hand around him—finally—a sharp, broken moan tore out of Noah’s throat, hips giving an involuntary little twitch at the first brush of your hand.

His cock was hot and heavy in your palm, the silky skin stretched tight over the thickness of him, pulsing faintly against your touch. You stroked him slowly, experimentally, mesmerized by the way the muscles in his stomach tensed, the way his breath hitched with every little movement.

He was—God, he was beautiful. Thick and long, with a perfect flushed tip that leaked precum, making your palm slippery as you slowly started to move your hand up and down a bit more confidently.

Noah’s head dropped back slightly, his mouth falling open in a choked-off groan. His hands fisted in the sheets beside your hips, like he was physically stopping himself from doing something reckless.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, wonderingly, tightening your fingers a little just to see his stomach twitch in response.

“Fuck, baby—” he gasped, his voice a wreck. He cracked his eyes open, looking at you through heavy lids, pupils blown wide. “Jesus, princess, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You bit your lip again, utterly fascinated by the way his body responded to even the lightest touch from you—every little gasp, every shudder, every twitch of his hips.

Encouraged, you shifted closer, wrapping your other hand around the base of him too, stroking him with slow, careful movements, getting bolder as you watched him come undone. Noah growled low in his throat, his hips jerking helplessly into your hands, his entire body tensing.

“Fucking hell, baby, you keep doing that,” he panted, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw, “and I’m not gonna last long enough to be inside you.”

You tightened your fingers a little at the praise, dragging your hands up and down in slow, careful strokes, watching the way his cock twitched and leaked under your touch. Your mouth watered for a second time at the sight, a wave of arousal crashing through you so strong it made your lower abdomen ache.

You blinked up at him, heart stuttering—and then, reckless with the heady rush of control you had over him, you whispered, “Can't have that, can we? Need you to fuck me. Want to know what you feel like stretching me open.”

You could see the moment Noah snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, swallowing the whimper that escaped your lips. His hands slid back down your body, urgent now, needy—one guiding your hips back down against the bed, the other gripping the back of your thigh, hitching it up around his waist as he settled over you.

“Tell me you’re ready,” he breathed against your mouth, voice hoarse and shaking, pleading. “Tell me you want this.”

“I’m ready,” you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Please, Noah—I want you. I need you.”

He groaned like you’d just handed him the world—and then he was reaching between you, lining himself up, the thick, leaking head of his cock sliding through the slickness between your thighs, making you both shudder.

But just as he pressed a little harder, enough to make you gasp, Noah squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to stop. He let out a shuddering breath against your lips, almost in pain.

“Wait—wait a second, baby,” he rasped. His hand slipped away from you, fumbling blindly toward the nightstand. “I need to grab a condom.”

“No,” you gasped immediately, your hands flying to his chest, stopping him. “No, please—I don’t want one.”

He blinked down at you, stunned.

“Baby—fuck—I don’t wanna risk anything, and I don’t wanna—”

“I’m on the pill,” you rushed out, desperate. “Ever since we moved here I've been on the pill, I swear. I just—” You swallowed hard, flushing. “I want to feel you. All of you. Please, Noah. I want to feel it when you come inside me.”

Noah made a sound you could only describe as wrecked, his whole body shaking above you, hands trembling against your skin as he tried, tried, to hold on to the last shreds of his sanity.

“Jesus Christ, princess,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You kissed the side of his head, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the way he was already giving in. He always gave in to you.

“Please,” you whispered again, right against his ear. “I want all of you. I want you to make a mess of me.”

That was it.

Noah let out a harsh, broken sound, and then he was lining himself up again, nudging his hips forward, the thick head of his cock pressing in slowly—just a fraction before he froze, a strangled groan ripping from his chest.

The heat of you, the way you squeezed around just the tip of him, nearly ended him right then and there.

“Fucking hell,” he choked, voice broken. “You’re so tight.”

You whimpered, clawing at his hips instinctively as the thick stretch made you burn and sting, pleasure and pain knotting together deep in your belly. He felt huge inside you—too much and somehow not enough all at once.

Noah immediately stilled, chest heaving against yours, his hands finding your hips to anchor you—and himself—gently stroking over your skin in soothing, grounding motions.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered against your forehead, lips pressed to the already damp skin. His voice trembled with restraint. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. The pain won't last, I promise. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You nodded, desperate tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you tried to relax, breathing hard against his chin as you angled your head up. You didn’t want him to stop—you just needed a second, needed to get used to it.

Noah kissed you then, deep and soft, while he held himself there—barely inside you—until he felt the iron tightness in your muscles start to ease, your body slowly learning to open for him.

“Good girl,” he murmured into your mouth, voice breaking. He brushed his thumb over your trembling hipbone, breathing you in like a prayer. “You feel so good—so perfect around me, baby.”

You whimpered again, nails digging into the small of his back, desperate for more even through the burn.

“More,” you breathed. “Please, Noah—more.”

He let out a shuddering groan, forehead pressing against yours—and then he pushed in deeper, just an inch more, stretching you open around the thick weight of him.

You gasped, a sharp, choked sound against his mouth as the sting sharpened—your walls fluttering desperately around him—and Noah immediately kissed you again, swallowing your sounds, his whole body shaking from the effort it took to stay gentle, to stay slow.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered raggedly against your lips. “You’re taking me so good, though. Just a little more, I promise. Here, let me—”

His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit with careful fingers, and he started circling it in slow, featherlight strokes—barely there at first, coaxing, soothing, trying to pull you back into pleasure.

You gasped again, but this time the sound was softer, needier. The burn didn’t vanish completely, but it dulled, blurred, eclipsed by the sweet rush of pleasure blooming low in your belly as Noah worked you open with his cock, his hands, his words—every part of him devoted to making it good for you.

“That’s it,” he rasped, voice shaking. His forehead rested against yours as he rocked his hips ever so slightly, still shallow, still slow. “That’s my good girl.”

You moaned, clenching helplessly around him again, and Noah nearly lost it—gritting his teeth, fighting to keep control as he felt your body start to yield to him, start to welcome him inside.

He slid deeper again, hips rocking before giving you time to adjust, to breathe through it, to feel every inch of him. And when he finally bottomed out, when his hips met the insides of your thighs and he was fully buried inside you, both of you just clung to each other—panting, trembling, overwhelmed.

You whimpered after a while, hips shifting instinctively beneath him, desperate for more, for him to move, to do something.

“You can move,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging, scratching his scalp. “Please, Noah. I need you to—”

But he shook his head, forehead pressed to yours, his whole body shuddering like he was hanging on by a thread.

“I—fuck, I need a second,” he rasped, voice breaking apart. “You feel so good, baby. Too good. If I move right now, I’ll lose it.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, running your hands through his hair now just to soothe him.

“How long’s it been for you?” You whispered curiously, smiling against his mouth.

Noah pulled back a little—just enough to look you in the eye—and what you saw there made your smile falter.

The rawness. The fear. The love.

It was too much for him to hide.

“Since I was eighteen,” he said hoarsely.

You blinked, stunned, your heart stumbling.

“What?” You breathed, sounding as surprised as you felt. “But—”

“My first time was my only time,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours like he needed the contact, like he needed you close enough to survive this.

You stared at him, struggling to make the dots connect through the haze in your mind.

Eighteen.

He was twenty-two now.

Only once, and nothing since.

Because—?

You barely dared to ask. Your voice cracked when you whispered:

“Why?”

He exhaled a broken little sound, closing his eyes for a second like he didn’t even know how to explain it. Then he opened them again, and you nearly drowned in the weight of his gaze.

“Because it wasn’t you,” he said simply, helplessly. “I tried, okay? I thought it would help drown out the way I felt about you.” His thumb brushed your cheek, reverent. “But it didn’t. It just made it worse. It made me realize I didn’t want anyone else. Couldn’t want anyone else.”

Your throat closed up, your eyes stinging with sudden, overwhelming tears. The full force of it crashed into you all at once—

All these years. All this time.

And he’d always loved you. Even when you hadn’t known. Even when you hadn’t seen it. Even when you pretended not to.

A shaky sob bubbled up in your chest, but you didn't want to cry, not now, not like this—so you kissed him, kissed him like you were trying to pour all the shattered pieces of yourself into him, your hands frantic against his bare skin, grabbing, gripping, squeezing.

“Noah,” you whispered, a broken plea, barely able to speak, to breathe. “Please, I—I’m yours, I’ve always been yours, and I need—”

He didn’t answer, because he didn’t have to. He knew exactly what you meant, and he gave you what you needed, like he's always done.

Only this time was so much better, because there was nothing else between you now. Nothing else in the world.

Noah drew back, just enough to pull his hips away—and then he pushed forward, sinking into you again with slow, reverent force, filling you until your back arched and a sharp gasp punched from your lungs.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, and he groaned against your mouth—deep, guttural, broken—as he moved in you, moved with you, careful, patient, trying so desperately to give you time, to give you everything.

He rocked his hips once, twice, three times, and you whimpered, wrapping your legs tighter around him like you couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.

“More,” you gasped. “Noah, please—more.”

He kissed you again, messy and breathless, and you could feel how badly he wanted to give it to you, how hard he was holding himself back just for you.

And then, when you tilted your hips to meet him, when you whispered one more desperate, wrecked, “Please” against his lips—he finally gave in.

Noah’s rhythm deepened, the slow roll of his hips picking up force, each thrust dragging another helpless sound from your throat. The ache, the stretch, the sweet friction—it was overwhelming, it was everything. It set every nerve ending alight, made your fingers scrabble at his shoulders, made your body arch into his with reckless need.

“You feel—” he choked out against your ear, losing the words as his pace quickened, as your walls fluttered around him and your moans filled the space between your bodies. “Jesus, baby—you feel so good. So fucking good.”

You couldn’t even answer—you could only hold onto him, feeling him drive into you harder, deeper, until every thought dissolved. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, too good, driving you higher with every deep, perfect thrust.

And there was only him, only this, only forever.

Noah’s hand slid between you, finding your clit again, rubbing tight, desperate circles that made you cry out, made your body clamp down around him without warning.

“Fuck,” Noah choked out, voice breaking against your mouth. “You’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”

You were—you always had been—and the way you clung to him, the way your body responded, said it louder than any words ever could.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that,” he groaned, hips stuttering as you tightened again, your body greedy for him, for all of him, the pleasure spiraling fast and out of control.

You whimpered, threading your fingers through his hair, dragging him closer, needing him deeper, needing everything.

He shifted his weight slightly, pulling one of your legs up higher around his waist, and the new angle made you keen—made him press against that devastating spot inside you with every roll of his hips.

“Right there?” he murmured, smiling against the skin of your cheek when you writhed beneath him.

“Yes, yes—oh my god, please—” You gasped, voice wrecked and high and desperate. “I’m—I’m so close, I can’t—”

“Me too,” Noah groaned, picking up his pace now, hips slapping into yours harder, faster. “You feel so good, baby—fucking made for me.”

He shifted his hips, grinding against you in a way that made the pleasure snap like a live wire through your entire body—and then you broke.

Your orgasm ripped through you so hard it nearly blinded you, your whole body locking up tight around him, shuddering, trembling, sobbing his name.

“Fuck, that's it, that's it, pretty girl,” he rasped, forehead pressing against yours, the muscles of his back flexing under your palms as he fucked you through it, driving into you faster, chasing his own high. “Fucking come for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock.”

Noah cursed low and broken against your skin, thrusting deep one last time before he lost it too—burying himself to the hilt as he came, hot and overwhelming, the sound of your name on his lips like a prayer as he spilled inside you.

You clung to each other through it all, panting, shaking, completely wrecked—completely his.

When you were both done, neither of you moved for a while.

Noah stayed buried deep inside you, pressed as close as he could get, breathing hard, holding you like he never wanted to let go. His hands were everywhere again—petting your hair, tracing your spine, rubbing slow, soothing circles over your hips.

“You okay?” He finally whispered, voice hoarse, broken with tenderness.

You nodded against his shoulder, still trembling, still trying to breathe him back into your lungs.

“I’m perfect,” you whispered back. “Because of you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the way he did it—like you were everything, nothing but unfiltered adoration in his eyes—made you feel like you were simultaneously suffocating and coming up for air.

Slowly, carefully, he eased out of you, murmuring soft apologies at the sting, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness. But before you could even miss him, Noah was gathering you into his arms, cradling you against his chest, covering every inch of your bare skin he could reach with adoring, lingering kisses.

You both stayed like that, tangled up in each other, sweaty and shaky and wrecked, until your heartbeats finally slowed, until the only sound was your quiet breathing and the soft brush of Noah’s lips against your hair.

“I love you,” he whispered against your temple, so soft you almost thought you imagined it.

But you heard it—you heard it, and you knew, without any fear or doubt or hesitation, that you loved him too. And when you whispered it back, he pulled you impossibly closer, as if he was stitching you into his soul.

You fell asleep like that—wrapped up in Noah, wrapped up in love—knowing deep down that nothing would ever be the same again.

You couldn't have been more okay with that.

hiii, v! 🤗 i chose the "you're shaking" – "so are you" dialogue prompt for this one 'cause nobody's asked for that one yet and i wanted to try it hehe. also, i'm sorry it took me this long to post your request, but i got so carried away with this one and it turned out way bigger than i planned, so it took me a moment there to finish lol. i hope the 9.3k words of pure fluff and smut made up for the delay here. hope you enjoyed this, friend! x

#flowery-mess #request #this was so self indulgent like damn #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader

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muffy-official · 8 months ago

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I feel like I can't seem to make anything proper again, just another little crisis so have those random doodles and whenever I'm there mentally again I keep worrying way too much and trying to not think I'm annoying with my character stuff sorry for the semi vent, but somehow this week's been weird private matter wise😭

Gabs might also have to make it clear she's no nurse, that she's only capable of basic things+ stitching, but she'd aid grunts and other expop who got friendly fire'd immediately if needed. With primes she's a bit hesitant but gets the job done. One time she wouldn't care about anything is if pulling sleeves or pant legs up too high cuts blood circulation after a while as she refuses to cut the fabric to have it go up better. You gotta endure it once it's done

Also screw yall/j *genderbends the prime asset as a excuse to draw these suit sets*

#outlast trials #outlast #mother gooseberry #dr futterman #leland coyle #franco barbi #gabriella garland #outlast trials oc #to excuse me messing scaling up I'd say Franco goes on tip toes sometimes just to spite Gabby and make her feel even smaller than she is #she still gets the human raggedy ann/teddy treatment too tbh #she does not like being used as a portable headrest just for the good height she has for it #for having hair #and for smelling flowery or powdery with a slightly stinging iron scent due to the nosebleeds and such

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ohtobeleah · 4 months ago

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Hi! This is probably very random, but is there a chance you used to write for Dolan twins back in the day? I remember following aussie girl named Leah, but then she deactivated her account I think? And you just give me 'I know this girl' vibes hehe. If not, sorry for this inbox🙈

Yes that would be me. I was Dolandolll

#flowery-mess ✨

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unnonexistence · 6 months ago

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messing around with magnet words again

#mine #magnet poetry #i want to do a whole conversation between these 2 characters i just invented #it's fun to play with the different voices. for whatever reason this pack of words has a billion flowery ones #to the point that it can be hard to work around #but the fact that you always need SOME basic words means i can also do the other voice #just have to get creative with what they say #'do you like me' 'my car is here' 'we could go'#im missing 'do you' and 'could' rn tho #i guess i could also do 'i like you' or 'let's go' if i found the words for those. hmmmm #'we could go to a play' maybe #the board is too small to have all the words out so im missing some very basic ones and it's frustrating #someday when i have more space im going to have a whole big magnet board up on the wall for magnet words #and there will be lots of space for poems #i like messing with them it's very relaxing

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topherwrites · 6 months ago

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Can you make a moodboard for a wedding with Bradley?🫶🏻 small wedding, with lots of lights and beautiful flowers and everything. Thank you💛

sorry this took so long!! i hope you like it!

here it is!

#answered asks #flowery-mess

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clumsycapitolunicorn · 2 years ago

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#jade watches gilmore girls #it still doesn't sit right with me that lorelai left without telling max she didn't want to get married (but had the decency to tell sookie)#dragging rory with her with no plan at all just unhinged driving and would sooner have her sleep in a car than a b+b just because-#-its too flowery #and when rory rightfully asks her about max and calls her out about messing about with their life that affects her....she shuts down throws-#a tantrum and picks in that moment to be the mum (this is why being a bestie instead of a parent and making your child the parent doesn't-#-work even though i know why it's like that)#lorelai seriously needed therapy #i do love this ep though don't get me wrong

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llycaons · 5 months ago

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oh hey indecipherable and overly complex gifset edits with flashy transitions and impossible to read fonts. didn't miss you at all

#I followed the link and the quote is good but the combo of extremely flowery fonts with fancy transitions #and bright colors all happening within miliseconds of each other. absolutely nonsense. terribly made. one of the worse I've ever seen #screenshots can't do this thing justice it is a MESS #cor.txt

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flowery-mess · 1 year ago

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GIRL IM SO SORRY I FORGOT TO AMSWERR

ok but like the exam was... ok? I mean i need 16 right answer to pass so it either that or I failed with 15 right answers lmaoo.

But yeah, I study psychology, which is ironic if you think about the fact that I am in therapy due to anxiety and panic attacks

At one point, my anxiety was so high bc of the exams (the one I ranted about was the laast exam for the semester, I had 6 in total) that my sister was like " girls trip 👀?" - so yeah, now we're in Amsterdam.

But damn girl, the imagine was amaazing. Literally can't.

What about hotel room pt. 2? 👀

Oh let me know the result when you know it! I'm sure you got this!

That's SO cool, I wanted to study psychology too, but lot of people apply to that program in the city I wanted to go and I'm not like super study type, so I knew I wouldn't get in so I didn't even try lol, but I was always interested in working with kids. I tried getting into social work program twice and also didn't get in, but I'm kinda hapoy about that, cause I am so emotional I don't think I could do the real job. What year are you in?

And about your own mental health problems, I think at the other hand it's an advantage? Like you can feel more empathy for others and offer them what works for you. Even if it's getaway trip to Amsterdam, that is also really cool! I hope you have a great time, let me know how you like it😘

Thank you❤️ and Hotel room #2 is in the works, I started writing, but my bachelor thesis is due in like a month and I am not finished with it and I feel guilty writing anything else rn😂 but I promise it will be the first thing I look into after I'm done with the thesis

#i like talking to you like this #tell me about yourselves more please #flowery-mess

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cursedyuri · 2 months ago

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some more thoughts about vi and high sex because… well she’s just hot your honor. 18+ below, and cw for marijuana use (duh).

stoner!vi who teaches you how to roll a blunt one night after you’d confided in her that you’d never done it before. she sets up a blunt-rolling station on her coffee table, complete with a pack of blue dutches - the superior blunt wrap, according to her - and a half ounce of her best weed. the sickly sweet, flowery scent of the bud tickles at your nose as vi shows you how to place it into her grinder, shutting it and twisting the metal disks until the weed is ground down to smaller bits.

stoner!vi whose tongue pokes out of her lips in concentration, her brow furrowed as she carefully demonstrates splitting a cigarillo right down the middle. she punctures the tobacco with her thumb nail, then works the tear down until the cigarillo’s opened up. you mimic her actions, and she reassures you when you struggle to tear the tobacco in a straight line.

“you’ve got this, angel,” she says with an encouraging smile, eyes glimmering when she looks at you.

stoner!vi whose fingers are methodical, spreading ground up weed into the blunt wrap with a precision that genuinely impresses you. when she starts to fold over the edge to close the blunt, she brings it to her lips, licking along the seam of the wrap and working it closed. those piercing eyes stay focused on you as she works, and you have to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the heat at your center.

stoner!vi who lights your finished blunt for you, holding the lighter to the end of the blunt as you inhale. the cherry glows bright orange and when you exhale a cloud of smoke, vi hums in approval.

“knew you could do it, babe,” she says, and your cheeks go warm. you pass the blunt to her, which she takes with a nod of gratitude.

stoner!vi who gets high enough to suggest shotgunning - a classic pothead-trying-to-get-into-your-pants move. she’s almost surprised when you agree to it… but then again, she’s seen the way you look at her sometimes.

stoner!vi who caresses your jaw with one hand, holding the blunt in her other hand as she brings her lips to yours. it’s an almost-kiss that makes both of you hot with arousal, and as your lips part for you to inhale the smoke from vi’s mouth, you let out a pleased moan.

vi hears it, because of course she does.

stoner!vi who covers you in kisses and bite marks, faint bruises decorating your neck and chest. she takes her time undressing you, hands rough and calloused from a lifetime of fighting. her touch is still soft, though, somehow. she’s gentle when she wants to be.

stoner!vi who pushes you down into the mattress, climbing over you and lowering her clenching cunt to your mouth. you moan against her warm, wet folds. tonguing at her like a woman starved. her lips unleash an endless stream of praises - yes, good girl, that’s it, eat me like that. every filthy word that leaves her mouth only makes you wetter, your eyes rolling back and fluttering closed as vi rides your face.

stoner!vi who squirts when she comes, overwhelmed by the pleasure of fucking herself on your mouth. she’s high and overly sensitive, so when you roll your tongue over her twitching clit, she goes rigid and gasps like a porn star.

stoner!vi who spends the rest of the evening palming your tits and stuffing you full with her fingers, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re nothing but a panting, whining mess for her.

when you’re done, she holds up another blunt, eyes still hazy from the weed and the sex. “wanna go for another?”

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babyhedonistt · 1 year ago

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Too Close To Touch // SEVEN

warning: violence

“Nick, please, let’s talk about this.” You plead to your brother as he pulls you by the wrist into the dressing room, closing the door behind you. He was too quiet and you didn’t like seeing this side of him. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Y/N, why were you kissing Noah? I thought you couldn’t stand him.” He says. “That’s not true.” You spat, sounding a little too defensive. “Okay, he’s the one who had a grudge against you but, I’m just not understanding how all that tension between you two ended up being sexual.” He stares at you, looking genuinely confused. “Don’t say it like that.” You cringed. You forget that your brother didn’t know the extent of your and Noah’s relationship. He doesn’t even know that the two of you dated three years back.

Props to Jolly for covering that up.

“I thought Noah was always like a brother to you. You two were close until you suddenly stopped talking. Now Ruffilo is beating him up? His best friend? You tell me everything Y/N, what aren’t you telling me?”

Your brother was always understanding. He was your Switzerland. The Yin to your Yang. “I-I like him, Nick. I think I always have.”

“We got that much, Y/N. Even when you two were younger, he always asked about you, he always watched you while you were in the room. He always made sure you were the first to eat at gatherings. You never noticed it, but I did. That’s why I didn’t flip out when I found out you two were kissing outside. Noah’s in love with you.”

You felt a lump in your throat as you looked at your brother. You weren’t convinced. “Love is an exaggeration, Nick. Infatuated yes, but I don’t know about love.” You tilted your head. “I know how broken he was about losing you 3 years ago.”

Your heart may as well have stopped when your brother said this. “What are you talking about?” You say, barely above a whisper. He leans against the door, tilting his head upward. “C’mon, we were all living together at the time Y/N. He came back home and his eyes were puffy. Tried to push it off as allergies. “he chuckles at the last word.

So he was upset? He didn’t even say a word when he left that day. “He locked himself in his room and he didn’t come out for two days, Y/N.”

Why didn’t Jolly tell you any of this? “Wanna know the best part too?” He adds, taking a step towards you. “When he did, eventually come out, he had 3 songs written with them, one of them was called ‘Just Pretend.”

You couldn’t handle this. You know how much passion Noah puts into the lyrics of his songs. The idea that Just Pretend, their most successful, most intimate song, most sad, and most personal song, one you’ve been ending each show with every night, was about you.

“I know how you two feel about another. That’s why Noah didn’t fight back when Ruffilo started beating him up. “ Folio explains.

“What?” You ask, confused at what he meant. “Y/N, Ruffilo is half Noah’s size. If Noah wanted to defend himself or even throw a few punches back, he could have.”

“Then why didn’t he?” You retort, in disbelief of this man. “Probably because he didn’t want to come off as violent, given how he’s been treating you this past month.”

You felt your stomach just drop. All the way down to your toes as your mouth fell agape. “Where is he?” You asked. Folio shrugs, “Jolly went after him but no one texted me yet. “ He explains checking his phone. You pushed past your brother, going back to the outside alley where the fight happened to see Matt and Ruffilo still standing there. You were fuming. You were upset. You were angry.

You walk straight up to Ruffilo. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Y/N don’t start.” He retorts. “He didn’t deserve any of that Nick!” You exclaim pointing to where Noah had stormed off. “Not only did you beat the shit out of your best friend but you slut shamed the fuck out of me for something that you have no business speaking on!” You yell.

Ruffilo fell silent. “Our relationship hasn’t impacted the performance of this band ONCE. You were already getting on him about bitching about having me substitute for my brother, and then you give him shit about attempting to save the reputation of the band by keeping us a secret, because he knew the minute he would have the balls to tell you about us then you would have kicked his ass. And look what happened!” You yell pointing to the spots of blood on the pavement from Noah’s face. You don’t even give him time to respond before you storm off towards where Noah and Jolly had disappeared.

It didn’t take you long to find them at all. They didn’t make it very far. You go around the side of the building to see Jolly standing over Noah, who was sat on the ground with his head resting against the brick building and his eyes closed. Jolly saw you approaching them and he tapped Noah on the shoulder. “Hey.” He says. Noah opened his eyes and locks eyes with you before waving weakly. “Are you okay?” You asked him, squatting down to his level. “I’m fine. My face has seen better days though.” He admits, chuckling with a sad sigh. His lip started swelling and the blood began to dry, his eye started bruising ever so slightly at the corner. “Is Folio upset?” Jolly prys. You shake your head looking down. “No. I kind of bitched out Ruffilo though, I walked away before I gave him time to respond.” You cringed.

Noah chuckled, his brown hair slightly falling in his eyes before tilting his chin up. “We have a show in less than an hour, I hope we can get this fixed before then.” Jolly sighs. “I’ll be back with the rest.” He ushers his head back around the building, leaving just Noah and I.

A comfortable silence filled the air before you sit cross-legged in front of Noah. “I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I don’t see what you have to be sorry for.” You responded. He shrugs, playing with the bracelets around his wrist. “I guess I kind of deserved that beating.”

“No. Don’t even try to excuse what Nick did. He had no right to come at you like that. It was childish. He could have really hurt you.”

He looks down before clearing his throat. “It’s been a long time coming with him Y/N. He’s acting like a protective older brother I’ll admit I don’t handle my emotions very well.”

“Is that why you wrote Just Pretend?”

You could see that comment struck a nerve. He stopped playing with his bracelets and he wouldn’t take his eyes off the ground. “Where’d you hear that?” He scoffs. “Noah, I know you’ve lied to me about a lot of shit, but for the love of god please don’t lie to me about this one.” You practically beg him. His eyes slowly work their way up to yours, and they were glossy. “Three years ago, I tried everything in my power to make you leave me.” He admits.

Your eyebrows burrowed with confusion. “Why?”

“Because I had a feeling if three years ago I couldn’t balance my bands popularity, how the hell was I going to handle it now?”

You remained silent as he contninued,

“I figured if I could make you the bad guy, it would save me the trouble of having to break your heart. After that night, when I left, I went home, and I wrote. I wrote Just Pretend about you. I needed to get it out somehow. If I had gotten it out on paper, recorded it and produced it. Then I wouldn’t have my feelings for you pent up and I wouldn’t have to deal with the repercussions.”

To be continued....

Authors note: This was a tough one babies. Lemme know what you think about it :")

#bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #jolly karlsson #nick folio #nick ruffilo #noah sebastian #badomenscult #too close to touch #@flowery mess #@lizzyanthony3 #@darkmxgician

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i9chicago · 18 days ago

Text

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sweet loving you.

pairing — spencer reid x professor! fem! reader.

genre — smut (18+ so minors dni)

summary — you think you despise dr. spencer reid with all your bones, you think he's too good and too accomplished at what he does, and you think he despises you too. till you discover his particular liking for you that night when he saw you in a red dress.

word count — 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings — oral (f receiving) fingering, soft dom! spencer cuz it's rotting my brain cells. masturbation. semi-public sex. lots of kissing. reader is a neuroscience professor.

a/n — this is my first fic here so be nice or i'll cry. english is not my first language so forgive me for any grammar mistakes. like for part 2 (please) ehh, i hate the ending. that's it. hope at least you enjoy it! <3

Red was never a color linked to joy. For some, it was the antithesis of calm—an unruly hue brimming with everything those fond of gentler tones tended to avoid: anger, desire, unbridled passion. A color that rose along a scale of relentless intensity, evoking not warmth, but power.

That’s why you chose to wear a crimson dress fitted neatly across your back, for the event. It didn’t need to be overly elegant or striking— just enough to keep you from feeling underdressed. Just enough to give you the confidence to stand tall and lift your chin in a room full of professors and potential future colleagues, the ones you'd meet again in hallways and over hurried lunches. You loved teaching. And truthfully, you didn’t mind being surrounded by university students who emailed you at four in the morning with long-winded excuses dressed up in flowery language to explain why they missed class or hadn’t done the work. You bit your tongue and kept going. People in the field admired your approach to teaching and your background in neuroscience had taken you far—far enough to park your car outside a sleek hotel and walk through its doors to stand among the best. To make your position as a tenured professor feel less like a myth spun into fantasy in your own head—and more like the fact it was becoming.

It was meant to be a calm affair, or so claimed the invitation embossed in gold thread and impeccable calligraphy, which promised a welcoming evening for the newly appointed tenured professors. You were one of them, even though you'd only been teaching for a year. Your heart thudded in erratic rhythms and you clutched your small handbag so tightly your knuckles turned white, the click of your heels echoing across the ceramic-gray tiles. Tilted your head, curious, catching sight of a golden chandelier overhead, mirroring the three-dimensional designs painted into the ceiling. It was such a pivotal moment, and yet, in all the hours spent getting ready, your mind had spiraled through a thousand reasons for things to go wrong. You couldn’t help it. Your head was always turning against you like it took some kind of pleasure in watching you unravel into a mess of nerves and dread, about the room’s reactions, about your own autonomy. Maybe you’d spill wine on your dress. Maybe you’d choke on a piece of ice from a champagne flute. Maybe you'd talk too much and accidentally let slip something painfully personal. The other professors didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know anything about you. Still, when alcohol starts to feel like a second skin, you’d promised yourself you’d manage it, one drink every two hours. Enough to keep disaster at bay.

You greeted a few adjunct professors as they passed by, and the moment you stepped into the grand hall, your jaw nearly dropped. The entire place was blue. Neon lights laced the walls, and a young DJ—probably no older than twenty—was spinning electronic remixes of ‘80s hits. It was almost a joke. There were far too many people for this to be just faculty. You doubted it. The entire teaching department must’ve been here, something you hadn’t quite expected. You’d imagined a more traditional venue: jazz music, old money burning through the most expensive drinks at a quiet bar in the corner. Instead, the tables were dressed in white linen with centerpieces of soft blue and white flowers. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed. You accepted the glass of champagne a waiter offered you, now, it felt less like a choice and more like a necessity. You didn’t see a single familiar face and with the sheer number of bodies crowding the space, heat began to wrap around your bones. Usually, you were good at socializing, at least good enough not to make a fool of yourself. Winning over professors — especially the ones in physics— was a simple task, and the unspoken rule from the arts department was clear: never, under any circumstances, cross them. So yes, faking camaraderie came naturally to you. And with a few drinks, the task became almost idyllic.

You approached a table and picked up a small peach pastry, the sweetness of the powdered sugar melting on your tongue as your eyes scanned the room, now with a faint smudge of red lipstick on the bite. Then, something shifted. You felt it a gaze on the back of your neck. You turned slowly, your breath catching just as your pulse began to quicken.

Spencer Reid. And he was looking at you.

The same who was too ‘good’ to consider a tenured position at the college. The genius. The chosen one. The prodigy. An FBI profiler whose dignity vanished from the young girls in his classes as soon as they saw him or attended his seminars purely to watch him talk and talk and spill random data that none of them really cared about. They just went to see him. And he didn't even notice. Or, if he did, he was perfectly good at turning a blind eye to it.

It made your blood crawl. Cause you spent months hearing praise behind your back about how all his degrees and accomplishments put him in an optimal position to walk the halls as if he were a member of royalty himself. Sometimes you would see him in the gardens talking to some students being so generous and so kind that you would inevitably roll your eyes at his perfect kindness that you wanted to avoid seeing him as soon as possible. Everyone talked about him and you could understand why: He was an excellent prototype of the good man wrapped in good faith. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze at teacher's meetings, passing a cup of coffee in the mornings of pure silent politeness because neither of you had ever conversed in sentences that veered beyond a harmless thank you and good morning. You offered him your best smiles as his fingers brushed yours as you held out the cardboard cup full of black coffee and he would stare longer at your lips before sliding his periphery into your hands and leaving, as if touching you made him burn, as if he ached for the involuntary touch of your skins. Your friends were aware of how much you didn't like at all everything that endorsed his presence, and they didn't understand. You had a stable job. And of almost the same vitality as his. They told you that your reasons for loathing him were ridiculous, childish and, for a moment, they said you just didn't like him because he incarnated in flesh and blood everything you were attracted to in a man. And you were perfect at dismissing that.

Because it was. And that's what you really fucking hated.

You were unlucky. That was it. As if there was some bizarre entity pre-existing that dragged your decisions into an eternal abyss and turned you into a mixture of bad experiences that only increased as the years went by. And Spencer, in theory, seemed to be too surreal. Sure, his proportions as a whole were appropriate. And you had no trouble figuring out why young girls sighed with their hand on their chin every time he opened his mouth. There was no name for what you felt for him. It was just... It was weird. Weird for you, even, because you were used to being around people like him. But never like him. No one was like him.

Maybe your friends were right in saying that your occasional disdain for Spencer was born solely out of a need for adrenaline that you simply stopped paying attention to him. When your eyes met his in the distance, in a crowd, he smiled at you.

Bastard.

He had no right. He had no right to smile warmly at you as he raised his hand slightly in greeting, which he then lowered because of how awkward and absurd it looked. Much less did he have it to look this well melted by a suit that seemed to be itching his skin. With the red tie and the white shirt stuck to his body. All your attempts to pretend to be indifferent when it came to him were more than unsuccessful, in fact, irrational was a better word to describe it. You did nothing more than answer his greeting with a rehearsed smile as you turned to the food table swallowing a couple of those peach snacks, which you simulated with another swig of champagne feeling how the taste of alcohol numbed the few senses you had left one hundred percent. You sighed, much to your dismay, the dress was starting to feel tighter and tighter around your waist and you felt a flash of wind caressing the bare skin of your back. And to think that Spencer was probably watching you sent a searing heat through all your extremities. You stood up on your back and walked to the other end, however, the glass goblet you held in your right hand had a small crack that dug into your palm making you gasp from the sting of the glass against your flesh. Blood, thick and metallic, gushed out in small gushes from the wound. You felt dizzy for a second. And you wanted to go straight to the nearest bathroom.

Spencer followed your figure gliding through the crowd. The music was loud and what he heard from some of the professors, even if he didn't like to admit it (they were a bit older and kind of jerks) he stopped listening to them the moment your eyes connected with his and just lost himself in how he felt his heart rate become erratic. Superficial. He didn't need the world to be quiet to hear his heart racing. And it wasn't in the ingestion of alcohol, so in his glass rested a simple apple cider that he drank with enthusiasm. It was in how you received his perception, he was used to reading between the lines. And he had spent a lot of time reading specifically how you responded to being in his presence. Always evasive. You pleaded silently. He was not indifferent to your avoidance and sometimes caught you looking at him when you thought he didn't notice. In some other context it would seem creepy and worthy of concern. But it was you. All he saw was you. He wanted to see why his limits seemed to be nonexistent when it came to you and everything that warranted your mere objectivity. He listened to you in your classes, giving extensive perorations on the theory of neuroplasticity, and your students raved about you.

There was something irrefutable in how you learned to avoid him with a grace that overwhelmed him. He wished the words you never pronounced could be a clear language. But no. You chose evasion, silence. An elusiveness so subtle that it only left room for curiosity, for the need to understand why you were doing it. As if everything between you was an unwritten dialogue that he couldn't complete.

He could hear the softness of your words as he rummaged deep into his memories, when you talked about the evaluative changes in neuroscience in front of a packed classroom, your voice flowed like a calm river but inside him everything was churning and he didn't even bother to look for its root. It didn't bother him, actually, he was fascinated by how you were able to captivate everyone, and, at the same time, keep him out of your reach.

It killed him. It killed him slowly and torturously how he begged you with the simplicity of his gestures and looks and you purely eluded him. But what killed him the most was that, despite being so close, it always seemed like it wasn't enough. That he never reached that last layer that protected you.

He couldn't help but feel like a doomed voyeur watching as that invisible barricade between you held firm. Talk to me. Look at me. Why not? How long will I endure? Every vestige of desire of his was mounting to catatonic levels.

A cold current was seeping deep into his skin, icing his fingers as he waited, patiently, for some movement, a sign from you.

But nothing.

Only the pleasure of your indifference, so bitter and bewitching, like a trap he didn't know how to escape from. And, damn it, he loved it.

The white walls in the bathroom loomed over you as you walked in hoping for an aid kit somewhere, you looked in the mirror for a moment, realizing how lousy the night was going and you were just getting there. It was supposed to be a good time to continue making friends and finally find more people to have lunch with at noon. You should have seen it coming. You thought for hours about whether it was a good idea to attend and your apartment, not far from the hotel, a few blocks from the venue, was a mess. Dresses strewn across the floor and your cat found the jumble of sleeping fabric in every corner of the house fascinating. The pain in your hand was getting more intense, too strong, unbearable. A burst of burning that intensified every second. You made a point of washing away the bright blood with the water and grimaced at the new coolness and stinging sensation of the cut.

But even the pain didn't lessen the fact that you were thinking about him. And that infuriated you. The gazes that lasted longer than usual, the gestures you avoided and those imperceptible moments charged with something much more substantial. What did you want to do with all of that? Nothing. You couldn't do anything. Spencer was in a completely foreign league to you and you had to respect that.

You didn't even want to imagine what would happen if people at the college found out. People talk, and they don't measure the magnitude of their words and all that a simple hallway rumor could trigger. Like teens. No one should be interested in what two professors were doing outside the institution. And besides, he wasn't even working full time. He was an agent. Even more reason why this growing, heated thing between you two was a flat out no way it was going to happen. It was undermining all your senses. All your good judgment diminishing it to nothing. No, it couldn't happen. The tension was limiting your core beliefs. And as you tried to maintain a control you knew you didn't have, the restlessness in your chest only grew.

As you did everything in you to heal the cut quickly, you heard the faint creak of the door. You raised your head and, in the reflection of the mirror you saw Spencer's figure bursting into the glare of the bathroom lights. You failed to keep calm. Because you had nothing left. Spencer briefly held the handle, his eyes sliding a quick glance between the mess in your hand and the confusion evident on your face, your cheeks flushed, your breathing still uncontrolled. And, without a word, he locked the door.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the air, amplifying the tension already vibrating in the space. His scent enveloped you, the warmth of his presence washed over you so tightly that the sting in your cut receded into the background. But for him it seemed otherwise. He stood in front of you so close you could feel his breath, a faint sigh that seemed to touch your skin, make the air thick, dense. He looked at you briefly, straight into your eyes and that's when you understood why you were avoiding him so much. It was him. His gaze. His warmth. Everything about him sucked you in, pulled you in and was all too evident. His intensity was like a force of gravity that drew you in hopelessly. No matter how much you dodged it, no matter how hard you tried to shield yourself from that connection, it was as if the very nature of the situation had determined that the distances between the two of you were simply not viable.

He looked at you as if asking for permission to heal your hand, and though he didn't say it out loud, he didn't need to. The question was in the solid silence between the two of you, in the way he watched you, so close that you could almost feel his thoughts without a single word needing to be uttered. That look, that little action.

You couldn't hide from him.

You, who had always maintained control, felt how he crumbled at the softness of his gesture, at the implicit trust he offered. At how his hands, veiny and warm, took yours with an unspoken hush. You were trapped in his closeness and in his palpable presence. And worst of all, you wanted to stay there, caught in the nervousness of his look, in the subtle touch of his fingers.

You decided to speak. Or else you couldn't stand it any longer. “I should put in a beef about the dangers of champagne glasses.” You said trying to sound normal, calm. But the tension in your voice was so intense that you ignored it, "It was broken, hmm, I guess it's no big deal. It's probably not even deep."

“You're bleeding out here,” he chuckles, and the sound of his laughter, light but kind of warm, sneaks through the cracks in your conscience. You feel his thumb caress the palm of your hand, and the derision in his tone makes you laugh too. He clears his throat, before scanning his gaze around the bathroom for an aid kit. "You need to clean that. Or it'll get infected.”

“No, no. You don't need to ” you whisper, but you let his hand continue to hold you. “I'm fine, really...”

Spencer stopped in front of you, bent down slightly to look at your hand in more detail. “It does need to,” he replied in a slight murmur. "Superficial wounds can be much more dangerous than they appear. In fact, small cuts are more susceptible to infection than larger ones, because they may go unnoticed, but they leave a perfect entrance for bacterias. In this case, if you don't clean and disinfect it, Staphylococcus aureus bacteria are quite common, and that could lead to a serious infection."

You felt a little stunned. The amount of information he dumped on you so quickly left you somewhat entranced. However, the concern on his face was genuine. And it touched you.

Why did he have to look like that?

“Uh, I can't say I knew that.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Just a bit.” You replied. It was true. But it hurt more that as he looked at you he kept stroking your hand with his thumb and each caress drove you crazy. “Any diagnostic, doctor?”

He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat. God. His smile was even more charming holding you that close. A pair of dimples growing in his cheeks and he effortlessly aroused sensations in you too primal to admit out loud.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he whispers, the hint of his smile still visible. “But I need to clean that up for you... It's... It's okay if I do?”

You nodded, not knowing what to answer. Her gaze slid across the bathroom coming across a small white box resting on the counter. He turned away from you for brief seconds and, though it was a flicker in time, you felt the emptiness he left. You missed his touch and felt pathetic. So simple. So insignificant. And yet he still managed to unsettle you

Why did his closeness make you feel exposed, vulnerable? You knew something between the two of you was changing, but was it something you really wanted? Or rather, something you could afford to want?

It didn't give you time to think as he stepped in front of you again and wiped a cotton ball with antiseptic. Taking your hand again, the cool sensation of the antiseptic with the warmth of his fingers pressing against you making a twisted contrast of what it was. It was soft. It was gentle. As if he feared to break you with the simplicity of his caress. He was exalted, you could tell by the way he was breathing through his nose and his chest was rising and falling in a continuous back and forth. You couldn't help but think how, for a second, it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared, and all that was left was him. Just him.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It was strange to hear him say that. Because how could he not know that discomfort was, in fact, what made you feel so alive? The vulnerability, the not knowing what was going on between you and the uncertainty you felt in his every gesture. It was all there, hovering between the two of you, and you weren't saying anything about it. You just held each other in this delicate balance that you longed to break.

“You don't.” you said quickly, "It's dumb. I probably wouldn't have done it. I'm not good at this stuff, the last time my cat scratched my whole arm and I'm pretty sure I made the scratches even worse."

Spencer looked up, and for a moment, his expression softened. “I just don't want you to think I'm invading your space,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice was like a soft punch to the chest.

Spencer curved his lips, barely a smile. He continued his slow, meticulous movements cleaning your wound with a precision that was hard to ignore. Every time his finger brushed your skin it was like lighting a thousand matches inside you.

“This isn't so bad,” he murmured, as he carefully cleaned the area around the cut. “It could have been so much worse.”

“Well, hopefully I'm not bleeding to death,” you replied with a small touch of humor. The slight stinging in the wound when the antiseptic touched your skin was somewhat tolerable now, and his presence somehow made you feel calmer.

And, of course, you decided not to pay attention to the closeness of his face and that incipient beard that adorned it perfectly. All over his jaw, you had the urge to touch it and put the fingers of your free hand on the fabric of your dress as if it contained all those growing desires.

“Hopefully not” Spencer laughed, not looking away from your hand. "It's not that dramatic, but you know, some people faint over something as simple as this. The body's reaction to minimal pain can be interesting."

“Really? How?”

You knew the answer. But hearing him speak for you was a necessity now and you decided to take advantage of every second.

"The fear of pain and the physiological reaction is more prevalent than it seems, that's all kind of like a mind game. That it thinks you have something, when the damage is likely to be minimal.”

“And I assume that if there was anyone here passed out, it would be me.” you said, shaking your head and looking at the wound with mock concern. "Yeah, I should have guessed. I cannot tolerate pain.”

Spencer let out a genuine laugh, a laugh that made the air around the two of you feel less tense.

“Definitely,” he said with a laugh. “But don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you.”

“Good to know.”

He continued cleaning and gently placed a children's band-aid (from some cartoon you couldn't recognize) over your cut, now clean and out of harm's way. Were his eyes always this bright or was it the glare of the white lights? And his lips, his lips. Slightly splendorous from whatever he was drinking before he came in. You swallowed saliva, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks as he seemed to have scanned across your face and the bathroom was flooded by a couple of giggles that pretended to say a lot, but was nothing. It wasn't awkward, but that kind of silence that hovered over you and enveloped you in a still atmosphere that you countered with the rowdiness outside. You sat on the countertop, the coldness of the ceramic hitting your thighs hoping he wouldn't leave. You lay your head back in the mirror, and Spencer's head shorted out.

He didn't know how much more he was capable of taking, if he was fit to drown everything that came into his head when he saw through the mirror's reflection that curve of your back, smooth, perfect. The red dress tight to every curve fitting in the right places and that lipstick, lightly smeared across your lower lip. He put his hands in his pockets and swallowed thickly. Your eyes traveled down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with nervousness and notoriety.

“You didn't seem to be enjoying yourself over there" you say amused, your voice tired. "I don't blame you. Teachers' humors are crap."

Spencer nods, standing in front of you. Your knee brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. "I usually enjoy theoretical physics jokes but there's a point where it gets repetitive and boring. If I'm honest, I was looking forward to getting out of there.”

The laugh you let out was soft, almost intimate, as if only he was meant to hear it. Spencer drank it in as if it were something sacred. His fingers, still warm from touching you, flexed in his pants pockets, trying to contain the absurd need to brush against you again.

“Spencer Reid?” you repeated with an arched eyebrow, watching him with a vague smile as you leaned your head back against the mirror a little more. "You must have the highest tolerance for repetitive. You analyze it, dissect it. You find patterns in it, revel in it. I thought you were used to it.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, tickled by your remark. His eyes roamed over your face with a scrutiny that made you hold your breath. He didn't seem to be looking at you out of mere habit anymore, it seemed he couldn't even help himself. You cleared your throat, but his closeness was brutal. He smelled like aftershave, so strong that the scent drugged you completely.

"Maybe you're right, but there are exceptions. There are always exceptions to the rule, no matter how much I'd rather abide by them." he said, this time turning to you and you swore your heart was going to jump out of your rib cage.

His hands slowly came out of his pockets, and he leaned lightly on the countertop to the side of you. His arm almost brushed your thigh and for an instant you thought he would do it on purpose, that he would trace the fabric of your dress with his fingertips. That he would dare. And you thought how good it would feel to be on his hands, long fingers and protruding veins, holding you like a longing.

“And is tonight one of those exceptions?” you asked, tilting your face toward him, watching him closely.

His throat worked in a strained swallow. "I'm sure it is.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing got slower, deeper. Your inhibitions out of you. His knuckles, distracted, barely grazed your knee in a touch so light it might have gone unnoticed if it weren't for all your skin igniting in response. Spencer froze at his own boldness, but didn't immediately pull his hand away. Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, and his eyelashes lowered slightly as he looked back up at you. All content, his eyes dancing all over your face.

He didn't move.

He didn't leave.

The air in the bathroom seemed to thicken as Spencer leaned forward gently, closing the distance with torturous slowness as if to give your body time to react, to reject him. But you didn't. And you had no plans to either. Your back brushed against the mirror, the coolness of the glass seeping through the thin dress as Spencer's warmth enveloped you from the front. His hands continuing to rest on the countertop on either side of your legs, locking you in with devastating ease.

He was tense. You could see it in his jaw. The line of his throat working as he swallowed saliva with visible effort. Almost instinctively, you tilted your head, and mentally beat yourself up as you thought you could ignore or simply disregard everything that revolved around him because it was impossible. You hesitated on whether to do that thing that was killing you so much, to touch his face, to caress his cheek. Let him do something. His gaze made you breathless. Dark, intense. Fixed on you and only you. His dark, chocolate irises, a hazel hue that you could finally detail up close.

He had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen.

“Why do you keep avoiding me so much?” his voice was a whisper, but you felt it throughout your body. His breath was warm with a minty undertone, it brushed your mouth. "Did I...did I do something to bother you? I didn't say anything bad about you, if you were wondering. I have eidetic memory, I would remember if I was rude to you at any time.”

You found yourself caught between need and uncertainty. Your hands rested on your thighs, and you wanted him to push them away. Spencer saw it. He saw it in the way your eyelashes quivered in a flutter that sent shocks through his body, in how your gaze dropped fleetingly to his mouth before returning to his eyes, in the way your chest rose and fell too fast, too erratically.

His knuckles brushed the fabric of your dress with calculated carelessness, a light touch on your right thigh that made everything in you tense with an internal jolt. There was no urgency in his movement. Only a torturous patience, an unspoken question in the way his skin tested yours. As if testing the ground.

A restrained sigh escaped your throat, almost inaudible, but he heard it.

“You didn't do or say anything bad about me, Spencer.” you murmur, your voice sharp. "It was my thing. I make movies all the time in my head. I think I was just jealous.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. His knuckles still moving in a steady rhythm over the fabric of your dress, “Jealous? Why would you be jealous?”

Your tongue fleetingly moistened your upper lip. His gaze followed the movement with unsettling thoroughness, his fingers twitching subtly on the countertop. You were unconsciously tasting him. And it delighted you to watch his jaw clench.

“I guess you're too good to be real.” you let out an irony-laden laugh, "It's lame. Don't mind me. I actually thought you didn't like me."

“Why would you think that?” he sounded almost offended, incredulous at what you just said as he let his fingers trail southward away from the red fabric. It was silk, fine silk that hugged your thighs beautifully. His fingers were just as warm on your skin and you shivered as his caresses went up and down. Paulatine, subtle, but it made your hair stand on end. And the way he whispered your name... Almost like a longing held on his tongue, like a heavenly prayer. "I've done nothing but silently wanted you. If you only knew... How long I've been saving this. Keeping you. As if just looking at you was enough.”

Your lips parted, but the words stuck in your throat. As if every particle had stopped in time, leaving them suspended in that instant where nothing else existed except the way he touched you. His hand slid, slow, barely perceptible, but enough to set your skin on fire. His fingers traced invisible lines over your thigh with a devotion that left you gasping for breath, memorizing the texture of your skin, the way you reacted under his touch.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, it was the only thing that could come out of your mouth. Your voice cracked, feeling the pressure building in your chest, in your belly, in every nerve ending in your body.

A sound escaped from his throat. Low. Grave. As if the confession had managed to shake something inside him.

His hands moved, with deliberate leisure, barely moving up the curve of your thigh before clinginging to the flesh. His torso was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the racing beat of his heart pounding in sync with yours.

"No, don't be sorry" his voice was a whisper, his lips against your temple. They were so close you could feel them, a temptation suspended in the air. The edge of his nose brushed yours, a touch so thin, so intimate, that a shiver danced down your back. "I guess it's my fault for not talking to you in the first place. But if you'll let me... I promise not to ask for more than you're willing to give. Because having you anyway is already more than I ever thought I deserved."

God.

You couldn't think, not when he was there, so tangible, so immensely real, tearing down every barrier you'd ever built between the both of you.

His fingers came up again, this time with less hesitation, brushing the inside of your thigh in a barely perceptible movement, but one that sent an electric whiplash up and down your spine. If you moved a little, just a little, he would brush the fabric of your panties.

"Spencer..." his name was a breath caught in your mouth, a plea, a surrender.

He took it. He took your exhalation and made it his own. He kissed you with the kind of awe with where someone touches something sacred for the first time. His mouth rested on yours in a brush that contained months of longing compressed into a single instant. So violently that your body tensed. His lips moved gracefully over yours and his hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs as if he was holding back from touching you further. At first it was slow, painfully slow, waiting for you to refuse. But you had no intention of it. You sensed how his tongue brushed your lower lip in an invitation to thrust inside you, and the sweet gasp that came from your mouth in delight entranced him. He sensed it in the way your fingers reached up to grasp at the lapels of his suit, clinging to him as if you were about to collapse.

Kissing Spencer was just how you imagined it would be. Addictive. Teeth and tongues in a rough dance, he was stunned by how you responded to his caresses. By how your hands stopped trembling and rested on the back of his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer to you till you melted into a lingering kiss. Spencer moaned against your mouth, a harsh, restrained sound that reverberated between the both of you, becoming a vibration that traveled down your backbone and spread in torrid heat throughout your body. His fingers, which until now had traced a contained path over superficial parts of your body, twitched over the skin of your thigh, sinking just barely into the soft flesh, as if he needed to hold on to something in particular to keep from twisting his grip. He was losing it completely.

The kiss became hungrier, more impatient. His tongue slid against yours in a fiery, deep caress as his other hand moved up the curve of your back, pressing you against him as if trying to memorize every inch of your body. You shivered from just feeling his touch on your back and how that slit in your dress gave him the opportunity to move down a little.

Every scrape of his lips against yours was a silent confession, every halting gasp a secret that slipped out without the need for words.

Spencer wasn't doing anything by halves, and kissing you was the ultimate proof of that. He was feeling you with every fiber of his being. He was drinking you in with the devotion of a thirsty man finally finding water in the middle of a forsaken desert.

With every particle of his autonomy, with every heaving breath that escaped his throat and the way his body pressed against yours, drawing closer and closer until the air between you ceased to exist. His hand, the one that had traveled up the curve of your back, slid with exasperating slowness to the base of your nape, tangling in your hair. Wrapping itself around the strands of your locks.

As if afraid you might fade away.

His other hand went up another inch, and when his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your panties, a fierce thrill ran through you, arching your back involuntarily at his touch. Wanting more. That he would turn his attentions upon you. He sensed it in the way your nails scratched his hairline, in how your thighs trembled under his caresses and the sudden gasp that escaped from your mouth, imprisoned in his.

He pulled away just a few millimeters, just enough to be able to look at you. To see the slight tremble of your lips swollen by his kisses, the febrile shine in your eyes. His breath collided against your skin, warm and ragged, and in the thick silence of the bathroom, his breath seemed an echo of yours.

The Adam's apple in his throat rose and fell in an effort to swallow saliva.

"I can't believe we missed this just because we had misconceptions about each other." he whispered, as if he found it hard to speak, as if the words scraped his throat as they came out, "You don't know all you do to me."

"I think I have an idea." you said, stunned. With a slow smile curving your mouth as your hands went back up to his cheeks, his beard stinging your fingers, "But I think I'm starting to like it when you show me."

A low growl escaped his chest before he took your mouth again, and no fantasy could match how good it felt to be in his arms. His kisses were intoxicating, tongue everywhere, low moans sending shocks straight to the recent growing bulge in his pants. He held your jaw and claimed you. And you loved it. You melted into him. Your hands took advantage of traveling to his neck, his cheeks, his shoulders. You could spend hours like that. There was a latent tension in his muscles, in the visible struggle between his control and his desire, in the way his dark gaze devoured every detail of you. His hands were so big, gripping your face as you moved closer until you wrapped your legs around him, your thighs at his sides.

Spencer pulled away, he was a mess. His brown hair tousled and his lips glossy and swollen from you. His thumb traced a sweet line over your lower lip. "You're beautiful," he exhales briefly. "So beautiful.”

You pull him by the neck and kiss him again. Hopeless. Hungry. You were sure the denim of your lingerie was wet and that he could feel it. You move your hips moaning against his mouth from the friction of your center against his pants. Spencer noticed your need, and his knee began to rub you. Slowly, feeling you contract from the pleasure. Your dress rode up over your thighs and he pulled them almost all the way up, to the level of your hips, allowing himself to revel in the matching lace of your wet panties. Soaked. For him. His right hand slid to your chest and groped your dress, seeking to pull it down. You nodded in agreement still with your lips on his, letting him know you needed him. That he would touch you. It was a slight effort, but with blind skill he lowered the top of your dress.

"I'm surprised at how skillfully you did that," you whispered between kisses. You hear his laugh, hoarse and throaty, as his knee continued to rub your center, and you cried out. A low cry that you silenced by biting your tongue.

"If it makes you feel any better, I thought as soon as I saw you come in." he said resting his forehead with yours. Widening his hands below your knees, and when he stretched a little, the breath caught in his throat.

You looked like a gorgeous wreck. Your lipstick was running, your barely visible red lace bra made your hardened nipples noticeable and the feel of the cold made them hard as rocks. Spencer kissed you. Quick, fleeting, placing his thumb and forefinger against your right nipple and pressing it, making you turn your eyes. His touch sent tingles all over your body, no matter how small or large, the mere fact that he was touching you was driving you crazy.

His kisses descend to your neck, leaving soft bites in an everlasting path. He nibbles that spot on your pulse and you tremble. Your hand touching his curls as you gasped uncontrollably.

"You're..." he began, but the word was lost in your neck. He kissed the curve of your collarbone, the racing pulse in your throat. " You're devastating.”

He scattered sporadic kisses across your neck and suddenly you felt like you were out of orbit when his fingers found your panties. Stroking you over the fabric. You wiggled your hips in search of more friction and melted into his arms. He teased both of your nipples. He kissed you with such vehemence and eagerness. It was simply too much. Your eyes traveled to the bulge in his sweatpants, and you had that urge to touch him again. It was big, you deduced immediately by how the fabric of the pants fit painfully around the outline of his cock. Your hand barely grazed it as he pushed you away and returned his kisses to your lips. Tugging at them. Biting, sucking with impetus.

"Is that good or bad?" you asked curving your back.

Spencer looked up from his spot, his eyes burning with an intensity so pure it took your breath away. "It's all I want.”

He bent down with only one knee digging into the floor, and your brain lit up. You were aware of what he was about to do and you pressed your thighs together, almost reluctantly. In response, he put his hands on your knees and looked at you over his long eyelashes and his eyes sparkling from all the excitement that was only growing more and more. No, he had no right to look at you like that. To have you at his mercy with just a kiss. To look so needy for you.

"Don't get shy now." he said, his fingers squeezing the hypersensitive flesh of your thighs to open them for him again. "I want to touch you, please, angel. Let me show you how much I've needed you. How much I've longed to touch you, please, can I?"

His plea turned you to plasticine. It was a desperation rooted from deep in your chest and the mere thought that he had imagined this precise scene in the past turned you on. That maybe he had it all planned out and now he was kneeling before you basically begging to touch you. Your hand reached out to his curls, stroking his brown, unruly hair and you nodded as your lips curved into a smile that Spencer was quick to retort.

"Of course, I wasn't going to let you leave me like that and then leave." you whisper in amusement, holding his face "You owe me.”

Spencer smiled at you, sweet, almost too sweet for the kind of look he gave you. Filled with desire, with something far, vastly stronger than you. His fingers groping the edges of your panties. Swiftly pulling them down to your ankles. You shuddered at the change in sensations, the gusts of wind setting your nipples on edge and his gaze fixed on your cunt enveloped you in a cloud too intense for your brain to function properly. He looked at you with dilated pupils, licked his lips slowly as if tasting you on it.

"I owe you, huh?" he said, pressing a kiss on your inner thigh. Then on the other. "I guess I should make it up to you, right? Is that what you want?"

You nodded frantically, but he bit down on a thin layer of skin and you gasped.

"Use your words, angel."

"I..." you doubted that your head could work correctly, his touch sent tingles through parts of your body unthinkable. "Fuck, Spencer. Just do it.”

"So desperate." he whispered, his tongue beginning to lick the wetness of your thigh. You swayed in response to the sensation, your back arching as your hands involuntarily moved up to your nipple, pinching and stimulating. You needed to feel him everywhere. It was disarming you. "Have you thought about this, do you think I don't notice when you look at me, when you sneak into my classes?”

He grabbed you by the knees and pulled you into his mouth with such speed that you didn't even have time to get used to the thrill. Fuck. His mouth was desperate, he licked your folds and his curls hide between your legs. You'd let him sleep right at dawn right there. You moaned his name so loud that you were thankful the music outside was so loud no one could hear, 'cause you needed that. You needed to scream how much you enjoyed it and when Spencer gasped in delight, your whole body jerked. A rough hand gripped your thigh, his thumbs pressing into your skin, holding you open just for him. To keep you from shivering. His tongue was relentless. He swirled with precision, sucked you with intensity and reserved kisses for your clit. You rolled your eyes and your hips followed in a back and forth motion over his mouth, surrendering yourself completely to the pleasure.

There was a heat swirling over your belly, over your bloated, hypersensitive center. You shuddered and Spencer hummed above you as you tightened his head making him bury himself in your pussy. You were drunk, it was vertiginous, too much to bear.

He pulled away slightly, his breathing ragged. You couldn't see him because he was still hiding between your legs but the image was projected in your head instantly. His lips glossy from your wetness, yearning for more. The fibers of his hair messy from your pulls "How did I not notice before that you are this beautiful?" he kissed one of your folds and your back flexed again. "That you taste so good…”

Your whole body jerked in pleasure as he sealed his lips on your clit. Sucking. Drinking. Opening his mouth wide and devouring every nerve of you like a starving man. As if you were his last entrée that he would hesitate to ravish for how exquisite it was. One hand came up and took away yours that was caressing your boobs, his now cold fingers closing on them. His hand was large. It went all the way around you and pressed your hard, overstimulated nipple between the middle of his fingers.

"Spencer," you moaned, your thighs trembling and his mouth devouring your cunt with vigor, "It's too much. Sensitive."

His mouth closed on you again, your hips still twitching at him. Pleasure engulfed you, your stomach contracted and you swore you saw nebulae and tiny stars the moment his tongue sucked slowly at your slit. It curved, it teased you, driving you to your limit.

"No, not yet" he groaned against your skin, but his fingers didn't falter for a single second. The bundle of stimulation cut your lungs out. "Just one, yes? Can you give it to me, angel?"

You barely nodded as he returned to devouring you. He wanted to take you to the last of your strength. Heat coiled in your stomach and your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Irregular beats that succumbed you in instant pleasure. His tongue licked in one last long line in your pussy that tore out a scream that you stifled by biting your lip. The release of your orgasm taking you elsewhere. You were trapped in ecstasy. Your limbs ached and you needed him more and more. His breath was warm as he pulled away and kissed your mons pubis, testing, seeing how much more you could take. It made your hair stood on edge.

"You had this well planned, hmm?" you whimpered in a murmur, feeling the sequels of your first orgasm shaking your body, "I bet you've thought about it too. About how good it would feel to have me in your hands, is that it? Did you want me so bad you couldn't do anything but imagine it?”

He growled in reply, and the sound made your blood rise. Time slowed down around you and for a moment you forgot there was a whole party going on outside. But all you could think about was that you had Spencer on his knees for you, his erection probably being too painful for him and yet he continued to kiss you and tasted all of your senses. The pressure of his lips was deep worship, in restrained cravings that would sooner or later explode into frenzy. Your head fell against the mirrored glass as now his fingers curved lightly to touch your cunt in search of more. He added a finger, then another, patiently opening you up. Your hips throbbed again from the overstimulation, your brow furrowing as he rose and began to spread kisses all over your face.

"You have no idea, I asked myself that every night I pretended I didn't care about you more than I should have." he murmured, his palm pressed against your clit and his bulge in his pants pressed against your thigh, in pursuit of a delicious friction you both needed. You were at his mercy completely. You lowered your head and rested your forehead on his shoulder, feeling his fingers move nimbly inside you. "And each time, the answer was yes. I wanted you so much that it hurts. Do you think you can give me one more, sweetheart?"

You nodded again and that sweet moan that came out of your mouth when he added a third finger made you see stars. Your eyes closed, you impaled yourself on his hand until you felt Spencer silencing as best he could his moans by stifling them with his own lips, still glistening from your arousal.

He continued touching you. Kissing you with ardor. And you questioned if you would have done this if you were both talking to each other instead of immediately deducing that you disliked each other. You were an idiot. Because from now on you didn't want to be in the hands of any man but Spencer. You didn't want to see another face. Neither did you want to go back to the normal course of your life when he had brought you to a point of no return that you never reached with anyone else.

"Just like that," he whispered, kissing that dangerous spot in the area of your racing pulse. Provocatively. "Fucking my hand. Gasping for me. You're so good. So beautiful. I can't get enough of you."

He bit back a slim layer of skin, and you moaned.

"Spencer..." you hissed, leaning your hips into him, "Fuck.”

You glimpsed his frown trying to concentrate on your own pleasure, but his hips bucked and he rubbed at your inner thighs, you could almost see some pre seminal liquid pouring out of his pants and the sight made you rush at his touch. His fingers curled, you grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed him as you bucked unconsciously and the surges of your second orgasm filled you up to your ears. Spencer gasped as you came in his hand, and he was precious. Beautiful, dark eyes, rosy cheeks and fully swollen, glowing lips. Your breaths hitched in unison as he pulled his hand away from you and you brushed back the strands of hair that clung to his sweaty forehead.

You give him a smile, tired, and his head does nothing but spin. At the need, at how good it felt to finally touch you and feel you collapse into him. At how masterful you perceived better than all the times he imagined what it would be like. A giggle escapes from his lips, pressing a kiss to your temple, his warm breath spreading over your skin, and his hand, almost by instinct, moved up your abdomen in a lazy rubbing tracing distracted circles. Now yours played with the hairs at the nape of his neck and you let yourself drift in the sweet silence surrounding you.

"Hmm," he whispered. "It took us longer to heal your wound."

You opened your mouth in an offended gesture, hitting him gently but you didn't have the strength for much. His body vibrated from his laughter, and you loved it. "I want to see you say that later. We'll see who gets the last laugh and it will definitely be me.”

Spencer looked at you with those deer-eyed eyes full of tenderness that your knees felt weaker. He left another soft kiss on your cheek and you hummed in delight at the gesture. Slipping your arms around his shoulders, hugging him. Melting into him.

"Whatever you say, angel." he said with his eyes closed. "We still have time."

It was as if the entire universe had shrunk to that instant. The feel of your skin against his effortlessly banishing everything you felt for him before. Of knowing he craved you as much as you craved him. His breath attached to yours, coupled in a quiet, slightly agitated rhythm, just enough to fill the bathroom with him.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the slow waves of his breathing, and for a moment you felt light. As if in that minuscule piece where nothing bad could reach you. As if he was the refuge you had always wanted to return to without knowing it.

"Do we have it?" you repeated softly, shyly, almost as a question to yourself.

Spencer nodded, his nose brushing against your temple."We have all the time in the world if you're with me.”

Your lips pursued his just because the words got stuck in your mouth, this time in a more chaste kiss. One that tasted of rest, of complicity. And your heart was beating so fast you could hear its beat rewinding in your ears.

"I like you so much," you murmured against his mouth, barely a whisper. "I reiterate that I'm concerned about all the effects you have on me.”

His hands traced slow figures on your back, the whisper of his voice lulling you low:

"Then let's be scared together. It's much safer for both of us, isn't it?"

And you did. You closed your eyes, sank into him... And, for the first time in a while, you didn't care what came next.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #divider by cafekitsune #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you

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yuujispinkhair · 8 months ago

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Cowboy Sukuna (Part 1)

Sukuna became a cowboy so he wouldn't have to let anyone tell him what to do. And because he wanted to put some distance between himself and his little brother so Sukuna wouldn't drag him into his mess. Sukuna is made for the lonesome cowboy life. He doesn't need anyone by his side. He isn't looking for love. At least that's what he thinks until he meets you, a pretty girl in a flowery dress and cowboy boots who somehow knows how to tear Sukuna's walls down.

Cowboy!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Cowboy AU, fluff + smut Word Count: 7.5k Playlist: Cowboy Sukuna Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol, fistfights, blood. Minors don't interact. This story is inspired by @sweetlandspos fanart of Cowboy Sukuna (also this is the selfie he sends Reader). I saw him and fell in love, and I just HAD to write a story about this sexy cowboy. Divider @/benkeibear. The art in the header was used with permission from @/sweetlandspos

Sukuna grew up thinking he belonged nowhere. He can't even remember his dad and his mama didn't want him either. He was raised by his grandpa, but Sukuna was a wild one, a rebel and troublemaker, famous in his small town but for all the wrong reasons. He got all those tattoos when he was far too young, got into all those fistfights, broke all those hearts, and even got into trouble with the cops once. His gramps told Sukuna he was a bad influence on his little brother, so when Sukuna was old enough, he left it all behind and bought this old ranch in the middle of nowhere.

He renovated the old farmhouse all by himself and built his own life out here. A life he could be proud of. It's a lonely life. No wife, no kids, not even a girlfriend. Just Sukuna and his dog and horse and the cows. And lots of hard work. But it's what Sukuna tells himself he wants. The bad boy cowboy never even considered getting married. He doesn't think he is made for love. He isn't even sure he deserves it or is capable of it. Sukuna enjoys life out here in the middle of nowhere and tells himself he doesn't need anyone by his side, anyway.

If he wants to fuck, he can drive to town and flirt his way into some pretty girl's bed. It's never anything serious. Just a few hours of fun and then Sukuna is gone again. No goodbye kiss, no exchange of phone numbers. The only thing he leaves behind are some muddy bootprints on her front porch, and some cigarette ash flicked out of his car window.

Sukuna doesn't expect to ever find love or even want to find it. And he certainly doesn't think that he will meet his future wife on a random Tuesday morning in the shabby old hardware store he has been frequenting for years.

He got into his pickup truck at sunrise, driving several hours to the small town to buy some things in the hardware store, and that's where he runs into you, a sweet little thing in a flowery dress and pretty cowboy boots, wringing your hands nervously when Sukuna has some questions regarding the pond supplies he wants to buy.

He grins at you, taking his cowboy hat off and nodding at you respectfully, all polite because contrary to what he looks like with all his tattoos and the intimidating height and muscular build, he can be a gentleman if he wants to, and you seem like such a sweetheart, Sukuna thinks you deserve his best charming self.

You tell him it's your first day working here and you have to check with your boss. You apologize profusely to Sukuna, and he can't stop the smirk from spreading over his tattooed face because you are so damn cute.

He tells you, "It's okay, ma'am, I have time.", and watches you get all flustered before you hurry to the back of the store.

You return a few minutes later with a warm smile on your face and answer Sukuna's questions, showing him around and also helping him pick some other things he says he needs (which he doesn't, but he likes the way you smile at him and the way your sweet flowery perfume fills his nose anytime you move).

You even insist on helping him load the items into his pickup truck,

"See it as compensation for my earlier lack of fishing pond knowledge."

And Sukuna laughs and thanks you,

"There is nothing you have to compensate for. I am very pleased with your service."

He eyes the nameplate attached to your dress and addresses you by your name, letting it roll off his tongue in his low, velvety voice that he knows girls find sexy. Sukuna can see that you are affected by his charm, and he grins broadly at you when he tips his cowboy hat in a farewell. And you smile so sweetly at him, and Sukuna is pretty sure you really mean it when you tell him to come back again soon.

Sukuna is back in town only a week later, picking up a new saddle he ordered at the local saddler, but he drives past the hardware store on his way back, and something makes him slow down, makes him take one last deep drag from his cigarette and then flick the cigarette butt out the open window before Sukuna pulls into the small parking lot.

Sukuna tells himself it's a good idea to have a little look around when he already made the long drive into town anyway. He could use a new toolbox. The old one is still functioning, but this new one comes with a sweet girl in a cute little skirt and those shiny cowboy boots. Sukuna spends thirty minutes in the little shop until he finally sees you coming out from the back.

Your gaze meets his, and he sees the way your eyes widen just as Sukuna grins at you, tipping his cowboy hat in greeting and casually strolling over to you.

You smile brightly at him, remembering him (Of course you do. Sukuna knows he always leaves an impression), greeting him by his name, and asking him how you can be of help.

Sukuna cocks his head, a lazy smirk spreading over his handsome, tattooed face, letting his gaze travel over your pretty face and cute curves, thinking that he definitely knows some things you could help him with. He is pretty sure he could have you in his truck in no time at all, his calloused hands slipping under your cute little skirt while your pretty mouth moans his name. But something makes him hold back.

It's untypical for Sukuna. He drove all the way to town and will only be here for a few hours. Usually, he makes good use of that time to get his fill of some sweet pussy wrapped around his cock to keep him satisfied for the long lonely nights to come once he is back home again, riding over the plains, herding his cows.

But Sukuna looks at your sweet smile and your genuine kindness, and it doesn't feel right to only fuck you and then leave again to never see you again.

And so Sukuna doesn't try to get under your skirt but instead leans down to grin at you and ask you to help him pick a nice new toolbox.

He walks out of the store an hour later, not just with a new toolbox but also a new BBQ grill, some lawn chairs, and a saddle bag he could have gotten in much better quality at the saddler he just came from. But it's okay because it meant that he could spend a whole hour with you in the shitty little hardware store, letting you show him around, talking to him in your sweet voice with the thick accent, while Sukuna watched your little skirt sway around your knees.

You accompany him to his truck again, and Sukuna smirks at you like the devil that he is, asking in a teasing voice,

"Is this some new service your store offers? Helping every customer load their stuff into their cars? Or is this a special service just for me?"

His smirk grows bigger when he sees how flustered you get once again, and he adds,

"No need to get all shy on me, sweetheart. I like being your favorite customer."

You giggle nervously but smile that bright smile at him again and quickly ask him where he lives and what he's doing for a living. And Sukuna laughs and points at his cowboy hat,

"This is what I'm doing. The hat isn't just a sexy accessory."

"Oh? So you're really a cowboy?"

"Yeah, as real as you can meet one. I have my own ranch a few hours from here. Just me and my animals."

You smile at him, getting a slightly dreamy look in your eyes, telling him,

"That sounds nice."

Sukuna doesn't know why his chest feels so fluttery and warm the whole drive home. He even catches himself humming along softly to one of those stupid, catchy lovesongs playing on the country station on his shitty old car radio.

Cowboy Sukuna doesn't know what it is, but lately, he keeps coming to town more often than usual. It's Friday night, and he's sitting in the small bar with the roses on the wooden sign above the old-fashioned saloon doors.

Sukuna is drinking whiskey with some rancher who wants to buy several cows from him, when Sukuna suddenly sees you. All pretty and sexy without knowing it, in your blue jeans and the cropped blouse, laughing unrestrainedly with your girls after a long work day.

Sukuna can't take his eyes off you. He watches you over the rim of his whiskey glass, feeling that strange warmth in his chest again. He's about to put his glass down and walk over to you when he sees a guy bump into you.

The asshole is acting as if it was by accident, but he is far too handsy for Sukuna's taste. Standing much too close to you, his shoulders brushing against yours, his mouth at your ear, saying something to you.

Sukuna grits his teeth.

You smile politely at the guy, laughing awkwardly, not at all like when you laugh with Sukuna. You are uncomfortable. That much is clear to see, but Sukuna can tell you are a good girl who was taught to always be nice and polite, even to that guy with the grabby hands. That pathetic worm puts a hand on your hip, and Sukuna sees red.

He slams his whiskey glass down on the table and crosses the small bar in a few large steps, grabbing that handsy guy and pulling him off you with an angry growl. Sukuna slams him into the wall, glaring at him, his voice low and dangerous,

"Get your dirty hands off her, or I'll fucking kill you!"

Your wide, surprised eyes stare at Sukuna, and that nameless guy screams and tries to punch him, but Sukuna just laughs about the pathetic attempt and drags him further away from you, grabbing him by the collar as Sukuna's right fist connects with the asshole's face.

Sukuna has always been good at fistfights. He is a rough guy, a dirty fighter, sadistic when someone pisses him off. He tried to stay out of trouble those last few years, but tonight, he is not restraining his anger, not when it comes to protecting you.

He smirks devilishly at the guy when that asshole manages to land a hit on Sukuna's face. It just manages to rile Sukuna up even more. He laughs and taunts that loser for hitting like a little boy before Sukuna attacks again and sends the guy tumbling to the floor with the next hard punch.

It's then that your small, soft hands wrap around Sukuna's tattooed biceps, and your sweet voice says his name with so much worry that it makes Sukuna stop going after that guy on the floor. He just jerks his head at the guy, telling him to get lost,

"If you know what's good for you, you better stay a mile away from that sweet lady in the future. Now apologize to her."

And the guy scrambles to his feet, mumbling a sorry before he flees from the bar and from Sukuna.

Sukuna slowly turns around, running a tattooed hand through his pink hair. He wipes his split lip on his sleeve, gives you a lopsided grin, and asks if you are okay.

And you stare at him with big, worried eyes, taking in the blood on his tattooed face, but a small smile plays around your lips as you tell Sukuna,

"Thank you for getting him away from me. I am fine... but what about you? Your lip... let me fix that, please."

You take Sukuna's large hand in your smaller one, tugging gently on it, and Sukuna follows you out of the bar.

You lead him down the road to your small house, inviting him in, not to have sex with him, but to patch him up, and somehow it feels a lot more intimate than all the times combined that Sukuna went home with another girl.

You are so sweet to him, scolding him for getting into a fight and getting himself hurt, but your fingers are so gentle when you wipe the blood off Sukuna's face and put a band-aid on his split lip. You smile softly as you trace the tattoos on Sukuna's jaw with your fingers and whisper a thank you to him.

"Thank you for protecting me from that guy and teaching him a lesson. You're a good guy."

And Sukuna laughs roughly, grinning at you and shaking his head,

"That's a first. Usually, I get called the opposite."

And you laugh with him, your soft fingers still cupping his chin and touching his tattoos oh so gently, insisting that even though he looks like a bad boy, Sukuna seems really nice.

Sukuna is so close to just pulling you on his lap and kissing you, but he refrains from doing it. Because he knows where it would lead, and for once in his life, Sukuna doesn't want a one-night stand. He doesn't want to fuck you and then drive back to his life out on the ranch to never see you again.

He doesn't want that with you. He wants to see you again, and he wants to take things slow. He wants to court you in an old-fashioned way.

Sukuna eats the homemade pie you bring him and drinks the coffee you insist he should drink before he drives back home. He thanks you politely for playing nurse for him and for feeding him, looking at you with the most charming smile he can give you with his split lip. And you tell him he is welcome and that he knows now where to find you if he ever needs someone to patch him up again.

Sukuna returns a week later to the hardware store, not because he needs to buy anything, but for you. He sees you smile when you spot him leaning casually against a wooden fence display, twirling his cowboy hat in his fingers and smirking that lazy grin at you.

You only have eyes for him, forgetting what you want to say to the customers you are serving. Looking at them in confusion and stuttering an excuse before your gaze wanders back to Sukuna. And Sukuna's smirk grows bigger.

He didn't even dress nice. He is just wearing his typical black jeans and cowboy boots, and one of the flannel shirts he always wears on the ranch. But he knows he looks good anyway. Sukuna knows the ladies love his handsome face and his tall and strong body with all those well-defined muscles from all the hard work. And his pink hair and tattoos are very popular with the country girls, too. They all get weak in the knees for a bad boy like Sukuna.

But somehow, he doesn't want to be a bad boy when it comes to you. A strange warmth spreads through Sukuna's chest when you leave the other customers standing and come over to him with that big smile on your pretty face, greeting him and telling him that it's nice to see him again.

No, Sukuna doesn't want to be an asshole or a bad boy when it comes to you. He wants to be a good man for you. He is polite to you, sweet, and respectful. A true cowboy and gentleman.

He grins his boyish grin at you, cocking his head and drawls,

"I thought I should stop by to check on you. Make sure there aren't any weird guys I have to fistfight for you."

Sukuna flirts with you and makes you laugh and giggle until your boss gives you side eyes and informs you that you shouldn't pester customers. But Sukuna turns to the man, towering over him,

"She is just helping me decide which products to buy. You shouldn't berate her but rather give her a raise. This sweet lady is the best thing about this shitty store. The only reason I keep coming back."

You burst out laughing the moment your boss has left and Sukuna thinks his stomach has never felt so fluttery. He asks you when your shift is over and if he can take you out for dinner. He is delighted when you say yes.

Sukuna waits until your shift is over and then leads you to his old pickup truck, holding open the door for you, giving you a hand, and helping you climb into it. His hand rests a bit longer than necessary on the small of your back, but you don't seem to mind.

He takes you to a cozy little restaurant that he has been to several times before. Always alone because Sukuna never went on dates in the past. But the elderly lady who owns the restaurant always tells Sukuna that she knows the type of cowboy Sukuna is from the time when she was still a young girl.

"Oh, I have had several boys like you in my life. Y'all are such handsome devils, but always breaking hearts everywhere you go because you are always running from something, and you don't even know from what. I wish for you to find the right girl one day. And if you do, bring her here."

And now Sukuna is here with you, walking into the restaurant with his arm wrapped lightly around you, catching the knowing gaze of the old lady behind the counter. She leads the two of you to a table on the patio, all romantic with wildflowers in a mason jar and fairy lights overhead.

Sukuna has never been on a real date, but he likes this. He likes to be here with you, chat with you, laugh with you, and hold your hand on the table, watching his long tattooed fingers interlace with your smaller ones, which feel so soft.

The hours slip by without either of you noticing how late it is.

When it is time to bring you home, Sukuna drives you to your house, parks the truck in front of it, and turns to you to say the typical flirty stuff that he usually says to girls, but he stops when he sees your smile, and somehow anything he usually says seems so hollow and fake, and it wouldn't be right to say it to you.

Sukuna closes his mouth again, gulping hard, the bad boy cowboy at a loss for words for the first time in his life.

This feeling is new to Sukuna. All of this is new to him. This warmth in his chest and the fluttery feeling in his stomach. And how he is so damn scared to fuck things up and lose you before you even are his.

How can Sukuna even say anything at all to you when everything he wants to tell you is so fucking raw and loaded with feelings he has never felt before? When it all makes him feel so fucking vulnerable?

Like the fact that Sukuna really enjoys spending time with you and that he wants to see you again. Or that he is pretty sure he gets butterflies when hearing your laugh. Or that he never believed in love, but he thinks he is starting to do it now.

He can't say those things, can he?

In the end, it doesn't need any words from him. You smile at him and thank him for the lovely evening, adding a bit shyly that you aren't used to going on dates, and then stutter because you realize what you said and you are worried that it wasn't really a date and you made a fool of yourself by assuming it was one.

And Sukuna can't help but grin and then do the one thing that will shut you up and hopefully ease your worries:

He kisses you right there in his truck. Cups your chin with his calloused hand and brushes his lips softly over yours. Careful, gentle. Something Sukuna usually isn't, but you bring out some part of him that was dormant until now.

Sukuna wants this kiss to be special. He wants to be gentle with you because you are gentle with him, too. You are sweet and kind. You treat him as if he is deserving of tenderness.

You make a cute, surprised sound, but don't pull away. Instead, your hand lands on Sukuna's neck, caressing the short stubble of his undercut, pulling him closer as your lips begin to move against his, too, and Sukuna can't help but smile into the sweetest kiss he ever had.

When the two of you pull apart again, Sukuna smiles at you, a genuine, soft smile, and tells you,

"It was absolutely a date. And I had a lovely evening, too, princess. Let me take you out to dinner again soon."

Sukuna watches you get out of his truck and walk to your front door. He lifts a hand to give you a little wave when you turn around in the open doorway to smile at him once again, whisper-shouting to him that you wish him a safe drive home.

Sukuna stays in his truck outside your house until the light in your living room goes on, and he knows you are safe and sound before he finally pulls out of your driveway and makes his long way home, his thoughts filled with your smile and the taste of your sweet lips and tongue in his mouth.

Sukuna stays true to the promise he made to himself and really takes things slow with you. He has to work anyway, look after his ranch, fix some fences, and ride across the plains, where he meets no other human being for several days. But you are on his mind the whole time.

He sends you pictures from his rides when he is lucky and gets a signal. Selfies of him on horseback, grinning at you with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. And some pics of some of his cows, smiling when you ask for their names.

"They don't have names. I just numbered them. But you can give them names if you like, sweetheart."

And you do. You send Sukuna the stupidest names you can think of, and he can't stop grinning,

"I sure hope you won't be in charge of naming any kids."

"Well, I will let their daddy help choose the names if he has such a problem with my name-giving skills."

And Sukuna's head spins at the implication. You're a tease in such a sweet way, and it drives him completely insane.

But Sukuna knows he drives you crazy for him, too. He knows that as much as you like the normal pictures he sends you, you also love the thirst traps he blesses you with.

The pictures where he is shirtless, all his tattoos and defined muscles on display for you, sweat glistening on his strong body, his faded, ripped jeans sitting low on his hips and doing nothing to hide the massive bulge throbbing in them.

You send him pictures, too, not as shameless as the thirst traps Sukuna sends you, but enough to drive him crazy. He has never held himself back so long, but damn, he thinks you are worth all the hard-ons he has and only his own hand to take care of them. Sure, Sukuna could drive to the next bar and find a random girl to ease that pressure, but he doesn't want it. There is only one girl he wants.

Sukuna can wait. He knows you are worth it.

And as much as he wants to have you under him, leaving scratches on his back and squealing his name in pleasure, he also wants to just talk to you or maybe take you on a little ride on his horse.

He calls you every night just to hear your voice and ask about your day, laughing about all the rude customers at the hardware store. Sukuna asks you what you had for dinner and listens to all the latest gossip your mama told you. Sometimes, he falls asleep while listening to your sweet voice and sees a text from you in the morning telling him that he sounds cute when he snores.

Maybe that's ruining the bad-boy reputation that Sukuna has all over your small town, but he doesn't give a fuck. You can see this other side of him. You are the exception, and he finds that he likes that.

Sukuna visits the town as often as his ranch duties allow so he can take you on dates. Sometimes, he drives his old pickup truck, but sometimes, he takes his motorcycle, grinning at you when he parks it in front of your house and takes off his helmet, running a hand through his ruffled hair to smooth it down again, and telling you to come hop on so he can take you on a ride. And you raise an eyebrow jokingly,

"When you said you are a cowboy, I pictured a guy on a real horse..."

And there is this happy sparkle in your eyes, and that sweet laugh falling from your lips. And fuck, Sukuna knows he is a lost man.

He grins back at you, leaning down to greet you with a slow, deep kiss before he holds out his helmet to you,

"This cowboy will let you ride his horse soon, too, but for now, let me show you a bit more horsepower."

Sukuna loves the feeling of your body snuggling against his back, your hands wrapped tightly around his waist, your hands caressing his chest and his abs through his shirt, and your loud, excited laugh when Sukuna accelerates his bike and speeds down the dirt road leading to nowhere, leaving a cloud of dust and dirt behind.

Sukuna parks his motorcycle at a pretty pond and spreads out a picnic blanket in the grass. The two of you sit down to eat something, but it only takes a few minutes before the snacks are forgotten, and Sukuna rolls on top of you and kisses you until he feels dizzy, and you sigh into his mouth.

When you look up at him and touch his face, trace his tattoos with your fingertips, and smile at him, Sukuna knows that he has never been this genuinely happy in his life. But at the same time, it scares him. It terrifies him to feel so much.

He strolls down to the pond, smoking a cigarette while looking over the smooth surface of the water, trying to calm down and stop his fears from swallowing him. Trying to stop that voice in his head that whispers to him that this cowboy should do what he is best at and just run and isolate himself and live his life in solitude.

But your sweet laugh carries to Sukuna's ears as you run towards him, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. Your small hand wraps around his tattooed biceps, and you lean against his side,

"Hey cowboy, come back. I have some homemade lemonade and cake in my bag."

Sukuna turns his head to look at you, at the way you tilt your head to smile up at him, eyes full of affection. How could he walk away from this? Yeah, he is scared out of his mind of all those feelings, but he would regret it even more if he ran.

He blows out his cigarette smoke slowly as a lazy grin spreads over his face, and he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead.

"Homemade lemonade? You sure know the way to my heart, huh, princess?"

He lets you take his hand and pull him back to the picnic blanket, sipping your lemonade and letting you climb in his lap and feed him the cake you baked for him, and Sukuna wraps his arms around your waist, capturing your lips in a sweet, sexy kiss, hoping you can understand the silent promises his tongue writes against yours.

All the words he doesn't dare say out loud because they scare him. But Sukuna knows it's you for him. He knows that he wants by his side. He knows you are his girl and hopes he is your boy, too. He hopes he is a man who is deserving of you and your sweetness. Sukuna promises you silently that he will work damn hard to be that man.

It takes weeks before the two of you have sex.

Sukuna takes you on another date with his old truck this time, driving far out to watch the stars with you and lying in the bed of his truck with you in his arms.

He brought you flowers. The wild ones which grow on his ranch because he feels like you enjoy them more than the ones from the flower shops, and it makes him happy to see you with something from his life.

You thanked him with a sweet kiss and put some of the flowers in your hair, laughing when they fell out again, and Sukuna picked them up again and tucked them behind your ear.

And now those flowers are already out of your hair again, strewn all over the truck bed because the two of you are so lost in your deep tongue kisses and the feeling of your bodies grinding against each other.

The flowers are forgotten, just like the stars above. The only thing you know is each other's mouths and hands that tug on each other's clothes, craving more, needing skin-on-skin contact.

Sukuna's shirt has been long gone, and yours too, leaving you only in your lacey bra and the little skirt, driving Sukuna crazy. Your hands explore the naked skin of his broad back and his biceps, and your lips trail sweet kisses down Sukuna's neck, leaving your lipstick marks on him.

And Sukuna licks and kisses the swell of your breasts above your bra, finally pulling the pretty lacey thing down to reveal your even prettier tits. He sucks one nipple into his warm mouth as he looks up at your face, grinning when he sees your eyelashes flutter and hears the cute little noises you make for him.

You straddle Sukuna's lap, smiling at him with desire burning in your eyes while your small hands wander a bit shyly over his tattooed chest, and Sukuna thinks he will lose his mind if he doesn't finally take you.

He flips you over on your back, pushes his head under your skirt, and eats you out until your legs are shaking and your hands tug on his pink hair, and you cry out his name into the night.

You look up at Sukuna with parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes as you unbutton his jeans and get his achingly hard cock out, stroking him lovingly while you tell him to please make you his girl.

Sukuna has held back for so long but cannot do it anymore. Not when you look at him like that and stroke his cock like that and ask him to claim you. He pushes you down on the truck bed, his arms on each side of your head, his heavy body on top of yours, his lips claiming yours in a possessive, hungry kiss at the same time as his cock claims your sweet, warm pussy.

He takes you with hard, rough thrusts, fucking you almost feverishly once he feels your warm pussy around his cock. And for the first time in his life, Sukuna apologizes for the way he fucks. For his roughness, for his strength. But you cling to him and moan his name and tell him it's okay and that you want him exactly like this.

You leave scratches on Sukuna's back, and he fucks his seed into you over and over again. The two of you can't get enough of each other that night, making out and fucking in various positions until the sky becomes pink with the approaching sunrise, and both of you are sated and exhausted, and you slump against Sukuna's body, hugging him, pressing your tits firmly against his tattooed chest as his spent cock softens gradually inside you.

Sukuna lets his head fall back on the truck bed, his large hands lazily caressing your back, and he looks up at the sky that brings a new morning, thinking that it feels like it's a whole new life that is beginning today.

He drives you back to town an hour later, stealing glances at you the whole drive long, one tattooed hand resting on your naked thigh under your skirt, and your small hand lands on top of Sukuna's, caressing the back of his hand while you sing along to the country songs on the radio. Sukuna can't stop grinning the whole time.

But even after you start to have sex with each other, you still take time to get to know each other even better. It's fun and sexy but also deep and meaningful, and Sukuna catches himself being more open with you than he ever was with anyone before.

He tells you the truth when you ask about his family, tells you that it's messy, that he can't even remember his dad, and that his mama didn't want him either. He tells you about his little brother, who he hasn't seen in many years because Sukuna ran from home the moment he was 18. He confesses all the shit he did. All the stupid things a rebellious teenage Sukuna got involved in. All the trouble and pain he caused his family. All the regrets he has, when he looks back at his former life now.

And you take his large hand into both of yours and hold it so gently, and smile that sweet smile at him, telling him that sometimes families simply are like that. A mess.

You tell him that you like him the way he is, with all his rough edges, and that you wish Sukuna had more love in his life when he needed it the most as a child.

"But you have me now, Kuna. And I will make sure you don't feel alone."

You tear down his walls so easily, break him in the most beautiful way, and build him up again, even stronger than before, because now Sukuna knows what it feels like to be loved.

And Sukuna says those famous three words for the first time in his life.

He pulls you to him, holds you in his arms, and rests his chin on your head, swaying you softly from side to side as he murmurs those words into your hair, words he never thought he would say,

"I love you. And I want to be with you. I know it's hard to love a man like me, but I want this to work. I want you. I want us. And I will work hard for it."

He thinks he will melt when you tell him you love him too and that there is nothing hard about loving him at all.

For the first time in his life, Sukuna stays in someone's bed the whole night.

The two of you kiss at your front door, and you gently pull him inside. You kiss and laugh and playfully tease each other all the way to your bedroom, undressing each other on the way, leaving behind a trail of clothes on your floor.

You call him baby, and Sukuna thinks he will go crazy. He picks you up and carries you the rest of the way until he lays you down on your bed, his lips never leaving yours.

You don't fuck that night but make love, nice and slow. You look so beautiful lying under Sukuna, your face so close to his, your small hands caressing his biceps and his muscular back while Sukuna takes you with slow, deep thrusts, unable to tear his gaze away from you and the love in your eyes when you whisper his name.

Sukuna tells you he loves you again when he is about to cum, and it feels more intense than anything else he has ever experienced. Especially when he feels you cum on his cock, too, sobbing his name and returning the "I love you" several times while you shudder in pleasure beneath him.

Sukuna doesn't let go of you the whole night. He lets you use his chest as your pillow, wraps you in his strong arms, and holds you. The wild, freedom-loving cowboy who usually runs, suddenly all tame.

Sukuna thinks he is right where he should be. He wants to stay forever in your bed and in your arms, holding the girl he loves.

Of course, a cowboy like Sukuna has to leave again in the morning. His ranch needs him. There are miles and miles of fences to fix, horses to train, and cattle to herd. But Sukuna promises to call you every night.

"And if I don't have a signal, I want you to know that I will still think of you, okay princess? Let's make a deal. Every night at ten pm, I want you to look at the sky. And I'll do the same, wherever I am, and imagine you are by my side."

And he laughs softly and hugs you to his strong body, adding,

"I will think about you every second of the day anyway. And I am damn sure you can't get me out of your mind either, huh?"

He winks at you and grins his boyish grin, and you chuckle and get on your tiptoes to kiss his grin off him.

Before Sukuna drives off, you give him a leather cord with a small charm in the form of a horseshoe, telling him you saw it on the farmers market last weekend and thought of him.

"I want to give it to you because I hope it will bring you luck and keep you safe out there on all those lonely nights and long rides."

And Sukuna leaves his bandana at your place,

"So you have something to remind you of me while I am away, princess. Wear it around your pretty throat to keep the chilly winds away and to think of your favorite cowboy."

Sukuna calls you every day just like he promised.

But out here on the plains, where Sukuna is on horseback, with only his dog running along beside him, his life still feels lonely. This solitude used to be something Sukuna chose willingly for himself. Something he thought was the only life that was right for a man like him.

But now Sukuna feels this longing inside his chest, and the questions keep filling his mind. Does a cowboy really have to be alone? Does Sukuna really have to be alone?

His ranch and his life out here are the last parts of him, which Sukuna hasn't opened to you yet. It seemed too risky to bring you here, too intimate. This is the place, after all, where Sukuna fled to so he wouldn't hurt his little brother anymore. A place he used to see as some kind of fortress that kept other people safe from Sukuna and also kept him safe from feeling too much. A place where he was free from all the complications of human interactions.

But things have changed, haven't they?

Sukuna visits you as often as he can, and he catches himself telling you more about his everyday life as a cowboy while watching you closely for your reactions. He tells you what he loves about his life on the ranch, tells you that it is a lot of hard work and that it can be tough at times, but that it is also peaceful, and that he likes that he is free out there.

"I like that I am my own boss because I really don't do well with people trying to tell me what to do."

And you laugh and roll your eyes, and Sukuna grins at you with a wink and adds,

"Well, you are the exception, baby."

And as teasing and light-hearted as it sounds, Sukuna knows that he is telling the truth. He doesn't mind if you tell him what to do. He doesn't mind if he has to take responsibility for his actions. Not when it comes to you.

You beam at him and kiss his tattooed cheek and ask in that sweet voice,

"Will you finally show me your ranch, Sukuna?"

And he knows what you are really asking is for Sukuna to finally let you in. To let this last wall tumble to the ground and allow you into his life in every way.

Sukuna feels strangely nervous when driving you to his ranch. But not because he is scared of losing his last refuge. He is nervous because he is worried you won't like the life out here in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but endless miles of uninhabited land around you and only Sukuna and his animals to keep you company.

Sukuna hopes you will like it. Because there is this small voice in his mind that whispers to him, "I want her to stay."

Sukuna watches you carefully while he shows you around his small ranch, showing you the old farmhouse he renovated, the barn he built with his own hands, and the stables he gave a new paint and a modern interior.

Relief floods Sukuna's chest when he sees the genuine smile on your pretty face and the joy when you pet his favorite horse. You turn to him, telling him that you love his ranch and praising him for turning an old abandoned farm into this pretty place.

"You are so passionate about the things you want, Sukuna, and you work hard for them. That's an admirable trait. This place is beautiful."

Sukuna smirks proudly at you, feeling this warmth in his chest again. He wraps a strong, tattooed arm around your waist and pulls you against him. And he knows exactly what he wants.

"This place is even more beautiful with you here. You remember what I said about enjoying my freedom out here? I feel free with you by my side, too. It doesn't feel like I am giving anything up when I am with you. It feels like I am gaining something."

There are happy tears shining in your eyes when you look up at him, and you smile and put a small hand on Sukuna's defined chest, right where his heart is beating strong and fast,

"I would love to live here with you, cowboy. I could help you with the crops and make sure you always have something warm to eat when you come home in the evening. I could even help with the horses and the cows, I think. And I can keep you company out here and keep you warm at night."

Sukuna doesn't believe in a God, but he thinks some kind of higher power or fate or whatever must have finally blessed him. Must have finally allowed a fallen angel like him some sort of heaven, too.

Sukuna smiles at you, a gentle, genuine smile that he never gives to anyone else, and he takes his cowboy hat off and puts it carefully onto your head,

"Then welcome to your new home, cowgirl."

SIGHHHHH, this cowboy makes me swoon 😭😭💗💗 I didn't expect this story to become so long, but I just couldn't stop writing. It was one of those moments where Sukuna took things into his hands and made me tell the whole story, and of course I do what my man wants ;)

I hope you enjoyed falling in love with Cowboy!Sukuna, too 💗

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

There will be a Part 2 in which we see our life on Sukuna's ranch.

And once again: Thank you Émilie @sweetlandspos for drawing your beautiful and sexy Cowboy!Sukuna, who inspired me to write this AU!! I hope you find joy in this story!!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n

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defmaybe · 1 month ago

Text

Talk Too Much

TWICE’s Myoi Mina x Male Reader

5.4k words

Part One of Untitled Mina Series

Talk Too Much | Be Sweet

Title inspired by COIN’s Talk Too Much

Sometimes, you just have to say the thought that lingers in your mind out loud. Maybe it’s a form of resistance, standing up for yourself. Maybe it’s a proclamation of love. In your case, it’s something that’s going to lighten someone’s day up.

A tongue click. “Looking spicy today, boss. I’m burning because of ya.”

She glances back, not wavered by your words. Her strides remain calm, walking towards her office with a lethal poise. A smirk appears on her face. A scoff is heard from her lips. And she just looks away.

Maybe you can ramp it up next time.

—

The work day plays out as usual—emails, messing around with Figma, interviewing users. You put in your best like you’ve always been doing. It’s exhausting, surely, but you take some pride in giving your all like this. You’re proud of yourself.

In a heartbeat, the short clock hand teases the number five. The sun casts orange hue all over the office, gleaming it with the tranquil of the evening, ready to collapse under the weight of workers heading home. You sit in your seat, analyzing your customer’s answers from the morning. Your questions are clever, you’ve been told. Extracting users’ needs is your expertise, and you couldn’t be more–

A Slack notification appears.

Myoi Mina

Meet me in my office before you go home. I’ll clock you in for overtime.

Damn, another late evening.

You let out a sigh, leaning back against the chair. Your eyes glance towards her office. She remains fixated on her computer, typing out something. Her posture remains as confident as ever, even in her chair—straightened back, determined eyes. She’s just untouchable.

Oh, to make her crumble under your body.

—

“So, you do know the reason you’re in here, right?” Mina asks, tapping her Caran d’Ache on the table—steady, expressionless. You sit in your seat, raising your eyebrows. It’s probably nothing much. You know her.

You take a careless guess, “Extra prep for tomorrow’s interviews?” putting one leg on top of the other. Your hand thrums restlessly on your thigh, foot tapping on the floor.

“No interviews tomorrow. I’ve pushed it to Wednesday in case you become too,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “drained.”

You let out a chuckle, crossing your arms together on your chest. “Come on, boss, you know I never get tired. I once did twenty interviews in a day!”

Mina scoffs, a small smile escapes her lips. “And I admire that. Still, I’m certain that this is going to be the new extreme for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. This is intriguing. Maybe this will get you a promotion. “Well, whatever it is, I’m ready.”

Mina nods approvingly, with a slight upturn on her lips. “You have a lot of tangible qualities. We’d be pleased to have more employees like you, really.”

Safe to say that lights up a smile on your face. “I’m flattered, boss.”

“I’m happy that we’ve come to this conclusion. Now, let’s get back to our topic.”

She rises from her chair, sauntering around the table. Her motion is reserved. Every step is careful. She settles in the space between you and her wooden table before setting herself on it.

She looks down at you, smirking. Her flowery scent hits your nose. Heat builds up within your body. You stare into her eyes, and you’re sure that she’s inviting your gaze—the fire in her eyes, the slightly louder breathing than usual, the upturn of her lips, so you let your eyes wander. That slightly creased white shirt is so tempting, a deep neckline that’s just begging for you to rip it apart. Her belt, leather black, it’d sure look good on her wrists while you ruin her. The black skirt drapes over her legs nicely. If it would be just a few inches shorter.

You just can’t resist the temptations anymore. Your cock is fucking straining in your pants.

“God, you’re just smoking hot, Mina.”

It finally slips out.

Mina chuckles, covering her mouth. She leans forward just a little, enough to reveal the curves of her bra-clad cleavage. Oh, to rip it off and feast on her nipples while she moans like a slut under you. You reach out to her neckline, teasing it gently—cotton. Your fingers slide towards that top button, ready to undo it and free her from the confines of her clothes. Just imagine fucking her senseless in her own office, pressing her face against the table while you rut into her tight ass like you’ve always wished. You just have all the power in the world right now.

“Tell me,” Mina says, tilting your chin up, her body shivering slightly at your teasing. You’re affecting her, “what have you been wanting to do to me?”

You look into her eyes. They’re burning, and you can’t just contain your ferocity anymore.

“I’ve always wanted to take you, especially in this room, baby. Every time you walk past me, I just want to rip whatever you’re wearing and bury myself in your ass. God, you’re just begging to be fucked with it. I wanna know how that tight ass feels around my cock, and I’m going to cum inside while you’re just my little slut.”

Mina chuckles as the first button comes off, showing more of the breathtaking curves of her tits. You trail lower for the second, with a scorching need to expose every inch of her porcelain skin.

“That’s rather … explicit, don’t you think?” Mina says coyly, scratching your chin gently with her fingers. More buttons slowly come off with your hand. She’s just letting you do anything. You’re the one in control here.

“Your orders, baby,” you reply, smirking all assuredly. You lean closer towards her chest, taking in that flowery scent of her body. Your hand undoes the last button of her shirt, and the edge of it falls along with the gravity. She’s exposed, all for you to touch.

Mina smiles, satisfied with your assertions. “Would you mind taking my skirt off first? There’s something I’ve been wanting to show you.”

Oh, to finally see her ass after years of ogling on it, wishing to clap it against your thighs.

Your hand glides down towards her belt, undoing it with ease, as if it’s a practiced move. She lets out a pleased hum as the belt comes off—another layer of obstruction gone. You then reach for the zipper of her skirt, eager to pull it down. The air is thick with tension, ready to snap at any second. You couldn’t be more prepared to make her your cumdump.

“Come on, baby. Don’t you wanna see the surprise?” Mina huffs, hand trembling under your chin.

You chuckle. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Your fingers find her zipper, before pulling it down gently. The sound of it just almost breaks you—so intense, so irresistible.

Until it reaches the bottom stop. The clicking sound elicits a smile from the two of you.

“What are you waiting for?” Mina quips.

Without another word, you grab the waistband of her frustratingly long skirt. Fucking finally. Her ass is yours.

And you pull it down.

What the fuck?

It’s a fucking strap-on.

Your mouth hangs open in shock. Strange? Peculiar? Bizarre? Those words cannot describe the sheer astonishment you feel on what’s under her skirt. You try to say something, but nothing comes out of your mouth. Your body freezes, unable to make sense of the black cock poking into your face, only shivering with what you’re unable to process. You’re supposed to be the one using a cock here!

Mina runs her hand in your hair, playing with locks and curls on your head. You hear a soft giggle from above, but your focus remains on her throbbing plastic cock. Images of what she could do with it flash into your head. You’re pinned against the door, defenseless, as her cock drills into your ass rhythmically. Wet clapping sounds echo through the room—might even leak out to the main office. Lube drips down your thighs onto the floor. The room reeks of sweat, sex, and your perfumes blended together. She gives your ass a slap, and your moan becomes a melody for the entire floor.

And more.

Your face is pressed onto her stack of documents on the table, body shaking with her cock splitting you open. A pool of cum sits at the door. You’re oversensitive from your first orgasm, but she keeps attacking your prostate with an unmatched precision. Sweat drips down your forehead, ruining the papers with your mark of submission. “Oh, you’re ruining the next meeting’s plans!” Mina chides, without any signs of halting her barrage. She’s just wasting papers printing these out.

And more. This is just embarrassing, staring at her cock and imagining how it could ruin you into a slut.

Your leg is raised in the air. It’s for easier access, Mina said—should’ve kept yourself more flexible. Another pool of cum sits under her desk, not as much as the one at the door, sadly. Mina thrusts into you relentlessly, nails digging into your skin. Your face is pressed against the window, all visible for the workers going home to see. It creaks slightly with her motion. “I’m going to clean my window with your cum, well, if you’re not drained yet at this point.”

You’re fucked.

“Do you think black fits me? I’m pretty bad with colors, so I’d like some external inputs.”

And why the fuck are you still hard?

You look up at her, finding a smile so full of kindness—the kind of smile parents use to assure their children. It’s supposed to be warm. It’s supposed to be calming, but you’re fucking certain that there’s nothing but sin in her heart—lust with a tinge of pride, to be more specific.

“I’ll take that as a yes, glad that you love it,” Mina says, ruffling your hair softly. You just can’t process this anymore—so foolish with human dynamics. Your control is demolished the instant that her cock springs free, imagining the ways she can ruin you—against the door, on the table (on top of that, her meeting documents), against the window, cock dangling pathetically and giving everybody below a free show.

Suddenly, she grips a handful of your hair, not harsh, but effectively locking your eyes on hers. She leans in a little closer. You can see the small wrinkles under her eyes, the small pimples on her forehead, the streak on her lips. Her minty breaths brush against your face. It makes her more human, less of a Hel. Somehow, though, that just makes her more terrifying.

Humans shouldn’t be capable of wielding this kind of terror.

“So, I have lube under my desk, just for cases like this. Off-document disciplinary sessions, you know?” Mina says with a chuckle, eyes so full of faux-compassion. “Although I’m in the mood for trying something new.”

You can only gulp. Mind races with the possibilities of how she’ll make your ass ready for her cock. Honey? Vaseline? Condensed milk? A bead of sweat falls down from your forehead. Your body trembles in her hold. The scent of her body overwhelms you. You can’t think straight anymore.

“I did say that you possess a lot of tangible qualities, right?”

You sheepishly nod, barely prepared for her next words. It’s just all dread, no room for any levity.

“Well, there’s one thing that has been an ongoing problem with you” — and she leans closer to your ears, still on the desk — “you just don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

The realization hits.

You are a bitch. All this time, you’ve been a foul-mouthed fucker who’s practically begging to be put in his place. Everybody has grown tired of you, but no one dared to take any action. Those boundary breaches, those uncalled-for teases, those flirty incitements, they were tabbed. And now, it’s time for you to pay it up.

“Therefore, you and your mouth need to be taught a lesson, one that’s going to stick.”

Mina gets down from her table, standing up straight—resolute. Her white top hangs open, all unbuttoned, but still as classy as always. Her black, artificial cock stands tall, ready to take on your fuckholes without any mercy.

“Kneel, please.”

Trembling, you get up from the chair. You’re a little taller than her, but that means nothing with her having everything in her hand like this. You feel reluctant to get down; a part of you hasn’t given up yet.

But an order is an order.

You sink to your knees, her throbbing cock in your face. It’s so close. The scent of her perfume and sweat wafts into your nose. Your hands tremble. Your body shakes with dread. Your stomach churns.

You’re hard, though.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips part slightly, barely ready for her relentless violation. She grabs a handful of your hair with one hand, the other aiming her cock towards your mouth. Your mouth quivers in fear. The air is thick with anticipation—the way she’s going to feel in your mouth, the way it’s going to hit the back of your throat, the way that you might cum pitifully from sucking her cock alone.

You flinch at the first touch of her tip on your lips. It’s so cold, so synthetic. Mina pushes it inside further, parting you more. Your body writhes as her width spreads your mouth out. It’s so big. Too big. The air becomes her—her sweat, her perfume, her cock. You feel nauseous from the revolting taste of plastic. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever savored. Consider it a new experience. She pushes more, and it’s starting to trigger your gag reflex. You spasm uncontrollably, making retching sounds in your throat. This is too much for you, but there’s still a few centimeters left. She drills it in, and her cock begins to stretch out the back of your throat. She’s just too big for you. Your hands seek grips by your side. You settle on her thighs. Your eyes flutter. You can’t breathe. Fuck. And with one final push, she’s at the hilt. Your throat is fucking ruined. The sound of your breath against her body rings in your ears.

Fuck.

You’re just a toy for her now.

“How was it?” Mina scoffs, running her fingers through your hair. You try to focus on her eyes, but her cock is buried so deep in your mouth it robbed a handful of your senses away—vision included. So, you just give her thighs a few squeezes.

Mina giggles, relishing in the scene of her employee getting his mouth fucked out like this. “Oh, I don’t know morse code, baby. I think you’ll have to use your mouth.”

Of course, she presses you harder into her cock.

Your body writhes violently in her hold. You can’t breathe on her hips. Your eyes are fluttering, and they’re getting all teary. You’re just a lump of flesh, begging to be used and abused.

Suddenly, she lets go. Your head springs off, nape landing on the chair’s edge. It stings, but that can’t compare to the happiness you feel when a puff of air hits your lungs again. A relieved smile escapes your lips. You look up into Mina’s eyes. She smirks, and they’re still gleaming with feigned compassion. Drool falls off your lips onto your clothes, onto the floor. You’re a mess. It’s all dirty, but that’s the last of your priorities.

“Sorry, didn’t see my cock in your mouth earlier,” she says, smiling shyly.

You say nothing, still trying to catch your breath. Your heart races in your chest. Your body aches with humiliation. The synthetic taste of her cock lingers in your mouth, and you’re sure that you’re going to remember this for a long time.

Mina squats down, hand reaching out for your lips. You can only smile wearily against the chair, mind all scattered. She wipes the mess on your lips away, cleaning your face with her delicate hand. For one second, it feels so soothing, and you think that it’d be better if this is genuine. You can feel your smile widening, face shifting closer towards her fingers, nuzzling against them. It’s just so affectionate that you forget how she fucked your face mere seconds ago.

You hear Mina chuckle. It’s probably amusing her to see her boytoy loving her touches like this. She continues to wipe the remnants of spit off your face like a baby. No chastising. No mocking. Just pure warmth. Each stroke only makes you sink deeper into comfort that you forget you’re going to be facefucked by her in just a minute. You just try to cling on to something, and there’s nothing wrong with it.

Oh, she just broke you into pieces.

Finally, she lets go of your face, leaving you cold on the floor again. Your head rests against the chair—spent. Your spasms subside as your body finally finds its rhythm once more. Your breathing comes back to normal.

Mina smiles, before asking, “What do good boys say after they get something?”

“Thank you.” It slips off your debauched lips so easily.

“Thank you, who?” She presses into the tip of your nose lightly with a smile that just makes you melt.

“Thank you, Miss Myoi!”

The answer brings out a chuckle from Mina’s lips. She just looks so happy. “Ah, you’re close! Again, thank you, who?”

This isn’t just a quick patch, it’s a whole revamp on your brain.

“Thank you, mommy!”

It plagues your veins. It’s buried in your heart. It’s tattooed on your skin—permanent.

“Good boy.” She smiles, and you earn another ruffle in your hair.

There’s no coming back from this.

“Now, I’m going to stand up, alright? Don’t worry, mommy’s not going anywhere,” Mina says, cupping your cheek.

“Yes, mommy,” you reply, nuzzling and whimpering against her palm.

The comfort on your face is short-lived as she stands up, and you can only whine in disappointment. She towers over you once more. Her cock dangles just a few centimeters away from your face, so slick with your filthy drool. It wants you to suck again, suck on it until your mommy cums, and you’re ready to have your breath taken away for her pleasure.

Voice still honeyed, Mina says, “Time to get up, baby boy. Time to put that mouth to use.”

In a haste, you get up to your knees again. The synthetic smell of her cock hits your nose, but you don’t feel so disgusted by it like you did mere minutes ago. Instead, you part your lips instinctively, becoming a willing boytoy for her. Your eyes look up into Mina’s eyes, begging her to bury her cock in your mouth.

“Aw, I’m so proud of you. You’re such a perfect slut for mommy, ready to suck my cock like this,” Mina praises, pushing herself forward. A smile escapes your eager lips. You’re so close to feeling her again.

She grabs a handful of your hair, a little lighter than last time, and she guides you towards her cock. You stretch your mouth wider, readying yourself for her crushing width. Your throat relaxes. You’re going to take all of her in your mouth like a good little slut.

“Say ah,” Mina tells you.

“Ah …”

Your body doesn’t jolt the instant her tip touches your lips. You’re doing better. Her cock invades more and more of your mouth, filling it with its plastic taste, poking the back of your throat. Your body begins to shake as your breathing becomes difficult. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. The scent of her perfume and her cock fill your nostrils. And in a heartbeat, you take all of her.

At the hilt, you can barely breathe. Your eyes flutter with the overwhelming size of her cock. You can only cling on to her thighs pathetically. Her nails bury deep in your hair. The feeling, though, it’s neither rejection nor disdain. It’s acceptance and pride. You’re at peace with how your body was made for her cock. You’re at peace with how you were born to be her slut.

And you couldn’t be happier.

Suddenly, the grip in your hair tightens, making you wince around her cock in pain. Your toe curls at the nerve-snapping sensation. Your fingers dig into her thighs. She begins to grind her hips against your face. Your throat makes guttural, animalistic sounds as her tip grinds the back of it. You’ve never heard that before. Your eyes quiver with the rolling of her hips. Everything is so blurry now. Tears form in your eyes. Your nose gets squished on her waist as she moves. Your lungs are begging for air, but it's so hard to breathe. It’s suffocating. You panic.

“What’s the matter, baby boy? Can’t breathe?” Mina asks, voice so fucking full of smugness. The answer is up for your grasp, if not for the black plastic cock stuffing your mouth like this.

She continues to grind her hips against your mouth, fucking your face at a tempo only she can hear. Your breathing remains lacking in any kind of rhythm.

Someone’s probably into it.

But not you.

Oh, and she just moaned for the first time in the evening. She grinds herself deeper, having that G-spot pleasured at a little cost of silencing that trigger-happy mouth.

“Your lack of manners won’t be tolerated, baby boy. You don’t let the adults do the talking alone.” Mina scolds, but her hips remain pressed against your ruined, spit-soaked face. She moans again, finally getting the insides of her properly fucked. The scents of her and plastic consume you like a hypnosis. She’s fucking your face, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Thankfully, she pushes your head back, leaving just her tip resting inside your mouth, and you know damn well enough to take a deep breath. It smells disgusting, blighting your lungs and blood vessels with a scorching plague, but it’s better than suffocation. Spit coats her cock, glistening it under the evening sunlight. It drips down to the floor—the first mark of filth in this office. Your eyes shoot up to Mina, who’s still giving you an infuriatingly warm smile.

She just won’t let you go so easily.

Mina laughs, still manages to keep that kind-and-loving façade after fucking your mouth open.

Twice.

She squints as she smiles, pulling your cheeks lovingly like you’re a child. Your body is still spasming, throat fucked-out. Your vision is all blurry with your tears. Your lips quiver against the head of her cock. Though, if she revels in having you like this, who are you to argue?

“That was so great, baby. Mommy’s gonna cum if you keep this up,” Mina praises, ruffling your hair fondly. You can feel warmth glowing around her body again. You know it’s a devious manipulation. You’re not supposed to fall for it, but your heart has already yielded, “and you’re going to be a cock-drunk mess by the time we’re done. How does that sound? Do you wanna make mommy cum?”

Your breathing slowly stabilizes. Your sight becomes clearer. It’s coming back. It’s your brief reprieve, and you’re cherishing every second of it, knowing how Mina can just rob it in a matter of seconds. She meets your gaze, anticipating an answer. The thought of your throat being used vigorously shouldn’t entice you this much. But with your cock twitching in your pants like this, you can only do the best you can—a whimper.

“Aw, you’re so cute!” Mina says, pouting, pulling on your cheeks again. It’s so affectionate, so blissful, and suddenly, you feel safe with her once more. You nuzzle against her soft palm feebly, letting out a string of whimpers against the tip of her cock. The smell of the office’s hand soap fills your nostrils. Your toes are still twitching softly in the aftershocks. The remnants of her skull-fucking linger in your bones, reminding you of the woman you belong to.

“Now, say the magic word first, and I’ll fuck that mouth of yours.” Mina coos, hand cupping your cheeks. Her skin still feels so smooth against your face, so warm.

Your mind blanks against her cock. What’s the magic word?

Mina seems to notice, letting out a soft chuckle as your brain goes into request timeout. “When good boys want something, what do they say?”

Oh, that word.

“Please?”

“Please, who?” she presses. She needs you to say it. It is just overkill at this point, but you’re too broken for any kind of resistance.

“Please, mommy!”

Mina’s smile grows, satisfied with you. “Good boy!” she says, and she lets her hand run through the locks and curls of your hair. She feels how your hair brushes against her skin. She feels your warmth in her hand. She feels how you’re awfully, utterly fucking hers.

And here comes another afterlife-teasing session.

She grabs your hair—not painful, not nerve-snapping, but enough to yank your head back and forth. Your mouth is stretched open by her cock, as she ravishes your throat again. You’re pushed against her hips, forehead pressing on her taut stomach, hands gripping on her thighs. Your body convulses, fighting for air as your nose inhales nothing but the synthetic smell of her cock. Your toes curl in your shoes. Your knees hurt. Your eyes flutter. It’s a physical struggle.

But a mental nirvana.

With her cock, it’s not an immediate fondness. The shock of seeing that strap for the first time still lingers in your head, if faintly. But with how she just slowly breaks you down from that point, it’s calculated. It’s masterful. Your brain fully knows that it’s a manipulation, a slow, torturous one, but your heart just can’t resist. The way she takes control of your head, the way her cock stabs the back of your throat, the way she praises you and degrades you, they’re just irresistible.

In short, you’re her nasty little slut.

“So hungry for mommy’s cock, aren’t you?” Mina asks, pressing you firmly against her leather. Her cock is already poking the back of your throat. It’s activating your gag reflex over and over. You make bestial, pornographic noises from your vocal chords. They echo in your ears, displacing the silence in the room, and it just fills you with an insurmountable amount of dread.

And she pulls back, leaving just the tip resting between your swollen lips. More drool falls to the floor. Your body trembles. Your toe curls. Your stomach churns.

“Look up here. I wanna see those pretty eyes while I fuck you.”

You struggle to meet her eyes, still fluttering in the mind-breaking sensations, so she tips your chin up slightly. And when you find her gaze, it’s still so full of that deceitful kindness. There’s comfort to it, just that her actions are a tad violent.

“Making eye contact with the people you talk to is important, you know? It would show that you’re giving your attention to them,” Mina says, and you just whimper feebly as a response.

“Oh, yes, fucking your mouth. Totally forgot about that.”

She plunges her length into you, stretching those cock-craving lips open. You flinch slightly. No throat poking this time, and you don’t gag as much as you did. Your grips on her thighs relax, not digging so deep as before. And she pulls back. Breathing becomes easier like this, small margin, but anything is better than suffocation. You do your absolute best to keep your eyes on hers. Another thrust, another recoil, and Mina begins to moan.

Your mouth can be used for good, after all.

She probably finds that it would be a little bullshit to start slow, considering that she pressed your face against her waist more than twice. That’s the tempo. She yanks your head back and forth around her cock, and she’ll moan every time it stretches your mouth open—so raw, so guttural.

You wince every time she thrusts her length into your pesky mouth, but you’re adjusting to it. It’s like you have a choice, after all. You’re living with it. You place your tongue on the underside of her cock, trying not to resist, trying to make it easy for the two of you. Your hands slide up her thighs, making her moans grow louder.

“Should’ve known how to shut your fucking mouth earlier, because, god, you’re such a perfect cocksleeve,” Mina says, voice cracking a little. She’s getting weaker. She’s getting lost in pleasure, but you just can’t do shit about that—too busy sucking fake dick overtime, at least you get money for this. “Two birds with one stone, you know? Just one cock for you to shut the fuck up and for me to cum.”

You whimper weakly against her length, attempting to keep that precious eye contact. It’s hard, though, when she just keeps yanking your head back and forth like this. Your hands slide towards her backside, finding that plump, muscular ass you were dying to clap your thighs against (well, before an executive decision says that your mouth looks better when fucked).

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I do jump squats,” Mina huffs between the filthy moans. Your spit is out of control at this point. An entire pool forms in the suffocating space between you and her—a mark of your submission. You make desperate gagging sounds against her length. The plastic taste of it fills your mouth. Your air is her. Just her—her sweat, her plastic cock, her perfume. You fight through your tears to look her in the eyes. Oh, and it’s fucking beautiful.

Everything is fucking beautiful.

Mina’s moans begin to climb the scale. Her grip on your hair tightens, yanking you harsher than ever. Her ass clenches in your palms. Her breathing quickens. A bead of sweat falls on your head. This is it—the moment you’ve been waiting for—from the first moment you see her strap, from the first throat fucking, from the first utterance of ‘mommy’. Myoi Mina, your boss, your mommy, your fucking everything, is going to cum from fucking your face.

Put it in your résumé: Myoi Mina’s whore.

It begins with how her body stiffens, with a loud, guttural groan that escapes her mouth. You are at the tip of her cock, and you should’ve expected her to push you onto her hips, to feel her rhythm, her trembling, her unravelling. Air is knocked out of your lungs at the instant your nose is pressed against the leather. Her body arches, half-collapsing onto the edge of her desk. She can barely hold it together. Your lips are stretched around the base of her strap, savoring that disgusting plastic taste. Her ass tightens in your hands. Your gagging sounds blend with her moans. Everything is exploding.

A fracture appears. Mina’s eyes flutter in the wake of her ecstasy. Her head falls backwards as she buries herself in your face through her high. She’s lost. She’s lost in the pleasure, succumbing to the sweetness of her orgasm. It’s a reminder of her mortality. She’s not a goddess. She’s vulnerable. She can break, just like you.

But god, you would trade everything if it means that you are hers. Plus, two jobs at a single company—UI designer and your boss’ slut.

HRs love it.

It abates, eventually. Mina catches her breath quickly, gazing down at you to watch her own destruction. Your face remains stuck to her hips, head tilting to the side just a little to gather that treasured air into your lungs. You shake, aftershocks linger. Your hands are pressed between her ass and the table. She looks at you, smiling, so proud of you. Her hands run through your hair one last time, feeling the mess she made, before dragging you off her cock. Spit falls to the ground, but you’re too exhausted to care. You get a good look at her—her eyes, her smile. She’s satisfied. She’s fulfilled. All because of you.

“You did so well for mommy,” Mina says, voice cracking a little. She cups your face lovingly, and you can’t help but to nuzzle against her palm, letting out a soft whimper. She just feels so warm, and you figure you must cling to her. You must cling to her for your dear life. “We’re halfway there already.”

Halfway there.

One hole down, one more to go.

Anything for your mommy.

—

#mina #twice #mina smut #twice smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

689 notes · View notes

souriru · 2 months ago

Note

2 WITH LEONA 2 WITH LEONA PRETTY PLEASE

hundreds by my hand

leona wasn't one for grand gestures, flowery words, and gentle smiles. you knew that well, knew that in the way he'd save you a meal when you worked late in the night, ordered takeout or threatened azul to make and save you a whole platter of your favourite foods.

and yet, you were shifting through a stack of letters you'd fund while cleaning his room with him, the accursed mess-maker now lounging comfortably on a pillow you'd dusted for him. "this is ridiculous." you started, counting softly the number of letters in your hand and your lap. "you wrote all of these?"

"actin' like i can't write at all." leona grumbles from his spot.

"no, i'm acting like you wouldn't be bothered, love." a tug at a letter. "you sealed these too?"

the way leona's ears twitched betrayed him. he turned his face away, annoyed by how smug the bastard he was so in love with sounded (at least that's what you think he's thinking in his head). "if you’re gonna complain, hand ‘em back."

"oh, no, no, no. i'm gonna read all of them." you pull as many letters as you can close to your chest. "i will."

"you're the only reason i put up with half the nonsense i do. if you left, i'd probably burn this whole damn school down." a beat of silence as you look at him, and then, a slow smirk.

"you are so fucking, ridiculously in love with me."

leona clicked his tongue, arms crossed over his chest. "love letters are old-fashioned, but i’d still write a hundred for you." his voice was gruff, but the quiet sincerity in it made you falter.

"…I think I’d read every single one. thank you, leona."

HI HI WIFE DID YOU LIKE IT <3 || 290 words

#oh pretty soul!#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona twst #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x yuu #leona x mc

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deanbrainrotwritings · 10 months ago

Text

— i believe in a thing called love

SUMMARY : dean thinks you’re playing a game but he slowly realises you’re not.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), unprotected piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, edging, praise kink?, horniness

WORD COUNT : 4.2k

A/N : title from a song by the darkness. this fills the square amnesia for my @jacklesversebingo card. I’m sorry yall, I like cliffhangers 😔 (but there’s a part two coming, yay!)

You don’t remember ever waking up to a more warm and pleasant morning.

Usually, you woke up after sleeping however many hours you could have, and always felt like it wasn’t enough. Your eyes burned with sleepiness, your body felt heavy with fatigue, and your mind was clouded with the darkness of unconsciousness.

Not this morning.

You felt light and warm, like the vapour of your too-hot shower. Your bed was soft and your sheets smelled of sweet and flowery fabric softener.

You opened your eyes to a room blanketed in complete darkness. There was not a window in sight for sunlight to slither into and your stomach sank slightly when you realised that you didn’t know where you were. Or how you got to where you were now.

Your nakedness beneath soft, thin sheets made you feel vulnerable. You pulled the sheets up your body and started to get out of bed, only for the sheets to catch on something. No, on someone. A man who groaned gravelly and slightly tugged the sheets away from you.

Your eyes widened, your blood went cold with fear, and your body became hot with adrenaline. You froze as you thought of what to do and looked around to see if you could make any shapes while the darkness smothered you.

“Come back to bed, sweetheart,” he pleaded lazily, his voice thick with sleep making your skin prickle. He gave the blanket a lazy tug to encourage you, but you ignored him. You didn’t know him, the audacity. You simply released the blanket and blindly made your way around the room for clothes that you must have left somewhere.

You heard him sigh tiredly, the blankets rustled when he shifted, and the room lit up with the quiet click of a lamp’s switch and you yelped when you saw him, equally naked, in the bed. He sat up in alarm and looked around, before just staring at you in confusion.

His hair was a mess and he looked tired… but hot. His arms were thick and strong. His shoulders were broad and a familiar tattoo rested above his heart, beneath his collarbone. He wasn’t ripped like someone who was obsessed with going to the gym and dieting. He was so damn fine. The thin blankets came lower down his hips when he sat up inquisitively. His stomach became taut and you could see the faint lines of his abs. At least you slept with someone hot and not some creep. Well… he could still be a creep.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” He moved the blankets from his hips, subsequently flashing you his dick, when he began to get up and make his way to you.

“No, stop!” You shouted, covering your eyes before deciding to cover yourself instead. He instantly obeyed and froze on the spot, bewildered. “Cover your eyes,” you demanded exasperatedly.

“What? Why?” He asked, but he still covered his eyes with his hand. But who could blame you for quickly stealing a glance at his very pretty cock? “Did you start your period? You’re not due for another two weeks.” You blinked at him, astonished and disoriented.

“Uhhh, what? How do you even know that, dude?” You flushed with embarrassment.

“Dude?” He lowered his hand to give you an irritated look. The only reason you didn’t shout at him to look away was that he wasn’t staring at you like you were a piece of cake. “It’s way too early for jokes.” He shook his head at you and turned around to sift through the tall dresser behind him. Your eyes hesitantly dropped to his perky ass and you forced yourself to look away before he turned to you.

Forgive me. I am just human.

“Where’s my damned clothes?” You asked, leaning forward over the bed to drag the blanket towards yourself to cover up. He turned with a deadpan expression while he slipped his boxers up to his hips. But when you lifted your brows expectantly, he rolled his eyes at you and smiled sarcastically, flourishing his arms in front of the dresser.

He was kind enough to pull out a black shirt that looked like it was his, then pink women's underwear, and finally some colourfully striped socks. He handed them to you, but you backed away.

“No, I’m not wearing that,” you refused, looking disgustedly at the cotton underwear and the small socks.

“It’s yours,” he told you flatly.

“What do you mean it’s mine?”

He blinked at you boredly and dropped the clothes on the bed to cross his arms across his very sexy broad chest. “Alright. How long are you gonna keep this up?”

“I… uh, what?”

He smiled slowly and climbed up on the bed to get closer to you. Once he did, he reached for your waist and tugged you forward. Your heart thudded heavily in your chest and you clutched the blanket closer to your breasts. Even standing on his knees in the bed, he was taller than you.

“What game are you playin’ at, hmm?” He asked seductively, gently squeezing your side. Your lips parted slightly and your heart raced.

You studied his face, captivated by his beauty. The crinkles at the corner of his verdant eyes called to you when he smiled down at you. You could see he was doing the same. His eyes followed a path along your face until they landed on your lips. You couldn’t help following the same path on his own with your eyes. After letting your eyes drift across the curve of his freckled nose, the line of his jaw, and the attractive stubble, your eyes fell to his pillowy lips.

His hand moved to your jaw. He looked playful and your heart sped up the longer he admired you. His calloused hand gently slid up your jawline to tangle his fingers in your hair until finally, he dipped down and kissed you. His lips felt soft against your slightly-chapped lips, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His mouth moved lazily, yet expertly over yours. Your stomach fluttered and your breath hitched. As simple as it was, it felt amazing. His lips on yours sent waves of need and excitement through your body, electrifying your skin.

He clouded your mind with his kiss and your mouth slowly fell open. He cupped the back of your head in his hand and tilted his head, slowly becoming more firm and needy. Your hand released the sheet from your body and your hands found their way into his soft brown hair. He hummed lowly in appreciation and splayed his free hand across the bare skin of your back.

He carefully removed his hand from your hair, then you felt his hands move to the back of your thighs. He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath against your swollen lips made you dizzy as he hoisted you up. You clung to him, dazed and aroused, and he carefully dropped you into the bed again.

His knees parted your legs. You could feel your arousal dripping down as you were exposed to the room’s cool air. He almost instantly pressed his hips to your wet core. You could feel the warmth of his hard cock against your pulsing clit. You moaned softly and he gave you a charming smile that heated your cheeks in response.

He leaned down to kiss you again. This time, his tongue pushed past your lips. The warmth and wetness of his saliva moved against your tongue. He did it as if he’d done a thousand times to you—shamelessly, with craving.

His lips moved passionately, firmly against yours. His tongue brushed over yours needily, lovingly. He tasted you with hunger and pulled away with heavy breaths, ignoring the string of spit connecting your lips to his.

He leaned forward again, except this time—when you closed your eyes—you felt his lips brush against your cheeks. His warm breath tickled your neck and ear, so shivers trickled through your body.

You squirmed beneath him and wiggled your hips longingly.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard on my tongue, baby,” he whispered. You cursed softly. Your cunt clenched with excitement at the thought of him doing to your pussy, what he’d done to your mouth. You almost didn’t feel him press wet kisses down your neck until he sucked gently at your pulse.

He moved down your body slowly. Used his teeth, tongue, and lips on your flesh to hold you in his spell. He did it so precisely, fanning the embers to create a fire of desire that overwhelmed your body with lust.

His lips brushed against your nipple and your heart lurched. Heat pooled between your legs, followed by a warm wetness that you somehow knew would boost his ego.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he whispered against your breast before gently sinking his teeth around your nipple. His fingers pinched the other. How he expected you to respond was unclear as he teased your sensitive skin with his expert tongue and strummed at your flesh like a professional guitarist.

“How did I end up here?” You replied quietly, carding your fingers through his short hair. He chuckled softly at your response, moved on from one breast to the other. His saliva on your abandoned nipple enhanced the coldness of the room, causing your skin to tingle.

His laugh was a whole other thing. Hot and deep. Everything about him seemed to be that way. Hot and deep.

His hand sneaked down to your ribs, your stomach, and stayed there. Warm, heavy, huge, and calloused. One hell of a man. You bet he could choke you with one hand.

You moaned softly at the thought and squeezed his sides with your thighs in attempts to alleviate your desire. It was futile, but you had a feeling that’s how he wanted you. He smirked against your breast, you could feel the stretch of a smile on his sinful lips, and he finally moved on.

“You’re so desperate today, aren’t ya?” Amusement seeped into his voice, but there was nothing amusing about the way his hand finally moved between your legs. He slid his middle finger through your folds, slowly teasing your clit with ghostly touches. “Always so wet, baby, fuck,” he moaned against your hipbone.

“Please,” you whined, clutching his hair tighter. He sucked a lavender mark on your hips and slid his lips down to your pelvis.

“Yeah?” He teased with a smirk. You loosened your grip on his hair, just slightly. His green eyes sparkled up at you, but all you could really focus on was his finger turning to two fingers that quickly dipped into your entrance to gather your excessive slick. “Fuck.” Oh, God. No one should sound so hot saying that word, but your stomach seemed to flip excitedly when it sounded so pleased. “Look at that, sweetheart. You’re soaked, it’s gonna be so easy for me to fuck you.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, your toes curled with excitement.

He parted your folds with his fingers and lowered himself to level his mouth with your dripping cunt. His warm breath on your wet heat made you squirm and your legs shamelessly opened wider for him. The Pied Piper of sex.

His eyes fluttered shut when he kissed your clit. You don’t think anyone’s ever done that to you before. To be fair, you can’t remember much and you don’t know if it’s because of his intoxicating sensuality or because of something much more serious. Quite frankly, you didn’t care as he continued to kiss you down to your clenching entrance with hums of appreciation vibrating through your desperate core.

“Please,” you laughed breathily, weakly attempting to pull his face closer between your legs. He perked up even more at that, and flicked his tongue against your clit, perfectly striking a nerve like a chord that resonated through your entire body and made you quiver.

He flattened his tongue from your aching pussy to your clit, slowly and loudly savouring the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He did it over and over before settling for lapping at your entrance where your arousal puddled. His moans were husky and praising.

You gently weaved your fingers through his hair and panted heavily. His nose nudged at your pulsing clit and his tongue pushed into your fluttering pussy.

“Fuck, please,” you whimpered, tightening your grip on the hair at the top of his head. He hummed against your core and roughly licked his way up to your clit. Quick flicks of his tongue on your clit made you writhe with pleasure. Curses slipped from your lips and all you could think about was the sensation of how wet your pussy was with his spit and how close to coming you were again.

You felt one of his fingers slowly push inside your cunt. He worked you open carefully with one thick finger plunged deep inside you and simultaneously began to suck on your clit. Your body became tense; you were right on the edge of your orgasm, but he moved away from your aching cunt to quickly kiss his way up your flushed body, to reach your lips.

“I wanna come,” you pleaded quietly, staring profoundly into his greedy eyes.

He chuckled playfully at you and slowly pushed a second finger inside you. His breath fanned over your lips and you traced the slick of your pussy on his smug mouth with your eyes. He stroked your walls slowly, skilfully pressing the pads of his fingers into the sensitive depths of your cunt. You clamped down in desperation for him to press over and over into your g-spot, but he wasn’t merciful. He wanted you to feel the length of his fingers moving deeply inside you.

“Say my name,” he murmured against your lips. You squeezed his hips with your knees as you squirmed restlessly. Again, he made you delirious with pleasure after a request so you could do anything but properly think. He angled his fingers into that delicious spot inside you, but the buildup of your climax was as torturously slow as the stroke of his fingers.

“Your name?” You gasped mindlessly, closing your eyes to focus on feeling him being in all the right places. His lips brushed against yours, ignited your body like a spark to hot-wire a car. His thumb pressed gently into your clit and he slowly drew circles.

“Dean,” he whispered bewitchingly against your lips. You felt his arm press into the pillow beside your head and he tenderly brushed your hair away from your neck.

“Dean,” you moaned—begged, heart hammering in your chest at his tenderness. His response was instant, with his lips pressed against yours, numbing your mind once more, but a third finger slid into your pussy so you nearly toppled off the edge again. After a few thrusts that left you moaning wantonly against Dean’s mouth, his fingers disappeared from inside you. “God,” you cursed in irritation.

Soon, the entirety of his warmth was gone from your body. His bruising kiss left you breathless and thoughtless, but you managed to open your eyes to watch him lower his boxers with his thumb hooked at the stretchy waistband—leaving himself completely bare again.

Dean bit his lip as he stroked his cock with his fingers coated in your slick. He seemed more than happy to have you watch. And you were more than happy with staring at the girth and length of him in his hand. His cock was pretty, beautiful even—if you could even imagine. Throbbing. Leaking precum at the tip so your mouth watered for a lewd long moment. You bit your lip and wondered what he tasted like—hopefully as good as he looked, how he’d fuck your mouth if you asked him to.

The sight of him like this made your arousal skyrocket.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He asked breathlessly, slowly making his way closer between your legs.

The thought of his cock stretching you out instantly drove you crazy.

Once he was close enough, he leaned over you again with his arm beside your head again. He slid his hot cock through your folds and your breath caught in your throat. He moaned softly. You tore your eyes from where he coated you in his precum repeatedly.

“I want you… inside me,” you replied bashfully, heat flared up to your ears and you squirmed involuntarily—desperate to be fucked as you ruined the sheets beneath you with your slick. But over and over he teased your clit with slippery circles of his tip that began to build your resolve. He wasn’t going to let you finish and you knew it.

“Which part of me?” Of course he’d do that.

You became frustrated quickly and remained quiet to think of your next move. Dean had taken you to a point where your confidence was merely pent up sexual frustration.

You sat up and climbed into his lap without a single thought. As shamelessly as he’d touched you, you gripped the base of his cock. His lips parted and his eyes widened in pleasant surprise when you took his chin between your fingers and kissed him hard. He gave you full control and released his dick so his hands could find your hips instead and pull you closer.

He felt heavy in your hand, the throb and heat of him made your grip tighten in anticipation. He moaned against your mouth when you slowly stroked up his silky skin, slick with his precum. You thumbed at the slit, smeared his excitement around the head of his cock, and sucked his bottom lip into your mouth.

Dean groaned softly and squeezed your hip. He slowly let himself lay on his back and pulled you down with your lips still locked in a breathy and covetous kiss. You twisted your hand upwards, faster, and emphasised the movement of your fingers beneath the head of his cock. He pulled away slightly with a gasp and found his place between your legs to run a teasing finger through your drenched folds.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard… wanna bury myself inside of you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped instantly against his parted mouth, “yes.”

Dean kissed you hard and replaced your hand on his cock with his own again. He pulled away to catch his breath with you. Using his other hand, he brushed your hair out of the way and continued to pant for breath. He watched between your bodies, his throbbing cock in his hand, but you only watched him—curiously and longingly. He stroked himself slowly and he cursed under his breath when the tip finally breached the wet opening of your vagina.

Your breath hitched, but his name managed to slip out quietly. He hummed in satisfaction when you slowly lowered yourself on him. The delightful stretch of having him inside you weakened your knees and your pussy tightened around him. He thrusted upwards slowly, sliding his cock further into your wet heat, perfectly stroking your g-spot.

You pulled away a small distance and watched him become utterly enraptured. His freckled cheeks were tainted a deep red that spread up to the tips of his ears and down to his neck like a wildfire. He looked so fucking beautiful. His brows furrowed in concentration and his plush lips parted to release soft groans of pleasure that made your pussy throb around him greedily.

His eyes fluttered open and he leaned up slightly to reach your lips. He managed to land a small peck before you started lifting yourself up and down on his cock. A broken moan from him made you smile devilishly. He fell back into the mattress and squeezed your hips roughly.

“Dammit, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he praised breathily. You hummed softly and wrapped your hands around his wrists to guide his hands up to your breasts before bouncing on his lap faster, building a more steadfast rhythm.

“I love the way you feel, too,” you moaned softly, aroused at the sound of Dean’s cock entering your wet pussy and your skin hitting his when he was buried so deeply inside you the breath was nearly punched out of your lungs in surprise.

“You’re so unbelievably beautiful,” he continued to worship quietly, pinching almost painfully at your nipples, then teasingly brushed the pads of his thumbs over them—maybe soothingly. You moaned and leaned back with your hands on his thighs the closer you got to your orgasm.

One of Dean’s hands moved away from your breast to slowly slide down the front of your body. You watched him stare up at you, adoring you with his touch and lauding you in between groans and gasps of ecstasy. He squeezed your thigh encouragingly and cursed at the way you clenched your cunt around his sensitive cock.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and let the pleasure of riding him saturate your mind and body. His hands moved along your body, praising without words when all he could do was groan and pant lewdly at your enthusiastic fucking.

He kneaded your breasts, squeezed your flesh, scratched gently at your skin. You were teeming with bliss and you were embarrassingly wet, but everything about him made you pathetically horny and he appeared to absolutely love every second of it.

Dean’s hand finally moved between your legs to find your clit and rub it continuously. His hips bucked upwards when you whined his name and clamped down on his cock as you orgasmed. Your body shook above him and he hummed low in his throat, partially amused, but mostly satisfied.

His thumb rubbed furiously at your clit—dilating the duration of your orgasm, intensifying it—and only stopped when you couldn’t handle it anymore. Your whimper and the way you weakly draped your body over his with your forehead pressed into his warm shoulder, stopped him.

You couldn’t process much after that, but soon your face was pressed into his pillow and your pussy was getting filled again with his cock. His fingers bruised your hips and you gasped out moans as your second orgasm began to build.

"Shit, you love it like this, don't you, sweetheart?" You were flustered by the soppy sound of your cunt every time he pounded into you from behind, but you were partially grateful that he was close to finishing. A perplexing, carnal part of you wanted him to keep ploughing into your pussy until you ached.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” Dean praised gruffly. You only whimpered brokenly in response as he fucked you through the squelch and wetness of your second orgasm. Your toes curled with the unbelievable sensation that seized your body when you felt his cum fill you with warmth. His release slipped between your thighs in a mixture with yours and you cried his name as your walls pulsed around his throbbing cock.

Dean released you and your body sank completely into the soft mattress. He panted against your shoulder and murmured praises with his comforting hands sailing along your body.

Your mind slowly returned to the real world and the beat of your heart slowed to its normal rhythm. You were exhausted and you wanted to clean yourself up, but Dean had other plans for you: staying in bed and cuddling.

You willed yourself into getting up out of his bed. You sat up—his arm loosely around your waist—and became aware of the lack of windows and the wooden stake that rested at the far end of the little platform—a shelf really—he had above his bed next to a little fan.

“Um…” you trailed off, wiggling out of his arm to slide out of the messy bed.

“You’re seriously not gonna stay in bed?” He questioned you as you looked around, attempting to ignore the rest of your mixed release dripping from between your legs. You felt his fingers move between yours, then a sharp tug pulled you back in bed. Your legs were shaky so you ended up right back where he wanted you to be—in his embrace.

“Yeah,” you laughed awkwardly. You squirmed and wiggled until he finally released you, “I don’t know you and I need to… get back… somewhere, home.” He sat up on his side and stared at you blankly for a few seconds. No, he’s too beautiful.

You looked away and decided to pull “your” clothes from where he’d thrown it to get something to cover your body now that your post-orgasmic brain was becoming logical and self-conscious.

“Babe, drop it, we’ll play that game later,” he dismissed you with a cute snort. You groaned at him when he snagged his shirt from your hands. He slowly peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder and you were unable to fight him.

“Dean, I’m serious,” you tried weakly and gripped his hair to pull him away as gently as you could. You turned to look at him again and he backed off. “Look at me and tell me if I’m lying to you.” He rolled his eyes but held your gaze for a few moments as he contemplated you.

You saw the amusement on his handsome face but you continued to frown. The amusement faded into perplexity and concern.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered.

—> stone flower

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