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capslocked · 11 months

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 1

[prompt: against a wall window]

male reader x huh yunjin

5k words

You're not entirely sure where the jacket to your suit has gone.

You know you should know; it’s a rental and you need to return it in a week. But Yunjin told you to take it off, and since then, things have been... a little hazy.

More concerning - or it would be, had Yunjin not also lost some part of her attire - is what her thumbs are hooked into. Like she's peeling out the silhouette to her skin-tight, backless dress - the way she can't keep from leaning against the elevator wall. Your lips have the taste of her red lipstick all over, and her body melts with every little flick of the tip of her tongue against yours, puddles that much further when she feels your fingers curling into the folds of that skin-tight black material.

The motion to push the fabric up and over the rise of her hips is a purposeful kind of thing.

For the past hour, her skirt kept brushing over the fabric of your pants while you went from shaking hands to kissing hands to her placing yours on the hem of her dress, in the quiet space of a balcony the hotel staff had clearly marked as off-limits. A kiss behind the shell of her ear, a suggestion, a shiver.

Now, things are happening in a sort of reverse: from slow and curious, to needing more and wanting less, and suddenly, neither of you want to wait - until her thighs are spread wide apart, with your free hand slid over her smooth thigh, fingers skirting the edges of her lace, cupped over her heat - right, there. The throbbing.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me," is what she's asking.

"Something awful," you reply, but there's only a gasp out of her throat to prove your point. No words.

Just the look: desire clouding over the expression. The not-so-subtle display of want, need. Tongue pressing to lips and tugging along the corner. A moan, two, quieted behind the knuckle she can't quite help putting in her mouth.

You consider shoving her panties down the curve of her thighs and spinning her around - leaving her arms to brace the railing and keeping the dress around her waist while you fuck. Quick, rough.

The mental image is too nice to let it go.

You consider how much she might genuinely prefer to that to whatever she'd had in mind when she suggested you really ought see the view of the city from her room - oh, the skyline, it's gorgeous, she offered, lips tugged into a perfectly practiced little quirk that said: the view of me, on all fours, face down into a mattress as my ass swallows down your cock - I can't wait to have you.

You can feel the thought concrete itself to the base of your skull when you roll the flat of your finger over her clit and start sliding up and down between the lips of her pussy - finding her a little wet already, dripping onto the fabric in the most obvious way. When the elevator stops a few floors shy, you try to play it off by squeezing at her rib cage and tugging the fabric back in place, hiding the tell-tale lines between the fabric, just as Yunjin starts that gentle laugh from the very base of her spine. A real beautiful timbre in its sound.

But things get more muddled, admittedly, when the doors ding and the group on the other side piles through.

There's an exchange of glances, where they're asking if this is allowed, is there enough room, can they make room. One of them, in a dizzyingly plunging, strapless blue number that has you pressing your palm into the small of Yunjin's back just a little more than you have been up to that point, considers, carefully.

"Yunjin," she says, fingers brushing through the fringe of a smart-chic bob, prim cut of jet-black hair.

Yunjin shifts her weight onto the other heel. "Chaewon."

"By the looks of it," she says, and the way she looks you over has all the judgmental verve of an older sister, a real cold stare. "You've got a I'll-be-staying-in-tonight kind of vibe."

A deeper laugh now, rolling out across the backs of her teeth. "If it's all the same to you," is what you hear from her, "it'll be an early night for me."

“Don’t make it a habit,” she tells Yunjin.

“We’re just going to go enjoy the view.”

“Yeah.” Chaewon gives you one final, disapproving expression. “I bet he will.”

The elevator isn't totally silent, not for the subtle hum and whir of machinery. But everything is a lot closer now. Especially your thoughts, the way Yunjin pulls herself closer against you by a hand on the back of your dress shirt - her fingernails mapping the ridge of your spine, finding your hip bone, thumb curving back and forth against the curve of it.

The four girls at the corner are just making chatter in their corner of the lift. They've got a reservation - in name, anyway. If things were as simple as getting from the hotel to the elevator and beyond, no need for the next forty floors to pass at a snail's pace.

In fact, the four have this sort of tense, concentrated way to them that suggests otherwise - like maybe they came all this way and made that sort of promise to have the whole night end the way some things ought: alone.

"Don't stop on account of us," one of them says after a while.

Which is enough to set off this glare into the furl of Yunjin’s brows. Not her friend's intention. But they laugh it off.

When the doors scuttle open, finally, the two of you stumble out, feet not catching up to the rest of you before Yunjin has her fingers around your wrist and drags you out. Her heels - red-bottomed and not entirely flat but definitely a lot less heel-ey than others (she’s tall, she says, it makes her self-conscious), are clacking quick across marble tile until she arrives at the door of her room, pulls her keycard out of her clutch and leans shoulder-first into the door after the click and whir of entry.

She takes a step backward.

The door locks at your back when it's kicked into its frame.

The first thing you notice is her dress: pooled on the floor around the arches of her heels, cast off like a cloak or some overcoat - to be tossed aside once the sun goes down.

"Make a habit out of this, huh?" you ask in an effort to keep yourself busy - gawking's never been a good look on anyone, even with your natural gifts, the glint in your smile, all your charm - but the curves of her body are stunning, curves that start where her thighs begin, wrap around her hips, cut in at her waist, bloom from the perfectly-small-breasts that now are showing their dusky pink nipples, firm and on full display.

All of Yunjin, like this, beneath pale moonlight pouring diffuse through the fish-bowl-glass of her hotel room, is nothing short of an invitation.

A good look, is what you're about to say if you don't come up with anything else.

"You do this kind of thing often?"

"What's that," Yunjin says over the sharp line of a grin.

"What I mean to say is: I hadn't pegged you for the," and you gesture, rather elegantly, with the flop of your wrist, "lure-some-poor-sap-away-from-a-party-and-take-advantage kind of type," before managing something like a genuine laugh. "Not to knock that lifestyle or anything."

"There's not a thing in the world you know about me," is what she offers. Which is, unsurprisingly, totally true, and slightly unfair.

Yunjin is walking toward you while you consider it.

Drifting when she comes around. It's that close. You can smell the warmth of her skin, a whiff of that vanilla, an infuriating softness - the room is dark, but the moon is bright and the city is glowing, reflecting its light and the various hues from neon signs below, outside, until Yunjin stops, standing right in front of you, just, waiting.

Then, the steady rise of an eyebrow that, for a second, feels like a challenge.

“So," you kiss into her lips, and that's the first. "Let me know you."

The second is when her hands slip up and over the back of your neck and you can't keep from reaching for her sides, pulling her closer. Her hips and ass and those fucking gorgeous, full, legs that can't decide which direction to take - until she's pressed, warm, soft, and perfect against your body, and she's sighing this sigh, heavy, a moan.

The third time, she's licking into your mouth, tongue rolling in and around the taste of your own.

"Too many clothes," she murmurs, and you can feel the pull at your half-undone bowtie, the collar to your dress shirt. She's working the buttons off their slots with deft, clever fingers.

"That's what happens when I'm trying to look sharp."

"Sharp, and hot."

"Is it working?"

Her eyes are as dark as the hair framing the smile that plays at the edge of her mouth. "I'm taking your clothes off, aren't I?"

"Mm," you reply, a smirk of your own. Pressed right into her jaw, her neck, the column of her throat, where she tastes sweet and salty. Like the sea and the night. Before you can even ask, with your fingers teasing the elastic of her underwear, I'm guessing you want me to do the same.

Yunjin makes a sound like, mm-hm.

The hotel room is quite standard, which is to say, nice. But, for what it is, it's not too fancy. There's a large, king-size bed with the crispest sheets you've ever felt. A little kitchenette. Some counter space and a fridge. A TV hanging opposite the bed, with an armchair and a love-seat positioned to face the screen.

"Do you want me to tell you what to do?" Yunjin asks, and her voice is low. Almost a husk, a whisper.

"What did you have in mind?" you say to her, and there's a hand on the nape of your neck, a fist of soft, slender fingers wrapping the length of your cock.

"You're going to fuck me until I'm cumming on your cock. You'll get me on my knees, first, though."

"That's the plan?"

"Unless you have another." Yunjin grins, a smile so full and bright and genuine. You don't know anything beyond her name and the perfectly sculpted curve of her ass. She could be anyone, an actress, a singer, a model. A girl-next-door. A friend of a friend.

She could be yours.

And in a way, when she's on her knees, her mouth hot and tight around the shape of your cock, those fucking lips pressed into the base of it, sliding easy with the spit she leaves on your shaft, that's exactly what you tell her.

"Yunjin," is all you're saying, a sigh, a hiss. You're helping her get your pants off the ends of your feet while your cock is lathered and bathed in her spit, feeling her slender fingers pull up and down your shaft. "That feels so fucking good, baby. Just like that." It's fast, sloppy, she's taking you in and out of her hot mouth like it's the most natural thing in the world. A slurp, a cough, and she's completely unfettered, sucking down and swallowing another breath - not to mention all that about her tongue. A swirl over the head of your cock and you show how much you like it, letting her read the bite into your lip, inventorying every little wince through your brow.

But see - you have your fingers in her hair, holding the strands away from her face. Away from where Yunjin's eyes are breathtaking and glittering, blinking back up under upturned brows, looking up at you from where she's taking you into the hot wet of her mouth, inch-by-inch. And the part of you, this cruel, twisting sensation, would hate for her to think anything of your hands - how they're at the top of her head, cradled behind, and easing her forward, the head of your cock teasing the roof of her mouth.

The back of her mouth.

The back of her throat.

Fuck, her eyes go wide. She's good. She takes it.

And just from the pretty look she keeps on her face, Yunjin loves it. Loves to be pushed, loves to have her hands running along the ridge of your thigh until her fingers are prying the very bottom, the underside, your balls. Like this, with her kneeling down between your legs, the flexing muscle of her upper arms to her palms squeezed tight on either cheek of your ass, where the heat starts to stir deep - to pull. Bring the full length of you to the back of her throat.

The choked sound from deep in her chest should surprise you.

And for the shortest moment, you're holding still and forcing her head, your hands keeping her perfectly put: just there, right there. Exactly like that - where she could look like the perfect mess and feel a twitch right between those lips that keep asking so kindly, go ahead, fuck a load of cum down my throat, baby, use these lips - the soft swell of these lips until you're cumming for me.

Or something else along those lines.

The thought of it crosses your mind: cum spilling from the corner of her mouth as she tries to take everything you have. The flutter in her throat wringing it all down. The mess that all would make. Not that she isn’t already a perfect sight.

You tug on her hair again.

Yunjin's eyes sparkle.

Her eyelashes go a little droopy, hazy. Dark.

And she starts humming across this wistful note of a sigh as her lips start slipping over your shaft - dragging in that slow, agonizing, blissful way over everywhere sensitive and aching. Taking her time, while one hand goes up and strokes what her mouth can't touch, while you pull her head, those perfect strands, just a touch further down, because if she can't quite deep-throat you then Yunjin can give a goddamn masterful impression.

Her cheeks hollow, and the suction - god.

You could cum right in between the pretty little pout of her lips, over the flat of her tongue. Right down her throat.

But in a turn of events neither of you anticipate, you don't do it; you are, much like anyone else, not without limits. Which is probably how you end up lifting Yunjin back up by the underside of her elbows, asking, "that feels a little one-sided, no?"

It's only fair to pull a smirk, kiss, all the best tricks - all for the best parts of her, full, curving, down from her neck, shoulders, her arms, the palms of her hands, every part of her: that perfect shade of peach, pink. From there, everything else falls away. The slow way Yunjin sneaks away with the kind of saunter you'd expect, hips swaying all the way up, sashaying out this inviting side-to-side before you realize it's working -

And you're asking, "Yunjin?" then telling, "I want you up against that window."

The sun's long set - but it'll come up soon enough, over the edges of skyscraper-blocks and shining up out from the base, until everything is bright and gleaming.

"Which window?" she teases.

So you swat at her ass. A not-so-delicate slap. "I don't care so long as I fuck you into it."

"And if someone sees?" she laughs out, still intent on teasing you, and the small edge in her voice is some combination of excitement and worry.

"Then we better give them something worth seeing."

Yunjin's palms land flush to the glass, fingers spread out - wide, wanting, willing - where the blue, yellow glow of city lights shines in over the curves of her profile, the slope of her cheek, the bright pools her irises turn under the warmth. She's the only thing worth seeing, and there's nothing that could possibly stop you from needing, wanting more, right now.

There's no other explanation. No other reason, really, to explain how you're desperate: to fill her, bury yourself inside her - to where you're promising, coming up behind her and guiding her over - so you can spread those creamy thighs apart, push her shoulders up against the cold surface of the window. Where she'll catch a view of her reflection staring back at her: beautiful, exposed, and hers.

"I'm going to fuck you now," is exactly what she's been begging you to say, is why she ends up feeling, with the deep, twisting need building somewhere, how you'll work your cock so deep into her wanting cunt that the only thing that makes her legs go weak - wobbling, really - is the promise of cock rubbing so close and teasing the slick folds between her legs. Until she's a little more demanding, needy - and fuck, where is all the foreplay you'd promised earlier? That perfect, thick cock of yours is missing. She knows what all this really needs.

"Yeah? You need me here?" and she gets this whine, a little pathetic, but in the cutest way.

Yunjin turns her eyes to you, over her shoulder, just the faintest bit of a sneer.

Because she needs it, right now - rough, quick, good.

A gasp catches in her throat when you drag your cockhead through her wet heat, once, twice, and the slide of it against her clit becomes the only thing that matters in the entire goddamn world.

"Inside," her teeth are clamping hard on her lip now, holding it from trembling as she tries to put words together, "Put," is where she loses focus and you're sucking, and kissing, and biting at her shoulder, "put, fuck. Please, put your, put - that cock of yours in my-" You slip into her hot-soaking-wet cunt, and after you've clenched a fist and brought a palm to the center of the window, so that you could open up your body around her a little easier, her muscles squeeze and grip and milk the first few strokes so tight. So-fucking-good.

There's not even a word for it, how she fit like a glove around the first thrust, but if the expression on your face says anything, it's everything Yunjin wanted and more: the shape, the angle, how you're pressing your fingers so hard into the impossible geometry of her waist, the round of her ass - oh, she’ll be a mess of red marks, shapes and lines, reminders of how good you fucked her - these long deep strokes in and out of her creaming pussy - evidence left where the heat inside her builds and pools.

And god, Yunjin is so, so easy to fuck: you can pound into her as rough and steady and fast as she'd begged - there with your other hand, pulling hard, hard, at the loose, dark locks of her hair. Where it has Yunjin gasping, moaning, the whole nine. She has to look to find her balance - and meets the two silhouettes framed inside the reflection on the window. Two shapes, lost in the blurred shadow and outline of lights outside the hotel window, behind which the whole city and its crowds might have stopped the way they'd started, with the rest of you caught between these strange moments:

First, the mindfulness. The purpose and meaning in movement, sensation. In being alive and young, hot, gorgeous and dumb as you can afford to be be.

Yunjin's murmuring, "right there, I want you," or telling, or begging, "don't, you have no idea, I, no-" until your body presses flush up against hers, hips rocking into her perfect figure - taking you like she was built for it, and everything feels so much tighter now, so much closer. Her palms and cheek against the glass, her knees are all shaking and ready to fold at any moment. "So deep, fuck. Fuck me right there, just like that."

Then as you suppose, the unbridled lust on display: Yunjin's turned to this kind of abandon - she's swearing out loud, saying things that have no name and very little form until you've dragged the roughness of your fingers all over her body and found she needs a palmprint on her inner thighs, her ass. That she's whimpering with every deeper plunge until, finally, she gets what she's after - and the words are falling out of her mouth. All it does is mean nothing now - whatever you've been waiting to hear, the pleas to fuck her harder, the cocksleeve talk, or any other request or order.

It's a small miracle, really, considering how she'd gotten you throbbing and aching with just the press of her lips and the dangerous little curl of her tongue - the tight heat all in the back of her throat - but Yunjin cums first.

Loudly.

Messily, too, as she rides out the feeling - tightness gathering right into her core. But her head, it's in the clouds and a little far away, the skyline bathing her skin in shades of glittering silver and gold. And god, the heat of her tight, twitching, soaked pussy - pulsing around the thrusting curve of your cock: the sublime kind of place, spot, rhythm.

How her arms give out and she's pressed, flushed, back to chest with you, right there. Her words are soft. Wholly unimaginative: yes and fuck, yes and oh, she wants you, loves how well you fuck. The murmur comes from that gorgeous body of hers, the exact shape of everything that feels good to feel. The jut of her hips and her legs are longer than her height suggests they'd be, flawless from the ankle and foot to her thigh to where your arm wraps around the base of her ribs, hugging her from the back.

It's a perfect fit.

And not in the glass-slipper kind of way that means there is such a thing as a soulmate, no.

"Cum in me," she breathes, and then - all over. That's it. The moment your fingers are splayed back out over the pane of window, she can't hold her gaze steady. Those tears prick up at the corner, where they get caught. Where her voice is too high and pitchy - begging, a whining noise and some syllable. Something inaudible that has pressing these hot, open-mouthed kisses right into the pretty rise-and-falls of her spine. The sloppy-wet sound from your cock slipping back in, and back again, until you're just left fucking these little ragged breathes out of her chest.

The space between her lips and the glass, the white-ghosting breaths of air out between those plump little pouts that have shaped and molded themselves into some version of words, a few half-finished pleads: “kiss, hold, fill, fuck, just," and, "my body, love-

"Your fucking pussy, Yunjin, holy shit, it's - fucking - so, god," you all but growl out.

Pounding into the tight clench of her cunt.

The bed in the other room might be the better choice, the sheets and pillows for more support than the hard wall she's propped against. But the glass, to see the view and take her up against it: it feels nice, cool and comfortable, even when your motion makes it fogged and sticky with condensation. She had, when your first thrust pushed inside the molten heat of her pussy, reached around the corner - fingertips splaying wide apart, up, along the foggy pane, watching the shadow of her palms turn blurry and indistinguishable against the soft glow of neon beyond.

"I'm cumming," you tell her, "I'm cumming - fuck," before shoving her body even further into the glass. Fucking her hard - just short of bending her to the point of where she might break.

That last stroke or two goes a little wild; all that coiled and pressurized want and need, boiling over the moment you fuck your cum deep into her trembling body. This time, your sounds aren't just the thoughtless hum and groan from the depth of your lungs, but some collection of dirty words, grunts. Nasty things. A whole host of obscenities: like how it's for the sake of claiming, leaving something of yourself behind. How you're pulling the smooth, curve of her hips into your body to push as much of yourself inside the gripping warmth of her. How your hot cum is starting to spill from her pink, perfect, hole - all for the better because when you take your thumb and swirl and trace and smear all along her slippery-wet slick, she gets like this: squirming in these lazy, needy little wriggles against your touch.

It takes the two of you sometime longer to move. Not long, but, you know, a little while.

When it is that Yunjin comes back to herself, you feel the smile as the ghost over your arm.

The kind of thing to ask, though you're too fucked to pay attention, are questions about life: where do you go to school, how long will you stay? All of that. There's a quiet moment where your mind plays back, vaguely, a little more intensely, the realization - and regret of it, the waste - of fucking a stranger for a night.

And in a real short moment:

"That was - really good," she says, still not recovered quite enough to walk.

Yunjin sounds all that same: a stranger. Not familiar. That's, like, your last chance or whatever. Before this becomes a one-off.

("Stay for a while?" is what she doesn't manage to ever ask.)

"Have to leave early tomorrow." And she looks at you, shoulders dipping at the ends. She says things like: "my work," and "we have an international flight. Customs is a bitch."

"Oh," is what you say to all that, looking her body over again, drinking down all the small details of her. The ones you'll lose forever after tonight. All of them, you know.

All because that's how it had to be, from the start.

"For sure."

Yunjin's hands are twisting at the end of her hair, stroking and brushing through the silky, black strands. Just for something to do: maybe, optimistically to keep herself occupied with some semblance of a thought that has nothing at all to do with how she can't seem to shake this sudden, cresting wave of frustration - how there's an urgent throb from deep within, pushing into her skin like a force.

You swallow. Try to smile. "It was fun."

The hotel's checkout desk is staffed by a cheerful looking man, almost fresh out of high-school. Too cheerful a smile, perhaps, and maybe a little too bright for the time of day. You'd been busy pacing the lobby, trying not to stare at your phone for the third or fourth time since stepping out of the elevator. Your feet have scuffed the ground under the coffee table, around the floral couches - almost tripping over the boutiques lined in the middle of this path. Likely you'd have considered them if you weren't focused elsewhere.

Thinking about how you'd put off any discussion about piecing back together your rental suit.

"Did you have a good stay, sir?" the concierge asks, reaching out across his desk to pick up a card. He's placing a machine in front of him.

Your face warms ever-so-slightly. "Wonderful."

"That's what we like to hear. Just swipe your key here."

The machine's screen flashes and there's another cheerful beep, indicating everything was processed.

"Could you get me my receipt?"

"Absolutely. One second."

And the printer whirs to life: spitting out line-after-line of printed data. Until there are twelve characters of nonsense and garbage, including but not limited to the link to a questionnaire and an explanation for all the boxes marked 'x'. It also indicates your total costs (minimal, really) and lists a detailed breakdown of services: breakfast, in-room bar, laundry, towels - all the necessities.

"There, would you like- wait. Sir? Someone asked me to hand this to you," and after reaching under the desk, "looks like a suit jacket of sorts."

"Oh."

He raises an eyebrow. "From the event, I'm assuming."

It's hard to tell what it's about. But as you wrap your fingers into the cloth of the fabric, tug at it a bit, there's a note that slips and falls to the floor.

You sort of frown, skeptical. Fumble with the note. And the note says this:

In your absence, I helped myself to your jacket, your wallet, an extra serving of breakfast, as well as a large iced-coffee. Promise you I'll get the next one. Call me: (xxx)-xxx-xxxx.

Affectionately, your (girl)friend for an evening,

Huh Yunjin

#yunjin smut #le sserafim smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

2K notes · View notes

thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 month

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a/n: this fic really only happened bc @youunravelme sent the pic of mat in the brown suit and said he looks like he could be carrying a diaper bag 😂 and then my mat and squeaks-loving heart ran with that! i’ve been telling their story in bits and pieces and out of order, but this story has more mention of squeaks’ mental state post-partum

word count: 4.2k

tw: mentions of post-partum anxiety, mentions of being on anti-anxiety medication, body image issues,

summary: being a bridesmaid in a wedding out east is the perfect reason for a little family and friends getaway, but you can’t completely let go of your anxieties

You should be having fun, getting ready with the girls and having your hair and makeup done, but your chest feels tight and you’re finding it hard to breathe.

Maybe air. You need air.

Rubbing at your sternum with one hand curled into a fist, you wander over to the French doors of the bridal suite, pushing them open and sticking your head out onto the balcony. The slight breeze off of Sag Harbor Bay is helping, the salty air cool and taking an edge off the mid-July heat.

A cool hand lands on your shoulder and you jump, turning slightly to see Kristy’s concerned face. “Are you okay?” She asks, a furrow between her eyebrows.

“I…yes? No?” You falter, fist still pressed against your chest. You recognize the anxiety symptoms, familiar as they are, but you’re not sure what triggered it. You’d been laughing just a few minutes ago, all the bridesmaids getting the final touches before heading out to line up for the ceremony.

“How about some water?” Kristy’s already uncapping a water bottle and handing it to you as she speaks, a mom multitasking.

You’re sipping at the water, your head spinning a little bit, when there’s a knock on the door to the suite. You can’t see who’s at the door, but you do hear Syd call your name, laughing, “we have an uninvited husband and baby here.”

“Oh!” You don’t have to see Mat and Talia for the knot in your chest to ease and for your breathing to get easier. They’re exactly who you needed and you don’t waste any time in hurrying as fast as your heeled feet will take you towards the door to the suite.

Mat’s hovering at the door, looking handsome and polished in his suit, a far cry from the disheveled, bed-headed mess you’d left behind at the Martins’ Hamptons home this morning. He’s got Talia in his arms, her back against his chest so she can see everything that’s going on. Syd’s squishing her little cheeks, making your fifteen-month-old giggle wildly and wriggle in Mat’s arms. The skirt of her summery floral dress is bunched up under Mat’s forearm, exposing chunky toddler legs.

“Hey!” Mat looks up and grins at you, the delighted expression on his face flickering when he sees whatever expression is on yours.

“Mama!” Talia shrieks and lunges for you, Mat’s arms tightening reflexively around the wiggly toddler.

Syd laughs and gives her a noisy kiss on the cheek. “Aunt Syd doesn’t hold a candle to Mom, I guess,” she shrugs and you offer her a faint smile.

“She’ll change her mind in like twenty minutes,” you joke, reaching out for her and stepping into Mat’s personal space. “Hi, Bug. Having a good morning with Daddy? I’ve missed you.” There’s a wobble to your voice and Mat doesn’t miss it.

“Hey,” he ducks his head closer to yours, his cheek brushing against the side of Talia’s head, “what’s going on? Are you okay?”

It’s the exact same question Kristy asked a few minutes ago, but when Mat asks it, you can’t help the tears that well up in your lash line or the hiccuping sob that escapes your lips even as you try to press them together.

Mat’s face immediately falls and he quickly kisses the side of Talia’s head, murmuring to her, “you’re gonna hang with Aunt Syd for a minute, okay, Bug?”

“No!” You nearly yelp, holding Talia’s fingers tighter. You don’t want her out of your sight. “No,” you repeat, quieter. “Just…just let me hang out with her for a minute.”

Talia chants her few words, mamas and dadas falling happily from her smiling mouth, her hands tucked in yours. You can feel the anxiety seep from your body, your shoulders lowering from your ears.

Mat nods and he secures Talia against his chest with one arm so he can cup your cheek with the other hand. His thumb brushes softly against your cheekbone and you lean into his touch, barely concerned about the layer of makeup coating your skin. “You were okay this morning,” he says, a statement that sounds more like a question.

“Mhm,” you hum a reply, smiling widely at Talia and brushing her dark curls off her face. She scrunches up her face and squeals when you tickle her cheeks. “I…I was okay until a few minutes ago, honestly. I don’t know, Mat.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug, knowing that your anxiety is unpredictable lately, less constant than in the months following Talia’s birth, but no less severe when the attacks hit.

Talia reaches for the chain of your necklace, tangling her little fingers in the fine metal, and you finally take her from Mat’s arms, only slightly concerned about wrinkling the chiffon of your lavender bridesmaid dress. She curls up against your chest, her head fitting perfectly under your chin, and you have to swallow back another wave of emotion.

He leans slightly against the doorframe and studies your face. After a beat, he says, “do you think you’re tapering off the Lexapro too fast?”

It’s been three months since you started tapering off, guided by your doctor’s advice, and it’s been hard. Easier now that it’s summertime and Mat’s around every day.

You shrug, shake your head. “I don’t think so, no? I took it this morning anyway,” you sigh, pressing your cheek against the top of Talia’s head. She’s wiggling in your arms, fighting to get loose and run around. “I’ve never been away from her for this long.”

“It’s only been eight hours,” Mat raises an eyebrow. His hand is on your hip now, stroking gently, and you try not to think about the layers of Spanx under your dress, the way your hips have spread since Talia’s birth, the stubborn ten pounds that won’t go away. You’re back in your pre-pregnancy size, technically, but you just don’t feel right in your skin yet and the bridesmaid dress is only serving to emphasize just how off you feel. The extra padding at your hips and chest feels strange to you, even though Mat’s proven time and time again that he can’t keep his hands off of you, no matter your size.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But she’s always with me, all day.”

Mat sighs your name. There’s a little defensiveness in the slope of his shoulders now. “I have her though,” he says. “I can handle her alone.”

“I know,” the words spill out, “I know you do! You’re the best dad, Mat. I just…feel like…like? It’s not that I didn’t think you were okay, I missed her. It’s scary, not to have her with me.” The hiccuping sob is back, shaking your voice, and you have to hoist Talia higher up on your hip. She’s babbling to herself, wiggling around, and you know you should let her toddle around to get some of her energy out before the ceremony, but you can’t seem to let her go.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying not to think of the days she was in the NICU, when Mat was gone. You thought you were over that hump, worked through the trauma with your therapist and with Mat, but for whatever reason, today is really hard.

“Hey,” Mat reaches up and brushes at your cheek, wiping a tear away, “I know. Squeaks, I know. But she’s here and she’s okay and you’re not a bad mom.”

“Maybe I wasn’t ready for this,” you huff, embarrassment starting to settle in your stomach. You’re being dramatic. You’d said yes to being a bridesmaid before you even knew you were pregnant with Talia and even after her birth, since Syd and Kristy were also bridesmaids, you’d figured you would be okay surrounded by your friends.

Mat leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth, mindful of your lipstick. “You’re fine. Just a bad brain moment,” he mumbles, using your therapist’s phrase for your anxiety. “T and I are going to be cool during the ceremony and then the three of us will party it up with everyone else, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, squeezing Talia one more time - getting an outraged squawk from her in return - before passing her back to Mat. They give you matching scrunch-faced smiles and you return a watery smile.

“Say bye to Mommy,” Mat jiggles Talia a bit and she giggles, waving and chanting a ‘bye bye, Mama’ in her sweet little voice.

“Bye bye, baby,” you wave back, your smile more natural now.

Mat leans in for one more quick kiss, Talia shrieking a giggle as she swoops forward in his arms. “You look beautiful,” he whispers against your cheek. “Lucky me, I get to go home with the hottest bridesmaid.”

Normally you’d roll your eyes at his flirting, but today you really needed the compliment. Your stomach warms and you smile gratefully at him.

He and Talia wave at you and she blows kisses, making you laugh as they head down the hallway and off to the outside patio where the ceremony will take place.

You’re feeling better after seeing them and when Syd and Kristy drag you back into the festivities and photographs, it’s fun again.

Mat’s sitting with Casey, Matt, and the kids towards the back of the crowd - daddy dare care while the moms are busy in the bridal party. You catch sight of Mat’s dark head immediately and your heartbeat kicks a little when you spot Talia’s matching dark hair over his shoulder. She’s standing on his thighs, her hands in his for balance, and when she sees you walking down the aisle, she shouts and waves at you, nearly losing her balance and tipping off of Mat’s lap. Casey’s hands shoot out and steady her before she can really go anywhere and you exhale in relief.

You wave at her behind your bouquet, an easy smile on your face.

The ceremony is a blur, your focus on Mat and Talia in the back. Towards the end, he has to slip out quickly with the diaper bag on his shoulder, but he’s back a few minutes later, shooting you a quick thumbs up.

By the time you get inside after photographs, cocktail hour is winding down. You, Syd, and Kristy find your little group immediately - Jack, Reese, and Winnie in a little dance circle in the corner even though there’s no real music playing. Alice, Cole, and Talia are looking rough, interrupted naps and a long day getting the best of the younger crowd.

“Hi!” You call out, setting your bouquet on the table the guys have commandeered, reaching out immediately for Talia. Mat offers her up easily and she clings to you like a little koala. “Missed you, baby,” you murmur, kissing the top of her head.

She’s got a handful of squished French fries, which you didn’t realize until her fingers loosen and a couple of them fall down the top of your dress.

“Ah,” you wince when the cold potato touches your skin. Mat snorts at the look on your face and stands up with a napkin to wipe off Talia’s hands.

“Am I allowed to stick my hands down your top to clean you up or is that public indecency?” He asks with a cheeky smile. There’s a smudge of red on his jaw - ketchup, most likely, and you smirk a little, amused that neither Matt nor Casey felt like telling him about it.

Before you can answer, all four of your friends chime in together, “public indecency,” earning an eye roll from Mat.

He ignores them and blocks your body with his so no one can see his hand disappear into your bra. He fishes out the fries and tweaks your nipple on the way out. You turn a gasp into a cough and glare at him. His answering smile is all faux-innocence.

“Now that you two are done being gross,” Matt rolls his eyes, even though he’s smiling, “are you ready to head in?”

The group is ushered into the main reception hall, floor to ceiling windows giving a gorgeous view of the water and the sun as it dips towards the horizon. The kids run off, pointed towards their table by Syd, and the adults head to the table right next to it, the toddler group accompanying. Talia slumps on your lap, looking like she’s fading a bit, until Mat pulls a piece of his roll off and hands it to her.

She beams at him and you make an attempt to get her to say ‘thank you’ that mostly ends up being gibberish unless she’s saying ‘Dada.’

“Feeling better?” Mat asks quietly, angled in your direction. You reach out to swipe your thumb over his jaw, cleaning off the ketchup, and he frowns down at your hand before huffing a laugh when he sees the condiment smudge.

You nod. “I’m good,” you reassure him with the truth. “I think I just really needed to see T this morning.”

His hand is warm on your knee and he nods, satisfied after he studies your face.

The bride and groom make their entrance, doing away with the entrances for the bridal party except for the maid of honor and the best man, and when it’s time for the couples to join them on the dance floor for the first dance, Mat takes Talia in his arms and after the distribution of kids to adults has happened, you’re dancing with Jack. He looks adorable in his little suit, seriously trying to spin you when he sees Casey twirl Reese.

“Jack, you’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had,” you laugh, helping him out by squatting and twirling under his arm.

He grins at you, showing off a smile of half baby teeth and half-grown in adult teeth. “Make sure you tell Uncle Mat,” he says. “Cause he said he could beat me in a dance contest, but I don’t think he can.”

“I’ll pass along the message,” you grin back. The music speeds up and you start swinging Jack’s arms in wide arcs, making him laugh. You push him out and pull him back in, wrapping him in a hug and tickling his sides. He breaks away and transitions into a few fairly impressive dance moves, including the Robot, which you’d love to know where he learned.

Mat dances over to you, Talia happy in his arms and wiggling along to the music. You take her and shimmy, making her laugh.

“Sick moves, Jacky,” Mat grins, ruffling his blond hair.

“Aunt Squeaks said they’re better than yours,” the seven-year-old shoots back, making an attempt to moonwalk away.

You burst out laughing and Mat turns a betrayed look on you. “Seriously?” He asks. “My moves are amazing!”

“Oh, look,” you smile, turning your head, “dinner’s being served!” It’s not, but it works to make Mat laugh and grab your hand to spin you and Talia in a circle.

Dinner is served a few minutes later and you and Mat trade off on who gets to hold Talia on their lap so the other can eat. Mat ends up with her for a good chunk of the meal, talking over her head and opening his mouth when she tries to reach up and shove a roasted potato past his teeth.

“Hey, cool it, girl,” you laugh, tugging at her hand when she misses his mouth and nearly shoves the potato up his nose. “Daddy doesn’t want to breathe in potato.”

Casey and Matt share a laugh before Matt chimes in, “his nostrils are big enough he’ll be able to breathe around the potato.”

Mat flips them off behind Talia’s back and you join in with their laughter, not even pretending to hide it when Mat turns a betrayed look on you. “My own wife,” he cries dramatically. “No loyalty even in my own home.”

You shrug and feed Talia a piece of your filet mignon. “I can’t fight the truth, baby,” you tease, leaning out of the way when Mat reaches for you to pinch your side.

The dance floor picks up again and you find yourself spinning with Mat’s arms around you, Talia taken by Syd to dance with her and Alice.

“She’s a little party animal,” you laugh, watching her wiggle while holding hands with Alice.

“Gets it from her mom and aunts,” Mat teases, hands low on your back, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel the gentle press of his cock against your hip, semi-hard behind his zipper. “She’s going to be a handful when she’s older, isn’t she?”

You nod. “Oh yeah, I think we’re going to have fun watching her grow up,” you murmur, emotion tightening your throat.

Casey and Matt swing Reese and Winnie in the air, Kristy shimmying with Jack. The little group is all laughter and smiles.

“I’m so glad we were able to do this,” you say after a few seconds. “The mini-vacation, the wedding. I know I freaked out this morning, but it’s nice to be around everyone.”

“Good,” Mat presses a soft kiss to your temple, swaying with you. “I was a little worried, not gonna lie.”

A little knot of guilt tangles in your stomach and you frown into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into the fabric of his shirt. “I know this past year has been…” you trail off, too many adjectives applicable to describe the past year.

Mat laughs faintly, “I know. You don’t have to apologize, I’m just glad we’re pretty much back to normal.”

Over Mat’s shoulder, you watch Jack spin Talia in a circle to make her laugh. She laughs so hard she nearly falls over and your heart skips a beat when it seems like she might hit the ground. Matt catches her back and holds her until she regains her balance, still giggling.

“My mom mentioned coming down for a visit,” Mat continues. “Maybe we can take her up on that, let her babysit and go away for the night, just the two of us?”

There’s something in Mat’s tone, a little cajoling, a little frustrated, a lot hopeful.

You haven’t been away with just Mat since before Talia was born, haven’t even spent more than a handful of hours away from her before this morning, but still, you find yourself nodding. “That sounds nice,” you reply, meaning it.

Mat’s fingers squeeze your hips and you pull back to see his smile, grinning back at him.

It’s not the old normal, but the new normal is pretty nice too.

The night winds down and you leave the reception early, Mat’s jacket draped over your shoulders and Talia passed out in Mat’s arms. You help lead the older kids out to the cars, making sure Reese doesn’t trip over her feet. Everyone gets buckled into their appropriate car seats for the drive back to the Martins’ and you find your eyes closing while Mat drives.

His hand is warm in yours and the radio is playing quietly.

“You look beautiful,” Mat says into the silence.

You crack a small smile and open one eye to look at him. “You said that earlier,” you remind him.

“I wanted to say it again,” he turns to you at the red light and flashes a grin, making your stomach flip with butterflies.

“Well,” you squeeze his hand, “I like hearing it.”

Talia wakes up when you try taking her out of the car, whining and crying for you. Her little hands reach out and you take her from Mat, cuddling her close and stroking her dark curls, hoping she’ll fall back asleep. She’s overtired though and doesn’t settle until all three of you are in bed, her cheek pillowed on your chest and her hands fisted in your shirt.

“Shh,” you hum, quietly starting to tell her a story. She whines and wiggles and Mat drapes his hand over her back too, a warm, heavy weight that’s worked to soothe her since she was born. He tickles her back lightly and scoots closer to you, head propped up on his hand. Talia’s cocooned in between your bodies, her knees tucked up to her chest, and she slowly falls back asleep, her face going slack. Her grip on her stuffed cat loosens, even though the plush toy is wedged under her chin for comfort.

“Sometimes,” you whisper to Mat, looking at him over Talia’s body, “I can’t get over how perfect she is.”

He yawns and nods, dragging the light comforter higher up over you and Talia. “We’re pretty damn lucky,” he agrees. He closes his eyes and curls his body in a c-shape around you and Talia, breathing evening out before long.

You’re tired, but you stay up for a little bit longer, watching your husband and daughter sleep. Your fingers trace the curve of Talia’s nose lightly and she wrinkles it, snuggling closer to you in her sleep. Mat snores softly, his breaths ruffling the back of Talia’s hair.

It makes you emotional, to have your entire heart curled up next to you like this.

With a faint smile on your face, you close your eyes and drift off.

Mat lets you sleep in the next morning and you wake up around eight, with a still hot mug of coffee on the night table and a few rocks and shells next to the mug - Mat must’ve taken Talia out to the beach early. You take your time getting ready, pulling on jean shorts and a tank top over your bathing suit before padding downstairs. Being back in your regular clothes makes you feel more normal than the shapewear and bridesmaid dress from last night. You can ignore the extra few pounds and new shape to your body when you’re just in shorts.

There are pastries on the counter, crumbs and dirty plates indicating that you’re not the first person to wander down for breakfast. You pull off a piece of an almond croissant and pop it into your mouth as you head outside. As soon as you open the back door, you’re treated to the childish laughter and splashing noises from the pool.

“Morning!” Syd calls, waving from a lounge chair. “Come join us.”

Kristy beams at you from the next chair and then almost immediately frowns when Jack cannonballs into the pool, sending a huge splash of water into the air. “Jack! I thought I said no splashing!” She calls as soon as his head pops back above the water.

“But Tal and Cole laugh when I do it,” he argues, pointing at the two youngest, who, sure enough, are cracking up in Mat and Casey’s arms. Mat winks at you and you smile, waving as you take a seat at the edge of the third lounge chair.

“Talia and Cole also laughed when Dad dropped the egg carton, but we’re not going to keep doing that,” Kristy shakes her head.

Jack pouts, but to his credit, stops doing cannonballs and instead commandeers a dragon shaped pool float with Winnie and Reese hanging off the wings, shrieking.

It’s loud and chaotic and it’s perfect.

Mat swims over to the edge, Talia holding onto his hands while she kicks. “Good sleep?” He asks, splashing a little water onto your feet.

“Mhm,” you hum, “thanks for letting me sleep in.”

“Anytime,” he leans back, dragging Talia through the water. “T and I took a nice walk on the beach, chatted about all the birds we saw, picked up lots of treasures for Mommy.”

“Bird!” Talia pipes up, loudly and happily, looking around.

Mat grins at you, inclining his head as if to say ‘see?’

You smile back, giggling a bit, and then Mat kicks off the wall, swimming around and making boat noises while he navigates Talia through the water and around the obstacles of Matt, Casey, and the other kids.

“I love summer dad camp,” Syd sighs, stretching out in her chair. “It’s a nice little break.”

It’s definitely nice to have this summer experience as opposed to last summer’s insanity. You can finally enjoy watching Mat with Talia in the warm weather.

He tosses her a little into the air, catching her before she hits the water, and despite the way your heart lurches, you smile at the sound of her shrieked laughter mixing with Mat’s.

They swim past Matt and Alice reaches for Talia for a high-five, one of Talia’s favorite tricks. She looks startled when her hand keeps going and splashes down into the water, sending droplets flying onto her and Mat’s faces. Your husband laughs and wipes the water from Talia’s face before blowing raspberries against her cheeks.

It’s the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever seen.

You surprise yourself, thinking about a second baby held in Mat’s arms. Neither of you have really talked about it that seriously and you’ve been sort of holding your breath, waiting for your brain and body to feel normal enough to do it all over again. But now, maybe it’s time to really start thinking and talking about a second baby. You do a little quick math in your head, if you get pregnant right away, easy like it was with Talia when you weren’t even trying, Talia would be just around two when a second baby would be born. That’s a nice age difference, even three years like Mat and Liana would be good too.

You chew at your lower lip, watching Mat and Talia. Smiling when she smushes his cheeks in her hands and bonks her forehead against his.

Yeah, a second mini-Mat wouldn’t be so bad.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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captain039 · 2 months

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Part 2 He’s Grumpy, I’m sunshine

Alpha!Logan x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB, age gap (legal), light swearing, grumpy/sunshine, anxiety, mental health issues, intimacy, violence, torture, plus size reader, medication usage for anxiety, depression and sleeping, heat pills, scent blockers

Set at Charles school

Your mutation: fire creation and control

Previous part <-

It was the weekend thankfully, and you have majority of the school to yourself seeing as most kids go home for the weekends. You haven’t been in contact with your parents since the accident, you begged Charles to wipe their memory of ever having you but he said no. You weren’t in the right place mentally when you first got here, you’ve burnt down a total of five rooms before Professor Hank managed to make you a fire proof room. You almost begged to sleep outside so at least then Storm could rain away your fire and Charles could calm your mind. More than once Professor Charles was forced to calm you, other kids were scared of you when they saw you in the middle of the burning room wailing like a Banshee and not the mutant kind. More than once you locked yourself in the training room used for mutants like Havoc, at least that was fireproof. You laid on the cold floor with nothing but the suit Professor Hank made for you, curled up in the corner when your fire would be out of control.

Footsteps make you snap back to reality your spoon burning hot and melting in your hand. You panic rush to the sink ignoring whoever walked in and running it under cold water. You sigh in relief glancing at the table and seeing no damage apart from this half melted spoon.

“You alright kid?” You jump forgetting the other person and apologising before you see him, Logan, the Wolverine.

“Yeah, fine” you say and he nods an unamused look on his face. You get a new spoon quickly and go back to your cereal frowning when he lets out an annoyed grunt and huffs. He picks up a soda and pops it open an unhappy look on his face.

“Are you ok?” You ask the alpha who frowns and looks to you, you gulp thinking you’ve done something wrong.

“They haven’t got beer” he says and now you frown.

“This is a school, filled with underage children? You know that right?” You say and he grumbles finishing his drink quickly and leaving. Well then.

Seems every time you see Logan he’s wearing a frown or a scowl and you swear the alpha is just pissed at the world constantly. You’ve seen him in training, the stern look he wears while barking words, hell the other kids look terrified. You figure he’s just a grumpy old bastard who smelt like heaven on earth for five seconds. You’re thankful for your scent blockers, you don’t know if you could handle that scent in the hallway every second day for the last month. Your position here is weird, not many older students are here that are your age, you sit in on classes, sometimes you help teach classes or help the other teachers with whatever they need, a in the middle man. Students are still weary of you when they approach due to your past time here, but the newer ones don’t seem to mind you.

As of late though you feel extra tired, your muscles hurt and you feel like the school rests on your shoulder. You blame stress and anxiety and whatever else you can think of at night when you’re so tired you can’t sleep. Your nightmares have been worse lately too, flickers of images taunting your usually normal dreams. You don’t wake in flames though, just an overly warm bed and sweat. It’s strange your mutation though you can literally stand within flames and fire doesn’t hurt, you feel the heat of it though and still sweat when not fully engulfed in flames, Jean says it’s because of the medications your taking, you don’t care though, rather be on them and sweat than not be on them and be on fire all the time. You’re walking down the hall when you hear arguing, you frown and glance seeing Jean and Logan in a classroom. His shoulders are tense and Jean looks ready to through him through a wall. You figure you should let them figure it out but something stops you.

“I can be better than him!” Logan growls and you frown, better than who.

“Scott is an amazing man, an amazing partner I don’t need or want you Logan!” Jean says back more calm than Logan. Oh. You hear Logan growl and heavy steps.

“You know we are good together” his voice is lower, hinting seductiveness that makes your stomach clench.

“No we weren’t” Jean says back voice low but dangerous. You scurry off heart pounding feeling like something punched you in the face, of course Logan was interested in someone else Jesus you barely knew the grumpy alpha. Why did it hurt then?

You hurry back to your room heart still racing as your body begins to heat up. You throw your books on the ground gripping your hair as you breathe heavily. Your window fogs and small flames flicker over your skin as you sit in the corner and try to breathe. You were having a panic attack, your ears rang, your stomach churned and flames danced along your arms, your clothes began to burn off leaving the suit underneath as you let out a cry and your body engulfed in flames. You panted loudly, clenched and unclenched your fists, your eyes unfocused and focused, your room spun. You forced your eyes shut a knocking at the door making you cry. You locked the door you’d be safe, well they would be safe from you. You shook your head slowly rocking your body back and forth as your flames crawled towards your carpet and caught it. You cried no tears but sobbed as your bed was next in the flames and the bedside tables, your books and lamp, your phone. The door broke down and panic shot through you as you stared at whoever was stupid enough. You heard your name being shouted but you shook your head hugged your knees.

“GET OUT!” Your flames roared with you as you sobbed. The figure moved through the fire though and you frowned seeing Logan, the grumpy alpha with a determined look on his face.

“Hey, hey! I need you to look at me!” He knelt close the hair in his arms singeing, his clothes next.

“Get out!” You snapped flames flaring as the alpha winced.

“You can’t hurt me” he says and you scoff seeing his skin blister and peel. A new panic sets in, one that has you reeling back your power in a hurry, the flames stop, your body goes back to normal as you stare in horror at the alpha in front of you. You hold his arms tears rolling down your face.

“No, no! You stupid-“ your words stop his skin heals, the blisters and red marks leave leaving untarnished skin. You look to his face seeing the blisters heal and you cup his face.

“What-“ you mutter checking him over besides his charred clothes he’s fine. Your names are called, Professor Charles, Jean and Storm appearing outside the door.

“She’s alright” Logan calls not breaking eye contact as you check him over some more. You grip his arms in slight confusion.

“What?, why did-?” You speak quietly looking at his healed body again. You sniff as you realise you’re touching him.

“I’m sorry” you let his arms go, hands and body shaking as you wipe your tears.

“I’m sorry I-“ you gulp a little looking to the Professor.

“It’s alright” he says smiling softly as you shudder and look back to the alpha in front of you.

It was stupid, fighting with Jean for no reason, he was on edge, like a caged animal craving food. He took it out on a few kitchen cupboards and a fridge before Jean confronted him and then he broke loose. God help him. Jean took it, strong and calm like the alpha she was while he turned into some hot headed dick head alpha you always see in the news. He knew why though, you. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, that sweet scent that attacked every fibre in his body when you first saw him. You went into some kind of shock staring at him, glancing a Jean occasionally trying to get your words to work, he found it cute as your cheeks went red and you silently battled with yourself. He’d smelt you on Jean before, wondering why the hell she smelt like sweet omega before he met you and our scent to face. Too young to be a professor too old to be a student. Walking past you when he left he resisted the urge to press his nose into your hair and breathe deeply. Then your scent went dull, every time he passed you, you were unaffected and he was finding himself more and more annoyed he couldn’t catch your scent. He’d watch you when you were going about your day, how you blended in with everything yet all he say was you like a ray of sunshine. He didn’t know your power, found it too weird to ask one of his fellow teachers or the professor. He’s unsure when you arrived, during the mission he last went on when took a few months more than he wanted. He never saw you in training and wondering what your mutation was, he could smell it in your scent you were a mutant, what it was though he couldn’t tell.

He was fighting with Jean for no reason again, it had been a month and he was restless more than ever. He’d gone to Charles to beg for a mission, but there was nothing to be done no mutant to save and he was always controlling his claws. He heard someone outside this time though and they didn’t go making him frown before a shot went through him and whoever it was went away. He left quickly then, following the dull scent he wish wasn’t so dull, he heard your sobbing felt it almost, felt the heat too and frowned. Something snapped and he needed to be near you, by you, help you with whatever the hell is going on. Your cry spurred him on and he broke down the door. Your room wasn’t what he expected, all the other kids rooms were nicely wooden and furnished with whatever decorations they had yours though, yours was metal, metal floor, wall and ceiling, metal sealed door to what he assumed was the bathroom. A single bed now in flames alone with the bedside tables and their contents. You were panicking, no scent blocker could hide the sour scent that tingled his nose in an unnatural way. He forced through those flames hearing you sob, he needed to be by you now. It was hot, hotter than a normal fire as he approached. He knelt in front of you ignoring your protest, he gritted his teeth in pain at the flames in his skin, charring his clothes, blistering his skin. Something snapped inside you and the flames reeled in and a new panic settled over. He heard the others before you as you cried, shaky hands hovering over his wounds as he stared. You froze though, seeing his wounds healing as he let out a small sigh. Your shaky hands held his hands, checked his wounds, his body, watching his face heal before cupping it in your hand. You were calmer now, still shaken but you weren’t engulfed in fire and neither was he. Your apologies made his heart break in ways he’d forgotten, the tears in your eyes as you kept your hands on him, grounding yourself with him. You realised soon you’d been touching him, cheeks redder than before as you retract, his head tilting slightly. Before your eyes were back on his again. A single word running through his mind. Mine.

Next part ->

#x reader #aob #xmen #Wolverine #alpha logan #Logan x reader #Wolverine x reader

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sxcret-garden · 4 months

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5th Desire ღ Dress [M]

ღ Aspects of Desire series ღ Ateez Jongho x fem!reader ღ words: ~7.2k ღ genre: established relationship, college AU, fluff, some humor, slice of life, smut (dom!Jongho (soft dom to glimpses of hard dom… he’s going thru it ok kasjdflka), sub!reader, clothed sex, dry humping, body worship, a bit of breast play, he gets a little possessive, praise, pain kink, hair pulling, biting, spanking, unprotected sex, oral (reader receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, reader going into subspace, dacryphilia) ღ warnings: heavy dom-sub dynamics (him pulling reader’s hair), reader’s mother has very traditional values and a toxic view on beauty standards, reader’s body is commented on once

Desc.: Your mother is trying to get you to wear a dress she picked out for you for your cousin’s upcoming wedding. At times like these you are especially thankful to have your boyfriend Jongho right by your side to help convince her to let you wear clothes you’re actually comfortable in. However, little do you know that despite having your back, he’s secretly smitten with the image of you in that dress.

← prev chapter ღ next chapter →

As soon as you get home that day, you make your way straight to the sofa, and without even saying a word you plop down on it. You letting out a huge sigh as you allow your frame to crash into your boyfriend’s side while he’s focusing on a video game makes him chuckle, and when you rest your head against his shoulder and you close your eyes, you can feel the onset of a headache.

“Your shopping date with your mom was a success I assume?” he asks, sarcastically, yet the smile on his face stays visible. A glance at the tv in front of you tells you he’s playing with friends, their in-game nicknames displayed in the corner of the screen.

“For who?” you retort.

“For her,” he laughs, and you say nothing until he finishes the current round. Picking up his phone, he types up a quick message in their group chat, telling them to go on without him, and after closing the game, he turns his attention to you fully. “You look really tired. Was it that bad?” he asks, now putting an arm around your shoulders and leaning against the backrest of the sofa, so you could snuggle up to him more comfortably.

“It was… exhausting,” you mumble, your eyelids fluttering shut.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Upon hearing his question, you bury your face in his chest and you let out the most pained groan you can muster, followed by Jongho letting out yet another soft laugh, “So no.”

“Just…” You sit up eventually, now resting your elbows on top of your legs and massaging the bridge of your nose with your thumb and index finger in hopes the pending headache would go away. “Why does she want me to wear a dress so badly? It’s fine if I go in pants, isn’t it?”

“I mean, you should wear something fitting for the occasion. It’s your cousin’s wedding after all,” he says. “Whether that’s a dress or a suit doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“My mom keeps saying it’ll look dumb if we’re both in a suit,” you mumble, and your boyfriend lets out a noise of disapproval.

“Should I wear a dress instead, then?” he jokes and manages to make you laugh with the mental image.

“Backless please,” you chime in. “And with lots of frill.” A huff of disbelief escapes him as he looks away, and you find yourself grinning. “No, but seriously,” you then say. “I don’t know how many times I told her that I don’t like wearing dresses in public. I just don’t like how they feel, but she keeps insisting…” You sigh, pulling out your phone and opening your camera roll. “See? I don’t even think they suit me that much,” you continue, while you show a picture of you in one of the dresses your mother had made you try on to your boyfriend.

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows at the rare sight. “I think it suits you though?”

“Whatever…” you sigh. “I mean… thanks I guess? But…”

“Yeah, I know,” he reassures you before you even have to say anything. “If you don’t like wearing them, you really shouldn’t have to.”

“Yeah…” you agree, before lying down and curling up on the sofa, putting your feet up on his lap. Another sigh follows as the headache is still present, and to be perfectly honest all you want to do is forget about that stupid wedding. Well, not entirely. It’s not like you don’t want to go. You’ve been fairly close with your cousin when you were children, and even though you’ve been out of touch for a few years now, you still really want to be there for when she gets to marry the man she loves.

Just not in a goddamn dress.

“Should we… maybe try talking to your parents together, then?” Jongho’s suggestion tears you out of your thoughts.

“We?” you repeat.

“I mean…” he clears his throat, “They like me, right? Maybe they’ll listen to me…” You give him a long and thorough look. “Maybe not…?” he adds, but you shake your head, sitting back up.

“No, that might actually not be such a bad idea. I mean… it’s true that my mom really likes you… and you know how to get people to do what you want…” He can only let out a sheepish chuckle at your last words. “Yeah, let’s do that. My mom asked me if I want to come over for coffee next Wednesday anyway. I’m sure she won’t mind if I bring you along… if you’re free then?”

“Sure,” he says, once again putting his arm around you as he notices you slouching over. “Don’t worry too much about it, okay?”

The excitement radiating off of your mother’s face is apparent as always when she welcomes you and your boyfriend at the doorstep. She greets your boyfriend first, commenting on his nice outfit, and her expression changes ever so slightly when she gets to saying hi to you.

“Such a handsome boyfriend you have…” she mutters at a volume where he would still hear, and with a flustered smile he turns around and bows in thanks.

“He is,” you agree, not knowing what to make of her words, and you feel yourself tensing up a bit. Is this already the thing she’ll use as a transition to the wedding outfit talk that you dread so much? Jongho notices your anxiety and he reaches out to take a hold of your hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“It’ll be fine, just trust me,” he whispers when your mother disappears in the next room, leaving you by yourselves as you’re taking off your shoes and you each grab a pair of slippers to wear inside the house instead. Your mother offers the two of you some coffee, calling you into the kitchen to help her prepare it - like a good wife, as she always makes sure to tell you - and Jongho doesn’t let the chance slip away to make himself useful too. Your mother seems overjoyed as she watches him snatching the cups away from you and carrying them out into the living room himself while shooting you a knowing look and you silently thank him for it. You reach for some milk instead and carry it to the table, and when all three of you have made yourselves more or less comfortable, with your beverages in front of you, she doesn’t leave you on edge too long.

“So, Y/N,” you suppress a shudder when she calls out to you, “have you decided which dress you want to wear yet?”

“Uhm… not yet,” you say, lowering your head.

“You know we have to order it a bit in advance,” your mother explains without hesitating. “You should make a decision by the end of the week.” You sigh, and as you’re about to say something, your boyfriend speaks up instead, pulling out his phone. On the screen you can see pictures of pantsuits just like the one you have in your closet.

“If I’m allowed to interrupt - wouldn’t this suit Y/N much better?” Your mother seems about as dumbfounded by his bold move as you are, but you decide to do as he told you for now - to trust him. “A good friend of mine is a tailor, actually.” He clears his throat and then continues, “And that friend told me that a suit would look a lot better on someone with a figure like Y/N.”

“Oh… really?” your mother is hesitant to buy into what your partner is telling her, but she gives him the benefit of a doubt and keeps listening.

“Yes. Pants suit her shape a lot better than a skirt, and a well tailored suit will also make her look taller and give a more elegant expression.”

“Oh…” your mother gasps again, and then she takes another close look at the picture on your boyfriend’s phone. “You’re right.” Though the conversation you’re witnessing feels just a little bit uncomfortable to you, you’re definitely glad she seems to finally be convinced, and so you dare to speak up.

“Yes, that’s why it would make a much better image if I wore a suit, mom,” you add, finding her nodding at you.

“Right, I didn’t see it that way,” she says, seemingly fascinated by the image of the model in the suit. Directed at you, she asks, “Is that why you don’t want to wear a dress to the wedding? Because you’re worried about what others might say about how you look in it?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

“Hmm… well, I suppose this is probably the better choice then…” You gulp at her words, and as you remind yourself that this is all for the greater good, you swallow the bitter taste in your mouth that the conversation is leaving you with. You grew up always having her tell you about what your body is supposed to look like as a girl, and what it isn’t supposed to look like, and though as an adult you’ve mostly moved on from such comments affecting you too much, being confronted with her views that are so different from yours again now is still not easy to deal with.

Still, you walk out of your parents’ house a couple of hours later, knowing that your mother won’t disapprove of or pester you about your outfit choice anymore, and so what remains is your gratitude towards your boyfriend for making it that way.

“I’m so sorry I had to say all that…” He speaks up the second the door to his flat falls into its lock, and you feel his arms wrapping around you from behind.

“It’s okay, I know why you did it,” you assure him as you feel him putting his chin on top of your shoulder.

“You sure? You seemed very hurt by it…” he says, and you spin around in his hold, taking his hands into yours.

“Yes,” you say, giving him a confident look now. “I’m sure. My mother wouldn’t have been convinced otherwise, this is all she cares about. My image.” Before all the anger and sadness that your words and the conversation with your mother evoked can bubble up fully and take over you, Jongho takes a step forward, having you lean your head against his chest as he wraps you into a warm embrace.

“You know that’s not true,” he says, and he’s probably right, but you don’t want to think about it right now.

“Thank you anyway,” you mutter into the tight hug, snaking your arms around his waist to return it. “Really, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Of course…” he mumbles a response, one hand coming to rest atop your head. He supports your weight as you let the exhaustion of the past days take over you and you lean against his frame. That’s when a thought hits you, and you stand up straight.

“Am I… being dramatic about this?”

“Huh?” Jongho raises his eyebrows at you.

“I mean… it’s not that big of a deal, right? …the dress.” You avoid looking at him, and after a few seconds of silence, he places his hands on your shoulders to make you look at him.

“Hey. It’s very much a big deal for you, or you wouldn’t have tried so long to convince your mom to let you go in pants,” he reminds you, and you find yourself nodding.

“You’re right…” you say eventually. “You’re right, I don’t have to do something I’m uncomfortable with, even if it’s what my mom wants.”

“Exactly.” He gives you a smile, and you think you can see a hint of pride behind his expression. Kicking off your shoes, you walk into his flat, and once you’re both standing in the living room, you spin around on your heels.

“How much of what you said was a lie though?” you question, and your boyfriend shoots you a bright smile as he follows right behind you.

“I made up like 80% of it,” he admits, coming to a halt right in front of you.

“The tailor friend?”

“A lie.”

“Whoa… and you told that whole story with a straight face, huh? Scary…” you say, and Jongho laughs, well aware that you’re joking. Then you become serious, and you mumble, “Thank you again… how can I repay you for this?” You close the distance between you and him, and when you throw your arms around his shoulders, he’s quick to take a hold of your waist. Gaze wandering to your lips as he tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, he hesitates.

“Well…”

“Well?”

“I do… have an idea. Even though it’s probably a little… no, it’s very unreasonable…” He looks away, an awkward expression appearing on his face that tells you he isn’t sure whether he should really let you know about this idea of his.

“Why?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Because… actually, remember that picture you showed me in that dress?”

“Yeah…?” You have a hunch about where this is going, but you let him finish anyway.

“It’s just… I kinda… haven’t been able to get that out of my mind…” You take a step back, and you catch a glimpse of the way his ears are taking on a shade of red.

“You want to… see me in a dress?” you take a guess, making him admit to it.

“Yeah… only if you want to, of course! I don’t want to make you do anything you feel uncomfortable with! You really don’t have to-”

“Hey,” you interrupt his rambles, answering his hesitant gaze with a certain one. “I think… it’s okay… if it’s just you seeing me. I mean… I feel uncomfortable wearing dresses when I go out… but if it’s in the comfort of my own place or yours… it’s fine I think?”

“Oh…” he lets out a small gasp, and then again he adds, “But you really don’t have to.”

“I know that, dumbass,” you joke. “You’re not my mom.” The comment makes him smile as he lets go of the tension in his shoulders, and you continue. “But now… no more talk about dresses for today, okay?” You close the distance between you and him, until you’re in your earlier position - your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and him supporting you by the waist.

“Okay.” He smiles, before you lean in to press a short kiss to his lips.

Lifting the skirt of the flowy summer dress up a bit and then letting go to see how the fabric softly sways back into place, you look at your frame in the mirror, and for the first time in a while you’re not super uncomfortable with what you see. It’s a white dress, decorations stitched onto the very top of the chest part with a fine orange yarn, and you can’t recall when you wore it the last time. You spin on your tiptoes to look at how it fits you from the back, and the skirt moves along with your half turn prettily. The thin fabric is wrapping itself around your waist a little tightly, but you don’t mind it this time - you know it’s only your boyfriend who will see you like this, so you don’t need to worry about how the piece of clothing fits you, if the skirt would ever ride up too far, or what kind of strangers would feel like they have permission to stare at you for a little too long in public. You turn back around, and your features shine through the white fabric - you decided not to wear underwear on purpose, wondering if your boyfriend would like the surprise. In this case, you want him to stare.

You walk out into the living room on quiet footsteps, and you grin to yourself as you find him disappearing towards the kitchen area, from where he can’t see you approaching the dinner table. Leaning against the edge of it, you call out to him.

“Baby, I have a surprise for you!”

“What is-” As soon as Jongho catches sight of you, the words get stuck in his throat. Instead, he’s now taking in your figure, the lower part of your body still hidden behind the table, but from the way the look on his face immediately changes, you can tell he likes what he sees. “Ah…” His lips part to make way for a sound of pure admiration, and he approaches you, until he’s standing right in front of you, being able to take you in whole now.

“You wanted to see me like this, right?” you mutter, a bit amused by the image in front of you, because it’s rare to see your boyfriend this stunned.

“I did,” he mutters lowly, taking another step towards you and putting one hand on your waist, while he uses the other to tilt your chin up. You gulp at the need reflecting in his eyes, and as he leans in, your eyelids flutter shut. But instead of kissing you on the lips like you expected, he buries his face in your neck instead, now wrapping both arms around you, and you gasp when you feel his teeth grazing your skin. He works his way up until his lips hover beside your ear, and you can feel his hot breath against it as he speaks, “You look beautiful.” You catch a glimpse of his expression as he moves to brush his lips against yours, finding both a certain softness to his gaze, and a deep desire behind his eyes.

You let him kiss you, melting against his touch as he keeps withdrawing in between in order to tease you, and when he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, nibbling on it for a while, you mewl at the sensation, your hands reaching out and finding his clothes to hold onto.

“So pretty…” he mutters in between kisses, until he eventually takes a step back to let himself take in the sight in front of him once again. “And mine.” His palms find your chest, and you don’t miss the sharp breath your boyfriend sucks in as his fingertips wander past your nipples shining through the thin fabric, continuing their journey south, until they find purchase on your hips and he leans in again. “So fucking beautiful,” Jongho mutters, before he closes the distance between his mouth and the exposed part of your chest. You lean back, your hands placed behind you, supporting yourself on the surface of the table, and you give him full access to your neck. He takes his time worshipping every inch of you that he can reach, nips and kisses placed all over your collarbones and your throat, up to your jaw, and when he calls out to you, you look back at him, finding yourself melting against yet another kiss to your lips. You only break apart when you gasp upon feeling his bulge pressed against your stomach, and you moan when he rolls his hips against yours once and you find the need in his eyes. One hand finds its way up your torso, and he watches as he slowly lets it brush against your tummy, your breasts, and eventually he wraps it loosely around your throat, causing you to throw your head back.

“I’m glad, though…” your partner mutters, withdrawing his fingers from your pulse to find your chest instead, and you mewl when he starts massaging your boobs. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to see you like this anyway.” You gulp at his words - you’ve never seen him getting this possessive. And at the same time it excites you. You rub your thighs together instinctively, but he’s quick to reach down with his other hand, having you spread them apart with a simple gesture, before he reaches for your core, dragging his fingers down between your folds with only the white fabric in between.

“No underwear, hm?” he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck to make you gasp as he sinks his teeth into your flesh and he continues teasing your pussy, staining the inside of the skirt with your juices. “That’s dirty,” he comments, before you can feel his warm tongue pressing against the spot where he just bit you, and you buck your hips into his touch involuntarily, resulting in him taking a step back and removing his hands from you. “Fuck, I want to keep teasing you so bad,” your boyfriend says, his eyes glued to your body, “but you’re so fucking beautiful…” You don’t see where those two things would contradict each other, but he doesn’t leave you much time to think about it anyway as he takes you by the hands and leads you over to the sofa. He sits down and pulls you into his lap, having you straddle him.

“Ride me, my love,” he mutters, his palms rubbing against the skin on your thighs underneath the dress. The way he’s gazing up at you now he looks completely drunk on you, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Okay,” you mouth, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and you start at a slow pace. And even though he drags his palms up just a little further so they would rest on your hips, he lets you decide on the pace yourself. Grinding down onto this clothed cock, pussy rubbing against the strained fabric of Jongho’s pants, you let out little whines with every repetition of your movements. Leaning your head back, he gladly accepts the invitation to attach his lips to your neck again, kissing and nibbling at the skin, and you wonder if he’s being careful enough not to leave any bruises by the end of this. But it’s not like you care at this very moment, where you have more pressing things on your mind.

“F-feels good…” you mewl, running your fingers through his hair, and you shiver when you can hear your boyfriend moaning against your nape.

“Shit, are you gonna cum just like that?” he asks, and you bite your lip.

“C-can I?” you ask, crying out when you can feel him thrusting up, wordlessly. By the way his breathing is getting heavier and occasional groans escape him, you can tell that he’s coming close too - until suddenly he stops you, his hands still resting on your hips. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand that you’re supposed to wait, though seeing how close you were to tumbling over the edge, you’re not entirely happy about it. Your partner reaches for the waistband of his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear just enough to expose his length, and when he puts his hands onto your thighs again, he pulls you closer. He hisses another curse as you roll your hips against him, having his tip merely grazing your folds, and the sharp pain of him digging his fingernails into your flesh in response has you letting out a whine.

“Fuck…” you breathe out, as an entirely different desire creeps up to you now, and while you wonder if you should tell him about it you feel yourself almost cumming from the thought alone as you sink down on him. “B-baby…” you whimper as you take him in with only a few smooth movements of your hips, and when you’re settled comfortably on top of him, he runs his hands up your sides.

“Go slow,” he orders, and though it’s hard for you to hold back, you do as told. Soon, you find yourself beginning to shake uncontrollably as you fuck yourself on his cock, while your boyfriend lets his palms wander your body. And even when eventually he finds your breasts, teasing your nipples through the white fabric, it’s just not enough to give you that sweet release.

“H-how much longer…” you ask, eyes squeezed shut. “W-wanna cum…”

“Not yet, dear,” he whispers, torturing you just a little more. “Slow down,” he reminds you as your pace gets messed up, and when you don’t manage to fall back into your earlier rhythm, he slowly lets one hand wander south on your backside. You whimper when you feel his palm against your ass, arching your back for him, and again, you feel tempted to ask for him to spank you. But he speaks up before the right words can form on your tongue.

“But…” There’s a strain in his voice, telling you that he’s holding back too, and instead of the pain you were hoping for, he’s now pinching your nipple between his fingers, making you let out a broken moan. He then guides both of his hands back to your hips, steadying your rhythm, and as he does he hisses at the pleasure. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to plan surprises like this,” he comments, and then finally you can feel him pressing his thumb against your clit. You whine when he begins drawing circles onto the sensitive bud through the fabric of your dress, and once again your hips begin to stutter - just that this time he doesn’t correct your pace, but instead you can feel him thrusting up to meet you halfways.

“Ahh…” An uncontrolled sound falls from your lips, before you answer, already feeling your high building up inside your stomach. “M-me neither… I don’t think… I would’ve… d-done this before…” You somehow manage to get out what you’re trying to say, and in your own chase for your high you don’t immediately notice how your words seem to affect your partner.

“Really…?” he mutters through gritted teeth and his free hand finds its way up your back and into your hair. Tugging on the strands, he makes you lean your head back, and the moment you can feel him sinking his teeth into your shoulder, your orgasm overwhelms you. You cry out, feeling your whole body shaking as you cum around his cock, pleasure mixing in with the pain from him biting down even harder as he too comes undone underneath you.

He lets you catch your breath for a while, brushing his lips against the bite mark and then his fingertips too.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and you shake your head, leaning in to gently bump your forehead against his.

“It’s fine…” you assure him. “I think… I like the pain.” You feel him slipping out of you as you move back, and Jongho has his hands back on your sides when you try to get up. With a dangerous look in his eyes, he keeps you from moving too far away, muttering,

“I’m not done with you yet, dear.” He makes you sit back down in his lap, and once your hands are holding onto his shoulders, his palms start roaming your body again. “You look way too beautiful like this… it’d be a waste to stop already.” You furrow your eyebrows as he pulls on the dress, and you watch as the fabric exposes more of your chest. Pulling it down enough until both your breasts are uncovered, you mewl at the way he wraps his lips around your left nipple, while he takes your right side into his hand. Deep moans escape him, mixing in with your more high-pitched ones, and soon enough you melt against his touch and you begin rolling your hips on top of him again.

“F-feels good…” you mutter and when he releases you for a moment, you draw a long sigh from his lips when you comb your fingers through his short hair and his eyelids flutter shut.

“This won’t do,” he says when his gaze finds your face. Using his strength, he flips you onto your back, making you lie down flat on the sofa, and when he hovers above you, he goes right back to scattering little bites all over your chest. “You’re so fucking perfect…” he mutters, and the praise makes your heart skip a beat. You can tell he’s getting impatient by the way he’s working his way down your body restlessly, and you hold your breath when he finally has his head between your legs, reaching for your thighs to throw them over his shoulders, all while never breaking eye contact with you.

“Need more of you…” Jongho mutters, kissing a trail down the inside of your thigh. “Need to ruin you.” A shaky moan leaves you when you feel his tongue pressing against your folds, and he licks up a stripe. Having its tip circling your clit skillfully, he brings a finger up to your entrance, and using your slick as well as his own cum leaking out of you as lube, he pushes up inside of you effortlessly. You clench around him immediately, your toes curling at the sensation of him slowly thrusting that one digit in and out of you.

“M-more…” you beg, and you can see him smirk in between your legs. Contrary to what you’re asking for, he pulls out his finger and instead slides in his tongue, moaning as his and your taste mix in his mouth, and the vibrations of his voice make you shudder. You reach down to bury your fingers in his hair and he lets you, closing his eyes as he savours your taste before pulling out and moving back to your clit. He wraps his lips around the small bud, and with your last orgasm not having been so long ago, even him gently sucking on it is turning you into a whining mess in no time. And then he moans at your taste again, because he knows hearing him enjoying this drives you crazy, and you know that at this rate there’s a possibility he’ll make you cum again just from this.

“J-jongho…” you manage to whimper his name, and as he hums against your cunt in response, you clench around nothing. He places one of his palms onto the underside of your thigh, and as if that was the sign you needed to get the gears up in your head moving, you blurt out, “Spank me…” He looks up, a cocky smirk on his face as he rubs his hand against your thigh now.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about the entire time?” he asks, his demeanor changing ever so slightly and his now piercing stare makes you gulp. You’re not sure if he really knew what was going on all along, or if it only just clicked now that you said it, but either way you nod. “You really meant it when you said you like the pain, hm?” He comes back up to attach his lips to your neck, and when he rolls his hips against yours once, you can feel that he got hard again. The second his teeth graze your skin, you throw your head back instinctively, and you let out a shaky moan, only fuelling his need to tease. He lets his palm draw circles on the underside of your thigh, until eventually his fingers wander to your aching cunt and he slips inside two of them.

“Fuck…” you mewl at the feeling of his digits filling you up, and you immediately buck your hips into his hand.

“So needy…” he comments, curling his fingers inside of you and having them graze your g-spot with every repetition. You keep meeting him halfway, unable to stop the motion of your hips, like your body is taking over control and its only purpose is to chase your next high. “And you’re gonna cum again just from the thought, huh?” You whine at his words, and even more so when he angles his hand so that your clit grazes his palm with every time he repeats his motions. “Did you want it that badly? Me spanking you?”

“D-didn’t know how to bring it up…” you whine in between, and he leans in to press a kiss onto your exposed chest.

“You did well telling me,” he praises you, fingering you right towards your next high.

“‘M gonna cum… I’m gonna-” You clench around his fingers as a string of moans and curses falls from your lips and your high shakes you and Jongho quickly presses his thumb against your clit, continuing to tend to the bundle of nerves even as you’re coming down from your high. Writhing underneath him as the overstimulation builds up, you can see him watching intently as you manage to escape his touch, and when his fingers slip out of you, his lips part slightly. There’s a new expression on his face, one that you’ve never seen before, but only a moment later the tension breaks when he sits up, rubbing his palms along your thighs that are still shaking in soothing motions.

“Can you take one more?” he asks as he looks down at you, and you nod. “Then come here.” He gets up and he supports your weight as you do the same. Never taking his eyes off of you as if he was closely monitoring your condition, he leads you over to the dinner table, and when you’re standing right in front of it, he says, “Take off your dress, love.” He helps you out of it, and as you’re trying to turn around to look at him, he keeps you from it. “That’s not what we’re doing now.” He runs his fingertips up your back, and when his hand is placed between your shoulder blades, you can hear his voice again.

“Bend over.” He speaks the words slowly, his tone low, and it makes you suck in a sharp breath. You do as told, and when the hand on your back travels to your behind, it sparks excitement deep inside you. One soothing circle against your ass, he takes his hand away, and then he orders, “Count down from three.” You hesitate, but he grants you those few seconds to think about it, not wanting to push you, and so eventually you speak,

“Three… two… o-one-!” The last number turning into a broken moan when his hand flies to the spot he has caressed just a few moments ago, you feel pain and pleasure surging through your veins at once.

“How was that?” your partner asks, dominance radiating off his voice.

“G-green…” you answer.

“That’s my good girl…” he praises you, and you feel your stomach doing a flip at his words.

“W-wanna be your good girl…” you sputter as you feel your mind going empty, and you arch your back for him prettily. He hums at your reply, or maybe at the state you can feel yourself slipping into, and he says,

“One more?”

“Y-yeah…” you say, and you can hear him letting out a short laugh behind you.

“Then count down.” This time you don’t waste a single second.

“Three… two-” His palm meets your ass with a smacking sound too early this time, and it makes you mewl pathetically once again. As if to apologize, he immediately rubs a few more soothing circles onto the spot, and you can hear him mutter,

“You’re so fucking cute.” And then, when he places both hands on your hips, you can feel the tip of his cock grazing your folds, and the realization that he too got rock hard from this only makes your sanity slip yet a little further away from you.

“Hmmm f-fuck me…” you babble, and once again you can hear him letting out an amused sound.

“You’re so far gone from just this, huh…? And I was gonna fuck you stupid over this table, but you are already stupid.” You whine at his words, nodding, and when you feel him sliding inside of you with ease, there’s nothing you can do but mewl at the feeling.

“Give me a color, dear,” he says, holding still for a moment.

“G-green…” you manage to say. “V-very… fucking… gr-” Hearing it once is all the confirmation he needed, because before you can say it a second time, he’s already starting to thrust. He starts slow, but powerful, and all you can do is let him fuck you as you feel yourself going limp under the impact. Skin slapping against skin, he picks up in pace gradually - maybe faster than he wants to, because the grunts coming from behind you make it apparent that neither of you are going to last long this time.

“Fuck… fuck…” He spits out one curse after the other, his voice strained, and when he can feel you clenching around him as you keep whining at his relentless pace, he reaches down to tend to your clit. Contrary to most times when he pleases you, his motions are anything but precise now, and yet it’s more than enough to get you to cum again. Tears well up in your eyes as you feel your high building up deep inside, and when only seconds later you come undone with him still fucking you hard, you find yourself clawing at the tabletop from the overwhelming pleasure. The blissful afterglow of the orgasm mixes in with the building overstimulation as his hips keep slamming into you, but you do your best to hold still for him through desperate whines and unintelligible cries.

“Shit, Y/N…” he groans your name as you can feel him releasing inside of you, and when he finally comes to a halt you shudder. Pulling out of you carefully, he supports himself on the table with his hands on either side of you for a while, allowing himself to recover, before you feel one of his palms gently meeting the small of your back, and he starts moving it up and down all across your back in soothing motions.

“You did so well, baby…” he breathes, and when he notices you attempting to stand up straight, he’s right there to hold you up. With your legs shaking, he lets you rest against his chest for a short while, but eventually figures it’d be better for you to sit down, so he leads you over to the couch where you can let your exhausted body rest. He disappears in the kitchen for a short while, and sure enough he returns with some water and a few paper towels to clean yourselves up. Making sure you drink a good amount of fluid, he sits down next to you, putting his arm around your frame and letting you snuggle up to him closely.

“That was amazing,” you mutter as you bury your head in the crook of his neck, and you leave a few kisses all around the mole on his throat, before also brushing your lips against his cheek. Though your limbs ache from the overexertion on your body, you lift your arm to run your fingers through his hair, and while you’re massaging his scalp you can feel him relaxing against your figure too. He looks at your face, and he lets himself trace your features with his gaze for a short while, before he wraps his other arm around you too, and he pulls you in for a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“You were amazing too,” he mutters as his lips move against your skin while he talks, before he allows you to rest like this for just a while longer.

You finish the last bite of the takeout meal you brought home for the both of you when you lean back in your seat and throw your hands up in the air to stretch thoroughly.

“Nothing like a good meal after a long day,” you groan, and your boyfriend agrees.

“Right,” he mutters, watching you with a smile before he gets up, starting to stack the dishes on the table so he could carry them to the kitchen all at once. You thank him as you watch him walk off with his hands full, and when he comes back you call out to him.

“Actually…” you start, and you see him raising his eyebrows at you. “Can we talk about something?”

“Sure,” Jongho replies, getting back into his seat across the table. You look around his apartment that you’ve gotten so used to over time, and after hesitating for a bit because of the uneasy feeling building in your stomach, you speak up.

“So… what if we moved in together?”

“Huh?” your partner lets out a surprised noise before he bursts out laughing. Meanwhile you’re beyond confused, to say the least.

“Is it funny…?” you ask, and as he reaches for your hands resting on the table, he answers, the amused expression still on his face.

“No, I mean-... you’ve been practically living here for the past months,” he explains, and as you understand what he’s trying to say, the tension leaves your shoulders at once.

“Ahh… you’re right,” you let out a short laugh too now, before pulling one of your hands out of his hold to grasp at your chest instead. “I thought you’d say no.”

“No, no!” Jongho refutes immediately and he gets up, walking around the table to come to a halt right beside you, wrapping his arms around your figure. He looks down, combing his fingers through your hair as he becomes serious, and when you return his gaze he says, “I’d like it if we moved in together. Officially, that is.” You smile, and then you wrap your arms around his waist and you bury your face in his stomach.

“That’s nice,” you mutter, and you stay like this for a while, having him gently stroking your hair, and once he peels himself away from you, you feel like the hug along with the food you just had made you feel a lot sleepier than you were just before. Your boyfriend cups your face with his hand, thumb brushing against your cheek as he looks at you with both adoration and a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Finally I can make you pay rent,” he adds, and you jump up immediately to complain. You form your hands into fists and playfully hit his arm, making him laugh once again as he turns away to shield his upper body, as if he needed to protect himself from your attack. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding…” he says, and now you’re the one grinning.

“Oh, you’re letting me live here for free?” you reckon, and his amused expression makes way for a slightly offended one.

“I’ve been letting you live here for free for weeks!” he retorts, and this time you’re the one laughing as you throw yourself at him, engulfing him in a tight hug.

#ateez smut #jongho smut #ateez x reader #ateez x fem reader #jongho x reader #ateez series #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #smut

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gatorbites-imagines · 9 months

Note

In honor of the (late) Christmas season, I’d love to request something with Billy Lenz (love his underrated ass)

Something smutty ofc, whatever you think suits him best! Thanks <:) i adore your writing

Billy Lenz x male reader

Drabble

I love Billy Lenz, hes my little freaky guy.

Somnophilia warning, if that’s not your thing.

Shaky, uneven breathing was the only noise in the dark bedroom besides the slick uneven noise of Billys hand dragging up and down his shaft. He was straddling your sleeping body, knees settled far enough apart that no part of him was actually touching you, but you were oh so close.

Close enough for him to see your chest rise and fall, close enough to smell you, and oh how your smell made his eyes roll back into his head, tremors of needy desperation running through his bloodstream.

The darkness of the room covered his features, the dark December night working in his favor, as it allowed him to get closer and closer to you at night, until finally, he found himself bold enough to crawl onto the bed with you. The first nights he hadn’t done anything besides sitting near you, just staring with wide unblinking eyes, as you looked so peaceful dead to the world.

But soon that wasn’t enough, and Billy had undone his belt and started touching himself, sometimes going as far as to bury his face into your sheets right beside you, muffling his sloppy barely suppressed moans and whimpers as he worked himself harder and faster.

Tonight, that hadn’t been enough, even after dragging two whole orgasms out of himself, even as his cock ached from overstimulation, it wasn’t enough. With a pair of your used boxers pressed to his face, the man huffing your scent and musk like a drug, he found himself working his length a third time, twitching and shaking at the electricity it sent through him.

Drool ran down Billys chin, staining the fabric held to his face, only causing it to stick against his chin and mouth. With a wet shaky silent moan, Billy rubbed his tongue into the fabric, working the hand around his sensitive length even faster.

It wouldn’t surprise him if he gave himself carpet burn, or rubbed himself raw, with how much he jerked off to the sight of you, even just peeping on you at night or around the house, or listening to you talking to yourself or to someone on the phone. At least once a day, Billy was draining himself, going cross-eyed, tongue pressed between his teeth as he grunted and groaned, coating his hand in white.

Below him, you shuffled, causing Billy to freeze until you settled on your back, the blankets falling down enough to leave your naked chest uncovered and for Billys eyes to devour. Chewing at the fabric of the boxers, Billy found himself fantasizing about taking your chest into his mouth, to bite and suck and leave hickeys all over. To squeeze your chest together, to shove his cock into the grove it made, to cum all over your neck and face.

The fantasy had his thoughts swimming, feeling lightheaded. But maybe that was also from him suffocating himself with the now spit soaked boxers, making it difficult to breathe in and out. The mild asphyxiation and mental images of making you his was like a punch to the gut, weak spurts of cum shooting from his tip and coating your chest in thin stripes.

If he hadn’t gotten off at least twice before climbing on top of you, the load would have been much bigger and stronger, probably striking you across your peaceful sleeping face. With a whimper, Billy froze, fearing you would wake up to the foreign feeling. But when you didn’t, the giddy feeling inside Billys chest unfurled, arousal and need churning inside his body.

His length ached and was soft in his hands, but it didn’t stop Billy from starting to pull and twist at it again, forcing his body into painful overstimulation, vision going black for a second as he pushed his body to its limits. He wanted to coat you again, as many times as he could, he didn’t even care if you woke up anymore, he needed it.

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vinylfoxbooks · 20 days

Text

September 1 - Fashion | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 512

“I don’t understand why I need your help with this.” Regulus rolls his eyes, watching as Sirius bustles around his dorm -- how he even got into the Slytherin dorm, Regulus isn’t sure -- grabbing things out of his trunk and making an overall mess that Regulus groans at the idea that he’s going to have to clean up. Barty and Evan are lounging around on Evan’s bed but neither of them make a comment, though they are snickering, nor do they make any move to help either Regulus or Sirius.

“Because your idea of fashion,” Sirius starts with a sneer, “Is wearing all black or formal clothes and that’s not the appropriate thing to wear on a date. Especially not with James.”

“Oh?” Regulus asks, raising an eyebrow, “Why can I not wear my normal style?”

“Because your normal style ages you twenty years.” Sirius huffs, throwing a jumper at Regulus, “And James likes comfy, colourful things.”

“They like me and I am not a ‘comfy, colourful’ person.” Regulus challenges, “I doubt they have issue with what I wear, in fact they seem to enjoy it to some degree.”

“And if they really don’t like it, they can always just take it off you.” Barty hums, grinning when Sirius gags at his words.

“Whatever.” Sirius swipes his hand in the air as if physically dismissing the mental image before he throws a nice black button up at Regulus. It falls next to where the jumper is still sitting in his lap. Soon after Regulus recovers from the shirt being thrown at him, a pair of striped pants follow suit and Regulus flips off his brother, standing up.

He’s quick to get dressed. The black button up is nice, a softer material, and it goes under a black, white, and green jumper that Regulus wears on occasion and the pants are nice pinstripe ones and he can admit that he looks alright. He throws on a couple necklaces and starts going through his process of putting all his rings on, “I hope you know, brother, that I still look formal wearing this. And I’m truly not wearing that much colour.”

“Well I’m going to have some issues when that’s all that you own.” Sirius grumbles, “Next time I’ll put you in something from my closet.”

“I would rather die.” Regulus shakes his head, “You better leave my dorm with me.” And with that, he sweeps out of his dorm after making sure that he has everything. He and Sirius split paths and Regulus is quick to find James leaning against a wall near one of the passageways that takes them to Hogsmeade. They stand from the wall when they see Regulus, a smile growing on their face as they take in what he’s wearing, “You look…”

Regulus smirks, “Remind me to tell Sirius that you don’t care about how formal or monotone I dress.” Then he sweeps his eyes over them, “You don’t look so bad yourself.” James bites their lip and slides their hand into Regulus’ elbow and guides them through the passageway.

#marauders #james potter #regulus black #dead gay wizards #jegulus #james x regulus #sirius black #starchaser #sunseeker #nonbinary james potter #microfic #jeggyverse microfic

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cheriden · 3 months

Text

「 across the room 」。。。

"He thinks you look stupid. Stupid is too harsh of a word—stupid in a sense that it’s endearing. His feet are planted in its place as you grow dizzy, seeking balance in the person beside you. Watching you stumble into the kitchen and laughing at nothing; he follows suit."

pairing 。choi yeonjun x gn! reader

☆ genre & tags 。college!au, party animal!reader, party animal!yeonjun

☆ status & word count 。oneshot | 0.761k

☆ warnings/notes 。not proofread, irresponsible drinking, reader is gender neutral but wears makeup

Yeonjun watches you in amusement as you spin around with an arm in the air, jumping in a pace that certainly does not match the loud house music over the speakers. He was supposed to leave a few minutes ago, but he finds himself against one of the walls, red solo cup in hand, as his gaze is fixated on whatever new dance move you have conducted.

You’re a vision. Sparkly eyeshadow and sequined get-up reflecting the mirrorball, weakly hung by thin rope. It shines onto everything, the walls, the floor, the random bodies around you. Yeonjun’s head is spinning as he continues to look at you and whatever you think you’re doing properly, as you proceed to jump and punch into the air.

Now you’re raising your quads in the air and waving your arms like you’re a jellyfish. He thinks you look stupid. Stupid is too harsh of a word—stupid in a sense that it’s endearing. His feet are planted in its place as you grow dizzy, seeking balance in the person beside you. Watching you stumble into the kitchen and laughing at nothing; he follows suit.

He thinks it might be creepy, following you out of his own curiosity. He thinks he might be your guardian angel, watching over you to avoid stupid accidents—but he isn’t your savior, he isn't your stalker. He’s just some guy who thinks you dance funny; funny not in an “I’m making fun of you way”, but funny as in he smiles at the thought of you dancing as it replays in his mind. You shout at nobody, telling the sea of preoccupied bodies that you need another drink. Yeonjun eyes the shot glass and whatever liquor bottle is in your other hand, rushing to your side to confiscate both.

You whine at the loss of it. He grins as you pout and mumble under your breath. He asks: “What’s your name?” You refuse at first, but then he hands you a glass. Thinking it was more alcohol, you chug it down, only to find it’s nothing but water. He warns you not to take drinks from random strangers. With snark, you refute, “It’s fine if it’s you then?” But he’s ever so patient, a soft smile forming when he replies, “It’s fine if it’s me.”

You tell him your name. He asks you to repeat it. You tell him again, and again despite the booming sound system. He thinks you’ve told him at least a dozen times, though he fails to catch it every time. He sees how impatient you’re getting, and settles for pretending to understand it.

You smile. Yeonjun thinks he can burn the image of your high in his mind, along with the scenes of you dancing earlier.

You’re still drunk and nodding your head to whatever early 2000s song is playing, singing as you look around the room and wait for him to pour you more water. He notes how much of the lyrics you get wrong, how many times you grow silent when you’re not sure what verse is on, how you laugh and say sorry when you confuse the hook parts. He tells you it’s fine. You tell him you want to dance with him. He says you shouldn’t be dancing anymore. The two of you argue for a bit, and it ends with you telling him to go get you more water. As he rounds the corner with the empty pitcher, he realizes he had forgotten to tell you his own name. He swears at himself internally, pitcher overflowing below the dispenser as he wipes the lukewarm drink on the sides of his pants. He wonders who invited you; what you study, what you like, your favorite color. He mentally compiles a list of questions for you, arranged by how important it is to him without him sounding too needy.

A tipsy Yeonjun walks into the kitchen in search of you, but to no avail. He walks the route you had taken to the living room-turned-dance floor, though it’s missing your signature sparkle and… Unique dancing. He nearly flips the house over in search of you, and when he describes you to the host, she tells him she didn’t know you personally, but were seen leaving with the rest of your friends.

He sits on the edge of his car’s hood, staring into the sky in an attempt to sober up. With a sigh and a clear mind, he gets into the driver seat and puts the vehicle in reverse.

He’ll just have to find you at the next party.

ahm. cheesed 2 meet you !!!

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sciderman · 1 month

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Hey Sci do you have recs for Wolverine comics where he's not written by douchebags who hate men showing their feelings? I'm familiar with the character but I seriously feel like I'm missing something out.

unfortunately my marvel knowledge is kind of restricted to spider-man and deadpool and therefore, my wolverine intake is limited to team-ups with either deadpool or spider-man. if a comic book does not have deadpool or spider-man in it, there's a very high likelihood i haven't read it.

sure, i've read x-things, but most of the x-things i've consumed have been more from television and the movies - and my x-knowledge is very sporadic when it comes to the comics. very incomplete. i've just dipped my toes here or there. and i hate the avengers. sorry. you can't get me to read an avengers book willingly. even if it has spider-man in it. sorry. wolverine frequents the avengers. he's a mainstay. basically he's always on every team ever. he's a team guy. hilariously. even though everyone's mental image in their head is that he's a lone wolf. he's always on a team. everyone wants this stinky man around. he's the best there is at what he does.

if there are any logan enthusiasts with reccs, please drop them in replies! i'd love to eat up some more wolverine, because i really do love him. but dear god. i can't read all that.

that being said i've sung praises to kelly's recent dp/w wiii - and with everyone being on a poolverine kick, as of late, i think it's a good place to start. of course we all fixate on wade, but – logan is really well handled, really well-written. just - the book is really good. it's just a really good book. the book is in logan's pov, and it's just - i love being in his pov. he has a fantastic voice, and you just - really like him.

yes, he's gruff and tough and broody, but - ugh. you like him. there's just no reason to not like him. he's solid. and he just - inexplicably cares, even when it doesn't make sense. i made a joke the other that - that's logan's mutant ability, is that he cares. even when he doesn't want to. he does. he just cares. he always cares. he can't switch it off. god #*?%ing dammit.

conversely, we all care about wolverine. i don't think you have a choice. that's his mutant ability. he's popular and we like him. i don't think anyone has a choice in the matter. i think even if you think you don't like logan, if you actually open your heart and let him in, you'll realise that yeah. actually. you do like him, and you only thought you didn't. but you do. you like him. there's a reason why he's so popular. and you might not understand why. but it's his mutant ability.

even wade's aware of it!!

i don't know why i like logan so much. i just do. i think there's no reason to not like him. even though i don't like other characters that are similar to him. but logan... logan is different and i like him. there's just a bunch of things that he has going that other similar "tough guy" characters just don't. like his funny silly little yellow suit. i love tough guy characters that wear yellow. i love that he's canadian. i love his short king status. i love that he cares. and i love hugh jackman, too. so all factors mean it's impossible for me to not love wolverine. sorry. what is not to love.

i don't know - i feel like people who treat wolverine like he's just like every other "tough guy" character kind of miss the point of him - i feel like he's intrinsically different, somehow. by way of funny little yellow suit, being a short king, and the way that he legitimately cares, in almost a paternal or even maternal sort of way. he just feels different to me, from other tough guys. he's doting and soft in every single story i've seen him in. including the x-men films. even though he talks like a tough guy and acts like a tough guy and he's got his claws and whatever. he's a soft guy. and he cares.

#sci speaks #i love wolverine so much i named my cat after him.#he is tiny and hairy and has claws #he is so funny too he is angry but he is so soft.#you pick him up and he complains like “weh.” but he doesn't fight back. little guy. he is not tough. he likes to think he is. but he's not.

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d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n · 1 year

Text

Send Noods

Shuri Udaku x Reader

Summary: Shuri's hungry. You're confused what she's hungry for.

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: fluff, a lil bit of smutty smut smut (still 18+ pls), tbh this is just funny to me. NOT CANON COMPLIANT

Author's Note: i cant lie this maybe the stupidest thing i've ever written but its funny and cute and shuri deserves that.

I'm going to be working late tonight. Send noods? Read.

You weren't really sure how to react to Shuri's request. On the one hand, you two had a pretty active and healthy sex life - nudes weren't really the least conservative thing you two had engaged in.

On the other hand, it seemed particularly odd that she would ask for them if she intended to spend the rest of the evening in the labs.

You were slightly pissed off that she had cancelled on yet another date night in favour of working on whatever it was that she was developing - but you understood the importance of her job to Wakanda, so you let it slide.

The prospect of taking nudes excited you - you'd never done it before. You looked yourself once over in the mirror, taking in every inch of your reflection. Not for the first time since moving in with Shuri, you felt... sexy. Wanted. Your confidence wasn't lacking - you knew you were beautiful without Shuri's validation - but there was something about Shuri's spontaneity that made your confidence spike.

You showered, making sure to pamper yourself the same way you knew Shuri would if she were here with you. You shaved, did your skincare, painted your nails in Shuri's favourite colour.

You walked into the massive closet that Shuri had engineered for you, looking for the beautiful lingerie that Shuri had recently brought back from California. She'd been out there for a convention with Peter (Parker) and she'd sent you a picture of the lingerie with a 'thinking of you' message attached. Safe to say that you were so touch-starved that the idea of her thinking of you in that way had got you wet.

You put the lingerie on, marveling at how you felt more naked than if you had been nude, and posed in front of the mirror. You felt powerful in this. You put your favourite heels on, knowing how Shuri loved to unbuckle them for you, and lay on the bed.

You set your phone up on a tripod and took a series of pictures that were risque enough that you'd leave her wanting, but conservative enough that Shuri would want to come to bed. You want to entice her away from her work - the true love of her life.

You googled 'boudoir' and took reference from the poses you found. The photos you took were far from crude - no, they were tasteful, almost works of art.

You smiled when you were done. Shuri asked for nudes? Well, nudes she would get.

You sent her the photos and then threw your phone face down on the bed. Now to wait.

Shuri's phone pinged. She made a mental reminder to check it in a moment, just after she had finished her work on this new suit. She had modified the Black Panther suit, infusing it with the same nanotechnology that Peter had been working on at MIT. She was excited to test out her improvements.

Her phone pinged again. Whoever it was really wanted to get a hold of her. She sighed when her text tone rang out again, standing up to grab her phone.

From: Sithandwa <;3 Image 📸

What the hell did you want now? Maybe you were asking what noodles she wanted? She opened her phone and promptly turned the screen to the table. What had she just seen?

She looked around to make sure there was no one else in the lab - of course, no one else was in the lab because she had a strict 'you must leave the lab at 8pm' which she enforced for everyone except herself. She looked at her phone again to find 5 pictures of you spread over your shared bed, posing in ways that made her mouth water and pussy clench.

Shuri told Griot to look up the lab and she sprinted down the halls - god, you looked delicious and she wanted to devour you.

She opened your bedroom door to see you sitting on the edge of the bed, anxiously biting your nails.

You were so nervous. What if you'd completely misread the signals - no response from Shuri was normally never a good sign.

The door swung open and Shuri stood in the doorway, eyes raking over you, a smile playing on her lips. She stalked over to you, hand cupping your face. She pulled you in for a passionate kiss - her tongue slipping inside your mouth. You relaxed into her hold, kissing her back and pulling her towards you.

She climbed onto the bed, straddling you as she rocked into you. You felt something hard under the confines of her trousers and you smiled. You were in for a fun night.

"What did I do to deserve these beautiful pictures of you, sithandwa?" She asked, pulling away to rest her forehead against yours. You looked up in confusion.

"What? You asked for them, remember?"

Shuri looked confused, "Uh- no I didn't?"

"Yes, you did. See," you pulled your phone from the bedside table, "You said, 'send nudes'." Shuri burst out laughing.

You curled away from her, embarrassed, but she pulled you back into her arms, laughter still bubbling up. She cupped your cheeks and looked into your eyes, "I meant noodles, sithandwa, not nudes." You smiled involuntarily, laughter bubbling up from you too, "Not that I'm not appreciative of your gorgeous photos, but you've ruined my plan for this evening."

"I think I already have an idea of what your plan was for this evening."

"And do you like it?"

You nodded gently, a wave of shyness washing over you.

Shuri lifted your chin up with her finger, "Words, princess."

"Yes, please."

She pushed you down so your back was on the bed, "Good girl."

She kissed you again, fingers trailing up and down your sides. She peeled the straps of the lingerie down, revealing each inch of your skin, pressing light kisses to the expanse of your shoulders.

She kissed down your navel, taking her time to make you squirm. If there was any art that Shuri had perfected, it was the art of fucking you just right.

You stopped her as she reached the softness of your belly. She looked up at you, puzzled, but burst into laughter as soon as she heard what you had to say.

"After this can we get noodles?"

fin.

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seafoamreadings · 7 months

Text

week of february 11th, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: mars into aquarius makes you (more of?) a genius. really! but you can't expect to just know everything all at once. little downloads find their way into your brain without you knowing how you know them but it doesn't change the fact that you know. not everyone will listen, but at least you know.

taurus: this extremely aquarian week puts your reputation and public image into focus. it may clash with the way you actually intend to present yourself or the way that you see yourself. if you find that's the case and you're not happy about it, it is safe to make changes to either arena, although uranian involvment does mean things not go quite according to plan. ultimately it ends up in your favor most likely anyway.

gemini: air sign vibes continue to increase dramatically this week. it's especially aquarian so ideally your focus is on haute intellectual pursuits; the mental equivalent of junk food and tabloids is all well and good but it simply won't suffice this week.

cancerians: if you've been wanting to try your hand at the occult or something that is a bit socially taboo, this week is the right time for it. especially by the weekend, but you could start early and build up. alternatively pay off debts, take out loans if necessary, invest, etc. if that suits you!

leo: if pluto entering aquarius did a number on your partnerships, increasingly aquarian vibes help you get back out there, and/or heal things, and/or come to terms with how much you love being on your own, or whatever the case may be; there's also a good chance of new love or commitment entering your life in the next three or four weeks.

virgo: if you haven't already started such a process, tear down your entire daily routines, diet, and/or exercise plans and rebuild. don't forget either step! it isn't going to work to try to start new on a pre-existing foundation, and it isn't going to work to tear something down that isn't working without replacing it with something better.

libra: the steadily (actually rapidly) increasing air vibe does a lot for your fun and romance. don't stifle it with obligations and responsibilities; do what you absolutely have to do, and then do more if it lights you up truly, but other than that, do what brings you bliss this week. especially if that involves any form of flirtation.

scorpio: you're one of those lucky signs with, arguably, two chart rulers. they are mars and pluto, and they meet up with each other in your 4th house, aquarius, today. if you have planets or angles in the first few degrees of scorpio or last few of libra, this can be quite challenging and i suggest being very careful to avoid accidents for possible violence, but for the most part this can be empowering to you, especially if you channel the vibes into your physical home as a sanctuary or, in this case, more of a lair.

sagittarius: if you can participate in any sort of positive activism or a cause you sincerely care deeply about, this is the best time to do it, especially the closer to home you can keep it. at the same time, be cautious as accidents and even violence are probably more likely under these influences.

capricorn: the world order's shift from earth to air really finalizes and hits home this week. you're out of the spotlight in some way, but it probably suits you. maybe it is more like escaping from a search light.

aquarius: yet more ingresses into your sign are poised to occur. it is mostly beneficial for you. the only caveat is that when mars conjoins pluto, you will be more prone to bodily or mental harm or injury. so go the extra mile to care for your corporeal form and enjoy the aura of magnetism you're to be granted.

pisces: when things pile into aquarius, the sign right before yours, for most people it's a simply aquarian time. for you though, since that's your 12th house, it's... almost piscean. be sure to do your shadow work, dream practices, and any other suitable 12th house activities this week with both mars and venus joining the party in that part of the sky.

#horoscopes #horoscope #weekly horoscopes #weekly horoscope #astrology #signs #zodiac #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

Note

Love your Bale Batman shop girl series! Was wondering how shop girl would feel if Catwoman or some other kick-ass woman came on the scene?

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Sure thing! I did go with a different kickass woman, since Catwoman does show up in the Nolan trilogy

Warnings: Light angst; fluff added for tasty goodness

You don’t really worry about the tabloids anymore. At least, not in the way that you used to. Michelle still sends you the odd article, but it’s usually accompanied by several 😂 emojis (the most notable is the one that suggested that you, Bruce, and Liz are in a throuple, and Grant is your collective beard). Whatever the press says about Bruce becomes white noise.

But…What the press says about Batman still tends to seep through.

You can’t help but notice the Gotham Gazette where it’s spread open on Rose’s desk. She’s turned away from it, reading through the approval form that you’ve brought over to her. You can’t help but reach out, turning the newspaper toward yourself and eyeing the grainy image of Batman. Your brow furrows as you draw the newspaper up to get a better look, scanning it more closely. He’s tied up in what look like vines, and nose-to-nose with a stunning, smiling, partially-masked woman.

“You haven’t seen that yet?” Rose asks, glancing up from the document. “It’s been all over the papers for weeks.”

“Has it?” You ask dazedly. You’ve managed to miss it. You haven’t been following mentions Batman as closely on social media since you started your new job—you just haven’t had time.

“Mhm.” Rose folds her arm on her desk and leans in, peering at the picture. “Apparently it’s a real love-hate-cat-and-mouse kinda thing. Hot, right?” She waggles her brows. “I’d love to see what’s under that suit.”

“Which?”

“Either.”

You force a smile at the sight of Rose’s salacious grin, but you can’t help glancing back down at the article and skimming it. You commit the name to memory and make a mental note to look her up on your phone when you get back to your desk—

Poison Ivy.

It’s probably not much of a surprise that Bruce hasn’t mentioned her to you. For the most part—apart from the odd knowing glance, the bruises on his body, and the night he spilled into the penthouse half-dead—he keeps that side of himself to himself. Alfred doesn’t discuss it with you, either, and perhaps that’s why he seems so surprised when you slam your laptop shut as he comes into the kitchen that Saturday morning, hiding your googled articles of Poison Ivy and Batman.

Alfred’s brows raise, and you offer him a nervous, guilty smile as your face goes hot. You know that you weren’t fast enough—you’d been so honed in on reading that you hadn’t heard him until he was passing right behind you.

“...Is he awake yet?” You ask lightly, desperate to break the awkward silence.

“Only just.”

“‘Kay.”

“It seems you and Master Wayne are researching similar topics these days,” He comments, swanning around the kitchen counter and setting down the empty breakfast tray.

“Oh?”

“Mm. She's proving to be a tougher nut to crack than he thought.”

You consider for a moment. You could let the conversation go, of course. You’re certain Alfred wouldn’t press it. But:

“Has he got any leads?”

“A few,” Alfred nods, bracing his hands on the counter, “Though I would recommend asking him about his ideas and methodology.”

You bristle before you sigh and slouch dejectedly, resting your chin on your hand.

“He doesn’t talk about that stuff with me, Alfred.”

“He doesn’t like for you to worry.”

“I worry whether he tells me or not. Not knowing just makes me worry more.”

“Then perhaps that’s something you ought to tell him.”

You glance up at him warily, and some of your nerves ease as he gives you a warm smile.

“Now,” He straightens, clapping his hands together and looking around the kitchen. “Despite the hour, Master Wayne is tucking into his breakfast. Shall I get something together for your lunch?”

You consider for a moment, eyes darting down the hall before you stand, shaking your head.

“Let’s put a pin in that. I think I’m just gonna…Go steal some of Bruce’s toast.”

Alfred smiles knowingly, giving you a wink before you turn fully from him and head down the hall.

The blackout curtains have been raised just enough to let a little bit of light into the room, but it’s still quite dim. You can see the empty smoothie glass on the bedside table, and the plate of toast that Bruce has put on the wide headboard behind him. Bruce looks preciously rumpled, scrubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. You can see a few light bruises on his bare chest and arms, but nothing too egregious. His eyes are still narrowed with sleep as he lowers his hands, and his hair looks as ruffled as a baby bird’s. He perks up as you come in, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips as you come closer.

“Hey, baby,” He murmurs, opening his arms as you climb into bed beside him.

“Sleep okay?” You ask, cuddling into his side.

“Fine. I thought you were seeing Michelle for brunch.”

“Got moved to drinks this evening. She had a work thing come up.”

Bruce hums in understanding, tucking you close and pressing a kiss to your head. You bite your lip, grappling with how to bring up the conversation.

“Late night?” You finally ask lightly. You're relieved when you don’t feel Bruce tense, or reel away. He just rubs his hand gently over your arm.

“Mhm.”

“Later than usual?”

“...About on par.”

“Mm.” You eye the steady rise and fall of his chest for a few moments before you hedge: “Hope you don't mind my asking–”

“It’s fine—”

“—You’ve just seemed a little tied up lately.” You give Bruce a sly, teasing smile, and it widens to a grin when you see him fighting back his own smile.

“Is that why you came in here?” He asks dryly.

“Of course not. I saw Alfred bringing you toast.” You straighten up, reaching over his shoulder, taking up a piece, and biting into it. Bruce chuckles, and you grin as he leans into you, nuzzling against your neck. You hum as you chew, your skin prickling at the feeling of his thickening stubble.

“How’s it going, anyway?” You ask.

“What do you mean?”

“You have any leads?”

Your stomach drops when you feel him go tense. He sighs softly, leaning away to get a better look at you. You reach back, setting the toast down and dusting crumbs from your fingers before you fold your hands in your lap, waiting patiently. After a few moments, you can’t help but wring your hands subtly as Bruce observes you, and then lowers his gaze to the sheets.

“I’m not sure I want to discuss that with you,” He finally admits. You swallow thickly, fighting to keep from shifting and fidgeting with nerves.

“Can I ask why not?”

Bruce pushes a sigh out through his nose, giving a small shake of his head.

“I can’t keep it out, huh,” He mutters.

“Well…You did for a while. Didn’t go so well,” You remind him lightly. Bruce nods, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he mutters, “I know.”

You tentatively reach out, resting your hand atop his. He turns his hand over, taking a gentle hold of yours.

“I’m not asking you to make me a suit and teach me to fight, Bruce. I just want you to let me in.”

His lips twitch with a smile as he reaches up, cupping your cheek and sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone.

“I think…That her name is Pamela Isley. She’s a botanist.”

“Why is she doing…what she’s doing?”

“That’s what I still need to find out.”

You nod, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you.”

He hums, grasping your jaw and drawing you in for another long, warm kiss.

“That’s never happening,” He adds as the kiss breaks. You frown, brow furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

“Making you a suit, teaching you to fight.”

You pout, cocking your head to the side.

“I ought to know how to at least throw a punch, right?”

“We’ll see about that. It’s a slippery slope,” Bruce chuckles, patting your cheek before nodding over his shoulder. “Eat your toast.”

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#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half #asks #replies #anon

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