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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 8 hours ago

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When What We Had Was Everything Pt. 2

This is a three part fic series and will complete three of my @jacklesversebingo card spaces. This first part will fill the "You won't take care of yourself, so I will." square. Pt. 2 will fill the But We Lost It square. Pt. 3 will fill the They're Out of Time square. ❤️

Summary: When Y/N really needs him, Jensen steps up, leaving all their past in the past. Can Y/N possibly do the same?

Pairing: Jensen x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Nothing major. Funeral. Brief mentions of grief and loss. Some light making out.

Word Count: 3, 935

A/N: This second part was a long time coming. I'm so sorry. I've just struggled with the muses on this one. I hope I can get part 3 (final part) out to you much sooner. I've given the reader's father the name, "Steven" just because it felt unnatural to not name him, and calling him something like, YFN felt strange given the setting.

Enjoy!

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Everything with Jensen had been like a whirlwind. Surreal and beautiful, and seemingly built to crumble.

She’d met him randomly in a parking garage when she was visiting friends in L.A. She’d accidentally locked herself out of her car, and he’d used his Dean Winchester skills to break into it for her.

Their attraction had been immediate and raging. They’d gone for drinks one night, gone to dinner the next, and then gone to bed before dessert. Sleeping with guys on a second date wasn’t usual for Y/N. In fact, before that, she’d never slept with anyone she wasn’t already in a relationship with.

But Jensen had barely kissed her, simply moving his hard, gentle hands slowly down her hips and pulling her flush against him, before every rational thought she had immediately flew out of her head. He’d charmed her completely and she fell hard and fast.

It was unlike anything Y/N had ever experienced before. So, deep down, she’d had a very hard time trusting it. It scared her. He scared her.

She loved him almost immediately and that didn’t feel real. Love at first sight was stupid and impossible. She loved him so easily that subconsciously she was always sure he was hiding things from her. It wasn't possible that this good, beautiful, generous, talented guy was so completely into her; things like that didn't happen to boring girls in small towns. So she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop with him.

Josie said she sabotaged herself, but Y/N preferred to think of it as protecting herself. If she let herself think about a life with him, a life of passion, love, contentment, quiet luxury and maybe even a family, her heart would shatter when he finally woke up and walked away.

So she'd fought hard to keep her emotional distance from him. She was desperate to keep control of the situation.

That night, after seeing Jensen for the first time in almost six months, Y/N spent the night tossing and turning, running everything over in her mind. By the time the sun rose and she gave up on trying for more sleep, she came to the realization that trying to protect herself had failed miserably. Her heart had shattered anyway when things ended and he walked away.

It was shattered still.

Having gotten even less sleep than the night before, Y/N rolled out of bed with a groan, and tried to put all of those memories and heartaches aside. There was a lot to do, and the day was going to be hard enough.

Putting feelings aside became impossible, however as she walked into the kitchen and saw Jensen sitting alone at the table, staring into a cup of coffee.

He looked up as she walked in, the surprise in his expression receding into a smile as he nodded towards the coffee pot on the counter.

“I just made some. Hope you don't mind.”

Y/N smiled awkwardly and walked over to pour herself a cup. “No, of course not. Thank you. Today demands a lot of coffee and it demands it immediately.”

She blew on the steaming liquid as she sat down at the table, and then took a sip. She swallowed it quickly, however, burning her mouth and throat a little, as Jensen reached out to cover her empty hand with his.

“How did you sleep?”

Y/N shook her head and pulled her hand away under the pretense of tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Not great, you know, but…” She ended with a shrug and Jensen nodded.

“Yeah.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then smiled ruefully. “I feel like…I’m the oldest, so I'm supposed to know what to do for everything. I mean, I was fifteen when mom died, but Jo and David were just kids. They don't remember any of the details of what happened at her funeral.”

Jensen frowned. “Y/N, what do you mean, THEY were kids. You were a kid too.”

Y/N shrugged. “Sure, I guess. But they were barely double digits. I'm the one who should remember best, the way things went on the day. So, I keep thinking I should warn them about what to expect. But the truth is most of that day is a blur.”

Jensen leaned towards her across the table, catching her gaze. “David and Josie are both grown adults, I'm sure they'll be okay. As okay as can be expected, anyway.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I suppose, just…old habits, I guess.” She hummed softly. “You know one of the only things I remember really clearly about the day of mom's funeral?”

Jensen gave a gentle shake of his head. “What?”

“I remember being in the bathroom at the church, in one of the stalls, and I overheard two of my aunties talking. They didn't know I was in there, but I heard my Auntie Sheila crying and talking to my Auntie Debbie, saying, ‘How on earth is he supposed to take care of those kids all by himself?’ They both agreed that for a man who worked as much as he did, and traveled so much for his job, it was going to be impossible.”

Y/N chewed on her lip and stared down at her coffee. “I remember that conversation terrifying me. I had visions of being sent away to some boarding school or shuttled off to some relative in the countryside.”

She smiled sheepishly. “My Dad would never have done that, I realize now. And I probably just read too much C.S. Lewis as a kid. But it scared me enough that I determined then and there that Dad wouldn't raise us by himself. I was raised already, so I could step in and help raise Joey and Davie.”

Jensen shook his head. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”

Y/N waved dismissively. “No, it was fine. My Dad changed a lot of his work around so he could be here to take care of us. He was still our parent, and would sometimes have to remind me of that. He'd get after me to get a social life.”

She chuckled. “I think that was one of the reasons he adored you so much. You were the first guy I ever dated that I wasn't also mothering in some way. He used to tell me I needed to find a guy that wanted a partner, not a mother.”

Y/N stopped short as she realized what she was saying. Jensen was just so easy to talk to, she'd let her words fly away from her. She forgot that “past them” wasn't something they were supposed to be talking about.

She took another scalding sip of coffee and stood up.

“Anyway, sorry for yammering. I should go get ready. And you might wanna steal a shower before the whole house is awake and all the hot water runs out.” She said with an attempt at a laugh.

Jensen looked like he was going to say something, so she quickly set her half full mug in the sink and took off as fast as her feet could carry her.

***

Jensen shifted slightly on the hard wooden pew, and breathed in the church smells around him, lemon furniture wax, old paper, and dust. It was a beautiful space with large stained glass windows and a lot of stone work and moldings.

He didn't know many of the people there. Y/N and her siblings were somewhere in the back rooms, likely going over where they'd be sitting and what was going to happen during the service.

He'd received a few odd looks from people who seemed to recognize him and then quickly dismiss the possibility that it was him. Thankfully no one had approached him.

As he sat waiting for the service to begin something caught his eye and he turned to see Y/N, half hidden behind a side door, and frantically waving him over.

Puzzled, he stood and scooched past the people at the end of the pew, walking quickly over to Y/N. Her eyes were frantic and panicked as she shut the door behind them.

“I can't do it.” She said without preamble. “He says he can't, but I can't either! I can't! I don't know what to say!”

Jensen was desperately trying to decipher her words, but was hopelessly confused as she continued.

“I should have known he wouldn't. He said he wanted to; he literally told me I had to let him do it. I mean, he's kind of a writer, so of course I let him, but I should have known it would be too much. I mean, when he couldn't get it together enough to pick up Aunt Sheila at the airport yesterday, what fucking chance was there that he was gonna be able to write and deliver a eulogy!”

Jensen was starting to piece things together, and he felt his heart clench over Y/N's obvious fear and panic. He took her cheeks in his hands and tried to calm her.

“It's okay, baby. It's okay.” The endearment slipped out easily, just as it had when he'd first seen her the day before. “You're talking about David? He was supposed to deliver the eulogy.”

Y/N closed her eyes and nodded; the way she leaned into him a little made him wanna scoop her up and take her away from everything. But obviously, he couldn't do that, so he just confirmed his assumption.

“And now, he can't do it?”

She nodded again. “Can't do it, didn't write it.” She croaked out. “I have a packed church full of people, waiting to honor my father and I have absolutely nothing to say about him.”

Jensen took hold of her hands and squeezed them. “Of course you have things to say, sweetheart. Just say what comes into your heart.”

Y/N laughed without humor. “You should know better than anyone that I don't know how to do that.”

He felt his heart squeeze at the reminder of what happened the last time they'd had a discussion about what was in her heart. He saw the trepidation come back into her expression, just like earlier that morning, when the subject of their past popped up.

He shook his head, dislodging memories of hurt and disappointment. “You don't have to delve too deep. Just give a sweet anecdote or two, and talk about how much he was loved.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “You do it.”

Jensen shook his head. “What? No, I can't.”

But Y/N was nodding. “Sure you can. You speak on a stage for a living. You're good at telling sweet little anecdotes. Please, please, Jensen. I know it's too much. I know. But I l…I-”

She cut herself off and let her forehead drop to his chest. “Please.” She whispered.

Jensen knew he was setting himself up for more pain later, but he couldn't stop himself from gathering her close and squeezing her tight against him. Her soft, warm, body felt so right and natural fitted along his that he let himself ignore the warning bells going off in his mind.

“Okay, baby.” He said softly, whispering against her sweet smelling hair before kissing the crown of her head. “Okay, I'll do it. You should come up and stand with me though so it looks less weird that some random stranger is speaking.”

Y/N nodded. “Thank you.”

Jensen didn't return to his spot in the crowd. Instead he sat beside Y/N in the front of church, holding her hand tightly since she refused to let go.

Soon enough, the minister announced there would be a slight change in the service and a “friend of the family” was going to speak instead of David.

David slouched in the pew beside Y/N and as they passed him to walk up on the dais, Jensen clamped a consoling hand on the young guy's shoulder. He knew the kid would be feeling like shit and there was no reason for it. Grief stole a lot of things from you sometimes, even your words.

They walked behind the lectern and Jensen cleared his throat as he spoke into the slightly echoey microphone. Y/N clung to his right hand and pressed tight to his side as he spoke.

“Good afternoon everyone. On behalf of the family, I'd like to say how gratifying it is to see so many people here to mourn with us, but more importantly, celebrate with us as we honor Steven's life.”

He cleared his throat again and smiled. “Steven was a big guy who left a very big impression on the people he met. He was warm and welcoming in a way that you don't always see much these days.”

Jensen paused and then smiled. “Not long after I met him for the first time, I happened to mention that I was a big Stevie Ray Vaughan fan - just as part of an idle conversation, you know. But the next time I saw him, he had this vintage Austin Chronicle magazine with him on the cover, and he just gave it to me. It wasn't my birthday, or Christmas.”

Jensen shrugged. “He said he just happened to come across it in an old bookstore and thought of me.” He shook his head remembering how touched he'd been. “It was just the way he was.”

He let that sentiment dangle in the air for a moment before continuing. “Steven loved his family and friends without conditions and without limits. He had such strength of spirit, the kind of soul deep goodness that drew in all of us who are here today. He was a very easy guy to love and someone we always wanted on our side. Which he always was.”

Jensen cleared his throat. “So, once again, we want to thank you all for being here with us. And the family, and Steven's children especially, want to tell you how much it means to them. Thank you.” He finished.

He walked off the dais with Y/N following close and he could almost feel the way her muscles relaxed as they sat down.

“Thank you.” She whispered quietly and Jensen squeezed her hand, ignoring his instinct to bring it to his lips.

***

Y/N breathed in the fresh, cool evening air, and sat down on the wide porch swing that looked out across her childhood backyard. Memories tumbled over themselves in her mind, all happy, but bearing the sharp taste of bittersweet nostalgia.

She sighed and closed her eyes, letting a semblance of peace settle over her, as the stressful, painful day subsided somewhat now that the vast majority of guests had returned home.

The back door opened and she looked over her shoulder and smiled.

Not all guests, she thought, as Jensen smiled back and quietly closed the door behind him. He leaned against it and thumbed towards the kitchen on the other side.

“You know, you got enough casseroles in there to wait out the apocalypse.”

Y/N laughed softly and nodded. “Yeah, we'll have to split them between the three of us.” She shook her head. “I think most people have forgotten that none of us actually live here anymore.”

A thought occurred to her and her brow wrinkled. “Come to think of it, at some point, Josie, Davie and I are all gonna have to get together and figure out everything we need to sell this place.”

She looked around her and felt a painful tug on her heart at the idea of leaving her home for real, for good.

“God, I don't even know how to start with something like that.” Her mind began to swirl with worries and questions she needed to answer. But they stopped when Jensen took two steps over to the porch swing and picked up her hand. He gave it a squeeze as he sat beside her.

“But it's not something you have to worry about today, right? Or next week? Or even next month?”

Y/N started to argue but then realized he was right. That was tomorrow's worry.

Jensen nodded, happy as she relaxed against the back of the swing. He settled himself beside her and began to rock the swing slowly, pushing them back and forth with his feet planted on the old wooden porch.

Y/N felt the final knots in her stomach begin to ease as she listened to the fireflies start to buzz through the trees. She couldn't stop her head from dropping onto Jensen's shoulder, or the extended sigh that escaped her slightly parted lips.

Quiet reigned for a few minutes and Y/N allowed herself to bask in the peace for a while. Finally she broke the silence though, as she shifted slightly so she could look at Jensen.

“You know, I can't possibly repay you for everything you've done the last couple days.”

Jensen shook his head. “Well, it's a good thing repayment isn't necessary.”

Y/N smiled shyly. “Seriously, though, I wouldn't have made it through this without you.”

Jensen scoffed lightly and waved a dismissive hand. “Course you would’ve.”

She hummed softly. “Hmm, maybe, but certainly not in one piece.”

Jensen's smile turned rueful. “Well, you're very welcome, sweetheart.”

It was quiet for a moment more, but the air was more charged this time, something warm and inviting springing to life between them.

Jensen cleared his throat and sat up a little, breaking their intense stare. “I think it's time I, I head out.”

Y/N felt her heart plummet. “I thought your flight was tomorrow.”

Jensen nodded. “Yeah, it is. But it's a pretty early one, and you know, it's an international flight; gotta get there so far ahead of time. So, I'm just gonna drive into Kingston tonight, get a room, and head out to the airport first thing.”

Y/N nodded calmly, but her heart was pumping loudly. “Or…or you can save yourself the hotel expense and just stay here one more night. I mean, you can head out from here early enough to make your flight. It just…you know, just makes more sense.”

Jensen shook his head. “No, that’s…” He cleared his throat and pulled away completely. “I don’t wanna put you all out for another night.”

He stood up to go, and Y/N panicked, jumping up after him and grabbing his hand. “You won’t be. I don’t…Jensen, I don’t want you to go.”

She watched the muscle jump in his jaw and felt her belly clench. She took a step closer so that she pressed against him and raised her hand to run gently over his close-cropped, silky beard. “Please don’t go.”

She raised up on tiptoe to press her mouth against his ever so briefly, but his lips were so soft and warm that she had to go back again, pressing tighter against the velvety pillows, and flicking her tongue out to taste them.

Jensen groaned slightly and brought his hands up to cup her jaw, tilting his head to the right and deepening the kiss.

Y/N wanted to cry with joy as she wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing deeply through her nose and inhaling the intoxicating scent of Jensen’s cologne and the scent that seemed to linger in his skin all the time, something uniquely him, and devastatingly carnal.

Far too quickly Jensen let out a soft growl and pulled away abruptly. “Y/N.” He said breathlessly. “This isn’t a good idea. I can’t do this.”

Y/N shook her head and tried to pull him back, fists bunched in his black dress shirt. “No, Jensen, you don’t understand. I’m so sorry for the way things ended. I never should have let you leave. I should have let you in more. I shouldn’t have let what we had fade away like it did.”

Jensen was shaking his head. “Y/N, you don’t owe me any apologies. Really-”

“Yes, I do!” Y/N interrupted. “I should have trusted you more, trusted what we had. I…”

Jensen leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Y/N, you’re only feeling this way because of what’s happened the last couple of days. I came to help out and you’re grateful. Your gratitude and your grief are clouding your judgement.”

“No.” Y/N said adamantly. “That’s not what’s happening. I’ve felt this way for a long time, I just haven’t had the courage to tell you.”

She saw Jensen waver for a moment and Y/N pressed her advantage, pulling his lips down to hers once again and pushing her fingers into his soft hair, easing it back at his temples. Jensen lost the battle again, this time with a much deeper groan of capitulation. He walked her backwards to press her against one of the wide pillars holding up the porch roof.

He panted faintly as his lips scorched a trail down the side of her neck. He unzipped her black dress on the side just far enough to slip his callused fingers inside, grazing the soft, delicate skin on the side of her breast. Y/N bit into her lip to keep from crying out and buried her face in his chest.

But once again Jensen pulled back, gentler this time, less abrupt. His fingers slid from her skin to zip her dress back up and he placed a final kiss to her temple before he stepped away, lifting a hand as Y/N tried to close the distance between them again.

“Y/N listen to me. You have no idea how much I want to believe you, that these feelings are just coming out of this complicated moment. But, not even six months ago, when I asked you to come live with me, the mere idea of going to the next level of our relationship made you break up with me.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

But Jensen just kept talking. “Then you lost your dad and you reached out because a part of you knew I’d be here, that you could count on me. And I’m really glad you did, and I’m very glad I could help even a little.” He smiled gently. “But I’m not going to take advantage of your vulnerability and gratitude like this.”

Y/N opened her mouth to contradict him, but he just shook his head. “You can’t possibly know your feelings right now, sweetheart. They’re gonna be all jumbled up with everything else, including the goddamn raging fire that crops up between us every time we get close.”

His green eyes burned with heat and made Y/N ache with a passion she knew wasn’t going to be resolved. He was determined, and she knew that look of stubbornness all too well.

“I gotta go.” He said quietly and turned to go back in the house, but then turned back as he reached for the porch door. “Three months. Give yourself three months. To get a little distance, put things into perspective a bit. If in three months you still feel the same…well? You have my number. I’ll watch for you.”

He took three big strides back to where she stood and wrapped her up in his arms once again. He held her briefly, but very tightly before he kissed the top of her head.

“Take care, sweetheart.” He said quietly before walking briskly back through the doors.

Y/N’s eyes swam with tears, but her voice was resolute. “See you in three months.”

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xf-cases-solved · 3 days ago

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ayyyy, @numinousmysteries, guess who it is! it's me, your secret santa for the @poangpals gift exchange, here to gift you words that are kinda angsty, kinda hurt/comfort-y, and kinda (or more than kinda) horny. i've written a lot of cancer arc lately and was like "hmm, maybe i should branch out..." BUT, when i saw your ideal episode was "memento mori but they bang at the end," i was like, "okay, well, obviously this was meant to be." so that is what i have brought you! a post-memento mori fic where they bang at the end! thank you for everything you bring to this community. you're a baller and i hope you enjoy your gift <3 -diz Title: Memento Vivere Word count: ~6500 (bc i can't shut the fuck up to save my life) Rating: Explicit Here's the link to ao3, or save yourself a click and read below!

***

Memento Vivere

She is in the middle of grimacing at her own reflection in the small compact mirror she found at the bottom of her overnight bag when Mulder shows up at her hospital room, keys jangling in his hand as he hovers in the doorway, neither outside nor inside, like he's uncertain about what kind of proximity he's allowed this morning. Like she's a skittish cat he's trying to win over. And what grates at her isn't his tenuous disposition—it's that it's completely warranted, and it's so jarring to be known so well.

She knows that he knows that she bared her heart to him last night, and is now grappling with mortification. She's never been good with emotions. In college, she could do a walk of shame with her head held high, but when a lover would voice their affection for her she would suddenly become incapable of looking them in the eye. Her heart is in a lockbox and sometimes she goes so long without opening it she almost forgets the combination, and when she does manage to pop it open she gets frantic, wanting to immediately slam it shut.

"You about ready to go?" Mulder asks casually. Too casually. He's assessing her like he would a suspect, adjusting his tone to meet her mood and make himself more approachable, and she wants to snap at him for profiling her, but she won't. She can't. Not without confirming his analysis of her, and she doesn't need to open the spine of her book any wider when he can already read her with such clarity.

In her writings—the filled pages already torn from the notebook and shredded into pieces in the wire trash bin next to her bed—she had thought she was divulging the secrets of her heart to him. It occurs to her only now, as he watches her from across the room with a purposefully mild expression, that while he may not know her every thought, he is the only other person who knows the combination to the lockbox in her chest. He could open it at any time, but he doesn't. He could reach inside her and hold her beating heart in his cupped hands, learning every detail and committing it to memory, but he would never take from her anything that wasn't freely given. His respect is almost more overwhelming than anything, because it's a reminder that if he weren't an honorable man he could ruin her. He has access to her nuke, and she can do nothing but trust that he won't hit the button.

"Yeah, just a second," she replies—casual.

She slips the compact mirror back inside her bag and gets to her feet. She tries to summon the woman inside her who walks down the hallways of the Hoover Building—confident, assertive, and unaffected by stares or assumptions—but it's difficult without her body armor. Even though she only had one infusion of the chemo, her body still feels frail and hungover, like the day after a bad twenty-four hour flu, and she's wearing flats with her yoga pants and sweater, highlighting the height disparity between the two of them in a way her heels usually help to mitigate. There wasn't a hair dryer to use after her shower, so the natural curls she usually irons out are taking over, absurdly making her feel disorderly and sloppy. And she's not wearing makeup, and it's not the dark circles around her eyes or even the mole above her lip that she's self-conscious about—it's the freckles that spatter across her cheeks and nose. Well put together women don't have freckles, and she's sure he's going to interpret her vulnerabilities on her sun-kissed skin like the soggy tea leaves at the bottom of a china cup.

The worst part of dying, she's starting to think, is the discovery that her walls that felt sturdy like concrete are actually made of straw, and there's nothing like an illness to come sweeping through to blow your house down.

On the way out of the hospital they pass the room Penny died in. She looks away from the door, and Mulder looks at her. In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment he reaches over and squeezes her hand.

They don't say anything.

Scully thinks his choice of silence says more than words ever could.

When she wakes up on her couch she isn't sure if it was the nightmare that roused her, or the relentless throbbing in her head.

The ride back home from Allentown had been uncomfortable in every sense of the word. Mulder had rambled theories at her—about Dr. Scanlon and MUFON and government agendas—until her lack of engagement made the conversation eventually dissolve, first into him nervously chattering about the most ridiculous X-Files cases he could think of and, when that didn't work either, into nothing, a pall falling over them as she shifted restlessly in her seat, unable to find a position that didn't feel ill-fitting like a shirt that she couldn't untwist. They didn't once speak the word cancer.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep after he dropped her off, but ten minutes into some daytime talk show and she was suddenly dead to the world, and judging by the low light that surrounds her, she has slept all the way from early afternoon well into dusk. The TV still flickers at her, now playing the evening news, and she's sure that there aren't going to be any headlines about manufactured brain tumors and shady oncologists who betray their Hippocratic oath by purposefully poisoning women who look to them for salvation. The types of horrors she witnesses rarely make the news. Not with all the facts attached, at least.

She pushes herself up with a groan. Her head really hurts, and although her first instinct is to attribute it to the mass in her sinus cavity, when she reaches up to swipe under her nose there are no remnants of dried blood, and the dryness of her tongue and hollowness of her belly makes her think that the rhythmic throbbing in her skull is probably because she can't remember the last time she had a glass of water or a single bite of food.

She goes about the motions of getting together what she supposes is technically dinner, even though she forgot to proceed it with breakfast or lunch, and when she gets it all together—a hearty meal of half a banana, a slice of buttered toast, three ibuprofen, and a tall glass of ice water—she settles back down on the couch and assesses the other ache she'd awoken with.

The nightmare is formless in her memory, lacking a cohesive plotline now that she's in the waking world, but nevertheless, the emotions it stirred up inside her are visceral. There is a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, bottomless as the abyss. It's a type of fear that grips her from the inside, putting her adrenal gland into a chokehold and activating her fight or flight, except she can't fight her own mind anymore than she can flee it.

This is how she knows, even without the details, that her dream was about dying.

These types of dreams have been coming to her more frequently nowadays, starting the night Leonard Betts spoke five chilling words to her in the back of an ambulance. She's had friends who have been pregnant, and they would often tell her about the constant dreams they would have on the subject throughout the entire nine months. In a way, she figures, it's a similar concept; she and her friends all have had dreams about what their body is growing inside them—the notable difference of course being that they grew something into life, and she's growing something that takes it away.

Tomorrow she is going to have to start making phone calls. Make appointments and discuss treatment options and try not to get discouraged when the options are limited. When she first told Mulder about the cancer, he had been so insistent, saying, "There must be some people who receive treatment for this," and at the time she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell him that she wasn't sure she was going to be one of them. The odds were, and are, so heavily stacked against her, and as a medical doctor she is very aware that sometimes quality of life outweighs the quantity of it. Her experience in Allentown hasn't really endeared her toward the idea either, if she's being honest, and not because of Scanlon, or even because of Penny, but because she had not felt sick at all, up until she tried to treat the illness, and then suddenly she'd been in hell.

But while she may be uncomfortable with how much of herself she bared to him last night, she knows that she made promises that she can't take back. She is loyal to a fault, and she gave both him and herself her word that she would continue to live as long as she could, and so she will.

She's just not convinced much of her life in the upcoming days and weeks and months and maybe even years will feel much like living. In fact, she's pretty worried—down to the very depths of her subconscious, if her dreams are any indication—that she's going to feel like she's dying.

They say doctors make the worst patients. Sometimes that's because of stubbornness. Sometimes it's because they know exactly what to expect.

She finishes her meager meal and drinks down the last of her water. She slips an ice cube into her mouth and bites down on it, shattering it into pieces. The enamel of her teeth has always been sensitive to temperature, but instead of being off-put by the pain that spikes through to her jawbone when the ice touches her nerves, she revels in it. Her head, while somewhat improved, is still aching, and she finds herself appreciating that as well. She finds she is grateful for the signs her body is giving her to tell her it's still here, and maybe that's the trick. Maybe to get through this she has to go into it with a respect for the pain. This only hurts because I am alive, she'll have to train herself to think.

She can do that. She's certainly stubborn enough.

She wishes it didn't all have to be about pain, though. She doesn't want to forget that a body can feel good things too.

Ice crunches between her teeth, shocking her like a root canal, while she thinks about the signs of life that are enjoyable. Warmth. Comfort. Pleasure.

Pleasure.

On the TV, the news anchors are tying up their reports that are lacking things they don't even realize are missing. In her mouth her internal temperature warms the ice water, and the ebbing of the pain is a brief moment of gratification that acts as a sampling of what endorphins can do.

Tomorrow she is going to have to make plans to put herself in a varying, yet indefinite state of pain, and she will have to learn to appreciate it in order to remember how to be alive.

Tonight, however, she could remind herself in a different way.

It is a terrible idea.

It's an idea she has had a million times before and has stamped down just as often.

Ten minutes later and she's out her front door and getting into the driver's side of her car. Muscle memory guides her down the streets toward Alexandria, while she spends the whole drive telling herself to turn back.

She doesn't.

"Hey," Mulder says in surprise, eye widening slightly at the sight of her standing at his door. He's got on a white tank top and dark grey sweatpants, looking nothing like the federal agent he usually does. Instead of seeing a professional, albeit a tad bit crazy, government official, she sees her friend in the way that is much easier to ignore when he's wearing a suit and an ugly patterned tie. Like this, he exudes masculine energy, and her eyes are immediately drawn to the slopes and curves of his muscular shoulders and biceps. There is hair peeking out on his chest where the neckline of his shirt dips low. He hasn't shaved for at least a day, an even stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaw. She drops her gaze to the floor before he can catch her roaming eyes, and she sees his feet are bare. For some reason that's the most intimate part of it all, and the reality of what she's come here to do hits her like a freight train and she flushes with what must be a particularly spectacular shade of red.

In contrast, she's feeling a lot like she did this morning, like a soldier out of uniform. She's wearing the same pair of yoga pants, and under her coat she has on a faded souvenir t-shirt her parents gave her after an anniversary trip to the Outer Banks well over five years ago. It occurs to her only now that she'd left in such a rush that she hadn't even bothered with a bra, and she becomes instantly aware of the oversized shirt brushing directly against her breasts.

At least she wore boots with a heel this time, but in reality it's not doing much to level the playing field. Mulder's six-foot frame still dwarfs her completely, and while she normally feels like a peer in his presence—like a respected intellectual whose gender is totally irrelevant—tonight she is feeling a lot like she did the first time she entered a university science lecture and found herself surrounded almost entirely by men. The difference is that back then she had felt, ridiculously, embarrassed by her femininity, hyper-aware of every questioning stare, asking the same question: What is she doing here?

But like with most things, Mulder—simply by virtue of being Mulder—challenges her way of thinking. While she has long since stopped viewing her womanhood as a flaw, she is always viscerally aware when the people around her view it as one, and over time that has bred resentment. Standing here before him, though, she holds no animosity toward the difference in their sexes. Like the way her science complements his reckless belief, so too, in this moment, does her feminine ying balance his masculine yang.

She doesn't even worry about the freckles on her makeupless face.

"Scully?" He sounds concerned, and she realizes she's been standing here in silence after appearing at his apartment unannounced, and the last time they saw each other it had ended with her muttering a curt goodbye as she all but bolted from his car to escape the suffocation of her own self-imposed belief that emotional vulnerability was akin to disgrace.

But what Mulder isn't privy to yet is that the shame from this morning about being so transparent has been wholly replaced by the need of a dying woman to be reminded of the good parts of being alive. Scully is ready to be bare, by every definition, and she can only hope that he'll let her.

Refusing to give in to cowardice, she forces herself to look up from the floor to meet his eye.

"Can I come in?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course." He angles himself to place a hand on the small of her back, ushering her inside, and even through her coat and shirt the contact burns like the ice touching her enamel. She kicks off her boots, sinking back down to her natural five foot two—three, if the height gauge at the doctor's office chooses to be generous—and lets him take her coat and hang it up, before leading them both over to the couch. He plops down, leaving a purposeful vacancy beside him, and looks up at her expectantly, but she doesn't sit. Cocking his head, he asks, "Are you all right? Why are you here? If you needed something you know you could have called me and I would have come to you. I know you only went through one day of treatment, but I'm sure it had to have taken a toll on your—"

"I'm fine," she insists, cutting him off. She doesn't say it harshly, but she doesn't leave room for him to argue against it either, even though she can tell he desperately wants to. Instead, he chooses to heed her command, and presses his lips closed, waiting for her to tell him why she's standing here when earlier today they drove over three hours and she had barely said a word the entire time.

It's possible she didn't think this far ahead. More than that—it's possible she hasn't thought this through at all.

But she's committed now, and she's starting to feel feral, her needs centered around primitive instincts. It is in every species' nature to fight for survival at any cost, but she is burdened with a human's intellect that can allow her to deny herself continued survival if doing so also means prolonged suffering. If she is to keep her promise—if she is to fight for her life with treatments that make her feel sicker than the disease they're targeting—then she has to go into it with a memory that reminds her why it's worth it to stay alive.

She walks over to his desk and leans against it, mindlessly thumbing through documents strewn carelessly across the top. There are pieces from casefiles, and pages photocopied from obscure books on phenomena she'd never believe. There are scratch pieces of paper with notes scribbled on them, written in a shorthand that she's sure only makes sense to him. There are newspaper clippings and articles torn from tabloid magazines he would call source material, and she would call a scam. She doesn't read any of it, but she keeps her eyes trained on them as she considers her next steps.

Gaze pinned on a faded picture of some kind of creature that has clearly come off a printer that was running low on ink, she finally says, "I want to ask you for a favor, but I should warn you that it's a bit unorthodox."

"Unorthodox, huh? I dunno, Scully, I'm a pretty conventional guy, I'm not sure I can handle anything out of the ordinary."

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. How does he do that? she wonders. How does he know how to calm her when he doesn't even know that she's feeling frantic in the first place?

That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you. That are you.

Those were words she had written only days before, placed inside a journal that was meant to be a confessional, but again, she should have known better. What use is there in inviting someone into your heart when they're already there?

She stops fiddling with the contents of his desk and looks over at him. He's regarding her with an expression of concern that on a different day she would construe as pity and detest, but right now she has the capacity to accept that he's looking at her like that, not because she's weak, but because he cares. Because he's worried. Because he wants her to live.

"Last night, when you said you read some of what I wrote... how much did you read exactly?"

Mulder rubs the nape of his neck and shrugs.

"A bit," he says, which she takes to mean "all of it." She can picture him, after confirming she was safe, sneaking into her hospital room and sitting on her bed, skimming each page, and then going back through a second time to take it in more fully. It should feel like an invasion of privacy, but instead her impulse is to huff a small laugh. She tries so hard to hide from him, and yet he finds her every time.

"So you know about the treatment. What it feels like." He nods slowly, like he's trying to piece together what she's getting at and hasn't quite formed a cohesive picture yet. She sighs.

"Tomorrow I'm going to set up a meeting with Skinner and take him up on his offer in getting into contact with an oncologist. We can still pursue the case—that is, if any new evidence presents itself to give us any new leads—but in the meantime, I need to figure out what treatment options are available to me. Time is of the essence in these sorts of situations."

Mulder nods again, still waiting for the clarifying piece of the puzzle.

"Mulder, without talking it over with a specialist, I can't know for certain what treatment route they're going to have me take, but with my medical background I can make an educated enough guess to safely say that, whatever it is, it's not going to be pleasant."

"Any help you need, Scully, you know I'm just a phone call away. And don't worry about work. If you have to take leave that's fine. What matters most is that you get yourself health—"

"I know. I know that, but that's not what I came here to talk to you about."

"... Okay." He gives a small shake of his head. "What then? What's the favor?"

Scully draws her lower lip between her teeth.

"I need your help," she says slowly, "in reminding myself that my body can do more than feel pain. That it's more than just a vessel to get me from one place to another... I need you to help me remember why it's worth saving."

"I don't..." he starts, but his sentence trails off as she makes her approach over to him with a purposeful gait. She goes to stand between his legs and he opens them wider to give her space like the action is automatic. He tilts his head back to look dumbly up at her, and the change in dynamic—her above and him below—makes her feel some type of way low in her belly.

She reaches out and cups his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone with her thumb, and she sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. She thinks the picture may be becoming clear to him now.

"Scully—"

"You can tell me to leave," she cuts him off. "You can say no and I won't hold it against you. We don't ever have to talk about it again. But if you're willing..."

Mulder gives a breathy, disbelieving laugh.

"Scully, trust me, it's not a matter of whether or not I'm willing, but look at what all you've been through in the past couple days. I don't think you're thinking rationally, and I don't want to take advantage—"

"Not thinking rationally? Me?" She smiles a little as she pulls her hand back, making a point to drag her fingers slowly across his skin on the way, and she doesn't think she imagines him leaning into her touch. "Mulder, I appreciate your concern, but why don't you let me decide what I do and don't want to do."

"Scully..."

"Do you trust me?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Of course I do."

She takes hold of both of his wrists, and when she tugs his arms out to settle his hands on her hips she's met with slight resistance, but she knows it's just for show. She's not weak, but he's got plenty of strength to get away from her if he really wanted to. Instead, the pads of his fingers press into her pelvic bone, even after she's dropped her hold on his wrists.

"Then trust me when I say this is what I need from you," she says. She smirks and adds, "I told you it was unorthodox."

"You weren't kidding," he mutters, and fuck, his eyes are boring into hers so intensely she nearly shudders.

Sweatpants are not exactly ideal when it comes to maintaining modesty in sensitive situations, and Scully's effect on him does not go unnoticed. Her eyes dart down to the significant bulge between his thighs, and then back up to his face where he gives a bashful half-grin accompanied with a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say "can you blame me?"

"I won't hold it against you," she tells him again, "but I do want this."

"Fuck," Mulder breathes. He shuts his eyes for a beat, like he's trying to compose himself, and then blinks them back open, embers of an impending fire starting to glow behind his dilating pupils. "This is a bad idea," he tells her, stating it more like a fact than as a deterrent.

"Maybe," she agrees.

"We have to work together tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that one, too. You don't think this will... change things?"

"Not if we don't let it."

"You really think it's that simple?"

She considers the question. Considers whether or not she can learn what it's like to have him explore her body tonight, and then pretend like she didn't come morning.

"We're two consenting adults," she says, evading the question. "Has the thought of doing this really never crossed your mind?"

"That... That feels like a leading question."

"Would it make you feel better if I said that it has definitely crossed mine?"

"Jesus, Scully," he breathes, shifting in his seat and clutching her hips so tight that she won't be surprised if later she finds finger-shaped bruises on her skin, reminiscent of dusted prints at a crime scene.

"It's just sex, Mulder," but even as she says it, she knows it's a lie.

He knows it too, judging by the muscle twitching in his clenched jaw as he holds her eyes with a steady look.

"Is it?" he asks evenly, and they both know the answer is no.

No. Of course not. Sex could never be "just" anything between them, but the reason why is a topic they've come to an unspoken agreement to never acknowledge aloud. But Scully isn't stupid. She knows that the way electricity behaves between them—constantly thrumming and sparking, in tense situations as well as banal—isn't normal. Four years ago she dropped her robe in front of him in a candle lit hotel room, and she hasn't stopped feeling his gaze on her lower back since; the tender way his eyes roved over her delusive mosquito bites is as permanent a tattoo as the blood red ouroboros that has only recently lost its scabs.

The term "something more" is a vague and fanciful concept she would sooner dismiss as nothing but a perpetuation of commercialized romance, if she herself wasn't subjected to it on a near daily basis. Since day number one there has been an elusive "something more" surrounding them, fighting for their attention, even as they so ardently deny its existence.

So no, it isn't just sex, but Scully also didn't come here to give voice to the elephant that follows them from room to room. To put it plainly, she came here so he could fuck the will to live back into her body, and she refuses to lose sight of her mission.

So in lieu of a response—because she can't animate any elephants, but neither can she lie to a man who treats truth like the core tenet to his religion—she instead throws caution to the wind, swoops in, and kisses him.

Ice touches enamel. She wants it to burn.

Whatever reservations or protests he may have been fighting against must not be too hard to cast aside, because his response to her is instant, tilting his head to slot their lips together and kissing back so forcefully their teeth clack together. But even that doesn't, or maybe can't slow them down.

Mulder's hands move from her hips to her ass, and in a single swift movement he lifts her onto his lap. He swallows her surprised gasp as she straddles his thighs, his hard cock brushing her center, the layers of their clothing teasing her relentlessly when right now she needs skin-on-skin more than she needs air.

Mulder seems to be of the same mind, because one second she's sitting astride him fully clothed, and in the next he has somehow stripped her of her shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Returning the favor, she peels his off too, feeling like a kid at Christmas unwrapping the box she knows contains the best present under the tree.

Scully tries to recapture his lips, but he stills her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He then leans back to get a good, long look at her.

"God, Scully," he whispers reverently, eyes trained on her chest. He reaches out to touch her, and when he does her breasts fit perfectly in his hands. Tentatively, and with such profound focus you'd think he was attempting to split an atom, he pinches her left nipple and rolls it experimentally between his index finger and thumb. It's such a simple touch, but it goes straight to her leaking cunt, and when she moans Mulder's attention darts back up to her face, the embers behind his eyes now a full-fledged forest fire, blazing a warpath through the trees. He makes it a point not to break her gaze when he leans in and takes the same nipple into his mouth.

"Mmm," she hums, letting her head loll back. He sucks the nub of her nipple taut, and involuntarily she bucks her hips in response.

Mulder mumbles something incoherent against her breast, and when she asks for clarification, he pulls away with an obscene pop and then nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck, saying, "You're everything."

Everything. Like he ran through the full gamut of adjectives and found himself wanting. Like she is so many things at once that there isn't a single word that encompasses the breadth of her worth to him.

You're everything.

It's the most overwhelming compliment she has ever received, because she wants, more than anything, to live up to it, and yet she's not even sure if she is going to be able to simply live, period. She's not sure when her greatest fear became failing him. It might have been the first time he ever challenged her. When she stood in front of his projector, veiled by the illuminated slides he'd already prepared for her arrival, as he quizzed her on chemistry, and causes of death, and the supposed limits of science in a vast and complex universe. She had wanted to prove herself to him then, and then just never stopped.

The truth of his influence over her is too much to handle right now, so she decides to kiss him again—an act that is quickly becoming her new favorite strategy for deflection—and then buries her fingers in his hair. She oscillates her hips in slow circles, taunting them both with light but consistent pressure on his cock. She feels him twitch in anticipation for her, and her pulse throbs in her cunt in turn.

"I want you," she whispers against his lips, but he shakes his head.

"No," he murmurs. "No, not yet."

Before she can ask him for clarification, he's lifting her up with a firm grip on the backs of her thighs, and then proceeds to lay her down lengthwise on the couch.

There's a manic energy wafting off of him in waves, and yet, in total contrast, the way he slides her leggings and panties down and off her legs is so purposeful and leisurely that she has the absurd thought that nobody has ever undressed her with such respect before.

When he kisses her soundly on the mouth and then begins making a trek down her body with his lips and tongue and an occasional nip of his teeth, she feels—for the first time since she stepped foot inside his apartment with this ludacris idea—a pang of apprehension.

For the most part, she isn't a self-conscious person. Once she got past the awkwardness of adolescence, she's had a fairly healthy relationship with her self-image. But that said, Mulder's intended destination is obvious, and she's had enough sexual partners turn their nose up at the suggestion that for a moment she worries he's only doing it because he thinks she expects it of him.

But then he settles himself in between her thighs and peers up at her with a hunger better fit for a man so far into starvation he's about to succumb to it, and she realizes then that while he may be able to read all the words on her every page, it is not a one-sided transparency. If ever there were to be a scholar on the topic of Fox William Mulder, she would be the one.

The apprehension, already fleeting in the first place, dissipates entirely, and she lets her legs fall open in invitation.

There is no hesitancy in his acceptance. He uses two fingers to part her labia, and then starts off by dragging the flat of his tongue from her soaking entrance up to her swollen clit in one long stroke, and that alone has her crying out, unconcerned about how she sounds or how thin the walls might be.

Never a man to miss important details, it's unsurprising the speed at which he masters the intricacies of her body. She knows he's paying attention to every miniscule shift in her body language by the way he adjusts the pressure and speed and direction of his mouth and tongue. When he slips one finger inside her, quickly following it up with a second, and pulses a come hither motion as he sucks on her aching clit she wants to sob. He eats cunt with the devotion of a holy man, and he makes her feel deserving of being worshipped.

This is why it's worth it to live. Because for every twinge and ache and pain her body is capable of, it is equally capable of so much good feeling that it could constitute a religious experience. That while there are always going to be moments of suffering, there are also going to be moments of pleasure, and to truly live you have to accept the full spectrum of what it means to possess a human body.

When the coiling heat in her cunt finally boils over, and she arches her back and cries out Mulder's name while a rapturous climax works through her, suspending time and space, she thinks to herself, over and over like a mantra—like a promise: This is what I'm fighting for. This is what I'm fighting for. This. Is what. I am fighting for.

When she comes back to herself enough to spring into action, she is barely conscious of her own movements, acting more on primal instinct as she yanks Mulder up and kisses him sloppily, licking into his mouth and tasting herself on his tongue as she manages to flip them so that he's lying on his back, panting up at her with blown pupils and parted lips.

She gets his sweatpants and boxers pulled down past his knees, and he kicks them the rest of the way off. He curses when she takes hold of him and guides him to her entrance, unable to wait to be filled by him any longer.

He's so big, and even with the slickness from her orgasm she has to take him in slowly, letting her cunt adjust to the stretch of him.

"There's so much of you," she groans, rocking her hips, slipping him in further inch by inch. He's holding onto her hips again, gripping her like she's a life preserver as he clenches his jaw, clearly trying his utmost not to thrust into her before she's ready for it.

"You feel... Jesus, Scully, there aren't words to describe how you feel," he says, strained between gritted teeth, and she's so thankful for him. For his patience. For his attention. For the "something more" between them that she doesn't dare give a name to, even in the privacy of her own mind.

When she finally takes him to the hilt, it feels like an accomplishment. Skewered between her legs on his massive cock, she has the same sense of satisfaction she gets when she pins him into a corner during a debate. Already he has infiltrated almost every aspect of her life, and now he's inside her body as well, and she understands what he meant before, because it's everything. He's everything.

She tells him so, and that's more than he can handle. After the words spill from her lips, he thrusts up into her, making her shout, but on the next thrust she meets him in a counter-rhythm, driving him impossibly deeper inside her. The apartment is full of the sounds and smells of sex as she begins to ride him in earnest. She plays with her own tits, and he watches her, rapt with attention, and when his breathing starts to hollow, he puts a hand between her legs and lets her rub her clit against him.

"Yes," she moans, riding him harder, shocked that he has her teetering on the edge again so soon. "God, yes. Mulder, I—I'm going to—"

She completes her sentence nonverbally, falling over the edge once more, and this time Mulder follows her. He's chanting nonsense syllables that are probably supposed to be her name, as she clenches around him and milks his cock dry, letting him fill her fully and completely. She wants to feel his spend leaking out of her later. She wants to feel bruised when she walks. She wants to remember every last second of tonight—even if they never speak of it again—because she is going to need the memories in order to face what's waiting for her come tomorrow.

When they've both returned to Earth, they stay joined together in silence for just a little longer, searching each other's faces, possibly for signs of regret, or maybe just for the sake of looking. He pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear and she lets her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch. Between her legs he's starting to soften. Her unorthodox favor has been fulfilled, and reality is hurtling back to them at speed.

"Thank you," she says, not opening her eyes.

He doesn't respond for a few beats, and then he says, "It's worth it, Scully. Remember it's worth it."

She nods.

It's so easy, she thinks, to be aware of her own mortality. To remember that she will die.

She vows now that, in the face of every upcoming obstacle, she will remind herself, often, that she can also live.

#poangpresents2024 #msr #msr fic #txf #txf fic #the x-files #diz writes conspiracies

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mothram · 1 year ago

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#diana's music diary #good evening I haven't been on tumblr all day oops #not really been busy I've just kind of been chilling in bed #feel a little nauseous but it's not that bad... got some stuff delivered earlier that I'm excited to try! probably won't until tomorrow #I've not been tired all day despite being on barely any sleep... gonna try and get through it but if I nap I nap I guess...#I have to do some do chores later but after that I can sleep whenever.. might stay up though idk I don't like sleeping as late as i have @@#yesterday was good? I think? I honestly barely remember what happened... I think hung out with my partner and did lessons with her?#everything else was a blur though... :/#anyway... more umineko music! fun :3 !! let's make today good and try to remember it if it is!!

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britneyshakespeare · 2 years ago

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well i didn’t get my paycheck in the mail but i did get a referral notice from my doctor saying that i can expect to see an endocrinologist... in SIX. FUCKING. MONTHS.

#no. fucking. no #i can barely get out of bed on a good day. i've been feeling this way for months.#bloodwork says i HAVE hashimoto's disease. i have a family history of thyroid issues on both sides #i am NOT in acceptable health to be waiting six months. i wanna cry. maybe i will #tales from diana #another fucking phone call i have to make on monday. i still haven't called the other specialist i need to see to make an appointment #the secretary told me they'd take care of this one and schedule it for me #they said it might take until the fall #i can't wait until the fucking winter solstice #i have so much anxiety on top of all of this health shit i have barely been able to think straight this week #everything in my life is falling apart #reducing/managing stress is all they told me i can do for now (until i potentially start a treatment course)#to prevent myself from developing full-blown hypothyroidism #AND LET ME TELL YOU... CIRCUMSTANCES IN THE LAST WEEK HAVE NOT BEEN GREAT FOR THAT #i'm gonna have to drop out of society and be a recluse again at this rate. this is so discouraging #i'm not gonna be able to continue my education or pick up a steady job #luckily being a substitute teacher is super flexible but i wanna fuckin be able to pick up hours at that job #i haven't been able to work more than two fucking days a week since april #i don't leave the house to see ppl anymore bc if i so much as walk in a parking lot im unable to get up for the rest of the day #im PISSED #i do wanna cry #ok bye i can't be ranting like this anymore i wanna cry

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shotmrmiller · 4 months ago

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your superior finding out about the secret praise kink you didn't know had a name because you'd always been called an over achiever, a goody two shoes. never gave anyone any trouble, nose burrowed in a book since you had knobby knees and a library card.

you'd thought it normal that the apples of your cheeks burned when praised after giving your teacher the drawing you'd made for them the night before. that heat spread from the center of your chest up when your first boyfriend/girlfriend whistled at the sight of you outside of uniform. that warmth settles in your belly when you get a pat on the back from your platoon leader firm enough to force the air out of your lungs because you'd disassembled and cleaned a glock with the ease of a professional.

apparently it wasn't.

after weeks of training with the fabled task force, weeks of sharing elbow room with the team, weeks of soaking up the dizzying praise from the captain ("did real good out there, eh? can always count on you." you didn't question the throb betwixt your thighs, taking care of it with a cute little bullet like you've always done since joining the military)

you're confronted by the worst of the lot. ghost catches you in a break room, your back to him, hands clutching a cup of coffee that's more sludge than liquid, its warmth barely seeping through the styrofoam.

his figure fills the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing the frame. your first thought is that his brows aren't twisted together and he lacks that cold, blank look in his eyes so your death isn't in the nearest of futures. the second is that when he's not fully covering his face, the outline of his jaw is quite visible, looking sharp enough to cut.

then he crosses his sculpted arms over his chest, seams straining against the expanse of his muscles, head tipped to the side.

he moves with the keen curiosity of a predator sniffing around a newborn fawn, gaze intense yet inquisitive, assessing your every detail with a menacing interest.

"you ever gonna tell me you've a praise kink, bird?" the question sends a chill through your veins before turning into a fiery rush as it races at twice the normal speed.

praise kink? no. surely not. doesn't everyone like to receive compliments?

"sure. i don't mind gettin' told i've an impressive cock but that's bed talk. you look ready to bend over 'nd show us how slick tha' pretty cunt can get over a rufflin' of hair and a couple of empty words."

that has you positively reeling, fingertips cracking the cup in your hands, pulse on your neck fluttering. you feel a cornered, skittish animal, ready to flee lest your life come to an end in his maws.

but as usual, the cruel man more creature than person, twists the knife he's dug into you with a certain ruthlessness only he can muster.

"so be good for me, eh? love your praise? earn it."

you've always been an over achiever, proven once again by the way you take him to the root in one long, broad stroke with any complaints at the sheer size of him resting firmly behind your clenched teeth.

"tight little thing, spread open over me like you were meant for it. for me." he runs a gloved thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "there's tha' look. drivin' me bloody insane when you gave kyle tha' molten gaze. none o' tha' now, yeah?"

he creeps his ungloved hand down to circle your pearl with the spit-slick pads of his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath when your walls flutter and constrict around his cock at the feel of something other than your toy giving you the relief you need after a hard day's work.

"bloody fuckin' 'ell."

ghost claims a fistful of hair, pulling you closer to him, his breath warming the stinging, throbbing mark he bit onto the delicate skin of your neck. the shuffling of feet right outside the door snap you out of your daze, fingernails sinking into the bulging muscle of his chest but he has none of it.

he uses your hair to direct your focus back onto him and even though he'd only given you a leading tug you felt some strands of your hair come off with a pop.

"easy. can't see your pretty face when i'm fuckin' ya if your lookin' away."

your expression twists into what you hope is bliss when he bucks his hips, your whimper drowning out his groan when he hits on something new.

something you want him to keep hitting.

"exactly like i'd thought."

everything else blurs together after that, and only when you're back in your room using a warm cloth to clean yourself up do you remember the other things he'd rumbled.

(inside o' ya, make you mine-)

(-get 'bout bein' with anyone else-)

(-ll to myself-)

you touch your tender pussy with gentle fingers at what he'd said in the end.

(leave tha' f'me, he swipes your hand away, i'll get ya there, pet.)

if price's compliments take a nose dive off a cliff you don't notice because you're getting your daily fill of them and ghost after dinner every night. kyle keeps them to one word and soap likes to tempt fate as always.

#desperate gross old man definitely gets his ass chewed out later #what the fuck was he thinking fucking the newbie in the BREAK ROOM #not your fault though you're an angel and price will always have your six 👍🏽#unless laswell hears of your shit then you're on your own buddy #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #cod smut

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lollixp0p · 11 months ago

Text

The Video (18+)

Pairing: Best friend!Hwang Hyunjin x afab!reader

Genre: Smut (MDNI), bit of feelings

Word count: just under 3k!

Warnings: Idol!au, subby!Hyunjin, slightly perv!reader, recording, (maybe a bit dub con because he doesn't mean to send it but reader watches it anyway), mommy kink, masturbation (both but separately), Hyunjin fantasizes about reader, reader fantasizes about Hyunjin, lmk if I missed anything!!

Summary: Hyunjin finally gets some alone time after weeks of hard work and decides to use his time to... relax. The next day he ends up sending you something on accident that sets off a big change in your lives, with or without either of you really realising.

Note: My first ever fic!! :3 Inspired by a video I saw on phub. (@cbini (Ems isn't on Tumblr rn she still wanted to be tagged so I hope it's ok), @comet-falls, @hyunsvngs, @mnwrld and @skz-hell lmao hello everyone, writing blog reveal!!😁 here's this fic I've mention to all of you as an anon<3 (depending on who you are I'm either ❄️anon, 🐾anon or sounding anon😳)). To anyone reading this please give me literally any feedback (comment, reblog, anything!), I want to know if this is good or not since it's my first fic🙏😣

Please do not under any circumstance copy, translate, or repost my works!

It's been exactly three weeks since Hyunjin's had any time for just himself, though it feels like months at this point.

Recently everyone's been running around like headless chickens and between vocal trainings, dance practices and the studio, there hasn't been much time to just relax and recharge. Preparing for a new album really is the busiest time of an idols life.

There hasn't even been time to see family or friends, which is common during busy spells like this, but always dissapointing to think about. Now even more so, with how much he's been wishing to spend time with you, one of his closest friends... who also happens to be his crush. Not that he'd ever let you know though, not in a very long time.

It feels almost like a blessing, getting back to the dorms from practice late in the evening and realising... he's got the place all for himself, at least until his roommates get back from the studio.

Changbin had messaged him earlier, telling him that they'd probably be there well past midnight, so there was no use waiting up for them. To him though, this was the very opposite of an issue. With that much free time, he'd definitely be able to... make himself comfortable, so to speak.

See, not having time to relax also means he'd basically had no time to get off. The best he'd been able to do had been quick little sessions barely once a week in the shower right before passing out on his bed from the exhaustion of working hard.

The realisation that he'd be able to do anything he wants during his time alone is enough to get his dick twitching in his jeans and he decides the shower can wait until later.

Hyunjin goes to his room and locks the door after himself even though he's alone, it's just become a habit after so many years living with his members. He sets his bag down next to his bed and thinks through his plan.

Hyunjin has a little secret, which is that he loves recording himself do dirty things that range from more vanilla to much less vanilla. Something about the thrill of being recorded even if no one will ever see it just... makes him so fucking horny.

He opens the camera of his phone, puts it to video mode and presses record. Moving his hand off the lense and setting it down where he normally sets it, on the carefully placed pile of books on his desk, he sits down on his bed.

"Hmm... I hope the angle's good... It's been so long since I've had time for this", Hyunjin sighs with a pout and brushes his hair out of his eyes. He knows the camera won't see it though because he's made sure the stand, his pile of books, is at a level that cuts off his head perfectly.

Hyunjins hands run down his body slowly and he exhales deeply, just loud enough to get picked up by his phone. Once they reach his jeans he unbuttons them, unzips the zipper, then pulls the jeans down just enough to expose his underwear. Hyunjin pulls his shirt up over his stomach to be held in place under his chin, rubs his hand over his bulge and hums.

It's been so long since the last time he's been able to take his time making himself feel good. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he's getting hard.

He takes his dick out his boxers and then spits on the palm of his right hand. It's dirty and wet but it just turns him on even more. He grabs his dick with the hand and slowly moves his fist up and down, to spread the saliva and precum all over his dick to make the slide easier and wetter but to also get himself to full hardness.

"A-ah, ohh... that's so good... Feels-fuck, feels so good", Hyunjin sighs. It really won't take him too long to cum, he just knows it. He's been pent up for far too long.

He tries to think of something to help his issue and immediately thinks of you, no matter how embarrassed or dirty it makes him feel.

When you first started showing up in the dirtiest corners of his mind he felt so ashamed. Now it doesn't matter to him anymore. You'll never find out so why feel bad?

He continues to move his hand on his dick while thinking of you. The last time the two of you had time to hang out together you'd worn the lowest cut shirt he'd ever seen on you. He had tried so hard to act normal around you but whenever you bent down he'd been able to see into your shirt.

"Haah, fuck..." , he squeezes himself a little harder at the memory. Everytime you moved he could see your bra poking out from the top, black and lacy. The entire time he'd been doing his best to not bust in his pants. Oh, what he'd give to be able to see your tits. They always looked so soft and they'd probably fit perfectly into his palms.

Whenever the both of you would hang out at yours, watching movies and just hanging out, you never bothered to wear a bra. Why would you? It is your house where you want to be as comfortable as possible.

The feeling of laying down on your couch watching a movie with you on top of him, in just a t-shirt, will end up driving him mad one day. Everytime he'd felt your nipples poking into him he'd almost moaned out loud.

"Hngh... Oh my god, please... m-mommy!", he lets out pathetically, moving his fist faster. God he just wants you to use him, to do anything you want to him. The thought makes him whine desperately.

One of the most common fantasies for him is you on top of him using him to get off, not caring about if he's close or not. You'd sit on his face and ride it until you cum. He could probably cum untouched like that. All he'd need was tasting you and seeing you cum, just for him.

All the sudden he remembers the phone recording him and he shudders. He imagines what your reaction would be to seeing him like this. Would you be disgusted or delighted? Would you tell him what to do and how to touch himself? Maybe you'd touch him... He hopes you would.

"Mommy... please touch me, aah- oh!", he runs his thumb over the head of his cock just right and his thighs twitch but he keeps them open, in perfect view to the camera.

Throwing his head back he imagines you riding him. You'd be so tight and wet around him. Maybe you'd tie his hands behind his back so he wouldn't be able to touch you... he'd really like that. You'd feel godly around him, Hyunjin thinks.

"Fuck, oh fuck! Mommy I'm-haah, I'm so close, please!", his dick twitches desperately. You're so gorgeous, to him you're the sexiest person he's ever seen. He feels himself getting so close that tears spring to his eyes.

"Ah- 'm gonna... mommy, gonna cum...!", he whines out long and loud. It takes Hyunjin two more strokes to let go and he cums the hardest he's cum in weeks. He doesn't even register whispering your name. Hyunjin leans back on his left hand and keeps stroking himself through it.

The feeling is overwhelming, so much so that his thighs start twitching pathetically and the tears in the corners of his eyes fall. He's getting incredibly overstimulated but he keeps going, wanting to keep enjoying the feeling, just a bit more.

He squeezes himself one last time and suddenly everything on him feels gross and dirty. He's just had the best orgasm in weeks so it's no surprise that he came a lot, everywhere. He even managed to get some on his chin.

"Fuuck... Did you-haah... did you enjoy that?", he chuckles to the phone. It takes a while for him to come down from the high, the twitchiness and the feeling of euphoria lingering in his body. Once he's capable of standing up again he stops the video.

With his body feeling like jelly, he takes off all his clothes, drops them into his hamper and prepares to shower, at last.

Hyunjin wakes up to his alarm the next day feeling more refreshed than he's felt in weeks. He shuts off the still ringing alarm and quickly gets up from his bed to get dressed and go eat breakfast.

Checking the calendar on his phone to make sure he knows his schedule for today, he makes a note of one thing; he'd have a lot of time alone at the dorms today too, since he's only got a dance practice and a recording session today, which obviously means 3racha will stay behind to stress about their songs while Hyunjin can return early. Maybe this time he should continue the latest piece of art he's been working on after he gets back?

Hyunjin gets through the day well enough.

After eating breakfast he messages you a "Good morning pretty <3 please remember to drink water!" like every morning when he has time for it. He gets to the practice room only five minutes late, which is a record this early in the morning, because usually he ends up sleeping in at least ten minutes (which makes Chan scold him for being such a heavy sleeper).

He does well at practice, even though he ends up a little exhausted. That's nothing new though, with how hard they always work to be the best they can be.

The rest of the members leave to take a break but Hyunjin decides to stay behind to film the solo choreography he's been working on for fun. Once he's happy with how it's turned out, it's time for him to go record his lines.

The recording session goes smoothly, without hundreds of retakes and everyone's satisfied with the result. Afterwards they decide to order some take-out, as a reward for a job well done... and also because they're all feeling too lazy to even think about going to the dorms to cook.

While eating Hyunjin finally realises to check his phone again. "Good morning, take care of yourself too!! :)" is your response to what he sent earlier. It's nothing more than a kind response but it makes him grin to himself like the fool in love he is.

"Yaaah!! Hyunjinnieee, what's making you smile so beautifully?", Changbin leans towards him with his signature flirting-with-Hyunjin grin, mouth half full of rice.

"It's nothing," Hyunjin responds back to him cheeks red, "and don't talk with your mouth full hyung... Do you not have any respect?"

Changbin decides to drop it in favor of eating more delicious food.

"Oh come on... we wanna know!!", Han pouts at him from his seat on the couch in the room. Hyunjin shoves another mouthful of food in his mouth to avoid the embarrassement of explaining how a single text messaged from you manages to make his heart beat out of his chest.

Once Hyunjin's done eating he's free to go back to the dorms and just like he suspected the rest of his dormmates stay behind to work some more, although they all whine at him to stay to explain the previous mystery. He declines and they all keep their sad puppydog eyes on him until he's out the door.

He keeps texting you during his ride, all the way to the dorms. Once he's in his room Hyunjin decides to just change into some clean clothes. He's too excited to talk to you and get to painting, he can wash up later.

He lays in his bed to keep texting you and at some point your conversation changes from how your day's been going to talking about dancing and he mentions how he just today filmed a new choreography bit he's made for fun.

❣️:

Can I see what you've been working on? :)

I'm sure it's really good, you always are!!

Jinnie:

Well... since you asked so nicely😉

[video sent]

Quickly sending the video Hyunjin exits out the messaging app, feeling so giddy he can't help but squirm around on his bed. He still can't believe someone like you could be interested in seeing him dance.

It might seem like a small thing for most but he feels himself turning red just thinking about the way you look at him while he talks about something so important to him. It makes the butterflies in his stomach every time you're near go crazy. It's so attentive, like you actually care and are interested in his interests... and maybe even...?

'No' , he thinks to himself. There's probably no way you could ever actually be interested in him, not in the same way he's interested in you at least.

He leaves his phone charging and finally gets out of bed to go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He'd need it if he wanted to stay up late to work on his newest art piece.

Hearing the familiar 'ping' notification of receiving a message makes you open your phone again and just like you thought, Hyunjin had sent you the video of his latest masterpiece of a choreography. Not waiting a second you press the video just to see.... Hyunjin take his hand off the camera and set the phone down on the desk in his room he draws on. He sits down on the edge of his bed and says something, you aren't really sure what, because the volume's too low. In confusion you turn it up more.

Hyunjin sighs and reaches up to move his hair out his face, probably. You can't see it though, because the camera cuts his face perfectly off frame. Suddenly his hands run down his body to the button on his jeans. He opens it and starts undoing the zipper next. You just look at the video in shock. 'He isn't about to... to take them off is he?', you think to yourself, just as he pulls the jeans down enough to expose his white boxers and then palms his bulge.

Should you stop watching? Keep watching? How long has it even been playing? How long does it keep playing? While you wonder this you almost miss Hyunjin pull his hard dick out of his underwear and spit on his palm and... Oh God...

You've now done something you can never take back. The downright sinful view of his cock is something you don't think you're ever going to be able to forget. How do you even face him after this? After watching him grasp his dick in his hand and pump it a couple of times to spread the spit and precum around.

You exit the video, panting and absolutely soaking through your underwear. Your other hand rushes to your face to feel your cheeks. They're burning and feel like you've been standing out in the sun for hours, when in reality all you've done is accidentally watch your best friend play with himself.

You struggle to decide what to do with the video and in the end save the video without much thinking, then delete the message of it and decide to notify him of his mistake. As long as he doesn't know you saved it, it should be fine, right?

It takes Hyunjin less than 10 minutes to make and get the coffee. He returns to his room humming the tune of a song he's had on repeat recently. Setting the coffee down on the desk and taking his phone off from the charger he notices new messages from you.

❣️:

Uhm...��

Hyunjin, I don't think you meant to send that.

He looks at his screen confused. What did you mean by that? He...

Oh God.

Did he send the wrong video?

Frantically opening the video he sent earlier he sees himself, in video, move his hand off the phone camera and set it down the desk near his bed and sit down. Oh no...

"Hmm... I hope the angle's good... It's been so long since I've had time for this", video Hyunjin sighs and reaches up to move his hair from his eyes. His head may be out of frame but he clearly remembers pouting while saying this. He watches himself slowly unbutton and unzip his pants, adjusting them so that his boxers are clearly visible in frame. In the video his hand drifts towards his crotch slowly, teasingly.

He quickly exits the video and promptly shoves his head under his pillow and yells. He'd accidentally sent the wrong video while hurrying to get a cup of coffee. How could he have messed up this bad? In his panic, it takes him a moment to respond.

Jinnie:

Oh god

I'm so sorry!!

Please don't watch that!

❣️:

Don't worry!!!

I stopped watching the moment you started unzipping your pants😖

I saw nothing, promise!🙏 It's been deleted already!!

Little does he know though, you'd kept the video. You're not really sure why, but subconciously your brain keeps screaming' to finish it later, of course'.

...

Fuck it, you don't think you can wait until later.

Taking a deep breath, you open your gallery to find the video he sent you. You hesitate for a second but press play anyway. You can feel how you're already soaking through your underwear but pay no mind to it yet.

You watch him do the things you've seen already, all the way until he spits in his hand... and you pause the video. 'Is it right to watch this? I mean, he didn't mean to even send it...', you think to yourself.

But the thought of seeing him touch himself, to hear him make the sweetest noises you could ever in your wildest dreams imagine him making drives you on.

Pressing play again you dip your fingers into your pants. You rub yourself over your underwear and oh my god... you can't believe the wetness you feel after less than a minute of watching the video. You focus on the phone you're holding in your other hand and finally move your fingers into your underwear to directly touch your pussy.

On your screen you see Hyunjin start to stroke himself faster, the head of his dick a dark pink, you can feel his desperation through the screen. Without thinking you move your fingers to your clit and start rubbing it in circles, aided by the wetness of your leaking pussy.

He moans out loud and even though you can't hear it through the fog in your head, you know he's desperate. You move your fingers down to your hole and dip two of them in. You're so wet you barely need to even stretch yourself out and then he does it.

"Hngh... Oh my god, please... m-mommy!"

You push your fingers deeper and your pussy lets out he lewdest squelch which in turn makes you close your eyes desperately in pleasure. 'Mommy? When he masturbates he calls out for mommy??', the thought makes you lose your mind. You think about what it would be like if he called you mommy in the throes of pleasure.

You want to make him follow every command you give him. The way he'd look up at you on his knees with you standing above him. Maybe you could make him suck on a strap? He'd look so ridiculously delicious with his mouth full, drool dripping down his cheeks.

You add another finger and start rubbing at your clit with your thumb at the same time. The feeling makes you whimper and imagine his hands on you, teaching him how to touch you perfectly. You're getting so close and you remember to focus your screen again.

Hyunjin looks absolutely disheveled. His dick is red and throbbing, you can tell he's getting close. His voice is another thing that gives him away. He's whiny and his voice keeps cracking every time he opens his mouth. Hyunjin bucks into his hand and moans.

"... mommy, gonna cum...!", he strokes himself twice more and then finally cums. You're so close it's maddening. All the sudden you hear him... whisper your name?

It makes you go off the edge and your entire body clenches and seizes while you silently cry out from all the pleasure you're feeling. Your walls suck in your fingers with how you're clenching around them. On the screen Hyunjin twitches violently, working himself through the end of his orgasm.

You pull your fingers out of yourself and slump down on your bed exhausted, but the last 20 seconds of the video that's now over haunts you. Did you hear him right?

You gather strength to pick up your phone again and rewind the video to the part where he cums and turn the volume almost all the way up. Admittedly you end up fixating on the way his dick looks and face twists in pleasure when he cums and then he says, or more like whisper your name. Your brain blanks.

"Fuuck... Did you-haah... did you enjoy that?", he chuckles to the phone, sits in place for a bit to properly come down and then gets up to stop the video.

You're wet, confused and you can feel your heart beat out of your chest. What do you do now? How can you ever face him normally after that... Does he feel the same way you do? Is he sure he didn't mean to send it?

It's all too much to think about, so you decide that instead of thinking about it you'll clean yourself up and... crawl into a hole where no one will ever find you. Probably. The only thing you know for sure is you definitely won't be sleeping tonight.

#cupid♡writing #sub!idol #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz x reader #skz smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #dividers by cafekitsune

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gilbertscurls · 4 months ago

Text

Taste ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, virgin!matt, softdom!reader, unprotected p in v, heavy on praise and consent, oral!f!receiving, can't tell if it's cringe or not lmao

synopsis: on their first anniversary, y/n and matt finally decide to go all the way.

“I can't believe it's been a year already.” You let out a quiet sigh.

Matt nodded, the thought of their year together bringing a smile to his lips.

“Yeah. It feels like just yesterday we had our first date,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

He remembered every detail of that day, the way you looked, the way he'd been so nervous he felt like he might throw up. But he'd found the courage to ask you out, and you'd said yes. It felt like a dream come true.

Matt's gaze drifted from your face to the room around them. The soft, warm light of the lamp by the bed was casting shadows on the walls, the room cozy and intimate. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by their soft breathing. Matt couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, a feeling of being right where he belonged.

“I can't believe how lucky I am,” he murmured, his voice low. “To have you, I mean.”

“I'm the lucky one,” you whispered.

Matt chuckled softly at your words, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“Oh, please,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I'm the one who gets to hold you like this, to call you mine. I think I won the lottery.”

You giggled, a sound that always made Matt's heart skip a beat.

“I can't argue with that,” you conceded. You snuggled closer to him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “But I get to hold you back, so we're even.”

Matt's hand moved to your back, gently tracing circles on your skin. The feel of you against him, the sound of your voice, was comforting and soothing, but it also stirred a different kind of feeling in him. A feeling of desire and longing.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer, his fingers tracing your spine. Matt's heart thrummed with anticipation. The fact that you've never done more than kiss had been on his mind a lot lately. He wanted you, more than he could say. And tonight felt different, special. It was their anniversary, a milestone in their relationship. A part of him ached to take things further, to show you how much he loved you. But his insecurities and anxieties held him back. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he disappointed you? The thought was terrifying.

“Baby,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. He swallowed hard, his heart beating a little faster. “Can I ask you something?” His voice was nervous, and he was suddenly regretting asking you anything at all.

At his anxious tone, you knitted your brows and turned to face him. “Of course. What is it?”

Matt looked down at you, his thoughts a swirling mess of anxiety and desire. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “It's… It's our anniversary,” he started, his voice a little shaky. “And I was wondering…”

He trailed off, the words failing him. He felt like a complete idiot. He'd never been good with expressing his desires, especially when it came to physical intimacy.

You gazed at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. You could tell he was nervous, and it made you worry. You reached up, gently caressing his cheek. “Yes?” you prompted, your voice gentle and encouraging.

Matt's heart fluttered at your touch, and he took another deep breath, summoning his courage. “I was just… I was thinking…” he mumbled, his words barely more than a whisper. “Tonight, I was hoping we could… Take things further.”

He felt a blush rising up his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Are you sure? Like, 100% sure?”

Matt nodded quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm sure. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I… I want you, baby.”

Saying the words out loud sent a shockwave of adrenaline through him. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and wonderful all at once. But he knew he needed to be honest, to lay it all out on the table.

“I'm just... nervous,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I've never done anything more than kissing, and I don't… I don't know if I'll be any good.”

“It's okay,” you whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. “But are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you'll regret.”

Matt leaned into your touch, the warmth and tenderness of your hand calming him down a little. But your words also made him pause. Was he sure? He desperately wanted this, wanted you. But his insecurities were still looming, a dark cloud in the back of his mind.

“I'm sure,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “I want this. With you.”

“All right.” You nodded. “How… How far are we talking?”

Matt felt his cheeks flush even more, but he forced himself to keep eye contact with you. He appreciated your directness, and your willingness to talk about this openly.

“I, uh…” he began, his voice still a little shaky. “Everything, I guess. If you want that.”

He swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He hoped he wasn't pressuring you or coming on too strong.

You felt your heart skipping a beat and heat already pooling in your lower abdomen. “I do,” you said softly. “But I want to make sure you're completely comfortable.”

Hearing your confirmation sent a pang of excitement through Matt. He felt a mix of emotions, desire, affection, and a hint of fear. But overruling it all was a deep sense of trust. Your words, your reassurance, it was all he needed.

“I am,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “I trust you, baby. Completely.”

A small, tender smile crept onto your face. “Okay.” Your voice was so soft, so sweet, so kind. “Do you… Want me to take the lead?”

Matt's heart leaped at your question, a mix of relief and desire coursing through him. The idea of you taking control was both frightening and exciting. He hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I want you to take the lead.”

You put one of your hands on his cheek before slowly and gently pressing your lips against his.

Matt's heart skipped a beat at the feel of your lips on his. He'd kissed you countless times before, but this kiss felt different, more intimate. He let out a soft sigh against your mouth, all his anxieties and worries melting away as your touch filled his senses. He brought his own hands up to cup your face, his fingers gently tracing your jaw, his touch soft and reverent.

The kiss deepened, their mouths moving against each other in a slow, languorous dance. Matt could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the desire for you growing with every passing second. The fear was still there, but it was muffled by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. He pulled you closer, his hands moving to your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

Not stopping the kiss, You moved to straddle his lap, your knees on both sides of his thighs.

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine as you straddled him, your body suddenly so close and so warm. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, their bodies now pressed together in a way you’ve never been before. The feeling of your weight on his lap ignited a new wave of desire in him, his kisses growing even more intense. He wanted you, desperately.

“You okay?” you mumbled into his lips.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you spoke, the feeling of your words more like breath than a sound. He couldn't even form a response, his mind completely consumed by your touch and the taste of your lips. He managed a nod, a weak yes whispered against your mouth. He was more than okay. He was on fire.

Matt groaned involuntarily at the feel of your tongue against his lip, the sound more a mixture of pleasure and need than anything else. He immediately parted his lips, granting you access without a second thought. His hands moved to your thighs, his fingers gripping your flesh as he opened his mouth to her.

The kiss grew hungrier, more urgent. Their tongues tangled together, exploring each other without restraint. Matt was lost in the sensation, in the feeling of you in his lap, your body pressed against him. He could hardly think straight, his mind clouded by desire and need. His hips involuntarily bucked slightly, seeking more contact.

“Impatient, huh?” You teased softly, pulling away a little.

Matt let out a low growl of frustration as you pulled away, a mix of desire and irritation in his expression. He was getting so lost in the moment, he was aching for more. Your words, your tease only heightened his need.

“Baby…” he breathed, his voice a mixture of pleading and impatience. “Don't tease me.”

You smiled tenderly before grabbing his both hands and sliding them under your crop top, urging him to take it off.

Matt let out a sharp breath at the feel of your skin under his hands, your top soft and warm. Without hesitation, he moved his hands slowly up your stomach, his fingers exploring the planes of your skin as he helped you pull off your crop top. It fell to the floor, forgotten. His eyes went wide at the sight of your half-naked upper body, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Matt couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to. His eyes were drawn to your chest, his breath hitching at the sight. It was as if his brain was shorting out, his desire for you overwhelming everything else. He felt a mix of awe, arousal, and a hint of nervousness. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry.

“You're… You're so beautiful,” he managed to whisper, his voice thick with want.

You smiled softly, your fingertips tracing his shoulders over the t-shirt. “Can I take it off, baby?”

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Once the shirt was off, his chest was now bare, exposed to your touch and gaze. Matt felt a mixture of vulnerability and excitement, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could feel your eyes on him, your fingers tracing soft patterns on his skin. He wanted you, all of you.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice ragged with need. “Touch me.”

Obediently, You ran your fingertips through his shoulders, to his arms, to his chest. “God, you're so beautiful,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as your fingers glided over his skin, your touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He shivered under your touch, a small moan escaping his lips. Your words, your voice, your touch — it was all almost too much to bear.

“No, you are,” he breathed, his own hands moving to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So beautiful. So perfect."

You were doing everything so slowly and gently, knowing that he'd never done anything like that before. You wanted to make it so good for him. Matt was both grateful and frustrated by your slow and gentle pace. Grateful that you were so patient, and so understanding, but frustrated because he just wanted more. He wanted to be consumed by you, to lose himself in your touch. But he knew you were doing it for his sake, to make it easier for him, and that only made him love you more.

“Baby,” he gasped, his voice pleading. “Please. More. I need more.”

You smirked before leaning a little closer to his face. “You want more?”

Matt looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of need and pleading.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a little breathless. “I want more. I want all of you.”

He reached up to you, his hands skimming up your sides, his touch firm and possessive. He wanted to touch you, to feel you, to lose himself in you.

“Please,” he added, his voice a low, desperate plea.

You held his face as you kissed him once again, the kiss sweet and full of emotion.

Matt returned the kiss hungrily, his lips moving against yours with a mix of desperation and affection. He couldn't get close enough to you, his hands roaming over your bare skin, wanting to feel you, to touch you everywhere. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a new, more urgent fervor. He could feel his desire for you growing, overpowering everything else.

“Baby…” he breathed into your mouth. “Please, I… I need you.”

Matt swore, his head falling back on the pillow as you ground your hips with his. The feel of you grinding against him, the friction, the heat, and the pressure — it was almost too much. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, trying to pull you closer, to increase the contact. A low moan escaped his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Oh God,” he panted, his eyes squeezed shut. “Baby… That feels… That feels so good.”

“You sound so pretty,” you praised breathlessly.

Matt blushed at your words, his heart fluttering at your praise. He let out another soft moan as you rode against him, his body responding instinctively. He was completely lost in the sensation, the feel of your body against his driving him mindless. He tried to form words, to respond, but all that came out was another low groan.

“God… Baby,” he breathed, his hands still holding onto your hips. “Don't… Don't stop.”

His body was on fire, his every nerve alive with desire. He could feel his own hardness growing beneath you, a testament to how much he needed you. His hips canted upward, seeking more contact, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. He opened his eyes, looking up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of want and awe.

“Sweetheart… I… I don't know how much… How much longer I can last,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

“It's okay, baby,” you cooed, halting your movements.

Matt let out a small, involuntarily whine as you stopped moving, his body protesting the lack of sensation. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire and frustration, but also with a hint of relief. He was so close to the edge, he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

“I… I thought you would keep going,” he breathed, his voice a combination of disappointment and need.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you teased, your hand running down his chest, from his shoulder to his happy trail, before finally resting on the buckle of his belt.

Matt's breath hitched at your touch, your hand igniting a trail of fire on his skin. He watched as your hand moved down his chest, down his stomach, to the buckle of his belt. A wave of heat washed over him, making his entire body shiver with anticipation.

“Patience,” he echoed, his voice a rough whisper. “You're… You're killing me.”

You gently hooked your finger under the belt. “Can I?”

Matt nodded, his eyes locked on yours, his breathing shallow and ragged. He trusted you completely and wanted you to take whatever you needed from him. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “Do whatever you want. I'm all yours.”

“So good for me,” you praised before expertly unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans down.

Matt's heart leaped at your praise, a sense of pride and satisfaction filling him. He lifted his hips slightly, helping you pull his jeans down. He was now only in his boxer briefs, the material doing little to conceal his arousal. He was completely exposed, both physically and emotionally, and he could do nothing but lay there and look up at you, his desire for you burning in his gaze.

“Only for you,” he whispered, his voice a quiet admission.

“Already so worked up for me, huh?” you asked breathlessly, a small smile on your face.

Matt blushed at your comment, the heat spreading across his cheeks. He could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He was so worked up, so needy, so desperate for your touch. He swallowed hard, his voice husky and raw.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on yours. “Only for you. I want you so badly, sweetheart.”

You sat back on his lap, caressing his cheek. “You want to try to take off my bra, baby?”

Matt's eyes widened at your suggestion, a mix of excitement and anxiety washing over him. He'd never taken off a bra before, and he was suddenly unsure of himself. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“Yes,” he rasped, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I… I want to try.”

His hands moved to your back, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for the clasp of your bra. He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart was racing, his mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings.

“I… I'll probably be bad at this,” he admitted, his voice a hesitant whisper.

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I don't mind.”

Matt nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds, his fingers feeling both clumsy and inadequate. But finally, with a soft click, the bra came undone. The cups fell loose, revealing your bare chest to him. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat.

“Oh… Wow,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and desire.

You smiled a little sheepishly.

Matt's eyes drank you in, every inch of your beautiful skin, every curve and contour. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel your flesh under his fingertips.

“You are… You are so exquisite,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and admiration. “You take my breath away.”

Noticing his hands twitching, your smile softened. “You can touch me.”

Matt couldn't believe you were actually giving him permission to touch you, to touch this beautiful woman who was willingly sitting on his lap, your body bare for him. He lifted his hands, his fingers hovering slightly above your skin.

“I… I want to,” he breathed, his voice a shaky whisper. He wanted to feel you so badly, but he was also afraid of doing something wrong, of upsetting you in some way. “Are you… Are you sure it's okay?”

“I am. Don't think so much. Just… Feel.”

Matt took a deep breath, allowing the words to sink in. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting go of the nagging thoughts and doubts in his mind. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, his expression relaxed.

And then he touched you.

His fingers skimmed lightly over your skin, slowly, delicately, exploring the soft planes of your chest. A shiver ran through him as he felt the heat of your flesh, the suppleness of your skin.

“God, you're so soft,” he whispered.

Sensing that he was still holding back, You smiled softly and grabbed his hand, putting it directly on your breast, and gently squeezing his fingers.

Matt gasped, his breath hitching in his throat as your hand guided his. The feeling of your flesh, your breast, under his palm was almost too much. It was so soft, so warm. He could feel your heart beating rapidly under his fingers. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “This… This feels… Incredible.”

His fingers traced a slow, tentative path over your breast, his touch firm but gentle. He could feel your own heart hammering against his palm, a perfect rhythm. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

“Is… Is this okay?” he breathed, his voice a low, raspy whisper. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I'll tell you if anything. Just… Touch me.”

Matt nodded tightly, the lump in his throat suddenly replaced by a wave of desire and need. He took your words to heart, letting go of any lingering doubt or fear. He allowed himself to really touch you, to move his fingers over your skin, to feel the contours of your body.

His other hand moved up to your other breast, gently kneading it in his palm. “Is… Is this good?” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible over the sound of his own heartbeat. “You feel… So perfect, so soft.”

You let out a shaky breath. “So good.”

Matt felt a sense of power and satisfaction wash over him, emboldening him. He could feel your breath catching in your chest, hear the hitch in your voice. He knew he was doing something right, something that made you feel good. He continued to caress you, his touch becoming more confident, more sure of itself.

His breath felt hot and heavy, his heart hammering against his ribcage. “Can I… Can I kiss these, too?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

You felt a sudden rush of so much love for this boy. “Of course. Anything you want.”

Matt's heart soared at your permission, at the way you were giving yourself to him so completely. You were so wonderful, so understanding. He leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on your breast, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He was gentle at first, his touch light and tentative. But then he began to kiss you more firmly, more hungrily.

And then, a moan of his name escaped your lips.

Matt's heart leaped at the sound of your moan, the way you said his name. It was like music to his ears. He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and desire.

“Did… Did I do something right?” he asked, his voice breathless and shaky. “The way you said my name… It sounded… It sounded like it felt good, like you liked it.”

“You're doing… Incredible,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt felt a surge of pride and satisfaction coursing through him. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, that he was pleasuring this incredible woman, making you feel this way. But the knowledge that he was pleasing you, making you moan and breathless, only fueled his own desire, his own need for you.

He continued to kiss you, his mouth moving across your chest, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. “More,” he murmured, his voice low and ragged. “Can I… Can I do more?”

“Anything.”

Matt felt a wave of heat and adrenaline wash over him at your word, your permission. Anything? The possibilities, the desires, raced through his mind. He wanted to explore you, to touch you, to make you feel things you'd never felt before.

His mouth moved down your body, his tongue tracing a path down your sternum, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of need. “Can I… Can I taste you?”

You pulled yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He looked so pretty, looking up at you from between your thighs. But it was his first time, and you wanted to make it special do him. “Are you sure? I want it to be about you. You don't have to…”

Matt paused, looking up at you. Your concern for him, your consideration, made his heart swell. He could feel your gaze on him, warm and gentle. He knew you would never force him to do something he wasn't ready for. But he could also feel his own desire burning beneath the surface.

He nodded, his voice steady and sure. “I'm sure,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “I… I want to. I want to taste you. I want to please you… If you're okay with that.”

You nodded shakily, before bunching up the fabric of your skirt in your hands, pulling it down and revealing your little lacy panties.

Matt's eyes widened at the sight before him. Your panties were a beautiful lace, delicate and feminine. He could feel his mouth go dry, his heart quickening in his chest. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with an almost reverent awe.

His hands tentatively moved up from your thighs, tracing gentle patterns on your bare skin as they crept closer to your panties. “You're so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice laced with need and desire.

He leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His hands were still tracing feather-light patterns on your thighs, but he was now just millimeters away from your underwear. His heart was hammering, his mind a cacophony of emotions and sensations. “May I… May I touch you there?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you whispered breathlessly, your chest already heaving.

Matt didn't need to be told twice. With a mixture of nerves and confidence, he let his fingers graze across the fabric of your panties, just touching the soft material. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the moisture already seeping through. He swallowed hard, his own body responding to the feel of you.

His gaze flicked up to your eyes momentarily, seeking reassurance, before returning to his task. “Is… Is this right?” he whispered, his voice a little shaky.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly. “Perfect.”

Matt felt a rush of relief and satisfaction at your words. He was doing well, making you feel good. He continued to touch you, to move his fingers across the fabric of your panties, feeling the heat and the dampness beneath.

As his touch grew more confident, more assured, he found himself getting more and more excited. His own breathing grew shaky, his heart racing. “Can… Can I do more?” he breathed, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Whatever you want,” you mewled. “I'll tell you if anything.”

Matt's heart fluttered at your response. The trust, the permission, it was almost too good to be true. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But all he found was love, desire, and a willingness to explore.

He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky. He moved his fingers down to the edge of your panties, toying with the thin strip of fabric. “I… I want to touch you without these in the way…”

He paused, waiting for your permission. He was already so close, already feeling the heat and dampness of your through the thin fabric, but he wouldn't do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire but laced with the need for your approval.

You nodded. “Do whatever you want.”

Matt felt a shudder run through him at your words. Your permission, your trust in him, it was like fuel for the fire that was burning within him. He gently pulled at your panties, guiding them down your legs, discarding them on the floor.

The sight of you, bare and fully exposed to him, was almost too much. His breath caught in his throat, and he had to force himself to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed. His fingers itched to touch you, to feel the smoothness and heat of your skin, but he waited, looking up for your nod of approval.

When you gave it, he moved quickly. His fingers traced a path up your thighs, moving closer and closer to your core. His own breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking as they got closer and closer to the most intimate part.

His fingers grazed over your skin, feeling the heat radiating off of you. He could feel the wetness there, the evidence of your arousal, and he couldn't help but shudder. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hungry, his tongue flicking out to moisten his suddenly dry lips.

“You're… You're so wet,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Your breath hitched. “Only for you.”

His heart leaped at hearing your words, at the idea that he was the only cause of your arousal. He could feel the power and the responsibility that came with it, and it only stoked the fire within him.

His fingers were now tracing gentle circles around your entrance, his touch light and tentative. He couldn't believe he was doing this, touching you this way. “Can… Can I… Can I put a finger inside?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Yeah,” you whispered shakily. “Please.”

Matt could feel his breath catch in his chest at your words, at the desire in your voice. His whole body was trembling, almost overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. He nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes fixed on you.

He gently, carefully, eased a single finger inside, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he felt your warmth and wetness around him. As he moved his finger, You suddenly let out a gasp.

Matt was instantly worried, his finger freezing in place. “Did… Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice full of concern. He looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

“N-No, it's just…” Your face flushed. “Your fingers are longer than what I'm used to.”

Matt felt a sudden rush of pride at your words, his chest swelling. He had to admit, he'd always been a bit self-conscious about his long thin fingers. But the idea that they were causing her pleasure, that they were giving her a feeling you weren’t used to, that felt incredible.

He curled his finger slightly, exploring your depth. “Is… Is this okay…?”

Your breath hitched as he reached that one spot, and you almost screamed out loud. “Oh my…”

Matt was surprised by your reaction, the sound you made nearly sending him over the edge. But he was determined to make you feel good, to make you feel better than you'd ever felt before.

He kept his finger where it was, gently applying pressure to that one spot, a smirk on his face. “Is this the right spot, hm?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt,” you mumbled in pleasure.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your reaction, at the way you responded to his touch. He couldn't believe he was doing this to you, causing you to feel these things. And he couldn't resist the urge to tease you a little bit.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with barely restrained desire.

“Add a second finger,” you instructed him softly. “And try to move them, curling them to hit that spot.”

At your instructions, Matt felt another wave of arousal wash over him. You were telling him what to do. You were guiding him, showing him how to please you. It was a new experience, but one he was more than happy to explore.

He obeyed, slowly adding a second finger to the first. The feeling was tighter, but also warmer. He began to move his fingers, just as you'd told him to.

The angle was a little clumsy at first, but then he felt that one spot, and he applied gentle pressure, curling his fingers at just the right angle. “Like…” he started, his voice a little breathless. “… like this?”

“Oh fuck…” you moaned, your back arching a little in pleasure.

Matt found himself breathing harder at the sight of you arching your back, at the way you were responding to his touch. He knew he was doing something right, and it only fueled his desire to please you more, to make you feel even better.

“Is… Is this good?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. “Does this feel good?”

“So good, fuck, so good…”

Matt's heart was racing, his breath coming in heavy pants. He loved hearing your praise, and the way you reacted to his touch. It was something he'd never felt before, and he wanted more, wanted to make you feel even better.

He kept his fingers moving and applying pressure, his gaze darting up to your face, watching your expressions. “I want you… I want you to feel… To feel so good,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of breathless and earnest.

Your noises of pleasure, your arches, and your moans, it was all driving him wild. He wanted to make you fall apart, to make you forget everything but him and whatever he was doing to you.

“You… You want to try to use your mouth?” you asked breathlessly in between the moans.

Matt's heart quickened at your request. He'd wanted to do that, too, but he hadn't been sure if you'd be okay with it. But now that you'd asked, he was more than happy to comply.

“Yes,” he responded, his voice hoarse with desire. “I… I want to. I want to taste you, too.”

He gently withdrew his fingers and slowly moved further down your body, his heart thudding in his chest. He settled between your legs, looking up at you as his breath came in hot, uneven pants against you.

As he tasted you, as he felt you against his lips, his tongue, his mind was overwhelmed. He hadn't expected this, but it was better than he'd ever imagined. You tasted sweet and tangy, and it only spurred him on.

He forgot about feeling out of his depth, he forgot about potential mistakes or awkward moments. All he wanted to do was pleasure you, to make you feel good. His tongue moved and explored, and his eyes fluttered up at you. He'd never seen you so undone, so lost in pleasure, and the knowledge that he was causing it only deepened his desire to please you more.

“God, you're so good at that,” you breathed out shakily.

Matt felt a wave of pride and pleasure wash over him at your words. He continued, his tongue moving over you, his lips applying gentle suction. Hearing your approval, feeling you respond beneath him, was intoxicating. But he was relentless, determined to bring you to the brink, to make you lose control completely.

His hands moved up, gently caressing your thighs and stomach, seeking to give you even more pleasure. He wanted you to feel good, to feel loved, to feel worshipped.

And eventually, your moans got even louder as you released on his mouth, his name on your lips like a prayer. Matt could feel your body shaking, could hear your voice as you cried out his name. It was a moment he knew he'd never forget, a moment that would be ingrained in his memory forever.

He slowly withdrew, crawling back up beside you. He couldn't seem to find his voice, his heart still hammering in his chest.

He was a little amazed at himself, too, he had to admit. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was doing, but he'd just seemed to know. He'd found a way to bring you pleasure, to send you over the edge, to make you sing his name like a song.

He found his voice again, his voice low, rough. “Was that… Was that good for you? Was I okay?” His heart was still beating fast, his body thrumming with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure.

“God, you're… You're unreal,” you panted out.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your words, the praise fueling his ego. “I… I am?” he asked, unable to hide the slight tone of smugness in his voice. He knew he should feel more humbled, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

He reached out, gently tracing random patterns on your bare stomach as you caught your breath. “I just… I wanted to make you feel good,” he said softly.

When you came down from your high, you sat up to rest their foreheads against each other. “Are you sure you're ready?”

Matt's heart raced as you asked the question, his mind suddenly flooded with thoughts and worries. Was he ready? He had wanted this, more than anything, but now that the moment was here, he felt a twinge of fear.

He looked into your eyes, searching for reassurance. But all he saw was love, desire, and a willingness to wait if he wasn't ready yet.

He nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Yes,” he murmured. “I'm ready.”

In response, you locked their lips in a passionate kiss, one full of love.

Matt responded eagerly, his body pressing against yours as their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Every thought, every fear, was pushed aside in that moment. All that mattered was you, your breath, your lips, your bodies.

His hands found their way into your hair, tangling in the soft strands, holding you close. He poured all of his feelings, all of his desires into the kiss, his heart hammering in his chest.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as he felt your fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers, the sensation causing a shudder to run through his body. He'd been on edge ever since you'd started, his desire already at a fever pitch. But your touch, your gentle caress, only served to drive him wild.

He pulled back from the kiss to murmur against your mouth. “Please…” he whispered, his voice ragged and pleading. “Please, don't tease me anymore. I can't take it.”

You let out a shaky groan before pulling his boxers down, seeing him fully exposed for the first time. You took a moment to really take him in, your eyes full of awe and love.

Matt's cheeks burned under your gaze, feeling suddenly very exposed and vulnerable. He'd never been looked at this way before, never felt this vulnerable. But he also felt a wave of affection at the awe and love he saw in your eyes.

He met your gaze, his own eyes full of a mixture of desire and trepidation. “Is… Is it okay?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a hint of insecurity.

“You're so beautiful,” you praised breathlessly. “So perfect.”

Matt felt his heart soar at your words, the insecurities fading away and being replaced with a wave of intense love. No one had ever called him beautiful before, and certainly not perfect. He'd always felt a bit too thin, too gangly, too nerdy. But to you, he was beautiful, perfect.

He drew in a shaky breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So are you,” he murmured. “Perfect, I mean.”

You reached to gently caress his cheek. “Sit up against the headboard for me.”

At your request, Matt obeyed, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He felt bare and exposed, but he trusted you and knew that you wouldn't do anything to make him feel uncomfortable.

His gaze met yours, his heart beating fast in his chest. “Like this?” he asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Perfect,” you praised before straddling his lap once again.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you straddled him, your body pressing against his in all the right places. His hands found your hips, his fingers gently gripping them, as if he needed something to anchor himself.

His eyes roamed over your body, appreciating every curve and contour, before coming back up to meet your gaze. “You… You look amazing,” he breathed, his voice a little huskier than usual.

The corner of your lips went up as you rested your forehead against his, just looking into his eyes for a few moments. You were so close now, the heat and electricity between them palpable. Matt found himself getting lost in your eyes, feeling a sense of calm and understanding wash over him. He could feel your breath against his lips, your body pressed against his, and it was almost too much to bear.

He reached up a hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers feather-light against your skin. “I… I love you,” he whispered, the words coming out almost involuntarily.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and your eyes reflected just how much.

Matt felt your words wash over him, the depth and sincerity of your love sending a shiver down his spine. He'd always known you loved him, but hearing you say it, seeing it in your eyes… It was as if all his fears and doubts vanished completely.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting himself bask in your love. Then, his eyes opened again, his gaze intense, and he wrapped his arms more securely around your waist. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love me.”

“You ready?” you made sure quietly.

Matt felt a flutter of nerves mix with the desire he was feeling, but he nodded, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Yes,” he breathed in response, his voice a little shaky. “I… I'm ready.”

“If anything… Just tell me, and we can stop,” you promised.

Matt nodded again, appreciating your thoughtfulness. “I will,” he assured you. “But please… Please don't stop unless I say so.”

He drew you closer, his hands sliding up to your back, gently tracing the line of your spine. “I… I want this. I want you,” he murmured, his voice a low, earnest plea.

Matt shivered slightly as your hand moved over his chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His heart was beating hard, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He'd never felt this alive before, this on edge, this desperate for your touch.

His eyes tracked your hand as it moved, a small, helpless noise escaping his lips. He knew what was coming, and he was aching for it.

Finally, your hand wrapped around him, giving him a few slow pumps. Your touch was like a spark to a flame, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't known was possible. He groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut as the sensations washed over him.

His hips involuntarily arched into your touch, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

“Oh… Oh God, that feels…” he gasped, his voice choked. “That feels so good,” he managed to stutter out, his words a raw expression of pleasure.

The feeling of your hand on him was overwhelming, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He could feel his body tensing and relaxing instinctively.

You positioned yourself above him, and you looked him in the eyes as if to ask for one last permission.

Matt's heart thudded in his chest as he looked into your eyes. He knew what was about to happen, and he wanted it, more than anything. He didn't want you to stop, he wanted you, all of you.

He nodded, his voice unsteady as he spoke. “Please,” he whispered, his breath ragged. “Please, don't stop.”

And then, you slowly started to sink down. The sensation was almost too much for Matt. It was like a wave of pleasure and heat overwhelming his entire body. He let out a low, guttural moan as you slowly sank down, inch by agonizing inch.

He clung to you, his hands gripping your hips with an almost bruising force. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted as he panted for breath. “Oh… Oh God,” he managed to say, the words a messy, incoherent jumble.

His mind was reeling, every thought driven out by the sheer intensity of the feeling. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, like nothing he could have imagined. You were warm, tight, and completely surrounding him, and it was everything.

He knew he was probably being too rough, too loud, but he couldn't help it. He was utterly lost in the sensations, losing himself in you. He was yours, totally and completely, and he loved every moment.

As you bottomed out, you rested your hands on his shoulders for support. “You okay, baby?”

Matt was trying to form words, to give some sort of response, but all he could manage was a series of ragged breaths and a nod. He was trying to ground himself, to stay in control, but it was nearly impossible.

He managed to open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. “I… I'm… I'm okay,” he gasped out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just… Just give me a second, please.”

You felt incredible around him, almost too good. He needed a moment to adjust, to find some sort of equilibrium, or he knew he'd lose himself completely.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to steady himself. “You… You feel so… So good," he managed to get out between ragged breaths. He was struggling to find his voice, to express how he was feeling. “Just… Just give me a moment, please…”

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” you whispered, your hand gently caressing his cheek.

Your touch was like a soothing balm on his over-stimulated body. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand, drawing in a shaky breath. He focused on the feeling of your fingers on his skin, your body surrounding him, anchoring himself to you. Slowly, the overwhelming sensations began to recede, replaced by a calmer, more controlled sense of pleasure.

He opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting yours. “I'm… I'm okay now,” he murmured. “You can... you can move now.”

You leaned in to press your lips against his before slowly starting to move your hips.

The feeling of your lips on his was like a jolt through his system, reigniting the fire that had been momentarily banked. He responded eagerly, his mouth moving against yours, his tongue caressing yours with an urgent need.

And then there was the movement of your hips. It was a gentle, careful circling motion, bringing him closer and closer to oblivion. Matt let out a guttural moan, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

It was all too much, but he couldn't get enough of it. He felt like he was drowning in you, lost in the sensations of your body, your touch, your scent. He knew he was being loud, almost embarrassingly so, but he couldn't help it. He was completely yours, completely lost in you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked breathlessly.

Matt could barely respond, too lost in the pleasure to string coherent words together. All he could do was nod, his voice choked off by a moan that tore its way from his throat.

He tried to form words, to tell you how good it felt, how incredible you were, but all that came out was a ragged gasp. “Y-yeah,” he managed to stutter out eventually, his voice hoarse. “Feels… Feels so good…”

You pressed their foreheads together before starting to move a little faster, moans escaping your own lips.

The change in speed made Matt's head spin. He felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, his body tensing and coiling with each move of your hips. He was a tangle of sensations, pleasure, need, and love, all swirling together.

He kept his eyes open, locking them with yours. Your moans, your ragged breaths, only amplified the sensations. He knew he was close, too close, but he didn't want it to end.

His hands left your hips, moving up to cradle your face in his hands. He needed to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingers, to hold onto you as he rode the wave of pleasure higher and higher.

“I… I'm close… I'm gonna… Oh God, I'm…”

You understood exactly what he meant, the urgency in his tone clear. Your movements became faster and more purposeful, pushing them both closer to the edge.

“I know, baby,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. “I know. Just let go. I've got you.”

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, the mixture of love and reassurance hitting him right in the chest. He wanted to hold on, to make this last as long as possible, but he knew it was impossible. He was on the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

“Baby…” he gasped, his voice thin and needy. “I… I'm… Oh God, I'm… I'm…”

He couldn't say the words, couldn't form the warning. All he could do was shiver as his body went rigid, waves of pleasure washing over him. He held onto you, his fingers digging into your flesh, as he rode out the aftershocks.

At the sensation of him releasing deep inside of you, you reached your climax as well, your back arching, and you let out a loud cry of his name. He felt you clenching around him, your own release as you cried out his name, and it was too much. He felt like he was being lifted into ecstasy, drowning in the sensations that swamped his body.

His hands moved to wrap around you, holding you close, feeling the tremors run through your body. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Oh God… Oh God…” he managed to say.

“I… I've never… That was…”

He couldn't complete a sentence, his mind reeling from the intensity of it all. He held onto you, feeling the rapid throb of your heartbeat against his chest, the heat of your skin against his, and the sweat that had gathered on both their bodies.

After You finally caught your breath, you looked at him, still straddling him, as you ran your hand through his hair. “Are you okay, baby?”

Matt was still reeling, his body trembling slightly from the force of his orgasm. He leaned into your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and raw. “I'm… I'm okay. I just… I need a minute. That was… Wow.”

“You were perfect,” you said softly before lifting yourself from him and falling onto the bed next to him.

He chuckled weakly, still struggling to catch his breath. “Perfect, huh? I'm pretty sure I yelled louder than you did. I think the whole neighborhood heard me,” he teased, half-joking and half-not.

You chuckled breathlessly. Matt, however, could only stare in wonder at how his seed was leaking out of you.

Matt couldn't tear his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the sight in front of him. He had never seen anything so intimate, so erotic. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers tracing the trail of his release dribbling down your skin.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered. “And I… I made a mess of you.”

Your breath hitched as he touched you, still oversensitive, but you didn't protest. He touched you delicately, his touch light and hesitant, as if he was scared to break the fragile moment. His gaze was filled with a mixture of awe and desire, staring at the evidence of what you have just shared.

“You… You look even more beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Like I've marked you as mine.”

“I am yours,” you whispered.

The words sent a wave of possessiveness through him. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a possessive growl. “All mine.”

He leaned in, pressing feather-light kisses along your jawline, his hands tracing aimless patterns on your skin. “I don't want anyone else seeing you like this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I don't want anyone else touching you like I do. You're mine.”

He continued to mark your skin with kisses, his mouth moving along the length of your neck and down to your collarbone. He wanted to keep you like this forever, covered in his marks, in his scent. He knew he was being selfish, but he didn't care. You were his, and he wanted the world to know it.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tangling into his hair.

The feel of your fingers in his hair only served to make him more possessive. He continued to kiss and nip at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites down your neck and chest.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a mantra. He wanted to keep saying it, as if by repeating it, he could make it more true. “All mine.”

“So… I take that I made your first time good?” you asked, a little jokingly.

Matt chuckled huskily, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good is an understatement,” he said, his voice still rough with desire. “That was… Mind-blowing. Life-changing.”

He paused, his gaze roaming over your body again, taking in the sight of you covered in his marks. “I think you ruined me for anyone else.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” you murmured before kissing him again.

He responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours with a desperate, needy hunger. He rolled you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, continuing the kiss with a fervor. He didn't want this moment to end, he wanted to revel in the feeling of your body under his, the taste of your mouth, the scent of your skin.

Between kisses, he managed to mutter, “You're the only one. The only one I'll ever need.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re

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tojigasm · 5 months ago

Text

I've Got a Thing About You, Baby

Warnings: kissing, pet names, Logan shotguns the reader, cigars, smoking, fluff, domestic logan

It's late one night in the summer that it happens; when the air's still warm under the moonlight and the crickets hum against the breeze.

You've been watching him for the past hour or so. The trickling of smoke dancing into strange shapes and pretty lines through the screen door of the mansion, leading out to the back porch.

It's far past your bedtime, and the rest of the students and professors have long since retired to their own bedrooms.

Except for you, that is. A part of you too exhausted to actually sleep and the other too anxious to.

If you listen closely, you're able to hear the bird fountain from the garden.

You can hear the rocking chair sway back and forth against the chipped wood of the porch.

A weird feeling passes over you. It feels like the heat of the sun on a spring day, and it settles into your stomach warmly.

That feeling reminds you of home often.

You can't tell if Logan knows you're awake – scribbling away at your notes for the day and sipping Coca-Cola from the bottle through a straw. If he does, he doesn't make it known.

It's only when you make your way towards the back door, bare feet padding against the cool wood floors that you know he knows.

You wait by the door for a moment, gripping the neck of your Coca-Cola bottle as you watch him take a drag of his cigar.

You've always thought he was beautiful. The dark tufts of his hair and hazel eyes, paired with the brute strength he bears, was Renaissance-like.

You briefly wonder if he'd been alive that long.

"Y'gonna come out here or just keep staring at me like a freak?" Logan's voice breaks you from your spell and has you pushing past the screen door instantly.

You sit down in the rocking chair across from him, pulling both of your knees to your chest and your Coca-Cola to your side.

Your eyes follow him as he takes another drag of the cigar, thick brows relaxed as he exhales a pillow of white smoke and sinks into the chair.

"Why aren't you in bed?" You ask, thumbing the ends of your pajama bottoms

Logan snorts at the parroted sterness in your voice. You had to've picked that up from Jean, he thinks to himself.

"Why aren't you in bed?" He hums with a slight shake of his head, tapping his fingers holding the cigar against the armrest of the chair.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Hm," He picks at the fabric of his jeans momentarily, "is that why you were hiding behind the screen door thinkin' I couldn't see you?"

"I wasn't hiding!" You nearly jump from your seat, almost cringing at the hightened squeal of your voice.

"Right." He smirks from behind the cigar, voice laced with sarcasm as he takes another drag.

You watch him for a moment. Your skin warm from the summer air, a shiver runs up your spine.

There's something oddly paternal in his demeanor; legs spread as he rocks himself back and forth in the chair, flicking his lighter shut and throwing it back into his jean pocket.

Logan looks up momentarily, meeting your gaze through his brows, and just as quickly as he's turned away to blow smoke out into the hot air.

"Never smoked before." You comment, crossing your arms over the fronts of your legs.

Logan hums, "Good. Bad habit."

"Can I try some?"

Logan hesitates. Eyes meeting yours sternly.

"Aren't you a bit young to be trying to get people to pass off drugs to you?" You can hear the smirk in his voice before it's visible on his features.

You roll your eyes and place your Coca-Cola bottle onto the floor beside you.

"Never been one to try and get people to start bad habits." Logan adds, picking at his nail absentmindedly. "Seems to happen around me anyways."

You don't say anything to that. The pads of your fingers still folding and twisting the fabric of your pajamas.

An owl hoots from somewhere across the garden, and the crickets sing in the breeze again.

Logan turns his head towards you and folds his free hand behind his head, taking another drag of the cigar before turning it towards you.

You feel stuck. Suddenly, very aware of where you are and who you're with and the uncomfortably humbling fact that you have no idea how to actually smoke.

You hadn't realized you'd only been staring at his hand until Logan's voice peeks through your mental fog.

"C'mere, baby."

There's something domestically paternal in the deep of his tone that nearly makes your knees buckle as you shyly make your way over to him.

He makes room for you in his lap, guiding you to sit on one of his thighs.

"Y'never smoked before?" He reaffirms, resting a large hand over both of your thighs.

You shake your head.

The sound of his lighter makes you turn before Logan pulls you back towards him, lighting the end of the cigar again.

"I'll hold it fr'you. Just take a deep exhale like you're breathin', easy peasy."

You nod, watching the tobacco simmer at the end of the cigar, illuminating Logan's hand in an orangish red hue.

There's a moment of quiet where you're lost in thought, memorizing the preparedness of it. You turn towards Logan at the silence to see him watching you already, a thick brow arched.

"You gettin' shy on me?"

Immediately, you fluster at that, shaking your head with a "uh, uh." Before leaning down to wrap your lips around the end of the cigar.

Logan meets your eyes with a warm smile, "uh uh," He chides, voice pitched in mimic.

You giggle lightly before inhaling from the cigar.

It's warm against the back of your throat; a burning stroke that has you pulling away, coughing instantly. Your mouth feels dry and cotton-like as drool fills your mouth in an attempt to relax the forgein feeling.

"Woah," Logan chuckles loosely at you, stroking his hand up and down your back. "Y'okay?"

You give a weak thumbs up, smiling wobbly before bursting into a fit of coughs again.

Logan reaches for your coca-cola bottle mid giggle, bringing the straw up to your lips.

"Here, drink this. Yeah, there y'go."

The drink cools your throat, soothing the dry attack on your lungs as you gasp for clean breaths of air again.

Logan keeps his hand on your back, letting you relax into it.

"Y'okay?" He asks.

"Yeah, I didn't realize that it'd be that aggressive." Your voice still scratchy.

"I probably should've told you not to take such a deep breath," He strokes his hand over the curve of your jaw. "Sorry 'bout that, kid."

You wave him off, "it's okay."

Logan takes a drag of the cigar, thumbing it between his forefinger and middle.

"That is a bit strong, huh."

You nod.

"Here, I might have a better way to do it."

You watch as he tilts his head upwards, holding the cigar to his plush lips as he takes another inhale.

The glow of the auburn porch light creates a halo around his hair tufts and makes an outline of his sharp nose.

He blows smoke through his nose, hardly acknowledging it.

You're entranced with how easy he makes it seem, as though he's been throwing back cigars for the majority of his existence, and for all you know, he has.

Your betwitchment must be obvious on your face by the way Logan peers down slyly at you midst another drag.

He motions for you to come closer to him, curving his hand to hold your jaw steady.

Parting his lips some, a small whisp of smoke trails from his mouth as he softly says, "Open."

You can smell the burning tobacco, and it settles a warmth into you.

You part your lips, jolting slightly in his hold as he exhales the cloud of smoke into your mouth with a cocky smile.

The smoke is much easier to take this way – already diluted by whatever super regenerative powers he holds.

Logan brings you closer to meet you in a kiss, dragging his tongue over your lips and past your teeth to stroke the insides of your cheeks.

You're completely at his mercy, shivering and whimpering in his hand.

The plush of his lips has you grabbing at his forearm and gasping against him. You can feel him smile into the kiss with a hum.

He pulls off of you with a 'pop' before relasing his hand from your jaw with a smile.

"That better?"

You reduced to just stare at him.

"Maybe I need it one more time." You say under your breath, and you're almost afraid he doesn't catch it.

"Yeah? One more?" He asks, moving to hold your chin again.

"Mhm," you nod.

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader

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zegrasdrysdale · 3 months ago

Text

[ take a seat ] q. hughes

day 3 of kinktober (face sitting w/ quinn hughes)

paring : Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

summary: Quinn grows a playoff beard and his girlfriend loves it. the day he decides to shave it after the Canucks get eliminated, she tells him how she really feels about it and Quinn gives her the moment she’s been wanting since he started growing it before he shaves it

warning(s) : smut ! face sitting / riding, oral (f receiving), fingering

author’s note : been waiting to write this one hehe. it’s on the shorter side but i hope y'all enjoy anyway

kinktober schedule

༺──────────────༻

The playoffs have treated her and Quinn so well. Quinn because he got to captain the Canucks to the second round after a short 3 year playoff drought. Her because Quinn grew a playoff beard over the past month or so and she's barely managed to keep her hands off of him while he was playing.

She loves everything about the playoffs, but especially the fact that Quinn hasn’t shaved in a few weeks. He looks so good with longer facial hair and she loves the way it tickles her lip when he kisses her. She kinda just wants him to go down on her for as long as possible to feel it against her core.

The thought of Quinn eating her out with the beard is enough to soak her. The feeling of his beard on her core is something she thinks about an unhealthy number of times over the course of three weeks. She’s gotten off multiple times just at the thought alone, especially when he's away playing in Nashville and Edmonton. She’s wouldn’t know what to do if it happened.

But the Canucks were eliminated by Edmonton last night so it’s time for Quinn to shave off the beard he has spent the past few weeks growing. He doesn't do it the day after their season ends because he wants to just lay around and have the laziest day ever, so she gets an extra day to admire him.

The morning of the day Quinn wants to shave his beard though, she wakes up before he does. He stopped setting alarms once the Canucks got eliminated two nights ago but she is naturally an early riser. She doesn't dare move because part of Quinn's morning routine is shaving. If she moves and wakes him up, he's going to go shave and that's the last thing she wants right now.

She softly sighs as morning Vancouver sun creates a muted orange glow throughout the room. Quinn already looks so good and he's not even awake yet.

All because of that stupid beard he grew.

Quinn begins to stir moments after she wakes. His eyes flutter open and look bright in the morning sunlight.

"It's creepy to stare at people while they sleep, baby," he tells her, his voice slurred since he just woke up. Also kind of raspy, which she loves.

"Not my fault you look pretty all the time," she replies. "I also just woke up a few minutes ago so give me a break. I wanted to admire my boyfriend before he woke up and started making comments that ruined the whole vibe."

He groans and rubs his face. He touches his facial hair and hums. "I gotta go get rid of this mess," he says. "Then you can admire me all you want, okay?"

Her eyes widen and Quinn begins to move to get out of bed. She quickly grabs his arm to stop him from getting any further.

"I like that mess," she finally admits to him. He turns back around and looks at her. She begins to talk before her brain can catch up to what she's saying. "I mean, you look really hot with that mess on your face. Except, I don't think it's a mess. I wish you wouldn't run off and shave it first chance you get."

Quinn blinks at her slowly like he's processing what she said to him. A smile grows on his lips and she presses her lips into a line.

"Come here," Quinn tells her as he lays back down. She blinks at him, confused. "I know you've thought about it. I've seen the way that you would look at me then excuse yourself to go use the bathroom." She feels her face get hot in embarrassment. She thought she was more subtle than she actually was.

She plays with her fingers while she watches Quinn get comfortable. "Quinn, I-"

"Come take a seat, pretty girl," he interrupts as he runs his fingers over his beard. "Sit on and ride my face. I know you want to so I am giving you what you want before I go shave."

Who is she to say no to him? He's offering so she might as well take it.

Without anymore hesitation, she moves so she's kneeling above his face with her knees on the pillow on either side of his head. Lucky for her, she's only wearing one of Quinn's Canucks t-shirts and a pair of underwear. Nothing else.

Quinn kisses the inside of her thigh right by her core while he pushes the fabric of the t-shirt up. She hums softly as her body finally begins to wake up. She feels the gentle scratch of his facial hair on her skin and she gnaws on her bottom lip. "Oh my God," she sighs.

"I haven't even done anything yet," Quinn laughs.

"Shut up and do something then," she retorts. "Please, Quinn." She's not above begging at this point.

He licks a stripe over her panties, which are soaked by now. Like she said, the thought alone makes her drip. His finger follows his tongue and she hums. Quinn pushes the fabric to the side and runs a finger through her soaked folds. She bites down on her bottom lip to keep from making any loud noises since it is morning and their neighbors are probably still sleeping.

She grabs onto the headboard above Quinn's head as he runs his tongue through her folds. "Fuck, Quinn!" She cries out. "Oh my God."

The feeling of the gentle scratch of his facial hair is almost too much for her. Quinn wraps his lips around her clit and hums, sending a shock through her body. It almost jumpstarts her own movements as she begins to roll her hips.

"That's it, baby," Quinn says against her core. "Take what you want."

His hands rest on her waist and he pulls her down so she's completely sitting on his face but he's still able to breathe. His tongue continues to run through her folds as she rolls her hips. Her core grinds across his face and she feels the scratch of his facial hair with each movement. She welcomes the new feeling. It only adds to her pleasure despite the beard burn she'll probably have when all this is over.

Quinn hums every so often, and she groans with every hum. Her grip on the headboard gets stronger the longer she moves. She's almost afraid that she'll lose her balance despite his hands keeping her from falling.

One of his hands slides up under the loose t-shirt and cups her breast. She throws her head back and lets out a borderline pornographic moan as she continues to ride Quinn's face. One of her hands flies to Quinn's messy hair, fingers finding a home.

He slides his other hand so his thumb can access her clit. He rubs the sensitive nub while continuing to run his tongue though her folds with each movement. "Oh my fucking- Quinn," she cries out. "Holy-"

"Look so pretty riding my face, pretty girl," Quinn mumbles. His words shoot straight to her core. "Fuck."

His thumb moves and slides into her. She gasps and her movement falters for a second while she recovers from the addition. "Quinn," she groans, holding the 'N' sound.

Between his tongue, his thumb, and his facial hair, she's not sure how she hasn't come all over his face by now. Her legs are shaking so she has to stop moving, but Quinn completely takes over despite being under her.

He speeds up his thumb for a second before switching fingers, using his pointer and middle fingers instead. She welcomes the familiar stretch.

His fingers and tongue are enough to bring her to the edge. She's white-knuckling the headboard with one hand while her other hand remains in Quinn's hair.

"Gonna come," she pants. "Quinn. I'm close."

"Told you to take what you want," Quinn replies. "So take what you want."

Quinn speeds up his fingers and curls them in a 'come here' motion. The gentle scratch of his facial hair turns less gentle as he speeds up his tongue movements, but she still loves it.

She throws her head back and cries out his name as she comes. She involuntarily rolls her own hips so her core grinds against his face again. Her fingers curl in his locks so she has something to hold on to as she reaches her climax. She loses her vision for half a second because of how hard her orgasm hits her.

Her body turns to jelly as she recovers. With Quinn's help, she's able to lie back down beside him. Her breathing is labored and she stares up at the ceiling, unable to move to look at her boyfriend.

All this morning showed her is that Quinn needs to grow out his facial hair more often because it made her come harder than she ever has before. She can't move for about ten minutes after her orgasm.

When she's fully conscious again, she looks over at Quinn. He didn't go and shave yet.

"I think I'm going to keep this for another day or two," he tells her. "Just for you. That is going to happen a few more times before it goes away."

She smiles and rolls so she can touch his face. "I'm going to need you to grow it out like this again soon because holy shit, Quinn," she giggles. "So hot. Felt so good."

Quinn matches her smile. "Maybe over the summer," he tells her. "No promises though."

"Gonna need my favorite seat back at some point."

"Next year when we make playoffs against for sure."

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MAIN MASTERLIST

wanna be added to the kinktober taglist ? fill out this form !!

taglist : @katie-the-bookworm @mommahughes19-23 @ceces-obsessions @pucks-goals-penalties @justwanderingbutneverlost @alwaysclassyeagle @Zegrashughes @unicorns3993 @herbouqetbasement @haechanslovey @this-ass-is-eikonic @scoupsdetyong @themotogirl @iclyj @devilsandpensfan @loveforaugust @estapa94 @flysdaleflyby @lunaloves9 @beez-86 @h0e4fictionalme-n @orphicdreamers-wp @goalsongspinkthongs @hischierswhore @hughescanucks

#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey blurb #hockey smut #hockey oneshot #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl smut #nhl oneshot #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #👻 malia’s kinktober

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lvlyghost · 1 year ago

Text

Remnants

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: You got hurt and Simon finds out.

WORD COUNT: 1.0k

TW: bruises, slight angst. reader missing simon. also fluff think that's it. lmk if i missed any. also poorly edited and not proofread. mind the english!🤭✨🤍

A/N: this is so self indulgent. embarrassing how much time it took to get out because i've had this idea for two weeks now. anyway enjoy!💛

Masterlist✨

Laying in bed until it was late was part of your daily routine when Simon was off on deployment. Too tired to even get up when he wasn't around to wake you at 7:00 a.m.

He was a morning person unlike you.

You remember the days he would drag you against him by the waist mumbling something about being too late to be in bed, to which you had groggily bit back and slapped his arm in a playful manner. Then he would be gone for months, leaving nothing but an empty bed and the absence of his deep voice to fill your ears. Feeling that made your eyes well with tears and your heart ache. What if I don't see him again? What if that was the last time I ever felt his touch?

Shaking your head you pull yourself out of the comfort of your shared bed, taking a quick bath before preparing yourself a nice breakfast.

Winter is starting to settle in and your favorite thing to wear is his black hoodie. The one that swallows you entirely. It smells like him, it's almost like being embraced by him.

"Come on don't cry now." rubbing your eyes with the hem of the sleeves. Traitorous, salty droplets spilling down. "Jesus." Taking a deep breath you calm yourself and the ache gradually stops.

The kitchen is somewhat cold despite the heater turned on. You watch as the coffee brews —the one he dislikes— you smile again although small. Barely a quirk of your lips at the thought of him looking intently at you as you take a sip and offer him one.

'Bloody incorrigible.' He had muttered.

But you had seen him smiling that day as well, as different as you both were from one another, the love you two held couldn't be denied, nor broken.

That's why when the front door creaks open your eyes widen, legs moving faster than your brain can register. Socked feet dragging across the wooden floor nearly slipping. Simon stands stall, the door closing behind him as he lowers the black duffel bag on the floor.

"Are you really back?" Your lower lip trembles, the emotion too heavy to hold it back.

"Come here, love." You lunge forward, collapsing against his body. Simon's quick to catch you with strong arms holding you. Bodies pressed together. He can finally let himself breathe. The smell of your home, the smell of that awful coffee you love, the aroma of your shampoo and perfume that drives him absolutely crazy. He pulls his mask off and his mouth is soon against your soft lips. Oh how he missed you. He missed this, his girl softly caressing his face standing on your tiptoes. Simon grumbled, when he feels the air shift and you pull back, his brown eyes glimmer with devotion.

"Don't worry there's tea for you. Plenty. I made sure of that for when you returned." He inhales deeply, kissing you once again on the forehead. Taking his hand you lead him to the kitchen to serve both the breakfast you've been working on. "How are the boys?" You ask taking two mugs out of the top cabinet.

"A bit more scarred than before but they're good." He comes behind you lingering close —too close— to your back. "Price wants a reunion. Told him I'd let you decide."

"You already know I'll say yes." He hums watching you pour some water in the kettle and waiting for it to boil. "Black or chamomile?"

"Black." You try to move around as much as you can with him caging you from behind. Giggling when he once again kisses you on the temple. "Alright, let me see you again..."

Simon grabs you by the forearm it's not hard, it's gentle but firm. Firm enough to hurt your neglected limb. You shriek, a loud 'no' leaves your lips as you stumble back and away from him, soothing the place where he had touched you. It hurt so much but you quickly regret your reaction knowing it'd spark something within him.

Simon's eyes go wide, then his brows furrow so hard you can see the small line that could leave a permanent mark on his forehead.

"What was that?" He growled. The distance you put between you and him is cut off by his long strides.

"It's nothing, I- I swear." You trail off, searching for an explanation. But he's smart and he won't let this pass.

Few things could make him lose his temper, you lying about your wellbeing was one of the top on the list.

"Show me." He demands and the way his eyes pierce through every part of you leaves no room for discussion.

Rolling up your sleeves you hold out your forearms. Simon's jaw clenches so hard you're certain he's cracked some of his teeth. Eyes set on your damaged limb; red and purple bruises on your skin. They're so fucking big and he has to remember how to breathe and control his emotions. "How?" His eyes shot back to yours, awaiting.

"I promise it's not what you're thinking Simon."

"Don't give me that. I asked you a question." he takes one of them careful not to press too hard as he brushes his thumb over one of them. Fucking hell. It's swollen.

"Just work Simon. I had to carry big boxes and you know I'm not that strong, that's it. So stop thinking the worst, yeah?"

Sighing he lets go of your arm, the anger slowly ebbs and he feels fucking tired. He thought the worst. No one could blame him, it was in his DNA.

"Next time let me know beforehand, bloody hell love."

You give him a quick hug.

"I still might have to have a talk with your cunt boss."

You snort.

"No you won't." You declare, motioning for him to follow back. "Tea's ready."

Oh, but he would definitely pay him a visit.

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tasteracha · 7 months ago

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the cat that got the cream.

a/n: well. i did it. also, i can't believe this is the first time i've written a daddy kink???? that's crazy. anyways. warnings: reader has a pussy, daddy!kink, minho calls reader kitten. SMUT - MINORS DNI. <1k.

you knew minho was working; he had told you he would be occupied for the rest of the night with an apology and a kiss to your forehead, but you were horny and he has never denied you before. you pad into the bedroom, the only thing keeping you from being completely naked is his white button up shirt that you had been wearing all day.

“daddy,” you tug at the bottom of the shirt, rolling the material between your fingers.

“daddy’s busy, kitten,” he looks away from his computer screen for a moment and your face is reflected in his glasses. you look a little pitiful, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you give him your widest-eyed stare.

“i don’t want to disturb you, i just…” you trail off, taking a step closer to him. “need you.”

“you can play with yourself for a bit, can’t you?” he asks, taking one of your hands in his and dragging his thumb against your skin. he returns his attention to the screen and lets go of your hand, and your body sways towards him with the lack of touch.

“i tried,” you pout, but it goes unnoticed by him. “can’t do it without you.”

“fuck,” he sucks in air through his teeth, glancing between you and his computer a few times. “alright, come here.”

he stands and your entire body sings, ready for him to drag you to bed and have his way for you, but you’re stopped short when he takes his pants off and settles back into his desk chair. he pulls you by the arm and settles you into his lap, both of your legs straddling his thigh with his arms around you.

no, not around you. reaching past you so that he could keep typing away at his computer.

“what?” you turn your head towards his, leaning in to whisper your lips against his, but he pulls back.

“i said i was busy,” he tuts, pushing your head back gently until your chin was tucked away against his neck. “get yourself off, kitten. i need to get my work done.”

you flush so hard you feel lightheaded - he wants you to get yourself off on his thigh while he works? you should feel offended but instead a rush of thrill sparks up your spine and your hips move on their own accord. your bare pussy slides against his thigh, the wetness from you collecting with every twitch of your body, and it feels good.

the sound of your breathing pairs with the clacking of his fingers against the keyboard. you push past the embarrassment of him letting you use his body like this as he ignores you completely, as if you were truly one of his cats begging for his attention. you lean into it fully, bracing your hands against his chest as you roll your hips back and forth, back and forth, gasping when your clit brushes directly against his skin.

“fuck, daddy,” you moan out to deaf ears, unable to keep the words from spilling out of your mouth. “feels so- so good.”

you’re not close yet, but the feeling is so good that it doesn’t matter whether you come or not. you drift into the pleasure, your body moving on its own as you bury your head in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. you don’t realize how long you’ve been going at it until you start sweating, your muscles settling into soreness as you start to slow down.

you also don’t notice that the sound of typing has stopped, but you feel the hands that grip at your waist as if they were molten hot, the pads of minho’s fingers searing into you like a brand. he tugs at you sharply, your pussy digging into his thigh in a way that makes your entire body jerk. he pulls you back and jerks you forward again, riding you against his thigh like you were a toy.

“that’s it,” he whispers into your ear, keeping his pase fast and brutal. “you’re doing so good for me kitten.”

the praise filters through your head even though you truly weren’t doing anything, and as you come your vision whites out and the noise in your ears turns gray and staticky. when you come back to yourself you’re still on his lap, nestled into his body perfectly.

“thank you, min,” you mumble, nuzzling him with your head and closing your tired eyes.

“of course, kitten,” are the last words you hear, drifting off with a satisfied smile on your face, looking like a cat that just got the sweetest cream.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #lee know smut #lee minho smut #stray kids drabbles

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 months ago

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CAN WE HAVE SOME SMUT FROM YEWWWW PLEASEUHHH WHENEVER YOU HAVE THE TIME AND MOTIVATION AND IDEAS PLEASEUH I'M DYING

Provoked

Tags: obsessed!Toji x fem!Reader, yandere elements if you squint, smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, daddy kink, somnophilia at the end, nsfw, mdni,

Synopsis: Making Toji jealous probably wasn’t the smartest idea. Now, was it?

An: Following in suit with my theme of jealousy this week lol. You didn’t really give me any other guidelines other than smut soooo I took some creative liberties 😅

“Yeeaahh.. not makin’ doe eyes at him now, are ya?” Toji taunted as his large hand gripped ahold of your chin, forcing your languid gaze to focus on him.

The room was filled with pornographic sounds of Toji’s cock effortlessly sliding in and out of your wet heat. Your voice is high-pitched and whiny — a telltale sign that he’s already made you cum a few times.

“T-toji.. I can’t… ah~ please, I’m sorry.” You’re barely able to form your own thoughts as he mercilessly pounds himself into your weeping cunt.

You should’ve been wiser than to make Toji jealous on purpose, and you should’ve never even thought about making him jealous with his own handler, Shiu Kong.

Toji’s anger had been building all day long. He was barely holding himself together when your hand brushed against Shiu’s shoulder. You looked up at his handler with bedroom eyes that should only be reserved for him.

Toji’s hand slides down, and he grips the sides of your throat adding a bit of pressure as he continues his harsh thrusts. The entire bed was creaking and moving from the furiousness he was fucking you with.

“Nah… not good enough.” Toji laughs, and he leans in closer to your face. He’s always been a man who prefers bending you over to fuck you from behind, but today, he needs to see those pretty tears in your eyes. He needs to see you looking at him like he was the only man on this earth. Hence why he has you in a full mating press.

"I should kill him for looking at you like he did. Gouge his eyes out for looking at my woman. My. Woman."

“Fuck.. fuck.. ah~” You’re a complete babbling mess underneath him. “Too much, T-toji… mmph~ it’s too much!!”

“You always say that, and you always end up taking more anyways.” Toji casually laughs. He loves bringing you to the brink of breaking just to nurse you back to health afterwards. You need him — not a man like Shiu. Shiu wouldn't take care of you like this. He couldn't cherish and fuck your cunt like Toji could.

“So just shut up.. and take this dick like a good girl, yeah?” His hand wraps tightly around your hip, forcing you back into the mattress while his hips start to snap forward harder, nearly knocking the breath out of you with each thrust.

"Oh fuck-! Tojii~.. mmmph.." You can't hold back your noises. His dick feels like it's trying to touch you womb with how he has your body folded like a pretzel.

"Maybe I should breed this cute cunt, huh? Make your tummy all... ngh... nice and round with my baby. No man will be able to look at ya without... mmf-... knowin' I've been deep in your guts." Toji knows you're getting overstimulated as fat tears slips down your cheeks. His tongue darts out, and he savors the taste of your complete submission to him.

"G-gonna cum..." You whimper quietly. Your hands are fisting and pulling at the bedsheets, trying to cope with the immense pressure building up from his cock bumping into all the right places.

"Cum on my cock, baby. Cum on daddy's fat cock. I've got you." He coos so lovingly as if he isn't rudely shoving his full length in and out of you. Your sopping wet folds accept him in each and every time.

Toji feels his head start to spin as he feels your gummy walls squeeze around him so deliciously. "Gonna give you my baby.. you want that?"

"P-please Toji!" Your back arches up off the bed, and you hold your breath until your orgasm finally crashes over you.

"Aw, did you just cum again? Must really want me to breed ya." Toji's thrusts start to become sloppier, and his brain is so fixated on the idea of cumming inside you. He can't even think straight. He needs to see your tummy bulging with his cum.

"Gonna make you a pretty mommy. Ngh~" His cock twitches violently inside you as cum erupts from his tip, filling you up to the brim. His breath is shaky as he looks down at your poor exhausted expression.

"You alright there, mama?" He asks tenderly, as he slowly allows for your legs to slide off his shoulders.

"Mhmm.. just tired." You murmur back to him, barely able to keep your eyelids open.

"Get some rest, ma. I'm just gonna give you a bit more of my cum... to make sure it takes, yeah?" He presses a wet kiss to your temple, and in your drowsy state, you can already feel him start to slowly pump himself in and out of you. He's careful not to wake you. After all, you're going to need all your energy to carry his baby <3

#jjk fanfic #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #drabble #jjk suggestive #jjk smut #jjk toji #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #jujutsu toji #fushiguro toji #jjk men

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tacticaldiary · 1 year ago

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A Fighting Chance

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

And Simon...Simon feels like the rug's been pulled from under his feet.

Part 2, Masterlist,

"What're those?"

"Papers."

Ghost pauses halfway through opening the document, glancing up at the curtness of her voice. "Papers? She doesn't meet his eyes, gaze fixed on the table of the little booth they're sitting in.

The ice in her drink is long gone, watering down her coffee into something that tastes as bitter as her heart.

It had taken months for her to finally make this decision. Days of talking with her lawyer, crying alone at night and coming to the gruelling acceptance that this was for the best. It was best for both of them.

There's not many things that unsettle Simon. He's had blood stain his hands; his own, his comrades, and his enemies. Had almost any injury you could think of marring his skin, been prodded and ripped into, been the one on the opposite end of the knife.

But as he slides out the documents, turns them over, Simon's never felt more apprehensive.

He stills, reading the first few lines, clenching his jaw. "What is this?"

"I want a divorce."

And something in him crumbles at her defeated tone. Like she's already decided. Like he doesn't even have a chance to ask why or talk it through.

"No." He says tightly, putting them down and crossing his arms.

Her gaze shoots to his. "You can't just say that."

"I did. I won't sign them."

"I want this." She argues, and Simon swallows back the lump in his throat at how utterly tired she looks.

"I don't."

She's the light of his life, the one good, untouched piece of joy he gets to see. Something other than the bloodshed and violence he lives in.

"Simon," She says, shoulders sagging forward. "I can't do this anymore."

"This isn't the solution, love." He feels like his skin is crawling, the beginnings of unfamiliar panic clawing at his chest when she doesn't react to the pet name.

Doesn't smile, doesn't flush that beautiful red, doesn't squirm.

When she doesn't respond again, tight-lipped and clammed up and so determined to not look at him, he asks the question burning a hole through his tongue.

"Why?"

Deep down he knows. Knew this was coming but that part of him is buried under the thudding of his heart, and the rush of blood in his ears. Everything feels deathly still and moving too fast at the same time.

"Why?" She repeats, something in her stirring at the question. Her brow furrows and she switches from a cautious indifference to disbelief and frustration quicker than Simon can process. "Are you serious?" She huffs out an incredulous laugh. "You're away for months at a time and I'm supposed to what? Wait for you at our doorstep and wag my tail all happy when you finally come back to me?" Her grip tightens on her drink.

"Even when you are home, it's never about us. Never about me and you. You lock yourself in your study with your work, don't talk to me unless you come out for dinner or lunch. When was the last time we went out?" She demands. "When was the last time we went on a date? The last time we slept at the same time in the same bed?"

Simon clenches his jaw but says nothing, at a loss for words. It only encourages her to keep going, spewing thoughts that have been boiling over for the past few years.

"You barely look at me when we're home, I had to drag you out of the house to get here! You left halfway through our anniversary dinner last year because work called you in. Sometimes...sometimes I feel like you're only with me because it's easier than leaving and starting over, and that fucking hurts. It hurts when you can't bear to spend five minutes with me away from work. I've been telling you this for ages but you just...you don't listen to me." She leans forward, drink completely forgotten and hits the final nail in the coffin.

"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

And Simon...Simon feels like the rug's been pulled from under his feet.

"I never even know if you're coming home to me." Her voice cracks, and she hugs her middle, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "So yes, Simon, I want to separate. I'm not happy, not like I was when I met you." A sheen of tears she refuses to let fall.

"You can focus on work like you love to, and I can...I can move on."

It was so good when they started out. She found him endearing, dry humour and brooding and all. It was special, those first few years, and she'll always care about him but this...this waiting, this hurting, laying in bed at night alone and cold and crying...it wasn't right. It wasn't what she wanted and she wouldn't force Simon to want it when he clearly didn't want to.

"Fucking hell, I love you." Simon says quickly, stumbling over what to say. He reaches out for her hand on the table, but she pulls it away before he can grab it. It stings more than he can convey, makes the reality crashes down onto him.

He's about to lose her.

Because he couldn't fucking bear to pull himself out of being 'Ghost'.

It was always a rough couple of weeks during his leave. The adjustment to civilian life was a slow one for him, but that's not really an excuse at all.

"I don't think you do."

Simon blinks at her like she's slapped him. "You...you don't think so?" He repeats, running a hand through his hair. She nods, one nod, quick and so sure that it makes his chest ache.

Fuck. He's absolutely messed up.

"Everything's finalised on my end." She says. "You just need to sign them." Her voice is soft, almost like she's coaxing him.

If there's one thing he knows, it's that he's not touching those fucking papers. He's not losing someone he loves again.

"I'll take time off." He says, the intensity of his gaze makes a shiver run down her spine. "We can work through it, yeah? You can't spring this on me and not give me a chance to protest."

She shakes her head, "You're only taking time off because I'm upset." She tries to explain. "What do you think is going to happen? We spend a month together doing what we used to, and when everything's a little more stable you leave again. Distance yourself. Shut me out. Then we're back to square one."

"Won't happen." He says like he hasn't been doing it for the past few years already. "You...I can't lose you, darling." He leans forward. "Let me make it better. Give me a few months-"

"Simon-"

"A week."

"A week?" Her eyes widen. "A week to...what, prove that you'll change?"

"One week."

She worries her lip between her teeth, considering. One week wasn't a long time, but hope was dangerous in a situation like this.

"I'm not letting you go over something like this." Simon says. "I can't."

"This isn't about you." She crosses her arms. "You really think you can turn just...reverse the past few years in a week?" Maybe it's foolish of her to want him to say yes, to fight for her and realise that she's been hurting, but goddamn doesn't a small part of her scream at him to do it anyway.

"Not trying to reverse it." He folds his arms, and she can see the tense line of his shoulders as he takes in the situation, gears turning in his head as he plans how he's going to work his way out of a situation so precious and daunting as this.

Part of him didn't think it would ever come to this. Yes, he can be cold and aloof but Simon thought she knew that he loved her through it all. No matter what.

When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?

Fuck if that doesn't tear through his chest more painfully than any caliber bullet ever could.

He takes her in quietly for a moment.

The woman he fell in love with. The person that gave him a reason to keep going, a motive to feel anything other than the cold efficientness of loading a gun and firing. Soft touches and warm smiles, something so at odds with the rough life he's used to.

Sitting there in front of him, she looks more beautiful than he remembers, and it only proves to make his stomach sink like a stone at the notion of seeding any doubt about his feelings in her heart.

A right fucking bastard he was for it.

"I'm sorry." He breathes out, much softer than the gruff voice he's been using with her. "I'll do better. Just give me a chance, yeah?"

For one horrible moment, Simon thinks she'll decline. That she'll slide over the papers again and demand he sign them.

But she considers his words for a moment before nodding once.

And it's all he needs.

A fighting chance.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

Part 2

(11/10/2023)

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tojis-gf · 8 months ago

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lactation kink w/ toji x reader

an: okok this has been something i've wanted to actually indulge in for a minute and i'm rlly nervous abt it >_< if you aren't into this stuff, pls just skip past. + not proofread !

it was any other tuesday night, toji had put your two children down for bed which you couldn't appreciate more as you've been so exhausted. sure you're on maternity leave, but being at home doing chores around the house is so exhausting on your poor little pregnant body, especially with having to take care of two littles : ( but toji makes sure to help out when he's around and not working.

you're currently 27 weeks along and as of lately, your breasts have began to leak. toji doesn't mind, if anything, it makes the blood rush straight down to his cock. it absolutely turns him on. you're almost positive that toji loves seeing you pregnant because of how dense and plump your tits get, all filled up with milk for his baby that he put inside your warm womb.

as you watch some shitty reality tv show to try and relax for a bit, you begin to massage your breasts, as they're so sore, heavy, and full of milk. toji makes his way over to the couch, plopping down next to you, noticing your discomfort, "what's wrong baby" he says, reaching out to squeeze your tits, "are the girls feelin' extra full t'day? hm, y' want me t'make em' feel better hm?" he says with a smirk on his face. he knows the answer to that, he just wants to hear you beg for him to suck on your tits. "mhm, they're s'full, pretty please baby, make me feel better" you whine and of course he's wasting no time, not even bothering to lift your cute little lace tank top that can barely support your tits, rather pulling them out, letting the neck-line rest under them.

he begins with your right tit, mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking like there is no tomorrow, your sweet milk dripping from his mouth onto your tit, eventually dripping onto your pants but you didn't care, it felt sooo good. when it comes to your tits, that is definitely toji's oral fixation. if he could suck on them all day long he 100% would. he peers up at you through dazed eyes, drunk off your taste, "how does that feel babe, feels fuckin good right?" he says before switching to your left tit, attacking it like there was no tomorrow, you swear you could cum just from the sight of this "hah~ y-yeah baby, feels s'good mhm..keep goin' pleaseee" you babble in even more of a daze than he's in.

at this point, he's just kissing all over them, leaving love bites on the parts that'll be non-visible in tops, your nipples are so sore at this point you're unsure you'll even be able to bare it any longer, as much as you do enjoy all the love toji shows for your tits. "b-baby, thank you" you say as you go down to kiss the top of his head, "as much as i love you sucking on my tits, i'm starting to become a bit more sore than i initially was" you giggle, "lay here though, i'd like that a lot...". and he does, head resting against your bare chest as the two of you drift off into a slumber, quickly interrupted by the cries of your two-year old son. "don't worry, i got it, relax mama" he says, planting a kiss onto your chest, rising from the couch to tend to your son.

#toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #jjk smut #nobody asked for this but i'm giving it to you #hope u enjoyed hehe #i have an extreme lactation kink this is lit like #this is just the surface of it LOL

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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

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don't say nothing | S.R.

gemini part two

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: softdom!spencer, "good girl" (you can tear it out of my cold dead hands), alcohol, fwb, oral fixation, consent, idiots in love, praise kink, gun violence, jealous spencer? unprotected pinv sex, word count: 3.73k a/n: posting smut twice in a row who the fuck am i?? anyways, everyone's favorite idiots in love are back. i used the song don't say nothing by del water gap to provide me with inspiration.

part one

please say something, cause I've been growing lonesomer each day

Penelope threw her arms up in frustration as you walked through the front door of O’Keefe’s, “I was beginning to think you were ditching us.” She got up from the booth, letting you slide in so that you were next to the wall – across the table from Spencer.

Things with him were as awkward as ever. The two of you were like a rubber band getting stretched, every time the tension became too much, you snapped and ended up in bed together - or in the academy showers, but that was just the one time. Looking at him now, the rubber band felt taut.

“I took the liberty of getting you this,” Garcia announced, a broad smile on her face as she pushed the glass toward you.

Raising your eyebrows, you eyed the beverage suspiciously before taking a tentative sip. An undetermined liquor slid down your throat as you tried to hide the distaste from your expression. Penelope had a taste for sweet, sugary drinks, it was the main reason she usually ended up puking first at girls’ night.

Spencer noted the look on your face, discreetly sliding his glass of water toward you. Thank you, you mouthed to him, earning a slight smile in return. “So, where’s this friend of a friend that you’re trying to set Y/N up with?” Luke asked, standing at the open end of the table.

In your periphery, you saw the smile immediately drop off Spencer’s face. Feeling his eyes on you, you shifted on the supple leather of the booth and looked over at Penelope.

“He said he’d show up later,” she said, lifting her own glass to her lips and sipping out of the straw.

That was enough for you to know that it would never work between the two of you. You needed someone who was punctual. Someone who wouldn’t ghost you at the last moment. Huffing, you sat back in the seat, wondering how long you’d have to stay out before it was socially acceptable to go home.

You took about thirty minutes before asking your teammates to let you out of the booth under the guise of needing fresh air. Luke asked if you wanted to move out to the patio, but you waved him off before walking out the front door.

The spring air kissed your skin as you avoided pedestrians until you made it to the outer wall of the bar, leaning against the cool bricks and sighing.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, walking out of the bar, and approaching you.

Avoiding eye contact, you watched people’s shoes as they walked by – heels, sneakers, sandals. “I’m fine, Spence,” you answered simply as your heart begged you to meet his hazel eyes.

You closed your eyes as he reached out, gingerly placing his hand flat on your ribcage. “You had a close call last week,” he said matter-of-factly, referring to a shot you had taken to the chest while on a case last week.

Shrugging, you opened your eyes again, “I was wearing my vest, barely even hurts anymore.” Spencer had been on sabbatical at the time, but he still came to visit you during your overnight stay in the hospital. You were left with a gnarly bruise to the ribs, and Emily had benched you for two weeks.

Tired of your refusal to meet his eyes, Spencer hooked a finger beneath your chin, lifting it until you could make out the gold of his eyes. He looked through the window of the bar, checking for something before he tugged you further from the glass. You didn’t have the time to ask him what he was looking for before his lips were on yours in the alleyway.

Spencer Reid had a habit of kissing you like you were a last meal, with open, messy kisses that made your lovelorn chest ache.

“Garcia’s friend didn’t show up?” He asked, pulling away from you just enough to get the words out.

Shaking your head, you reached up a hand and threaded your fingers through his hair, “Nope.” You cocked your head to the side as the two of you fell into your familiar pattern, “I’m glad I didn’t agree to the date. Could’ve been a fatal blow to my self-esteem,” you told him while thinking of a good way to navigate your current situation.

He also had a habit of making your mind go blank when his lips were on you, and you almost lost it when he groaned against your mouth, “His loss.”

Your breath hitched when he used his knee to part your legs, placing an agonizing pressure on your sex as you resisted the urge to grind on his thigh.

“Hey, Y/N?” He murmured in your ear before pressing gentle kisses on the side of your throat.

Humming, you bit your lip, “Yeah?”

Detaching his lips from the soft skin of your neck, Spencer pulled away to look at you, “Thank you for not agreeing to the date.”

Your body slouched against the wall, “I can’t do this again,” you confessed. The words slipped out of your mouth too easily for it to be a lie, even if you never meant for them to come out.

Spencer took a step back, removing himself from you entirely, “What do you mean?” He asked, watching as you frantically smoothed down the front of your dress and caught your breath.

“Why do I keep doing this to myself?” You muttered helplessly, once again averting your eyes from the man standing in front of you. Taking a shaky breath, your heart pounded so violently in your chest that you thought it might burst.

Catching out at you, he firmly placed his hands on either side of your waist before you could walk away from him. “Baby, what are you talking about?” He asked you urgently.

There it was again, baby. It was like a key in a lock, causing everything to pour out of you. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Isn’t that funny? You’re there, haunting my every move, and none of me occupies even a fragment of your mind.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes as he processed what you were saying to him, “It’s me?” He said, hazel eyes flickering over your face.

“Of course, it’s you, Spencer,” you said exasperatedly, afraid of years of longing coming out in a random alleyway in the district. Tears pricked at your eyes as you silently pleaded for him to say something.

Bewilderment was pasted on his face as he opened his mouth to speak, shut it, and then opened it again. “The person. Your one person that you’d say yes to. I’m your one.” He clarified, trying to get a hold on the situation.

Nodding miserably, you reached up and placed your hand over your heart as if you could staunch your bleeding heart, “You’re my one, and every time we’re together, you’re thinking about someone else.” It wasn’t an accusation; you knew he had feelings for someone else. He had told you just as much at Dave and Krystall’s wedding. Two months ago. Wiping underneath your eyes, you gathered whatever was left of your dignity and walked away from the situation.

As you walked back to your car, you were vaguely aware of people staring at you. You knew that you had played just as big of a role in your own destruction as Spencer had, maybe even more. You never should’ve had sex at the wedding, but you had sought comfort in one another.

Fishing around in your purse, you pulled your keys out, only for them to be scooped from your hands. “Hey!” You shouted in frustration, gaining the attention of passersby as they wondered whether or not they needed to call 911 or stay out of a lover’s quarrel. Shooting daggers at Spencer, you refrained from stomping your foot in frustration lest you look like a petulant child. “Give me my keys, Spencer,” you insisted, holding your hand out impatiently.

“Not until you talk to me,” he responded. He was out of breath, meaning he had run to catch up with you – a feat in and of itself.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, “There’s nothing left to talk about, Spencer.”

He took a moment to catch his breath before looking around, “There is everything to talk about. I have to talk to you.”

Weighing your options, you reached out for your car keys, which he let you take, and unlocked the car. “Get in,” you offered halfheartedly, wiping your cheeks before getting into the driver’s seat.

Silently, you started the drive, taking a right onto the next street. “This isn’t the way to your apartment,” Spencer observed anxiously.

You shook your head as you turned on your turn signal to merge onto the highway, “No, it’s the way to yours.”

Residences had been off-limits during your illicit affair, but each member of the BAU had the ability to get to each other’s homes. It was more of a safety concern than anything else. Since you’d never been to Spencer’s apartment before, you needed him to guide you through the lobby and up the stairs. To your chagrin, he did that by taking your hand in his and having you follow him.

Looking around once he unlocked the door, the first thing you noticed was that the space was so… Spencer. From the green walls to the stained-glass window to the piles of books, it all just seemed so fitting for him. “Sit,” he said with an authoritative tone as he made his way back to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water.

“What do you want to say, Reid?” You said, leaning back in an armchair as you looked over at him, taking calculated breaths.

Disappointment filled his eyes, “Don’t call me that.” There was something in his eyes that resembled fear, but you couldn’t quite place the reason.

Narrowing your gaze, you tilted your head to the side and feigned ignorance, “Everyone calls you that.” You challenged, even though you supposed it wasn’t true.

“You don’t,” he responded simply. It was true, over the years you had never called him Reid. Dr. Reid and Spencer Reid, yes, but never just Reid. To you, he had always been Spencer or Spence. “When you do it, it feels so… impersonal. Detached.”

You blinked, not expecting him to have said that. Your relationship with Reid had always been personal. From back when you were just friends to whatever miscellany of emotions you had now. “I didn’t mean for it to be,” you admitted defeatedly, fiddling with the buttons on your cardigan. Although maybe you had intended to detach yourself from the situation by referring to him with a name that felt less personal.

In your periphery, you saw him looking dejectedly at you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Will you please look at me?”

Swallowing thickly, you closed your eyes, “I can’t.” Your voice was no more than a whisper as you admitted the truth, one look in his eyes, and you’d break your heart even worse.

“At first, I thought it was easier for me to just say I was interested in someone else because I was under the impression that you were interested in another man,” Spencer told you candidly. “My idea was that I could keep you close to me until you felt ready to move on, and that would just have to be enough.”

Staring blankly ahead of you, you reached out to grab your water from the coffee table, taking small sips as you struggled to digest what he was saying to you.

You shut your eyes tightly at the vulnerability in the room, opening them to find Spencer knelt in front of you. “What I didn’t realize was that a fraction of you would never be enough, not for me.”

Burying your face in your hands, you avoided his eyes as the gravity of his admission weighed down your shoulders. “Spence,” you begged. He needed to stop. He was toeing the point of no return.

“I am so devastatingly in love with you,” he admitted. “I didn’t know how deeply it ran until the wedding, but I just couldn’t get myself to let you go.”

Spencer pried your hands off of your face, revealing teary eyes. You let your body slide off the chair until you knelt in front of him, knee to knee. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

Quickly, he wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling your body flush against his, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you answered, surprised at how easily the words rolled off of your tongue. Taking your time, you slung one arm over his shoulder, reaching the other up so you could put your hand in his hair. You relished in his groan as you tugged lightly at the strands.

You couldn’t help the whine that passed through your lips as he pulled away from you. He got to his feet before helping you up, and once you were standing, his lips were back on yours.

Leading you to what you assumed was his bedroom, you felt your blood heat up as he pushed your cardigan off of your shoulders. As you reached up to undo the buttons on his shirt, you grinned against his lips.

Sat on the edge of his bed, you parted your knees and pulled his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants before fumbling with his belt buckle. Disconnecting your lips so that you could look at what you were doing, he took the opportunity to duck his head and take your earlobe between his teeth. As he nipped at the soft skin, goosebumps spread where you were bare, leaving you in need of more. More of him.

Once you got his belt undone, you made quick work of the button and zipper on his slacks, sliding them down over his hips and ass while his hands made their way up your dress. “Spence,” you said breathlessly, trying to push his pants further down. Understanding your plea, he stepped out of them entirely, kicking them to the side.

Spencer drew away from you just enough to tug your dress off of your body, tossing it off to the side and gently guiding you so that your back was flat against the mattress. You watched in anticipation as he pulled his t-shirt off, the movement allowing for the tip of his cock to peek over the elastic of his boxers. “You’re so pretty,” he muttered, the softness of the words taking you by surprise, “Always so pretty for me, baby.” He gently traced his finger over your bruise as a shadow of worry crossed his features, but it was gone as quickly as it showed up.

His words spurred you on to pull at his underwear, trying to take them off, but you simply didn’t have the arm span to do it on your own. “I wanna touch you,” you confessed, “Can I touch you?”

“I need to be in you,” Spencer answered, pulling his boxers off before kneeling in front of you, eyes widening when your legs fell open. Expertly, he hooked his fingers in the sides of your underwear, dragging them off in one swift motion and leaving the both of you completely bare.

Your mouth parted when his hand reached your wet heat and two fingers entered you tantalizingly slowly. “I thought- ah- no touching,” you complained. It was a halfhearted complaint because really, there was nothing to be bothered by.

Reaching down, your hand grabbed his wrist, trying to slow his ministrations. “You’re so responsive for me,” he murmured, continuing to move his fingers in and out of you and watching in fascination as your hips bucked off of the mattress involuntarily.

“Fuck,” You said, screwing your eyes shut as that all too familiar knot started to form in your lower belly. “Spence, baby- I’ll…” A low whine escaped your throat as he withdrew his fingers from your core. “Spencer,” you said in frustration, opening your eyes to see him inspecting your slick that had been left on his fingers.

Like a rehearsed routine, he placed his hand in front of your face, prompting you to incline your head forward and wrap your lips around his index and middle finger. As you swirled your tongue around his fingers, he watched you with an undying interest. “Good girl,” he muttered, the praise causing your sensitive cunt to clench around nothing.

Taking his hand back, you looked down as he used his now free hand to line his cock up with your entrance. Laying one of your hands at the side of your head, he used his other hand to intertwine your fingers before he pushed into you. Instead of tossing your head back like you normally would, you looked up at him, watching as he hilted himself in you. “Spencer,” you whispered.

“Are you alright?” He asked, checking in with you as he placed his free hand on the other side of your head.

You nodded quickly, “It just feels different this time.” Your heart clenched at your own admission. You weren’t using each other as an escape anymore.

Spencer hummed in understanding, leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he whispered, “I love you so much.”

Your breath hitched as he tentatively thrust in you like he was testing the waters. “I love you,” you responded in kind, your voice higher than usual.

The response was enough encouragement for Spencer to keep going, he tucked his face in the crook of your neck, gently biting the skin as he set the pace. Small gasps escaped your throat every time his hips met yours.

As usual, your sounds spurred him on, seemingly trying to make you as vocal as possible, he used one hand to reach up and grope your breast. While his fingers pinched at your nipple, you wrapped your legs around his torso, locking your ankles together behind him. He lifted his head, moving his lips against yours in hurried, messy kisses that only aided the knot building in your stomach.

You didn’t have the capacity to warn him before you came undone beneath him, your orgasm coming over you as you whined into his mouth. Your walls clenched around him so tightly that Spencer had a hard time keeping his pace before it became too much.

Sighing contentedly as he filled you, you ran your hands down his back as he continued working through both of your orgasms. You whimpered as he continued fucking his cum into your oversensitive hole until your head went fuzzy, “Spence.”

He stuttered to a stop, staying inside of you for just a beat under he pulled out, causing you to flinch as you were left empty. “Are you alright?” He asked, still breathing heavily – not that you were faring much better.

Nodding, you blinked rapidly as your lungs tried to catch up with the rest of you, “I’m perfect,” you answered dazedly.

Spencer smiled at you, “You are. Perfect, that is.” He sat next to you on the bed, placing a hand on your bare hip, affectionately dragging his fingers over the skin. “You need to go pee,” he said suddenly, furrowing his brows at you.

You couldn’t help it as you erupted in a fit of giggles, resulting in an adorably confused look from Spencer. “Sorry, it’s just you telling me that I need to go pee – it’s funny,” you told him, biting your lip to muffle your laugh.

“Have you not been peeing after sex?” He was clearly appalled as if the idea of you not peeing after sex was abhorrent to him.

Rolling your eyes, you propped yourself up on your elbows, “Of course, I pee after sex, Dr. Reid,” you put extra emphasis on his honorific. “And I will pee just as soon as I’m sure my legs aren’t going to give out of me when I stand up,” you explained to him, reaching out and placing a hand on his knee.

He looked at you seriously, “You know, there are some studies that say the sooner after sex you urinate the less likely you are to contract a UTI.”

“Oh my god,” you said, “Don’t say the word urinate at me while I’m naked in your bed.” You complained, clambering up and making sure you were steady before you walked to the ensuite.

Later on, you were laying in bed next to Spencer, your head was resting on his chest while he kept you tucked into his side. You flinched as a phone started ringing, you sat up and looked around for your phone. Please don’t be a case, you silently hoped as you searched the sheets for your phone.

Once you finally grabbed it, you saw Penelope’s contact flashing across the screen. Swiping the screen, you put the phone up to your ear, hearing loud music on the other end of the call. “Hey, Penny,” you said, smiling as Spencer reached out and pulled you back into him.

You adjusted your t-shirt over your skin, having made Spencer go out to your car for your go-bag so that you could have clean clothes to sleep in. He slipped his hand under the cotton of your shirt, placing his hand flat on your bare skin. You tried to greet Penelope again when she doesn’t respond.

“Hey!” Her voice chimed in through the speaker, “Where’d you go? Jason just got here!”

Frowning, you pulled your phone away and looked at the time – just past eleven o’clock. You sighed, letting your body meld into Spencer’s, “Tell him that someday he’ll find a girl with equally as atrocious time management skills as him.”

You heard some rambling on the other side of the call, and wondered how many members of the BAU made it out this late. “Okay, but where are you?”

Humming, you peered up at Spencer who had, unsurprisingly, pulled out a book to read before bed. “I’m right where I need to be,” you told her earnestly, wondering if she could hear your voice's smile as Spencer kissed your forehead softly.

tagged, if you asked for a part two: @donttrustlove @jumpingjackalope @bippityboppityboob1tch @makingbloodbaths1 @sammyreidslut

@evvy96 @mus3y @nnab @basicallynotbreathing @hell0kitty11

@tatilolz @radioactiveinvisible @lamentis-10 @k-corbett @discotitsposts

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