#julian only god forgives

[ken-dom]

Touch

Julian Thompson x afab!reader

2k words

Summary: Julian's mother gives you two things: anxiety and a good idea.

Author's notes: Give me a pathetic and/or sopping wet man with issues and I have this burning, insatiable need to make him cum!

Warnings/content: nsfw, fingering, hand job, mentions of masturbation, mentions of Julian's mother, mommy issues all over the place, premature ejaculation, this is kind of an alternative ending to the scene where Mai pretends to be Julians girlfriend so it's probably worth mentioning that reader is Julian's escort I guess?

Julian was silent. His mother, a force to be reckoned with, had been vile. He hadn’t warned you beforehand that her tongue could be so utterly venomous, and you’d be inclined to think it was an act designed to scare you off if it hadn’t been for the way she talked about him so casually, and his reaction — or lack of, as she put him down and insulted him over and over again.

He walked a stride ahead of you, avoiding your touch and your eyes and any possibility of conversation, his shoulders hunched and step quick, breathing fast and a little ragged.

You stayed close behind, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how. You only knew he loved his mother more than anything or anyone and if you mentioned her right now he might explode.

And meeting her certainly explained a lot.

As you approached his apartment, a plan formed in your mind that you hoped could not only open him up to you, but teach him that he has worth outside of trying to please his disgusting mother.

As you stepped into the room, bathed in red, he immediately dropped down onto the chair in the corner, hands resting on his knees. He still didn’t look at you, but you knew what it meant; he needed you.

You perched on the bed before him and dipped your head, trying to capture his gaze. When you didn’t move, he looked up at you and then down to his hands, lifting and turning them, considering his flesh illuminated in crimson.

He held them out toward you then, eyes meeting yours again.

You knew what he expected. He was waiting for you to either tie his wrists down to the arms of the chair so he couldn’t touch you, or guide them to your core so you could get off on his touch while he just watched.

But tonight you did neither.

You reached forward, placing your hands in his, and simply held them.

He began to tremble.

‘Julian?’

His eyebrow twitched at the sound of his name on your lips. He still didn’t speak.

‘Come with me?’

His breath hitched.

You let go of his hands and slid back on the bed, out of reach but beckoning him to join you.

‘Come on,’ you encouraged softly.

Julian stood and stepped toward the foot of the bed as you opened your arms out to him. More than anything he wanted to collapse into them. To just be held.

He lifted a knee onto the edge of the mattress, keeping his gaze hot on yours as he laid down beside you, stiff as a board.

‘Here,’ you cooed, turning on your side to face him and encouraging him to do the same, pulling one of his hands toward you. ‘You can touch me.’

His eyes widened and he froze, snapping his gaze to his hand, hovering midair in the small space between your body and his.

‘It’s ok,’ you soothed, reminding him again, ‘you can touch, it’s alright.’

Julian swallowed hard, hesitating for a split second before shoving his hand between your thighs and slipping your underwear to one side with his fingers before plunging one inside you.

You gasped, and in turn, he moaned.

‘Fuck- yes!’ you hissed, and his chest heaved, heavy breaths filling the inch between you.

His heart hammered in his chest. You were wet. For him. 

He pumped his finger steadily, unwittingly hitting that spot inside that made your core clench every time he dragged his finger out and pushed back in.

It was different when he was doing it himself. You could tell he was afraid, and that he wanted more, so you rocked your hips into his palm. A quick learner, he got the hint, fucking you faster and you gasped.

‘J-Julian, yes- so good- so good- mmh!-’

You allowed yourself to touch him then. You’d held off, not wanting to blur the line between making it clear that he was doing this to you, and the way you would usually guide him, rutting against his palm as he watched.

‘Don’t stop,’ you whined as your fingertips drove into his broad shoulders, ‘please- please don’t stop-’

You’d never spoken so many words during your encounters, and whilst it was in aid of praising him, it was also entirely real, and he could tell. This wasn’t a show you were putting on for him, or a service you were providing. You actually wanted him. He was making you feel good.

Julian bit his lip, eyebrows worrying into a frown. His cock was aching inside his trousers, and he’d never wanted to fuck you so badly in all the time he’d known you. He’d cum in his underwear untouched before at the sight of your pleasure, but never when he was the one providing it. He needed to hold off but it was becoming harder by the second.

‘You’re so fucking good,’ you keened, and he felt a thick pearl of precum pump from his tip, cock throbbing and hungry for attention, and he moaned again.

You realised then that you’d never heard him moan at all before tonight, but in showing him some basic encouragement, without even touching him, you’d made him moan twice in the space of two minutes. 

‘Please, Julian, may I touch you?’ you breathed, fighting to keep your breath even as he slid his finger out of you completely and carefully massaged your throbbing clit, the way he’d memorised from when you’d guided him. ‘May I… kiss you?’

He nodded slowly, bewildered that you’d asked this of him, and you pushed forward, pressing your lips to his and brushing your tongue along his bottom lip to beg for entry. He granted it with another moan, and when your tongues slid together he eagerly thrust his finger back inside your walls, fucking into you with renewed vigour.

He was close, and if he didn’t make you cum soon he’d spill before you had the chance to touch him.

Your hands flew to his belt, hurriedly unfastening the buckle around his pistoning wrist, and reaching inside to stroke your palm along his deliciously thick cock.

You were struggling to focus on wrapping your fingers around his length with the way he was grinding his palm against your clit and mercilessly fingerfucking you, but you managed it. You gave a few firm pumps of his cock before your legs shook and your back arched and he brought you tumbling over the edge, your fist working faster on him as your climax ripped through you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

And that’s all it took.

His release spilled, hot and thick, over your hand, a low grunt and a drawn out whine and it was all over. He trembled as you stroked him through the last of his release, breath hot against your skin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, panting and trembling.

You smiled, thrilled that you’d finally actually seen him cum for you. He denied himself pleasure every time you’d been together, even the times when his fists balled and his arms strained to be free from the restraints you tied around them, but not tonight. He let himself feel it, let himself enjoy it.

In honesty, you’d hoped to fuck him, but you could wait. There would be time. Besides, the thought that he came so quickly for you made your core clench again.

As his breathing evened, he flopped weakly onto his back, the hand between your thighs disappearing with him, as he whimpered through the aftershocks of his pleasure, feeling his cock, wet and twitching, soften inside his boxers.

He flinched when you snuggled into his side, entirely expecting you to get up and leave now you’d got what you wanted from him.

You’d always been reluctant to leave, he’d noticed, and assumed it was because there was something you wanted that he couldn’t provide. But, it had been what he requested of your arrangement; you give yourself pleasure by any means necessary, don’t let him cum, then leave. This had been incredibly different. Still, your warmth startled him, and he wasn’t sure what that conflict bubbling up inside was, but he was very much leaning toward liking it. So he settled down.

‘That was so hot, Julian… Do you know how hard you made me cum with those big, strong hands?’

He shook his head.

You wanted to stroke his cheek and tell him he deserved to enjoy pleasure instead of denying himself it, but you didn’t think that would go down well, especially when you considered how his mother spoke to him, so you settled for a simple, ‘You did so good for me, baby.’ 

‘Why?’ His voice sounded weak, like he was on the brink of tears.

‘Because you’re so good with your hands, and you came so hard for me. And… because I wanted you so badly and I finally got to see you cum for me.’

Julian’s head was spinning. Your arm was comfortably tight over his chest, fingertips tracing soothing patterns into his shoulder where your nails had left aching little bruises. He’d never heard praise like this. You were being kind. Why were you being kind? Did he deserve this, or did you pity him? Had his mother put you up to it as part of some elaborate lesson he had to learn?

He closed his eyes, trying to think clearly. He’d felt you clenching tight around his finger as you came, he’d heard the way you cried his name at the height of your climax. You’d brought him off willingly.

No, it was real. It had to be. There was no pity here.

His lips were still tingling with the force of your kiss, your slick was drying onto his fingers and his seed was cooling against his lower stomach while you were warm at his side. And all this, with the knowledge you really did want him was a new type of comfort he never knew he needed.

He thought of his mother. What would she say if she knew you touched him this way? And then he thought of how he’d never felt anything close to this level of safety or comfort from her. Rage bubbled up in his belly, hot and uncomfortable, and despite him liking whatever this was, something inside him snapped like a rubber band and he was about to tell you to get out, until you interrupted his thoughts.

‘Julian, I know it’s not our usual arrangement, but… I’d like to stay with you, if you’d let me.’

‘Why?’

There it was again. Still incredulous, but this time, a little more heated.

‘I want to hold you. This feels nice.’

The conflict inside him came crashing to the forefront of his mind, the clarity of your words overpowering that fire in his gut that told him his mother wasn’t able to comfort him the way he wanted her to, and that it was somehow your fault because you could, even after she had spat venom at your for an hour straight and told you his brother had the bigger cock.

The thing is, you were right. This did feel nice. He couldn’t deny it, and he wanted it more than anything. He wanted to feel safe and wanted and loved. He doubted you could ever actually love him; who could? Even his own mother had found it difficult as she so often reminded him.

But he couldn’t deny the butterflies fighting for dominance above the flames in his stomach, or the way his heart skipped a beat when you pulled his head close to your chest and caressed his hair and didn’t ask for anything in return other than to stay like this. Like he wanted to.

‘Rest, Julian. It’s ok. You did so good.’

A ghost of a smile pulled briefly at one side of his mouth. ‘Please… stay.’

[webbo0artblog]

Silly little doodle of Julian and @frecklystars bc 1. They're Adorable and 2. I can't get him out of my head AUGH

Anyways ignore how sketchy and rushed this is (it's Very late at night lol)

[youngpettyqueen]

Julian would take a bullet for Garak because thats just a fundamental part of who he is as a person and I think you could count on one hand the amount of people he WOULDNT take a bullet for. Garak would take a bullet for Julian and it would be entirely because he's so hopelessly and desperately in love with him and he would be fucking MORTIFIED about it. Garak gets shot for Julian's sake and when he wakes up later he's genuinely mad that he survived because now he has to live with the mortification of having gotten shot for this goddamn doctor for the rest of his life

[fleursial]

[finnestra]

Some ryan gosling character charts because you truly can't have too many.

[goslings-girlx]

RYAN GOSLING MOVIE RADAR!

Hello, honey buns! I have searched high and far to bring you EVERY RYAN GOSLING MOVIE at the moment that is FREE TO STREAM!

YOUTUBE :

Song To Song (2017)

Half Nelson (2006)

Lars And The Real Girl (2007)

The Big Short (2015)

Stay (2005)

NETFLIX :

All Good Things (2010)

The Gray Man (2022)

La La Land (2016)

HOOPLA :

Fracture (2007)

The Slaughter Rule (2003)

ROKU :

The Believer (2002)

Only God Forgives (2013)

DISNEY+ :

Remember The Titans

————————————————————————————————————————

Now, streaming services often let go and add new movies to there platforms so this can be updated if you guys would like me to! (Btw Lalaland was just added to Netflix today + Blade Runner was just taken OFF of Disney+ a week ago T_T)

[stupidfuckingwindow]

I'd like to go to Walmart with him

[redmarch07]

I have a problem with suddenly disappear... but today i bring you the drawing i did for my phonecase :D

Lots of mini goslings :3

[gcslingss]

in your arms | julian thompson.

summary: you're tired. you trust julian to help you say goodbye.

pairing: julian thompson x gn!reader

warnings: blood, stabbing, stab wound, graphic yet abstract descriptions of violence, suicidal thoughts, sort-of suicide

word count: 453

notes: shitty days bring the best out of writer me huh - also this is very dark, and super-depressing, please read at your own discretion

Julian’s hands had been on your waist the entire time you kissed his face.

“Relax,” you had said. He only let one hand fall to his side.

You cupped his face in your hands, softly touching his cheek with your thumb, gazing at him with teary eyes.

“You’re so pretty,” you said, smiling. “I love you, Jules.”

He didn’t say anything. He just placed his hand over yours, pressing a kiss on your palm. Then he held it tight.

“I feel sleepy,” you lazily mumbled.

You removed one of your arms from around his neck, and reached for the knife on your side, slipping it into Julian’s free hand.

His eyes flickered to the blade, the neon red light of the room reflecting off it. 

He looked fearful. 

“Please, sweetheart,” you murmured, and he looked at you with his apprehensive blue eyes.

“Don’t make me do this,” His voice was so absolutely low. “Please.”

You smiled, but you couldn’t stop the tear from falling. “I asked first, Jules.”

“Don’t-“

“Julian.”

He ceased to talk. His chest heaved with a shaky breath.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said flatly, the smile disappearing from your lips. “I’m done.”

You kissed him softly, and said against his mouth, “Just do it.”

He stared at you for so long, then slowly nodded.

You closed your eyes and kept your head on his shoulder, settling yourself better on his lap. The sleeping pills were doing their job, and you were close to becoming fully unconscious.

“Quick,” you whispered.

The knife felt cool against your clothed stomach, but you didn’t flinch, knowing you were safe in Julian’s arms.

The tip of the blade waited above your belly button.

He hesitated. 

He had agreed to this, he thought.

You had trusted him.

An unidentifiable feeling grew tight in his chest when he pushed the knife and watched it sink through your flesh into your stomach, and he could feel your ragged breath against his neck, hot and afraid. his grip on the knife nearly faltered.

Blood gushed through, drenching his shirt and hands in a deep crimson that glowed in the lights. It looked almost ethereal, an image from the wonderous depths of hell. 

You weren’t breathing anymore.

His trembling, bloodsoaked hand pulled away from the handle of the knife, and as he stared at it, his lungs began to feel taut, his fingertips felt like they were on fire. A warm tear rolled down his cheek.

Carefully, he slung an arm over your shoulder, and cradled you in his arms.

He watched your lifeless form for so long, hoping you would move, blink, wake up.

.

.

It had been 2 hours. The tears were still pouring.

[ken-dom]

Short Stories: Driver

Driver x Julian Thompson - 500 words

Driver x Luke Glanton - 620 words

Driver x Lars Lindstrom - 900 words

Summary: Three universes, three ships, three times Driver got to cum

Warnings/content: nsfw, masturbation, dry humping, cumming untouched, hammer play, use of restraints, glove kink, making out

Driver x Julian Thompson

Julian shuddered at the cool metal of the hammer’s claw against his cheek. In equal measures, he wanted the man stood before him to smash his restrained hands to smithereens or to fuck him. But Driver would never hurt him. Not really. And he knew he didn’t deserve the second option. This scenario was a good way to meet in the middle.

He watched closely as Driver perched on the edge of the bed, midriff showing just above his jeans where his jacket had ridden up. Julian swallowed hard at that, and he almost choked when Driver took the hammer and dragged it slowly, deliberately, over the growing bulge in his own jeans.

Driver didn’t moan at the friction, but Julian saw his breath hitch in his chest as it dragged over his clothed cock.

His free hand, still gloved, popped open the fastening of his trousers and slid teasingly slowly beneath the waistband of his underwear. His head dropped back and Julian’s jaw clenched, his own trousers suddenly far too tight. Julian wanted to see Driver’s cock, but he wouldn’t ask.

And he didn’t need to; Driver shifted his underwear down and pulled his cock out, thick and long and dripping with precum, trickling down over his gloves, turning the tan a darker brown where it pooled.

Julian’s hips bucked involuntarily and he silently chastised himself for it, training his focus on the way Driver’s hand was moving so gracefully over his length, stroking softly, and trying not to imagine how those hands might feel on him.

He wanted that. God, right now he wanted it more than anything. And Driver looked so good bathed in the red neon, his hair becoming tousled as he chased his pleasure, his intense gaze on Julian becoming heated.

Driver’s head fell forward, the hammer he had been holding tightly banging heavily to the floor with a dull thud as he gripped desperately onto the bed sheets instead.

Julian watched in awe as Driver spilled completely, thick creamy seed bright against the dark leather of his glove, and dripping down onto his jeans. Julian wondered whether the stain would still be there next time. Driver didn’t seem to mind the blood stain on the bottom of his jacket, after all.

With a relieved exhale, Driver stood, hastily tucking himself back into his jeans with a hiss as the cloth of his underwear grazed his softening, sensitive cock. He smoothed his clean glove through his mussed hair, wiping the other on the corner of the bedsheets before collecting his hammer from the floor and flexing his fingers around it.

Julian was flushed hot, not that Driver would be able to tell in this light, and feeling desperate. He managed to restrain himself from making any sound, despite the overwhelming urge to beg.

Driver tilted his head, gazing at Julian for a moment, silent and unreadable as ever, then turned and left, Julian still tied to the chair, aching and leaking into his underwear.

————————————————————————

Driver x Luke Glanton

Luke’s hands were as big as Drivers, that was clear to see. But while Driver had strong mechanic’s hands, Lukes, what with regularly squeezing around his motorcycle handlebars, were stronger.

They wrapped around Driver’s wrists with ease, pinning both his arms up above his head against the side of the trailer.

Driver was desperately breathless from the bruising kiss they’d just shared, cock straining in his jeans, and Luke noticed, smirking as he eyed him.

‘Sensitive, aren’t you,’ Luke drawled, leaning back in for a slightly more gentle kiss that made Driver’s head spin.

Luke thought he heard a whine, but it was so quiet he couldn’t be sure. Still, it stirred deep within his core, the familiar heat of arousal pulling at his cock, too.

With one last glance up and down Driver’s strong but skinny frame, he dove forward, licking a warm stripe up Driver’s neck and grinding against his stunt companion with a measured and deliberate roll of his hips, rutting faster as bliss spread through him.

Driver was losing control, squirming against the cool metal, weak in Luke’s grasp and driving him crazy with arousal.

Luke moaned, loud and unrestrained, their clothed cocks throbbing at the friction.

‘Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum in my pants- fuck,’ Luke muttered against Driver’s cheek, dipping back down to nip at his throat.

Those words sent a thrill through Driver’s body. He hadn’t actually done anything other than melt like putty in Luke’s warm hands, allow himself to be pressed against a trailer and writhe pathetically while Luke humped him.

Dizzy at the thought, his head dropped into the crook of the petty blonde’s neck and with a loud, shaky gasp, he came hard, filling his underwear with a release so forceful it shook his entire body, rocking the trailer with them.

‘Oh, that’s it baby, cum for me,’ Luke panted huskily, feeling his own climax fast approaching.

Driver dropped weakly against the trailer as his orgasm subsided, and Luke released the grip on his wrists, snaking both his arms around his lithe waist to keep him pressed close.

Driver’s fingers bruised against Luke’s thighs, his twitching, softening cock sensitive against the rough fabric still sliding rapidly against it.

‘Mmh,’ Luke moaned, his eyes on Driver’s handsome, fucked out face, ‘oh, fuck, yes-’

And as promised, he came in his pants, a rough growl vibrating through Driver’s core, causing a whimper to escape his parted lips.

Luke gradually slowed to a stop before kissing Driver again with the softest, most languid kiss he’d ever received.

‘Hey, I didn’t hurt you did I?’ Luke worried as he pulled away, stepping back and allowing Driver to gasp for some much needed air.

He didn’t answer, he just watched as Luke picked up each of his wrists in those big, strong, tattooed, hands and tenderly massaged where he’d gripped them hard before.

Driver felt a tear threatening his eyes and clenched his jaw, just about managing to keep it inside as Luke reached around to his lovers back pocket, pulling out the leather gloves he’d seen him stash there on the walk back here, and carefully slipping each one onto his hands for him, cupping his cheek with a warm palm when he was done. Driver leant into the touch so easily, Luke chuckled.

‘Don’t be a stranger, alright?’ Luke smiled, winking and after another look up and down, disappeared into his trailer.

Driver caught his breath and gathered himself. He knew he would be back again for sure. And not just to practise motorcycle stunts.

No, next time, he wanted to get inside that trailer. To wrap his hands around Luke, maybe… around that stupid Heartthrob tattoo decorating his throat. The one he couldn't stop thinking about.

————————————————————————

Driver x Lars Lindstrom

Driver leaned back against the porch, one knee bent as he propped his foot against the slightly flaky white cladding behind him.

Lars had wanted to light a fire for the evening, ever the romantic, and Driver felt an instant thrill run through him at the thought of watching him prepare it.

When Lars watched Driver work on a car at the garage after hours, he had this mesmerised, glazed over look in his eyes, and it was always so easy for Driver to make him sing afterwards, loud whimpers and gasping moans echoing the empty garage as his oil coated hands worked Lars over just how he liked it.

Tonight, the roles were reversed.

Lars was strong, stronger than even he realised. But Driver had noticed. Lars didn’t appear particularly athletic, but his grip was strong and his arms were powerful.  So it was simple: the promise of watching Lars chop wood was just too good to pass up on.

Lars’s first brawny swing of the wood cutter had Driver heaving out a shaky exhale, his fingers clenching into tight fists as his eyes trained on Lars’s every movement.

The sharp edge of the blade splitting the wood in two made his breath catch in his throat. There was a split second that Driver imagined Lars using it for more violent purposes, and his cock stirred at that, too.

Lars continued with ease; he’d done this a thousand times, and it didn’t seem out of the ordinary to him at. His wood chopping tool didn’t seem exciting in the least either. But then, how many cars had Driver worked on without thinking a thing of it, until Lars came along and changed his perspective for good.

Another log severed so seamlessly, and Driver felt his arousal building, almost chewing his toothpick in two. His cock was strained against the zipper of his jeans and he flexed his fingers again, needing to relieve the ache but as enticing as the thought of getting off to this delicious view was, now wasn’t the right time. He needed to see Lars build the fire for him, see his ease and confidence in the mundane task laced with amorous intentions. For him. All of this was for him.

He bit his lips together and looked away, suppressing a moan.

When he lifted his head, Lars had collected the logs under one arm, waving innocently at Driver with the other.

‘I’m done!’ he called.

Driver plucked the toothpick from between his teeth and tossed it to the ground, following as casually as he could muster back to Lars’s garage, his cock throbbing each time he took a step, the coarse fabric of his jeans rubbing up against it through his underwear.

Once inside, he made a beeline for the bed and perched on the edge, shaking off his jacket and folding it over his lap to disguise his arousal.

Lars got to work with the tiny log burner in the corner, but everything turned hazy for Driver. The fire seemed to have roared into life in the blink of an eye, images of Lars’s delicate fingers caressing the logs as he placed them almost lovingly on the grate flashing between each pump of precum from his cock.

‘Ah, much better,’ Lars muttered to himself as he admired his work and warmed his hands in front of the flames. He sat beside Driver and smiled nervously before resting his head against the leaner man’s shoulder.

Driver tried to force his breath even, but it wasn’t easy. Why did Lars have to be so soft? Always so kind and tender? It was dizzying at times like this.

Lars’s cheeks began to glow red soon enough, and he sat up to pull off his sweater, two layers of thermal underclothes still clinging to him, that, along with his newly messed up hair, made Driver’s heart leap.

Lars sensed the desire radiating from Driver and tentatively leaned in, pressing his lips carefully to his lovers, both of them leaning back until Driver was laid beneath Lars, their tongues sliding together slowly and sensually.

The heat of the fire and the weight of Lars and the way he’d displayed his strength so easily as though it was nothing, the way he’d wanted a romantic evening and would be happy with just kissing and cuddling and falling asleep together made Driver’s heart race.

He let out a hungry little mewl, muffled in Lars’s mouth, and Lars shifted above him, his thigh pressed deliciously against Driver’s cock, and that’s all it took.

Driver’s back arched off the bed, chest pressing up against Lars’s as he emptied his pent up arousal, cock throbbing through his release, aching for touch but satisfied enough with a drawn out climax that made his toes curl in his boots.

He hoped Lars wouldn’t notice. He was the one who made Lars weak at the knees, and it felt so alien yet so safe. He was sure Lars wouldn’t mind – he might even like it. But he didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere Lars had put effort into cultivating, so he kept it to himself.

Lars knew immediately, of course, having learned Driver’s body fast and eagerly. He felt a stir between his own thighs, but this wasn’t about him, so he curled up beside his sated Driver, resting against his chest, wrapping a comforting arm around his middle and drawing lazy patterns into his exposed midriff as they drifted off to sleep.

[drivinmeinsane]

Happy winter everyone! Welcome to my 12 Days of Goosemas masterlist for 2023. This is a collection of twelve fanfictions all under two thousand words each and all pertaining to characters played by Ryan Gosling. Not all of these works are directly intended to be Christmas themed, but they are all set in the month of December and have some seasonal vibes!

My local timezone is GMT-6. The twelve fics will be posted starting December 12th at midnight and will continue through to December 24th.

A huge thanks to @danime25 for embarking on this journey with me by taking up her own 12 Days of Goosemas collection.

{ Hot Chocolate }※ Officer K / Reader ※ {ao3)

{ Christmas Movie } ※ Driver / Ken ※ {ao3}

{ Winter Break }※ Henry Letham / Reader {ao3}

{ Snow }※ Sierra Six / Reader ※ {ao3}

{ Holiday Party }※ Julian Thompson / Reader ※ {ao3} 18+

{ Decorating }※ Sebastian Wilder / Reader ※ {ao3}

{ Alone }※ Driver / Reader ※ {ao3}

{ Lights } ※ Holland March / Jackson Healy ※ {ao3}

{ Cookies } ※ Driver / Ken ※ {ao3} 18+

{ Snowstorm } ※ Colt Seavers / Reader ※ {ao3}

{ New Year }※ Henry Letham / Sam Foster ※ {ao3}

{ Mistletoe } ※ Driver / Reader ※ {ao3} 18+

{NON-SEASONAL MASTERLIST}

[dietcokeangel2004]

Silent Night

NSFW, smut, 18+

The room was painfully silent, the only sound is huffing breath, skin on skin and his sinful groans. He never spoke a word, you did all the talking the whole night and by the time his lips fell to yours it felt like a silent plea for you to shut up even though he shook his head no when you asked him that.

How you ended up in bed with Julian Thompson will forever be a mystery to you.

He was a regular customer at the strip joint you worked at and somehow you quickly became his favourite. Lap dances quickly turned into make out sessions which proceeded into blowjobs in one of the private rooms. You started to take him home roughly 7 months ago when he was severely beat up. It’s become a bit of a regular thing since then.

So tonight was not special, cleaning and dressing his wounds and having something for supper while watching tv. The cold hard truth is you’ve been wanting to kiss him for awhile but every time he seems so engorged in the tv show that you can’t seem to catch him.

But it was different tonight, it was all him tonight. “Would you like to make out?” His quiet husky voice bounces off your living room walls causing you to swivel around to look him in the eye. He had a light blush on his cheeks but looked you dead on. You wasted no time in crawling into hip lap and licking into his mouth, and that is how you ended up in bed with you begging his to pound your ass.

With you undressed on the bed and him almost fully clothed kneeling behind you, slowly sinking his cock in and out of you until he picked up a pace so brutal it had the headboard banging against the wall. Your insides ached and you tried to plead with him that you were about to cum but he wasn’t planning on slowing down. All you could do was babble incoherently nothing making sense anymore.

“ Julian my god oh god! “

It hit you like a tsunami, drowning you out and he wasn’t far behind. You heard the big groan before you felt the twitch of his cock and he spent himself deep inside of you. He slowly pulled out of the sticky mess to lay you down properly.

Leaving the room he came back with a face cloth to clean you up and followed to join you in bed. You both fell asleep in the once again silent room.

[fleursial]

Do you want shadows on my hands or you want them to be... pure?

[webbo0]

What happens if I don't like it? It's only-

Sierra Six (Courtland Gentry)

AO3

Length: 4,252

Summary: Six goes to a support group to make Claire happy. Senanigans ensue.

In which Six has a sexuality crisis, Ken is a being of pure sunshine, Driver would kill to protect his loved ones, K is tired of everything, Richard and Henry are messy as always, Barbie is intimidating as hell, and Claire was probably right the whole time.

Content/Warning: Sexuality Crisis, PTSD, Brief description of flashbacks/panic attacks, Brief description of abuse, Awkwardness

Authors Note: This all started bc I thought too hard about how Lloyd never unearthed every man or woman Six ever slept with and I concluded that he's asexual (bc I say so lol). Then he joined the group of goose boys I also headcanon as ace and, well, this happened.

Title is from "It's Only Sex" by Car Seat Headrest bc Jesus Christ that song hits HARD

Shoutout to the Goosecord as always, especially @ken-f-cker and @hollandstrophyhusband for beta-reading!!

Six had jumped off of high rises and not even blinked. He’d gone undercover in every major mob without even a raise in his heart rate. Hell, he’d even gotten shot multiple times and only huffed in annoyance. But this? Knocking on the non-descript doors of a high school gym? It was enough to make him want to turn tail and run for the exit, memories of awkward teenage years and repressed childish fears nipping at his heels.

He steadies his heart by telling himself he’s doing this for Claire. As student body president, she was aware of the multiple support groups that used the school’s gym after hours and had insisted he join one.

(“Setting aside the fact that you desperately need someone to talk to in your life, it’s a good look for me if my Da- Guardian participates in school functions, even if it’s after hours.”

Claire stood with one hand on her hip, the other firmly shoved in Six’s face with a paper containing a list of social groups. He didn’t let his face show the flip-flop his heart does at her almost-slip-up.

“For the love of god, I’m not lonely , how many times are we going over this? I’m literally trained to be alone!”

“I’m tired of you brooding all over the house all the time, you need to go talk to other adults that aren’t the delivery guy or that old lady who runs the laundromat.”

“Claire it isn’t safe for me to be out in public, you know this. One slip up and Carmichael or his cronies come for us both”

“I’m not asking you to go on live television , Six, the groups are literally just in the school gym and you drop me off there every day anyways. You need to get a life.”

Eventually, he chose the Gender, Sexuality, and Alternative Lifestyles and Families Support Group. Lord knows his “family” certainly isn’t exactly typical.)

Six takes a deep breath,  then knocks on the door. The group starts in half an hour so the gym doors are closed still, but he wanted to get there early to do a complete surveillance check (can’t have any wannabe Lloyds finding Claire). He hears a Very excited voice from the other side of the door yell out.

 “Be right there!”

A second later the doors swing open to reveal possibly the most energetic man Six has ever met. This guy has platinum blonde hair, an outfit straight from Malibu, and a bigger grin than Six thought was physically possible. The man sticks out his hand for a handshake.

“Hi, I’m Ken! Are you here for GSALFS?”

Six blinks, then composes himself, shock from this man's exuberance still clinging to his nerves. The man in front of him - Ken - was definitely not a threat, but in Six’s history, when people had been excited to meet him, it usually spelled trouble. He grabs Ken's hand.

“Yes, I know I’m early, but I wanted to get here with time to fill out any forms if I needed to.”

He’s not fully lying, he knows he’ll have to join a sign-up sheet or something, but really he’s here early to carefully scan the entire interior of the gym; both to assess his safety at this meeting and Claire’s safety in general. Can never be too careful.

Ken nods his head and opens the doors wider to let Six in.

“Well, you’re in luck! We just set up the chairs so I’ll give you the forms now while we set up the food, that way you can grab a bite once you’re done!”

He beams as if this is the best news he’s ever announced. Six would be irritated if it wasn't so begrudgingly cute. They both walk in and Six takes the time to scan the room, noting entry points, hiding spots, anything that would be useful in an emergency. Ken quite literally bounces away, returning only a moment later with a clipboard and a pen. Six takes them, quirking an eyebrow at the feathery pink pen attached to the forms, and nods a thank you at Ken.

“If you have any questions about what to fill out just ask, most things are optional but the more details you fill out the better, it’ll help us group you with the right people!”

Six scans the form. There’s basic information, name, age, pronouns (don’t see that every day), how did you find out about the group, etc. He pauses briefly at “preferred name”. Six might not be his legal name, but then again legally he didn’t exist anymore. And “Courtland” felt wrong coming from people's mouths now. He just puts “Six” down as his preferred name and leaves the other line blank, hoping no one makes a fuss about it. 

He moves on. He has no emergency contact and almost scoffs at the “triggers to avoid” line. Like he would give anyone anything that could compromise him.

Then there’s the next part of the form. 

“What group would you like to join today? If unsure, here is a list describing each group”

Alternative Lifestyles and Families is explained first. Apparently, it means more “people in polyamorous relationships, people in the Kink/BDSM world, etc.” and less “on the run from the CIA and most other major government organizations with a newly acquired teenager who’s the niece of your now-deceased ex-handler”. Whoops.

Not wanting to waste the trip out (or risk Claire’s wrath), he looks at the other options.

Gender identity is irrelevant to him, he’s never questioned being a man, but Sexuality? Six pauses again.

He never had crushes as a kid, on girls OR boys, and he went to prison too early to have any sort of normal teen experimental phase. Sure, he’s hooked up with women (and occasionally men) while in training or between missions, but those were mostly due to peer pressure or simply stress relief. Does he… know his sexuality?

Ken must see his frozen confused face because he subtly hands him another form after glancing at where he’s stuck on the paper.

“If you’re unsure of where you fit in here, this might help clarify a few things.”

Six sheepishly takes the new form. It’s some sort of self-assessment, questions and answers that tally up to different identities. Skeptically, he fills it out.

“Who have you felt romantic attraction to in the past?” 

Mostly the same gender

Mostly the opposite gender

Both opposite and same gender

Neither opposite nor same gender

Six blinks. Romantic? Is that different from other attractions? And “Neither” is an option? He circles “D”

“Who have you felt sexual attraction to in the past?” 

Mostly the same gender

Mostly the opposite gender

Both opposite and same gender 

Neither opposite nor same gender

Six circles “D” again, more confident this time. He continues through the quiz and finally adds up the numbers. He has 2 results.

“Based on your results, you match best with Asexual . Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others, or low or absent interest in or desire for sexual activity. It may also be categorized more widely, to include a broad spectrum of asexual sub-identities.”

And the second.

“Based on your results you match best with Aromantic. Aromanticism is a romantic orientation characterized by experiencing little to no romantic attraction.”

Six blinks. Then rereads the descriptions. That’s… a thing? He isn’t just broken or built wrong? The words slot into a place in his heart, filling a void he had ignored for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. Asexual. Aromantic. There are words to describe who he is and an entire community around them. He suppresses this newfound sexuality crisis for later; right now he has to bare his soul to strangers or something.

He hands the forms back to Ken who’s still arranging the (extremely sugary) snacks. Ken looks over the forms and smiles widely.

“Well Hello Six! It’s nice to put a name to the face! And I’m glad the quiz helped clarify things for you. The Ace group could use a new face, they’re always so existential.”

Ken pulls a sticker pad from seemingly nowhere and hands it to Six.

“Here, put whatever you want to be called on this, and pick some pronoun stickers, however many you want. If you want to add any we don’t have, just write them down on the nametag!”

Six groans internally at the nametag. He’s not used to people readily being able to identify who he is. Part of being the Gray Man was being untraceable. But he shakes the thought out of his head. Those days are over (hopefully). Now he’s just a paren- guardian taking an interest in his child’s community. He takes a breath, steadying his resolve. He once flew a helicopter one-handed through a snowstorm while escaping Siberia. He can deal with talking about himself for a couple of hours.

He thanks Ken and writes down “Six” on the purple, black, gray, and white name tag, adding a “he/him” sticker to it. He hands them back to Ken who is now on the phone, talking animatedly to someone. (No way it’s with someone named Barbie. He must’ve misheard.)

He sticks the nametag on and picks a chair in the back of the room (close to the nearest exit, with plenty of improvisable weapons close by) to sit down on and watch everyone slowly trickle into the room. He takes note of all of them, assessing their appearance, demeanor, and threat level.

A blonde man in a white jacket and driving gloves, holding hands with both a blonde woman in a sundress and a Latino man with a shaved head and work clothes. The woman and shorter man greet Ken with a hug and lively words, but the blonde man just smiles at him,

A bleach blonde man in biker gear with tattoos peaking out wherever skin shows and a sad smile that hides the slight edge of danger Six senses from him. Six identifies several prison tats but doesn’t judge. He might even have matching ones. 

A brunette in a perfectly tailored suit and immaculate grooming who greets Ken with a kiss on both cheeks

Two women, one feminine and one masculine who enter in a heated debate but holding hands

A dirty blonde man in a suit who only stops humming some old jazz song to greet Ken

A thicker, nervous-looking man in a winter coat (why?) with a nicely trimmed mustache who doesn’t do the usual hug-greeting with Ken but still waves at him

A silent, almost vacant-faced man with an eyebrow slit, who refuses to make eye contact with anyone

Three people that Six honestly couldn’t tell if they were male or female (he chastises himself for thinking in binary terms in a group literally about gender diversity, but hey, it's habit)

Two men, one with a trashy mustache goatee combo and a cast, the other with a harsh face and slicked back hair, both looking like they stepped straight out of the ’70s

A greasy-looking kid with long hair falling over his face that must be old enough to join the (18+) group, but only barely

A model-gorgeous woman and younger-looking person who both are dressed like they stepped out of a catalog and who greet Ken with squeals of excitement and kisses before helping him with some last-minute preparations (must be the co-runners of the group)

A tall built man with blonde highlights and a goofy grin to counter the muscles Six can make out from under his tight t-shirt. Six would consider him the biggest threat in the room if not for how clumsy he seems and the last person to enter.

The last man is perfectly nondescript (as if on purpose), but Six can feel that he’s…different. Military haircut, scars peeking out of his long overcoat, perfect posture, perfectly neutral face, and most condemning, he's subtly scanning the room for threats. The same way Six had. Six tenses slightly, on edge but no alarm bells are going off in his head because this guy doesn’t give off any aggressive vibes. If anything he’s acting… submissively? He’s acting strange either way.

Done with his threat assessment he turns his attention back to Ken and the two others that have joined him at the front of the room. Ken claps his hands to gather attention, exuberant smile never wavering.

“Hello everyone, and Welcome to GSALFS! For our newcomers who aren’t familiar with how this works, on your entry form you indicated which group or groups would be best suited to your needs, and that’s who you’ll be talking to tonight. If you fit into multiple groups don’t worry! You can choose another one to join next week. Take a look at your nametag and sit in the circle with the flag that matches the colors. We try to stay on topic during discussions but encourage the conversation to flow naturally. Have fun!”

Six looks at his nametag colors and searches the room for the chair circle with the corresponding flag, smiling a bit when he sees that it’s towards the back of the gym, right next to an exit. He grabs a snack (giving in to his sweet tooth) and makes his way to the chair with the best view of the room. He sits and takes in the other people arriving. 

The man in the white jacket and gloves sits first and Six examines his expression further. He seems calm, if not a bit aloof, but Six can tell that underneath the boyish looks and gentle face, something is hiding. His name tag is… blank? Is that allowed? The man still has pronoun stickers (he/they), but instead of a name he just has a crude doodle of a car. The “car man” (or whatever his name is) nods his head as the next person sits. 

The second man has short, cropped hair, an eyebrow slit, and the build of a boxer. He has none of the swagger of a fighter though, instead moving slowly, as if in a dream. Unlike the man in the white jacket’s calm, composed expression, this man’s face is entirely blank. He doesn’t nod his head back in greeting, instead slowly raising a hand in a halted wave. His name tag reads “Julian” in scratchy handwriting and he also has a “he/him” sticker.

Six watches curiously as the two men start gesturing to each other in presumably sign language. Their hand movements are slow, but he can see the man in the jacket quirk up the corner of his lip, and the other man’s shoulders seem to untense a little as they communicate. They keep “conversing” and Six is desperately trying to remember the little ASL he knows when the third man approaches.

Six straightens up automatically. The military (?) man walks up and Six knows for a fact now that he’s not a civilian. The man walks with precision, every step calculated and efficient. Six is bigger than this man, but the tight shirt under his coat lets him know that this other guy is nothing but muscle. He can’t help himself (the CIA drilled situational awareness into the fiber of his being); he does a quick room scan. There are 3 major exits, 2 potential ambush spots, 23 potential weapons within a couple of steps, and 42 ways to defend himself (both lethally and non-lethally) if he needs to. The newest group member sits down with his hands resting perfectly on his thighs (huh, interesting) and Six takes the opportunity to read his nametag. 

“K”. That's it. Okay then. Not like Six can judge someone for not using their real name. K makes eye contact and Six, never one to back down from a challenge, locks his eyes right back at him. The other man isn't combative, but he isn’t backing down either. Six crosses his arms. K blinks, and a slight twitch of amusement flits across his lip, but his gaze never wavers. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Julian and Car Guy have stopped signing at each other and are waving at K, probably saying Hi. K waves back, eyes still fixed on Six, and Six could huff out of annoyance if the double doors don’t creak open at that exact minute.

 A slightly scrawny-looking blonde kid no older than 20 with a smarmy-looking grin slips in, presumably late to the meeting. Six darts his eyes toward the sudden movement, then immediately curses himself for seemingly backing down in front of a potential threat.

K smirks (granted, it’s not unkindly), and turns his head to greet the other two men in the circle. He signs something at Julian and Six quickly realizes he either will need someone to translate for him, or he needs to start taking ASL lessons if he wants to communicate in this group effectively. Thankfully, when K turns to Car Guy, he speaks aloud, breaking the silence that had settled over the group. His voice is soft, steady, and deliberate. As if he thought over each word individually before speaking.

“Did Standard or Irene draw that this time, Driver?” he asks, gesturing to the name tag with the car doodle on it. 

Was this guy’s name Driver? Ah well, again, not like Six could judge. His name is just a goddamn number.

Driver lets a shy smile creep onto their face.

“Benicio. He wanted to feel included.”

Julian finds this amusing, letting his facial features relax a bit. (Maybe he’s not deaf? Or he can lip read- but no, he hasn’t looked at anyone's face yet. Just mute?)

“Friend of yours draw that?” Six asks, trying to be friendly.

Driver’s smile lessens at his words and Six suspects he may be unwelcome in this apparently tight-knit group that’s formed.

“Kid, actually.”

“Oh, you have a kid?” 

He really is just trying to break the ice, he swears. But Six can see Driver’s jaw clench, his gloved fists tightening, and he realizes he chose the exact wrong thing to ask this man. Casually, he moves his arm towards his waistband, not liking the alarm bells this guy is setting off. K must notice what he’s doing, and, muscles tensing, he reaches for his waistband. Julian notices the energy shift as well, but he’s not poised to defend himself, instead, his head is hung low, and he’s slightly trembling. 

Six takes a breath and before he can dart for the exit, a shout cuts through the quiet gym, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“What the FUCK are YOU doing here?!”

He nearly draws and fires right then and there, but it’s immediately obvious the yelling isn’t directed at him.

The greasy, long-haired kid is standing right in the face of the blonde guy who slipped in late to the meeting. He has tears in his eyes as he pokes the chest of the shorter guy, who looks nervous but isn’t backing down. 

“You really think you can just show up here like nothing happened? How fucking stupid do you think I am , Richard?”

All eyes in the room are on the two men arguing. The tatted guy Six eyed earlier is glaring at Richard with his hand in his pocket, and Six can tell he’s fidgeting with some kind of knife. The mustached man in the winter coat looks close to tears himself, and the equally broad but muscular guy with highlights is gently soothing him. The two men in suits (one immaculately groomed and the other that had been humming Jazz) exchange glances, vaguely amused by whatever drama is being played out.

“You blocked me everywhere, how else was I supposed to talk to you?” Richard’s words are just as angry, but he slowly backs up as the taller man stalks towards him.

“Obviously you weren’t supposed to talk to me.”

Across from Six, K sighs, slumping back into his chair, while Driver rolls his eyes.

“Henry, come on, you’re overreacting, I never-”

“I’m OVERREACTING?!”

“Okay, let's all take a breath before we do anything we might regret,” Ken interjects, stepping between the two men and placing a (surprisingly muscular) arm on each of their chests to keep them apart. “That includes you, Luke”

The tatted man — Luke — scoffs but stops twirling his knife in his pocket.

“Now Richard” Ken starts, turning to the seething blonde, “you know you’re on probation from this group, let’s calm down and talk about this outside”.

Richard seems like he’s going to protest until the blonde woman who helped Ken earlier steps up. 

“Either you and Ken talk things out together outside or you and I can. Your choice.”

A flash of nervousness flits across Richard's face, but he grumbles out a “Fine” and lets Ken escort him out, muttering the whole way.

The tension in the room dissipates.

Six lets himself relax slightly, the brewing conflict between him and the other group members now forgotten in the chaos. K seems weary, Driver looks vaguely irritated, and Julian-

Julian is still frozen in place, trembling, eyes somehow more distant than before.

Six frowns.

“Is he OK?”

Driver’s face hardens again, but before Six can ready himself for the venom about to be spat in his direction, Driver turns to Julian and softens. He takes one of Julian's hands, squeezing softly before gently rubbing a gloved thumb over his skin.

Six isn’t an idiot (despite Claire’s insistence). 

He’s seen plenty of guys have panic attacks in prison or even full-on flashbacks during CIA training. For a moment he recalls the countless nights in his cell, unable to breathe from the crushing weight in his chest, he feels himself being restrained and berated by his commander for blacking out and mistaking an officer for the enemy because he beat him just like his dad would-

Six squeezes his eyes shut for a beat.

Inhales.

Exhales.

Not now. He can flashback all he wants later when he’s not in front of a bunch of strangers.

Distraction time.

He turns to K, who’s staring at Julian mournfully. He clears his throat.

“Ahem. So, uhhhh, what was that whole fight thing about? Richard and Henry, was it?”

K hesitates, but when he notices Six dart his eyes pointedly at Julian and Driver, pursing his lips, he nods almost imperceptibly and slowly opens his mouth to explain.

Good. If he is ex-military or whatever like Six suspects, he probably gets it too.

“Richard and Henry, yeah,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed.

“They met at this high school and started dating in college. Henry has a history of… Issues.” 

(He’s trying to be gracious, Six can tell) 

“Richard exploited Henry’s, uh, instability , convincing him he'd never hurt him. Then Richard’s best friend lets Henry know Richard’s been cheating on him the entire time with him and even sends him a videotape of it. Apparently, Richard secretly records all his ‘conquests’.”

K’s lip curls in disgust.

“Anyways, Henry was shattered, and word got back to Barbie, Ken, and Allan. I’ve never seen them so angry before; Ken had to calm them down before Allan got into another fight they couldn’t win, or before Barbie eviscerated him.” K smirks.

Allan must be the other person running the group, but then — 

“Wait, hang on, they’re actually Barbie and Ken? Are those just stage-names or…?”

K smirks again and Six can hear Driver huff out what could be a laugh next to him.

“Yeah, everyone has that realization once they join. I swear those are their real names. Apparently, they were raised together too?” K shrugs.

“Huh, wild. But yeah, that Richard kid seems like an asshole.”

K chuckles and Driver lets out another huff of laughter. Julian exhales an almost-giggle and signs something that makes Driver honest-to-god snort , while K has to put a hand over his mouth to cover his slowly widening grin.

Six’s grin falters a bit, wishing once again he had paid better attention to his ASL lessons during training.

“Sorry. I, uh, I don’t know signs all that well,” he admits, flushing with embarrassment.

Julian just nods and before any other group members can interpret for him, he opens his mouth and translates for himself in a cracked voice:

“Bitchard.”

Driver snorts again, hiding his head in his shoulder.

“He’s not wrong.” K smiles.

Six takes a breath. Biting the bullet (heh), he extends his hand out to K for a handshake.

“We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Six.” 

K takes his hand. His grip is strong but not too tight, the kind of handshake businessmen swoon over. 

“K,” he replies.

He elbows Driver slightly, who nudges him back, as if irritated, but he still turns toward Six. He hesitates, then sticks out his gloved hand. Six takes it, more gently, and is surprised that his grip is almost as strong as K’s. Driver’s shoulders tense, but he relaxes them and flashes Six a small smile.

“Nice to meet you”

He doesn’t introduce himself, but K calls him Driver and he responds, so that’s what Six’ll stick with.

Julian doesn’t extend a hand, but he does bring his head up to look at Six’s face. No eye contact, but Six is just flattered the man trusts him enough to even just look at him. He doesn’t say anything but nods his head in greeting. Six nods back, smiling.

Maybe Claire was right. It was nice to feel like he belonged.

[uncleclam]

Spoiler / only god forgives / art

Armless julian yall

[stupidfuckingwindow]

Drown // Julian Thompson

Word count: 695 (I swear this wasn't on purpose.)

Tw: Mention of Julian's BITCH mother and her potentially berating the reader. NSFW, afab reader. This is very horny. Slight angst if you squint.

Notes: There isn't nearly enough writing for Julian. I need him I fear.

He can't stop thinking about you. You've plagued the mind of Julian for months, now. He sees you everyday, lingering amongst the crowd and checking up on him when it's not even required of you. You stood up to his mother, weren't run off by her bitter words or put off by the venom in her tone. You might just be the only person he knows who doesn't hate him just for being born, the only person he hasn't had to buy to stay.

Some part of him hates the attention, expects to be talked down to and expects you to refuse him pleasure. The only validation he's had that wasn't malicious came from your lips, and it's pavloved him into constantly thinking about you. Another part of him wants to drop to it's knees, feel you carnally or have his breath hit your shoulder from behind.

Julian wants to mold his hands to your hips, pull you against him and bite into your skin. Lick your wounds like a dog and lap up the metallic blood that mixes with the salt of your sweat. To taste you, see you closer and bury his nose in the crook of your neck to smell you. To assure himself that you're staying will all seven of his senses.

And, now that he's in the position to do so, he takes his desires into consideration for the first time. His hands pry your thighs apart, and his fingers squeeze your flesh, feeling you.

His tongue trails a stripe up your body in order to taste you. Your skin is so fucking smooth against him that he has to let out a groan. He feels the erection straining against the front of his jeans, but he doesn't give it any current thought. His eyes flutter upward towards your face, seeing you in the closest he ever has before.

He hears your breath hitch, shaky sighs leaving your throat and quiet curses. Your warmth is comforting to him, and he's convinced he wants to stay between your thighs for eternity, just so he'll feel wanted.

You'd trusted him enough to let him settle here, hadn't protested when he had pulled your legs apart so he could be closer to you. You're vulnerable, while he's still fully clothed. And, just this once, he wants to share pleasure with you. If you're vulnerable, so too can Julian be.

His lips find your clit, first. Julian's eyes never leave your face as he starts to unbutton his jeans. One hand keeps your thighs from closing while the other works down the zipper of his jeans. He'd already cum earlier, just from a couple of exchanged kisses. Kisses that had meant everything to him- you want him just as much as he wants you.

Julian has to momentarily detach his mouth from your cunt to pull off his shirt and remove his jeans, a job that unfortunately requires two hands.

His lips meet yours roughly as he removes his boxers, next. The kiss between the two of you is rushed, passionate. All he has on his mind is you, on finally feeling like a person who's able to be wanted. Every nerve in his body feels like it's frayed, frantic and needy. Your body is finally on his, skin to skin contact made after far too fucking long. And the best part is that you want this. He can't get over that fact, that someone could like being in his presence.

Once he's freed from any clothing, he still isn't worried about himself. He's already cum once, so it's only natural that he focuses on you right now. He slides two fingers into your entrance while the two of you kiss, thumb rubbing rushed circles into your clit. Julian's breath is hot against your lips, and he's almost sure you can hear his heart beating because of the way he sure fucking can.

The sound of it pounds in his ears, but it's just another busy distraction that attempts to draw his attention away from you, only to fall flat and fail. You're all he needs, and Julian is just fine with that fact.