Logan Howlett/Reader, Clark Kent/Reader, Scott Summers/Reader, Remy LeBeau/Reader, 2K
a/n: got a request for virgin!reader that i uhhhhh ran away with; NOTE I believe that virginity is a construct and tried to avoid that portrayal in this fic. Enjoy!
cw: smut/18+ only, reader is a virgin/inexperienced, all men are supportive and loving, makeouts, ambiguous genitalia, gn!reader
masterlist ao3 requests
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Your man makes a discovery about you that he's eager to help out with.
Marvel/Virgin!Reader, DC/Virgin!Reader (18+)
Logan Howlett
He’s got an instinct for these things. Considering that he’s able to distinguish the heartbeat of a doe in the quiet of the woods, the bull-rushing wind that ghosts through the trees, the flap of wings as they take to the sky—it makes sense.
This is why he pauses in the descent down the meter of your body, the heat of his mouth loitering over the dip of your navel. His tongue scrapes against the divot as his eyes search you, admiring the way that your brows twist up. He appraises how your face wracks in delighted pleasure—but is also restrained with an element of anxiety.
“What’s wrong?” He murmurs, audible enough that you are distracted from the thrill of his explorations. Your eyes alight down to him too-quickly, caught out and without any proper defenses.
“Ah—”—You begin with a stammer that can’t be smothered in your voice—“—Nothing—”
“Haven’t done this before, have you?” He asks, and his voice is a corrugated rumble that snakes through you from your abdomen out. His hands seize around your bare waist, fingers clasping into the flesh, his eyes lancing through you with a deep, proprietary need.
You cannot lie to him in this most crucial of moments. Anything less than the truth will result in the cessation of this pleasure. Pleasure that even his body draped out of you produces.
“No,” You confess, your eyes askance to the bedsheets tangled in labyrinthine knots beneath you. If your body scalded with the torment of pleasure he coaxed out of you, this embarrassment is even more excruciating.
But you have little time to dwell on it before you feel the lap of a tongue up your stomach. Your vision drags to the obscene sight that he makes, his arms drawing you further under his implacable grip. His eyes are rolled over dark with a need to satisfy what you have yet to receive.
“You’re not—mad—”—You try to ask, but the inquiry is choked as you feel the sink of his teeth into the flesh of your thigh. Still his eyes refuse to deviate from you, drinking in every subtle reation that he can encourage from your lips, from the twitch of your body below him.
“Not at all,” He growls into the throbbing pulse where your legs meet, “Just means I gotta make sure I ease you into it.”
When his tongue laps at the heat of your body, making you curl your fingers into the meat of his arms—his groan couples beautifully with your own.
Scott Summers:
You cannot deny that you expected Scott to have a specific type of reaction when you confessed this to him. But the way that he draws entirely still under you, his hands adjusting down the slope of your waist, making further navigation down the cleft of your ass—
You don’t know if you expected this.
“Scott?” You ask, unable to discern the emotion that lurks underneath those opaque lenses. “Please say something.”
“I—”—He bows his head in humble incline, allowing you to see the knit of his brow as he makes a resuscitative noise you realize is a cough.
And this allows you to realize that he’s blushing, a ruddy dusting of color that spreads from the apple of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You don’t realize that there’s a smile growing on your face, a coalescing of disbelief and amusement.
“It’s not—bad, is it?” You ask, affecting your voice to a low whisper as you look up to him. You take careful visual inventory of him through the fan of your lashes.
And he’s quick to respond, with an instinctiveness that is motivated by the need to reassure, to keep you in the span of his broad fingers. You can’t see the quality of those eyes, but you do the brows that twist in a worried desperation, a mouth expressionless with fear. That communicates volumes.
“No!” The syllable is expelled quickly, his fingers supplement to the veracity of his statement—they drape up the small of your back, ambling up you with needful obeisance to assuage your worries. “Not at all.”
He clears his throat again, though it does little to diminish the color that is still rising with the precarious quality of the situation. There’s something endearing. Something awkward—something shy.
“I just want to make sure that you don’t feel rushed into it.” He says, his voice low, deliberate. “I want to make sure you feel ready.”
There’s something that pulls tender, something in the way his hands rest on the ridge of your shoulderblades. He holds you as though you are precious—as though you are sacred.
There is a twist of longing in the caging of your ribs that matches with the beat that thrums between your legs; you can’t help but buck into the bulge that is still growing with nascent interest against you.
“I’m ready.” You tell him, staring at the lenses that are angled directly towards you. “I don’t want to do it with anyone but you.”
Scott’s jaw sets, a taut swallow makes descent down the column of his throat. Something grows firmer, harder still against you—and you chuff out a flustered breath, averting your eyes.
“Can we just—”—You reorient yourself in the clasp of his arms—“—Take it slow?”
His lips are on the slope of your shoulder, an oath of his fidelity, of his gentility. “Of course.”
His mouth makes slow journey up your neck, summoning tight shiver through the grit of your teeth. And his hands make warranted journey back to the heat of your body.
“Let me know if you want to stop, okay?”
“Okay,” You gasp as the rough scrape of those fingers continue lower—you know that you won’t.
Remy LeBeau
“You tellin’ me,” Remy asks next to you—and you’re trying so hard to not focus on the close proximity of his body to yours, “You never been with a man before?”
“Never been with anyone before,” You confess with a shyness that you wish you didn’t bear, shifting uncomfortably in your seating. You’re too focused on the weight of your admission to notice how his eyes draw in particularity over your body, nor to notice the crook of his mouth as he watches you.
“I know,” You continue, still ignorant to the gears that are turning in his mind, “It’s embarrassing—”
“Non,” He corrects with a an alacrity that makes your eyes dart up to him, look at the unexpected neutrality of his voice, “Only mean you gotta find the right person to do it with.”
He inches further down the limited real estate between the two of you, letting you see the clench of those muscular thighs as they flex nearer yet.
“Yeah?” You ask, your heart trapped in the housing of your throat, complex words clotted past articulation. “Like who?”
“Someone you know, chere,” He advises with a drawl that sends a thrill of adrenaline through your veins, and heady want in the pit of your abdomen. “Someone who treat you right—”
His arm slinks down the back of your chair, close enough to make tactile contact with you. You have to grit your teeth to resist the shudder that is trembling up your body.
“—Someone who make you feel good.” His eyes glow with an unspoken fire that scorches you the longer you share his gaze. But you want to feel the heat—perhaps this is why you near closer. Why you ask what you do next.
“Know anyone, Remy?” You ask him. When he chuckles, it’s a confident, arrogant noise. But it carries with it the weight of someone who knows how to fulfill a responsibility given.
“Maybe I do, minou,” He murmurs, and when his knuckles drag up your jawline, you don’t flinch—his touch fits perfectly against your face. As though you have been waiting for his hand to find your body.
His mouth is needy, it is eager to taste your own. To lick the salt from your tongue and to scrape against the back of of your teeth. His hands slink under clothes that are rapidly becoming unnecessary with each passing moment.
You help along the way as you buck your hips into the heel of his palm that grinds against you, that sends a shock of pleasure through your body. That makes him chuckle into your mouth, his teeth catching on the full of your bottom lip.
When he presses his tongue against it, draws it against his soft palate, and sucks, hard—you can’t help but moan. And his hand is eager to convince more from you as his fingers search in between your thighs.
“You gonna enjoy this, minou,” He reassures you as his breath ghosts over the crook of your neck, as his tongue marks territory that he will claim upon further inspection. “I promise you.”
You can only whimper into the shell of his ear. You think that he’ll make good on this guarantee.
Clark Kent:
To your relief, he takes your confession in eager stride, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It does little to disguise the heady flush, the shyness that you find taking bloom over his face.
To your surprise, he makes further revelation to you as he shifts, letting you settle more fully from where you’re seated on his lap. You both are in various undress, so it falls to reason that goosebumps dart up your arms, your legs as he presses you against him.
“I am, too,” He informs you.
There’s something hopeful, something fearful in the slant of his eyes as he looks to you in worshipful manner. To you, to your altar that he has been given opportunity to lay sacrifice to, to give ample tribute to—with your permission.
“You are?” You ask in incredulous manner—there’s something difficult to believe about this, as you look at the wall of muscle that he makes under you. At the delicious display that he is under the spread of your arms, all power and sinew and warmth—all yours.
“I find that hard to believe,” You inform him as you run your fingers down the swathe of his chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath, of barely suppressed pleasure. Something down the descent of his body, pressing against you, speaks for the rest of him.
“I never got around to it,” He admits in hushed delivery, moving those wide hands up your body. Still, he touches you in hallowed meter, as though the privilege of your body will be rescinded at any moment.
“I always wanted it to be with the right person.”
“And am I the right person?” You ask him, letting something sly run undercurrent in your voice—though it is beset by that nagging self-doubt that hounds you. The way that he looks from the curves of your figure, to search your face, dispels any insecurity you might bear.
“You’re the perfect person for me.” He whispers to you, revelatory and reverent as he speaks. “Always.”
You know that you don’t imagine the smile that is making instinctual passage on your face, nor the way that his hands seek to commemorate your body under his palms.
“And,” Here, an element of mischief establishes itself in the crinkle of his eyes, the arc of his smile, “With any luck, I’ll be good at it eventually.”
“I get the feeling,” You draw your arms to rest on his shoulders, closing in to the plush of his mouth, “That that won’t be too difficult for you.”
He murmurs against your mouth, barely able to resist the taste of your lips, “Tell me what you like.”
Clark’s hands search you with the adoration of a man who has seen God. “So I can keep doing it for you.”
The last word before he finds your mouth with his, and works to fulfill his prayer, is “Always.”
And so, you let your disciple make prayer at the temple he has travelled vast journey to make.
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pls do Scott Summers babe i know you'll do my man justice 🫶
Scott Summers Headcannons (SFW and NSFW 18+)
Tek i love you <3 ty for letting me feed my own delusions about our man
no matter how long you’ve been dating Scott, he will always be a nervous wreck around you. flustered beyond belief the moment he locks eyes with you across the table during mission debriefs, stumbling over his words as he tries to get the details of the upcoming mission to leave his mouth. Logan would roll his eyes and grumble something about “slim just sit down” and complain about why they let him be in charge for the nth time that morning.
he is always asking you what color his shirt is and if his outfit matches. He tried to stick to neutral tones as those were easy to tell apart with his ruby tinted vision, but once Jubilee called him a “sad beige millienial” he had to branch out from neutrals and his x-men uniform. he trusted you the most to pick him out the colorful waredrobe that would save him from being victim to Jubilee’s own brand of fashion which he saw as the end of the world.
Scott Summers loves it when you get bratty/angry with him, when you take over and take the lead from him. Especially after a tense mission when you two have done nothing but bicker since you two stepped back into the mansion after the silent jet ride back. You storm off to your shared room, Scott right behind you as he attempts to talk to you. The second you step into the bedroom you whirl around and shove your finger in Scott’s face, yelling about how disastrous the mission went due to his piss poor planning. He looks down at you with astonishment, he’d never seen you like this, and if he was being honest, it turned him on. He’d try to inconspicuously adjust himself so you wouldn’t notice the growing buldge in his pants, but when you caught him it seems to piss you off even more. you’d yell, “Are you really fucking turned on right now Scott!?” and he’d just flush and bite the inside of his cheek before nodding.
Scott is the king of morning sex I do not care what anyone else says. despite him being a infamous insomniac and early bird, he is always ready for a round or two before breakfast, and maybe another after morning training is done. He promised you he’d count it towards your training hours for the week because it technically was a workout. As long as you didn’t tell Hank why your stamnia suddenly improved it was a win-win situation.
♯ best friend!megumi who loves the taste of your sweet cunt, especially when he knows he could treat you sooo much better than your pathetic excuse for a boyfriend. and who are you to resist an offer like that from your needy sweet best friend? twt link
the air in megumi’s dorm room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the only light coming from a dim desk lamp that cast long, flickering shadows across the walls. for nearly an hour, megumi had been buried between your thighs, his face pressed firmly against your soaking wet heat. he was obsessed, completely consumed by the taste of you, a flavor he craved far more than he ever let on when you were just "best friends”.
you, on the other hand, were a shaking, whiny mess beneath him. your hips ever so often arched high off the bed at the overstimulation, your breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches. one of your hands clutched the dark blue bedsheets beneath you, while the other disappeared into his dark hair, fingers tangled in the soft, spiky strands. beneath the firm press of his palm against your chest, your heartbeat pounded wildly, each frantic beat impossible for either of you to ignore.
"g— gumi— you’re so mean— i can't.. nnggh! g— give me a break!" you wailed, your voice cracking. you were already sensitive, your nerves fried from the relentless attention he’d paid to your cunt for the last forty five minutes.
did megumi hear your pathetic whining? yeah. did he listen, though? nope. he continued flicking his tongue rapidly against your nub, sucking the swollen flesh into his mouth with a wet, slurping sound. as he worked, he began to hum, a low, vibrating rumble deep in his throat that echoed directly into your cunt. the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making your toes curl violently and your thighs tremble.
“megumi!—” you cried out.
he lifted his head just enough to eye your expression. he watched your face, the way your eyes were rolled back, your lips parted in a silent scream, and the sheer desperation written across your features. a small, smug smirk touched his lips before he fluttered his eyes shut once more, his lips pursing tightly against your cunt, creating a vacuum-like suction that pulled your clit deep into his mouth.
“you can handle it,” he muttered.
"nnngh!— oh god, gumi!" you sobbed, your voice high and needy.
he ignored your whimpers, continuing to swirl and lap at your juices. he loved how you sounded. the way you whined and begged, the way you fell apart under his touch. he knew exactly how to push you over the edge. he bet your boyfriend couldn’t break you like he could.
as the tension peaked, you let out a loud, strangled cry, your back arching off the mattress. you walls clamped down hard on his face as you erupted, a spray of fluid squirting directly onto his cheeks and chin. you shuddered, your body racking with the force of the orgasm, your fingers tightening in his hair.
as the waves slowly subsided, you gasped for air, your voice a whiny whisper. you gave his hair a firm tug, pulling his face away from your dripping cunt. "hey— gumi! g— give your mouth a break! cmooon," you whined, your chest heaving.
megumi pulled back slowly, a string of saliva connecting his lip to your pussy. he didn't look tired at all, despite it being 1:47 in the morning. okay. maybe he was tired. but for your pussy? nah. he looked at your swollen, glistening folds and then looked you in the eyes, pressing a gentle peck on your clit.
“what? don’t tell me you’re tired already.”
without wasting time, he gathered a thick glob of saliva in his mouth and spat directly onto your clit, the warm wetness sliding over your sensitive skin.
"i’m not done yet," he murmured.
you let out a soft, indignant whine, your legs falling open wider despite your words. "you’re evil. you've been down there for almost an hour.."
megumi scoffed. he leaned back in, his breath hot against your wet skin. "can’t blame a guy for wanting to eat some good pussy," he paused, his tongue darting out to lick away the spit he'd just landed on you, "does he even know how to make you sound like this? or do you have to pretend to enjoy it when he's inside you?"
you let out a pathetic, high-pitched whimper at the feeling of his warm tongue against your overstimulated cunt, your head tossing back against the pillow. "megumi.. stop.. don't say that!”
"why, baby? does it make you feel guilty?" he shifted upward, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your swollen folds, tasting the cocktail of your arousal and the remnants of your orgasm. "or does it just make you realize how mid he is compared to me?"
he looked up at you again, his eyes scanning your flushed face, savoring the conflict and the lust warring in your expression. he loved the power he had over you in this moment. the fact that while you belonged to someone else, your body was reacting only to him.
"you’re a little slut for your best friend, aren't you?"
“gumiiii—“
“tell me you want me to fuck you dumb until you forget his stupid fucking name."
The day dawned warm and golden, and when you opened your eyes dew was still sparkling on the flowers that grew below your bedroom window. The first thing you noticed was that Scott was no longer in bed beside you. The second was the delicious smell of coffee brewing wafting in under the door on a breeze from the open kitchen window. Contentment (and relief) blossoming in your chest, you wrapped yourself in a robe and padded out in your slippers to watch your lover. He was bent over the stove, intently cooking something or other - eggs, from the looks of it - and the old but reliable coffeemaker was bubbling away noisily. Frankly you were impressed that it still worked at all. Just last week Hank had almost rendered it inoperative while trying to make some sort of vitamin and caffeine concoction designed for peak health and efficiency.
Scott must have heard you approaching, because he turned to face you. His smile was almost as bright as the morning sunlight that streamed in. He was still wearing the slightly oversized white t-shirt adorned with the X-Men logo that he always slept in, and a pair of blue and white checkered pajama pants. “Good morning, my love.”
He didn’t usually use terms of endearment in shared spaces like this, but it was early enough that everyone else was probably either still sleeping or doing some pre-breakfast training. You could almost hear Logan pretending to gag, or see Ororo smiling. For now, though, everything was still peaceful. Your voice was soft when you replied. “Good morning.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you breathed out a laugh at the tinge of color that rose to his defined cheekbones. Little displays of affection like that still flustered him, and you exploited that fact regularly. A yawn escaped you before you could repress it, and in an instance of perfect timing, the coffeemaker dinged its readiness.
Scott carefully poured you a cup, as always making it exactly how you liked it and in your favorite mug (you’d threatened to fight Kurt over it once) and handed it to you. “Be careful, it’s still hot.”
You waggled your eyebrows in a suitably exaggerated manner. “Much like you, Mister Summers.”
He groaned, turning back to the stove. “Don’t make me let your breakfast have an unfortunate accident.”
This time you laughed aloud, leaning against the countertop with steaming mug in hand. “Sure.”
Scott ran a hand through his already sleep-tousled hair, and utterly failed at stifling his grin. “I mean it.”
Playfully rolling your eyes, you set down your coffee and walked over so you could wrap your arms around him from behind. Resting your cheek against his shoulderblade, you sighed contentedly. “Sure you do.”
Twisting back around to face you, he lifted one hand to give your cheek a loving caress before leaning in for a tender kiss. “Alright, maybe I am bluffing.”
You hummed against his lips, melting into his embrace. He kissed you again, longer this time, and you felt your heart flutter just like it had the first time he’d held you in his arms and lightly pressed his lips to yours. His hands traveled down to your waist as yours moved up to rest on his chest, and you could feel his hips move against yours in an unconscious movement before he pulled back, clearing his throat gruffly. “Breakfast first.”
“If you insist. Are you telling that to me or to yourself?” You ran your hand down his chest, feeling the defined muscle even through the fabric of his shirt. With a wink, you sat down in one of the chairs by the counter and took another sip of your coffee.
For now, everything was right and good in the world.
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𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You’re always baking a cake for every birthday at the X-Mansion. But now that it’s your birthday, who’s going to bake yours? ✰𝗦𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲.ᐟ
⋆ Part of the 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢-𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.
─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
At Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, every mutant adult had their role. Those who were considered the core of the X-Men on the news were more like faculty. Each of them teaching their own sort of class or helping students hone in their abilities.
But then there were some like you, no distinct role or duty yet never left the mansion once you got older. Some had no where else to go, some thought this was more of a family than the one they had outside. Regardless, this was your home and everyone in it was your family. Making yourself useful or available to anyone who needed assistance, that was your role.
There was also this one hobby that you developed, baking. You loved to bake and found any excuse to do so. When Ororo mentioned that she couldn’t recall the last time someone baked her a cake, you were thrilled to make one especially for her on her birthday. Anna-Marie said she wanted one for her birthday, then Kurt, then Hank, and eventually it evolved into a tradition where you made a cake for everyone. You even baked a rum cake for Logan who looked slightly less grumpy when you gave it to him.
But now your birthday was coming up, who was going to bake you a cake? Sure, you didn’t mind baking it for yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. These were the thoughts going through Scott’s head as he rambled to Remy, who just looked at him with a sly smile. Remy has known for a while that Scott had feelings for you. Despite the ruby quartz lenses, he had a terrible poker face.
“Why don’t you bake the cake for her?” Remy asked as he flips a card between his fingers.
“Do I look like I know how to bake?” Scott raised an unamused eyebrow.
“Surely them books got a recipe or two? Never know til you try, right Cy?” Remy flicked the card between his fingers, landing it in the spine of one of your baking books. Scott turned to look at the shelf, grabbing the book and opening it up. “That baking stuff’s a science, right? Maybe Hank’ll help ya.”
Scott nodded as he browsed the table of contents, flipping to a page titled strawberry sponge cake. You liked strawberries right? “Yeah, I’ll ask. Thanks Remy.” He mumbled. Gambit hummed and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. He started to make his was out of the kitchen before stopping in the entryway.
“Oh,” He looks back, waiting for Scott to meet his gaze. “Make sure you put a lotta love in that batter, mon ami.” He winks before leaving Scott alone in the kitchen. Feeling the heat creep up his face, he clears his throat before looking back down at the recipe.
After making a list and taking a quick trip to the grocery store, Scott made it back to the mansion. Hank was more than happy to help, though he was really just supervising in the event that Scott made any fatal errors. He stood at the opposite side of the kitchen, something about blue fur and not wanting things to turn out purple. In the end, the only thing Scott needed help with was the buttercream. Knowing you had a sweet tooth, he opted for than over whipped cream but couldn’t seem to get the consistency right. Thank god for Hank.
Nearly three hours later, Scott had finished the cake just after midnight. The frosting was a little sloppy, but it was honest work. He decided it’d be best to surprise you with it first thing in the morning, rather than waking you up.
So the next day, Scott woke up bright and early to hand deliver your cake to your room. However, when he opened the fridge, he saw that a sliver was missing. Rolling his eyes and knowing Logan was definitely responsible for the stolen piece, he took the cake up anyway. Knocking on your door with one hand as he faintly permitted him in from the other side. You were now stretching, not thinking much of someone knocking on your door at this hour.
“Happy birthday,” Scott said softly as he carefully entered the room with the cake in his hands. He made sure to turn the missing chunk towards him so you wouldn’t notice it at first. He couldn’t help but grin as he saw your eyes light up.
“Where’d you get that from?” You gasped as you moved to sit at the edge of the bed.
“I made it last night. It’s not professional or anything since I have no experience.” He admitted bashfully, sitting next to you.
“You baked me a cake? Scotty…” You playfully pouted. “It looks so good, I- what happened there?” You chuckle a bit as you point at the missing slice.
“I assume Logan got to it after I put it in the fridge last night.” He sighed. You took the cake from his hands and placed it on your nightstand.
“Thank you, you didn’t have to do this for me.” You placed your hands on his shoulders. You were sure you could see a faint blush on his face in the morning light.
“I wanted to. You always bake a cake for each of our birthdays. It’s time someone baked yours.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, gaining a surge of confidence. You stilled for a moment, then kissed his cheek. His face caught fire, you could see it clear as day now. “What was that for?” He smiled lopsidedly.
“For always being so sweet to me.” You laughed.
“I could be even sweeter?” He responded quickly, his hands finding your waist. It was your skin’s turn to heat up now, realizing the real reason he stayed up trying to bake a cake for you. Oblivious to his prior behavior up until right now.
“Is that so?” You whispered. “Let me see just how sweet you could be.” You pulled him closer. Scott didn’t hesitate, his lips finding yours in an instant. Funny enough, he did taste sweet, all that cherry chapstick finally getting put to good use. Gripping your hips, he swiped his tongue across your lips. You granted him access instantly as he groaned into your mouth, pushing you to lay back in the bed.
He didn’t hover. No, Scott’s body was pressed against yours as you felt just how much he’d been wanting this, wanting you. Your fingers curled in his hair as his lower body settled between your legs. You gasped into his mouth as his hand squeezes your ass. Both of you froze when you heard someone clear their throat.
Scott quickly untangled himself from you as the two of you turned to see Morph standing in the doorway of your bedroom.
“Logan said there was cake and that Scott took it up to your room. But clearly he was about to get into an entirely different cake.” They tried their best to stifle their laugh.
“Kevin, get out.” You warned. Your face, however, was hot as the heat enveloped your neck as you’d been caught mid-makeout.
“Geez, the government name?” Morph couldn’t hold back their laugh as you chucked a pillow at them. “Okay, okay! Just save some cake for the rest of us. The strawberry one, that is!” Morph closed the door and cackled down the hall.
The day dawned warm and golden, and when you opened your eyes dew was still sparkling on the flowers that grew below your bedroom window. The first thing you noticed was that Scott was no longer in bed beside you. The second was the delicious smell of coffee brewing wafting in under the door on a breeze from the open kitchen window. Contentment (and relief) blossoming in your chest, you wrapped yourself in a robe and padded out in your slippers to watch your lover. He was bent over the stove, intently cooking something or other - eggs, from the looks of it - and the old but reliable coffeemaker was bubbling away noisily. Frankly you were impressed that it still worked at all. Just last week Hank had almost rendered it inoperative while trying to make some sort of vitamin and caffeine concoction designed for peak health and efficiency.
Scott must have heard you approaching, because he turned to face you. His smile was almost as bright as the morning sunlight that streamed in. He was still wearing the slightly oversized white t-shirt adorned with the X-Men logo that he always slept in, and a pair of blue and white checkered pajama pants. “Good morning, my love.”
He didn’t usually use terms of endearment in shared spaces like this, but it was early enough that everyone else was probably either still sleeping or doing some pre-breakfast training. You could almost hear Logan pretending to gag, or see Ororo smiling. For now, though, everything was still peaceful. Your voice was soft when you replied. “Good morning.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you breathed out a laugh at the tinge of color that rose to his defined cheekbones. Little displays of affection like that still flustered him, and you exploited that fact regularly. A yawn escaped you before you could repress it, and in an instance of perfect timing, the coffeemaker dinged its readiness.
Scott carefully poured you a cup, as always making it exactly how you liked it and in your favorite mug (you’d threatened to fight Kurt over it once) and handed it to you. “Be careful, it’s still hot.”
You waggled your eyebrows in a suitably exaggerated manner. “Much like you, Mister Summers.”
He groaned, turning back to the stove. “Don’t make me let your breakfast have an unfortunate accident.”
This time you laughed aloud, leaning against the countertop with steaming mug in hand. “Sure.”
Scott ran a hand through his already sleep-tousled hair, and utterly failed at stifling his grin. “I mean it.”
Playfully rolling your eyes, you set down your coffee and walked over so you could wrap your arms around him from behind. Resting your cheek against his shoulderblade, you sighed contentedly. “Sure you do.”
Twisting back around to face you, he lifted one hand to give your cheek a loving caress before leaning in for a tender kiss. “Alright, maybe I am bluffing.”
You hummed against his lips, melting into his embrace. He kissed you again, longer this time, and you felt your heart flutter just like it had the first time he’d held you in his arms and lightly pressed his lips to yours. His hands traveled down to your waist as yours moved up to rest on his chest, and you could feel his hips move against yours in an unconscious movement before he pulled back, clearing his throat gruffly. “Breakfast first.”
“If you insist. Are you telling that to me or to yourself?” You ran your hand down his chest, feeling the defined muscle even through the fabric of his shirt. With a wink, you sat down in one of the chairs by the counter and took another sip of your coffee.
For now, everything was right and good in the world.
𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You’re always baking a cake for every birthday at the X-Mansion. But now that it’s your birthday, who’s going to bake yours? ✰𝗦𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲.ᐟ
⋆ Part of the 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢-𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.
─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
At Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, every mutant adult had their role. Those who were considered the core of the X-Men on the news were more like faculty. Each of them teaching their own sort of class or helping students hone in their abilities.
But then there were some like you, no distinct role or duty yet never left the mansion once you got older. Some had no where else to go, some thought this was more of a family than the one they had outside. Regardless, this was your home and everyone in it was your family. Making yourself useful or available to anyone who needed assistance, that was your role.
There was also this one hobby that you developed, baking. You loved to bake and found any excuse to do so. When Ororo mentioned that she couldn’t recall the last time someone baked her a cake, you were thrilled to make one especially for her on her birthday. Anna-Marie said she wanted one for her birthday, then Kurt, then Hank, and eventually it evolved into a tradition where you made a cake for everyone. You even baked a rum cake for Logan who looked slightly less grumpy when you gave it to him.
But now your birthday was coming up, who was going to bake you a cake? Sure, you didn’t mind baking it for yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. These were the thoughts going through Scott’s head as he rambled to Remy, who just looked at him with a sly smile. Remy has known for a while that Scott had feelings for you. Despite the ruby quartz lenses, he had a terrible poker face.
“Why don’t you bake the cake for her?” Remy asked as he flips a card between his fingers.
“Do I look like I know how to bake?” Scott raised an unamused eyebrow.
“Surely them books got a recipe or two? Never know til you try, right Cy?” Remy flicked the card between his fingers, landing it in the spine of one of your baking books. Scott turned to look at the shelf, grabbing the book and opening it up. “That baking stuff’s a science, right? Maybe Hank’ll help ya.”
Scott nodded as he browsed the table of contents, flipping to a page titled strawberry sponge cake. You liked strawberries right? “Yeah, I’ll ask. Thanks Remy.” He mumbled. Gambit hummed and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. He started to make his was out of the kitchen before stopping in the entryway.
“Oh,” He looks back, waiting for Scott to meet his gaze. “Make sure you put a lotta love in that batter, mon ami.” He winks before leaving Scott alone in the kitchen. Feeling the heat creep up his face, he clears his throat before looking back down at the recipe.
After making a list and taking a quick trip to the grocery store, Scott made it back to the mansion. Hank was more than happy to help, though he was really just supervising in the event that Scott made any fatal errors. He stood at the opposite side of the kitchen, something about blue fur and not wanting things to turn out purple. In the end, the only thing Scott needed help with was the buttercream. Knowing you had a sweet tooth, he opted for than over whipped cream but couldn’t seem to get the consistency right. Thank god for Hank.
Nearly three hours later, Scott had finished the cake just after midnight. The frosting was a little sloppy, but it was honest work. He decided it’d be best to surprise you with it first thing in the morning, rather than waking you up.
So the next day, Scott woke up bright and early to hand deliver your cake to your room. However, when he opened the fridge, he saw that a sliver was missing. Rolling his eyes and knowing Logan was definitely responsible for the stolen piece, he took the cake up anyway. Knocking on your door with one hand as he faintly permitted him in from the other side. You were now stretching, not thinking much of someone knocking on your door at this hour.
“Happy birthday,” Scott said softly as he carefully entered the room with the cake in his hands. He made sure to turn the missing chunk towards him so you wouldn’t notice it at first. He couldn’t help but grin as he saw your eyes light up.
“Where’d you get that from?” You gasped as you moved to sit at the edge of the bed.
“I made it last night. It’s not professional or anything since I have no experience.” He admitted bashfully, sitting next to you.
“You baked me a cake? Scotty…” You playfully pouted. “It looks so good, I- what happened there?” You chuckle a bit as you point at the missing slice.
“I assume Logan got to it after I put it in the fridge last night.” He sighed. You took the cake from his hands and placed it on your nightstand.
“Thank you, you didn’t have to do this for me.” You placed your hands on his shoulders. You were sure you could see a faint blush on his face in the morning light.
“I wanted to. You always bake a cake for each of our birthdays. It’s time someone baked yours.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, gaining a surge of confidence. You stilled for a moment, then kissed his cheek. His face caught fire, you could see it clear as day now. “What was that for?” He smiled lopsidedly.
“For always being so sweet to me.” You laughed.
“I could be even sweeter?” He responded quickly, his hands finding your waist. It was your skin’s turn to heat up now, realizing the real reason he stayed up trying to bake a cake for you. Oblivious to his prior behavior up until right now.
“Is that so?” You whispered. “Let me see just how sweet you could be.” You pulled him closer. Scott didn’t hesitate, his lips finding yours in an instant. Funny enough, he did taste sweet, all that cherry chapstick finally getting put to good use. Gripping your hips, he swiped his tongue across your lips. You granted him access instantly as he groaned into your mouth, pushing you to lay back in the bed.
He didn’t hover. No, Scott’s body was pressed against yours as you felt just how much he’d been wanting this, wanting you. Your fingers curled in his hair as his lower body settled between your legs. You gasped into his mouth as his hand squeezes your ass. Both of you froze when you heard someone clear their throat.
Scott quickly untangled himself from you as the two of you turned to see Morph standing in the doorway of your bedroom.
“Logan said there was cake and that Scott took it up to your room. But clearly he was about to get into an entirely different cake.” They tried their best to stifle their laugh.
“Kevin, get out.” You warned. Your face, however, was hot as the heat enveloped your neck as you’d been caught mid-makeout.
“Geez, the government name?” Morph couldn’t hold back their laugh as you chucked a pillow at them. “Okay, okay! Just save some cake for the rest of us. The strawberry one, that is!” Morph closed the door and cackled down the hall.
Daily reminder to keep urging your senators to oppose KOSA/the KIDS Act
If you can’t/don’t want to call, you can always write to them, sign petitions, and keep spreading the word and educating others on why KOSA/the KIDS Act is a bad thing. It WILL ruin the internet, and it WILL affect others, regardless if they live in the US or not
“mh—! fuck—!” you mewled drunkenly into the pillow, completely delirious, as megumi pounded into you with abandon, your back arched and your chest pressed into the mattress, hardened nipples grinding against the bedding, making you whine breathlessly. his heavy hand gripped your hair, pushing your head down into the pillows, drenching them in drool and spit. his other hand captured your hip in a bruising grip, tightening his hold every time your cunt squeezed tightly around him, eliciting a strangled grunt from his lips.
you were caught up in the heat of the moment, your legs trembling every time his leaky cockhead kissed your cervix, the only noises being your sobs and the soft smack of bodies slapping together.
a sharp, deafening buzz cut through the humid, friction-heavy air of the room, your phone vibrating loudly on the nightstand. the screen lit up, flashing the caller ID in the dimly lit room—your boyfriend.
“gumi—no—“ you whimpered brokenly into the pillow.
“shut up.” he breathed, his voice searing against your back. “you’re the one who wanted this. let him hear how good it feels.”
before you could even try to beg him to stop, his broad finger swiped across the screen, answering the call, pressing the hot glass directly against your ear. he pulled your hair roughly, pulling you up, broken moans loud and clear.
—“hey babe, what are you up to?”
your boyfriends voice sounded agonizingly clear through the phone speaker, a sharp contrast to the stifling sex-induced haze of the room.
megumi didn’t give you a second to think. his hips drove forward into your sensitive walls in a deep, devastating stroke, his turgid length burying himself all the way to the hilt, deliberately testing your resolve. a broken high-pitched gasp caught in the back of your throat as he continued pounding into you so viscously that you could barely think straight. your velvety walls immediately seized around him, bathing his cock in precum.
your voice quivered as you tried to answer, the thought immediately discarded as he impaled himself into you, his pelvis colliding with your ass in a satisfying smack. his thrusts were brutal and punishing.
he had told you multiple times to leave your boyfriend, you just never listen, do you?
your fault for being such a slut, this is how sluts get treated.
you ended up mumbling a soft “n-nothing much..”, your voice wrecked, trying desperately to bury your face back into the pillow, but he pulled you right back up, forcing your whines into the phone speaker.
—“are you okay? you sound… off..”
you wanted to give him an excuse, maybe apologize, maybe admit to it all, but when megumi grinded his tip against your sensitive cervix, all you could do is cry out, which led to your boyfriend eventually hanging up, thinking, “yeah, she’s probably exercising.”
yeah.
he won’t find out.
a/n : my first oneshot !! sorry if this is bad lol , it was rushed 😓😓
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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (MINORS DNI) imagining SCOTT SUMMERS cumming inside you so hard during sex that his glasses slip off…
and instead of the red beams that usually exit his eyes whenever his visor or ruby quartz glasses fall off? it’s… nothing, because his eyes are so rolled back at how hard you got him to cum that the pleasure is physically blocking them from coming out.
your pussy was magic to the x-men leader, he fucking loved it every single day. if he could fuck you every night he could, but sometimes, duty called and duty caught up on the man— but he tried his damn best to be in that pussy of yours every night.
and you loved it when scott fucked you; he fucks like he’s trying to make his mark. he wasn’t a breeding typa man— he didn’t get off to the idea of breeding itself— you pregnant? fuck yes, but the simple premise of breeding? not for him… but he fucked deep, and he fucked raw, and you absolutely loved it.
so much so that when it came to protection? you didn’t care, you let him unload in you as per usual.
and usually? he’s very very keen on keeping his glasses on— he doesn’t want to try anything risky and possibly hurt you, so he kept them on as he buried his thick cock in your pussy… but when he’s fucking you like this, watching your ass jiggle with each thrust, feeling your hand push him back in? he completely forgot about these stupid things.
“c-cum for me, scotty.” you beg, voice broken by your moans as he felt his balls clench, thrusting in and out of your walls. “cum— cum in me, baby.”
his hair was messy, strands sticking in his face as his hands held a firm grasp on your waist, trying to reach his orgasm. your words only affected him more. “baby… baby… oh fuck!”
he couldn’t thrust anymore before he began to unload into you— the wait of having to hold his orgasm back for so long, his balls squeezed and his cock twitched as he cummed deep in you, his head thrown back.
his eyes roll back as he unloads, moaning your name and before he could stop the glasses from slipping; they slip, and you listen to the soft plop of the glasses hitting the bed, feeling his warm cum begin to shoot into you, melting into the bed due to the warm, fuzzy feeling entering your body.
“ohhhhhh goddddd.” he moans, his brown eyes remaining rolled back and full of pleasure. you expected to see the red beams of his optic blasts, expected to feel the heat… but you didn’t. you didn’t feel anything besides his cock. “oh… ngh— fuck, sweetheart… ah.”
looking over your shoulder; his glasses were off, and he wasn’t physically creating holes in the roof… he was so wrapped up in pleasure that he couldn’t physically use his power. “oh god, scott, s’so warm… so full… fuck.”
masterlist is here! click here for more!
ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (MINORS DNI) imagining SCOTT SUMMERS cumming inside you so hard during sex that his glasses slip off…
and instead of the red beams that usually exit his eyes whenever his visor or ruby quartz glasses fall off? it’s… nothing, because his eyes are so rolled back at how hard you got him to cum that the pleasure is physically blocking them from coming out.
your pussy was magic to the x-men leader, he fucking loved it every single day. if he could fuck you every night he could, but sometimes, duty called and duty caught up on the man— but he tried his damn best to be in that pussy of yours every night.
and you loved it when scott fucked you; he fucks like he’s trying to make his mark. he wasn’t a breeding typa man— he didn’t get off to the idea of breeding itself— you pregnant? fuck yes, but the simple premise of breeding? not for him… but he fucked deep, and he fucked raw, and you absolutely loved it.
so much so that when it came to protection? you didn’t care, you let him unload in you as per usual.
and usually? he’s very very keen on keeping his glasses on— he doesn’t want to try anything risky and possibly hurt you, so he kept them on as he buried his thick cock in your pussy… but when he’s fucking you like this, watching your ass jiggle with each thrust, feeling your hand push him back in? he completely forgot about these stupid things.
“c-cum for me, scotty.” you beg, voice broken by your moans as he felt his balls clench, thrusting in and out of your walls. “cum— cum in me, baby.”
his hair was messy, strands sticking in his face as his hands held a firm grasp on your waist, trying to reach his orgasm. your words only affected him more. “baby… baby… oh fuck!”
he couldn’t thrust anymore before he began to unload into you— the wait of having to hold his orgasm back for so long, his balls squeezed and his cock twitched as he cummed deep in you, his head thrown back.
his eyes roll back as he unloads, moaning your name and before he could stop the glasses from slipping; they slip, and you listen to the soft plop of the glasses hitting the bed, feeling his warm cum begin to shoot into you, melting into the bed due to the warm, fuzzy feeling entering your body.
“ohhhhhh goddddd.” he moans, his brown eyes remaining rolled back and full of pleasure. you expected to see the red beams of his optic blasts, expected to feel the heat… but you didn’t. you didn’t feel anything besides his cock. “oh… ngh— fuck, sweetheart… ah.”
looking over your shoulder; his glasses were off, and he wasn’t physically creating holes in the roof… he was so wrapped up in pleasure that he couldn’t physically use his power. “oh god, scott, s’so warm… so full… fuck.”
masterlist is here! click here for more!
ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!
the happiest you've ever seen satoru gojo is when you told him he could fuck you without a condom for the first time.
it's not like he minded using them, in fact he still thinks it's responsible to use protection, even if you are on the pill. he just thinks he's lucky he gets to touch you at all.
but he has always wondered what your raw pussy would feel like, how your velvet heat would contract around his cock, no barrier separating the two of you.
you dragged him to your dorm after class and got right to the point, shoving your tongue down his throat and straddling him. not before long, his jeans were shoved down to his ankles and he was hovering over you, obviously very nervous.
"toru– just put it in" you groaned in annoyance, trying not to just fuck into him yourself.
"m'sorry..." he whined, pushing his glasses up with one finger and glancing down at where his dick sat against your glistening folds, throbbing and twitching with anticipation. just the sight pulled a little whimper from him. he's always cum a bit quicker than some of the other guy's you've dated, but he just can't help it! you're the first girl he's ever been with, probably the prettiest he's ever talked to.
"okay..." he took a breath, trying to calm himself down before reaching down and taking his cock in his hand, lining the leaking tip up with your entrance.
when he finally does push in, he's panting, grip on your hips so tight you know you'll have little finger tip shaped bruises there afterwards. "oh– fuuuuck–" he moans whorishly once he buries himself to the hilt, clenching his eyes shut and breathing so heavily you think he might pass out. your pussy is just so much more warm like this, he can feel every ridge of your gummy walls fluttering around him, begging him to move.
"m-move some" you breathe out, not used to how different his cock feels like this. your hands are braced on his broad shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin when he doesn't move a muscle.
his eyes are still closed, his glasses nearly falling off of his face. you can hear him whining faintly, body so stiff it's making you uncomfortable for him.
you decide to take matters into your own hands, bucking your hips up so his dick slides further into you. apparently, that was a bad idea when his reaction was an immediate iron grip on your hips, and loud, pathetic moan. "fuck!" he buries his flushed face in your neck, jaw slack and breath fanning against your skin.
he came. he came having not been inside you for even a minute. you can't help but huff a suprised sound, that soon turns into a full body laugh.
he lifts his head from the crook of your neck at that, eyes wide and glassy like he was going to cry. "don't laugh! s'not funny..." he's mortified, he came like a virgin just because of the lack of a little piece of plastic. "m'sorry baby..." he seems genuinely apologetic, he hates that he couldn't make you feel good.
you shush him, reaching up to card your fingers through his silky white hair, scratching his scalp lightly and watching as he leans into the contact. he's convinced you're mad at him, that you think he's pathetic. "i don't mind, toru" you coo, which earns a relived sigh from him in return. your voice is soothing when you speak, "let's go again, yeah?"
♡ summary: after two terrible days, all you want is to use your boyfriend as a mattress. unfortunately for you, gojo satoru is very easily distracted.
♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • fluff
♡ author’s note: this was inspired by a post from @silentlunarkiss based on this fanart 😭 i screenshotted it immediately because i knew i wanted to write it, then somehow lost the original post before i could tag them. finally found them again!! ♡
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The apartment is quiet when you finally drag yourself through the door, your work bag feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Your feet are killing you, your brain is fried, and all you want is to collapse into bed and not move for approximately twelve hours.
You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.
Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.
He looks as exhausted as you feel.
"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.
"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."
Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."
"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"
"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."
"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."
"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."
"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.
"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."
"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.
"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."
"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."
"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.
"Our death," he agrees solemnly.
For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.
His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.
"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.
"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.
"I'd just block her."
"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."
"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"
"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."
"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"
"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.
His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.
But then his hands start to wander.
It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—
He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.
"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."
"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"
"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"
"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."
"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"
"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."
"That's not science, you idiot."
"It's my science."
You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.
"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.
"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.
You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.
"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.
"Hmm?"
"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"
There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."
You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.
"We were having a nice moment."
"We still are."
"You've got a boner."
"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."
You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"
"You are absolutely the problem."
"I literally haven't done anything."
"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."
"I hummed?"
"You hummed."
"I don't hum."
"You do when you're really comfortable."
You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."
"I have."
You glare at him.
"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."
You snort. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm trying to be respectful."
"Are you?"
Silence.
"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."
Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."
His voice is quieter now. "So happy."
You burrow your face further into his shoulder.
"…I like when you're like this."
You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."
"Only for you."
There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.
"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."
"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."
Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.
When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."
"Up where—"
But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."
"Satoru—"
"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."
How are you supposed to say no to that?
"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.
"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."
"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—
"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.
He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."
But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.
"Satoru—"
"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.
It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.
"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."
"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.
"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.
Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.
"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."
His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.
"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"
"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”
His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.
"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."
"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.
But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.
"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"
"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."
He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.
"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"
"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster.
Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.
When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.
"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."
"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.
"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh really?"
"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.
"Oh, baby."
He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.
"Fuck, baby—"
"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.
"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."
"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.
"Yeah." His voice is strained.
He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.
"Satoru—"
"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”
His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.
"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."
"Satoru, please—"
"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."
"You know what I want."
"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."
"You're killing me—"
"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."
His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.
"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."
"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.
"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."
"Satoru—"
"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."
Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.
"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.
"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”
"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."
He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."
"Satoru—"
"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"
"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.
His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"
"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."
His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.
"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"
"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.
"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."
"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.
"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"
"Yes—fuck—right there—"
"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."
The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."
"Don't stop—"
"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."
The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.
"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."
When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.
"Satoru—"
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.
Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.
"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.
"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"
"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"
"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."
"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.
"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."
His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.
"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."
You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.
He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"
You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"
He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."
He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.
"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."
"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”
The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”
His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him.
"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”
His composure finally snaps.
"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."
He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.
"Not until you."
His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"
Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.
"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"
The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.
"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.
He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.
"Holy shit," you mumble.
"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."
"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.
"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."
"I love you too, you needy disaster."
"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.
He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.
"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.
"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."
"Clingy."
"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."
"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.
And as you drift off in his arms, you think that yeah… you can definitely manage. This ridiculous, needy, perfect man is yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
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