#And I realized that now that it's been a while since I actually watched the drama and the fandom has just kind of become the background

[guliexe]

━━━RAGE QUIT 18+

Gamer!Lee Heeseung x Gamer!Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: slow burn, gaming buddies, video game terms, texting, sexting, soft dom!heeseung, shy!reader, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, pet names (princess, baby), praising, dry humping, oral (f & m rec), cum eating, unprotected sex, p in v, confessing, reader is down bad for heeseung, fluff

♡ you started as friends who played games at night—now he’s the one making you moan into his pillow.

.ᐟwc: 15.9k (no proofread)

It’s been a year since Heeseung joined the friend group. Some random guy Jungwon brought into the server one night for a last-minute League match, and who never really left. Every night like clockwork, your group piles into Discord: Valorant, League of Legends, horror co-ops that get you all screaming in sync. Most nights end in swearing, laughing, or someone rage quitting, usually Heeseung, and sometimes everyone. He’s sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and stupidly good at every game he touches. A little cocky, kind of a menace, and unfortunately for you, exactly your type.

You’ve had a crush on him almost as long as you’ve known him. Actually no, you’ve been in love with him, not that he’d ever guess. Or maybe he would. He teases you like he knows you’ll blush, throws in little pet names and innuendos like he’s testing you for a reaction. But you always brush it off as just another part of the bit. You’re just the girl he likes to mess with during late-night ranked queues. It doesn’t mean anything. Even if your heart does this weird flutter thing whenever he says your name.

“Where’s my duo?” you ask the second you join voice chat, headset sliding over your ears. “You bitches better not have started without me.” A chorus of greetings erupts, Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and two others you recognize from another Discord server. Everyone’s already in the Valorant lobby, bouncing around agents and bantering over voice chat. “Calm down,” Sunghoon laughs. “You’re only, like, twenty minutes late.” You correct him, “Fashionably.” Then his voice comes through. Lazier, deeper, more smug than usual. “Nice of you to show up, princess.” You roll your eyes even as your stomach flutters. “Sorry, didn’t realize I had to run my schedule by you.” you shoot back. Heeseung hums in your ear like he’s unbothered. “You do when you keep dodging games just to avoid being carried.” You scoff. “Carried? Please. You’re always the first to die.” Jay cuts in, laughing. “Here we go again.” It’s always like this, bickering that toes the line between hostile and flirtatious, drawing amused reactions from everyone else in the group. It’s part of the rhythm now. You give Heeseung shit, he throws it right back, and everyone else acts like it’s some kind of soap opera they’ve been watching for seasons. “Bet she top frags this round.” Jungwon says, grinning. “She won’t,” Heeseung says at the exact same time. Then adds, “If she does, it’s because I softened them up first.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, snorting a laugh. “Cope harder.” You lock in Clove. Heeseung picks Jett. Predictable. The match loads in, and everyone starts joking over vc while you check your loadout. Your team takes the first site, and somehow the round is over in seconds, three clean shots from you, one assist, and Heeseung’s kill coming in dead last. “Damn, she’s actually carrying.” Jay says with mock awe. “Say thank you.” you say sweetly. “Thank you, queen.” Then someone else, a guy you vaguely know named Kai, who’s only been playing with the group for a week or two, speaks up. “Carry me again like that and I’ll eat your pussy, mama.” You freeze for half a second, just long enough for your brain to register what he said, and then you giggle. Not because you’re actually into it, but because it’s so fucking unhinged. “Yeah?” you say, leaning into the joke. “Say less.” The whole call erupts in laughter. “Bro.” Jay wheezes.“You’re wild for that.” Sunghoon says.

“Don’t test me.” Kai says again, voice still flirty. And then Heeseung speaks. Calm. Too calm. “Jesus Christ, can you not be a pain in the ass for, like, one game?” The laughter stops for a second. You glance at the chat window instinctively, it’s like the air shifted. He didn’t sound like he was joking. Kai lets out an awkward laugh. “Relax, man. It’s a joke.” Heeseung hums, dry. “Then try making a funny one.” It goes quiet again, not dead silence, but that weird kind of pause where everyone’s pretending not to notice the tension. You hear someone’s keyboard clack in the background. In-game footsteps echo in your ears. “You good, Hee?” You speak up carefully. “I’m great,” he says, “Just bored of hearing you flirt with losers.” Your heart stutters. That one didn’t sound like a joke either. Even Jay seems caught off guard. “Yo, that sounded personal.” “It’s not,” Heeseung says immediately. Too quickly. “Let’s just win the round.”

And he does exactly that, goes full sweat mode for the rest of the match. Dashes into sites solo, gets two aces in a row, doesn’t speak unless it’s a callout. The rest of the group fills the silence with jokes and teasing, but you don’t miss the shift. Heeseung always plays aggressive, but tonight it feels pointed. Like he’s got something to prove. To you. Or to someone else, you’re not sure, but your stomach is buzzing.

The match ends with a win, somehow, Heeseung top frags, of course, and Kai logs off without saying goodbye. The group starts leaving one by one. “Alright, I’m out.” Sunghoon yawns. “GGs.” “Same.” Jay says. “I can’t feel my eyes.” “Goodnight, lovebirds.” Jungwon mutters under his breath before he leaves. You scoff. “Shut up.” Heeseung doesn’t say anything. Eventually, it’s just the two of you. Still in voice chat. The lobby music looping softly in the background. You think about leaving, but your hand hovers over the disconnect button and never quite clicks. Heeseung exhales. You hear the soft creak of his chair. Then, “How come you’re not leaving?” You blink at your screen. His voice is different now, low and quiet, not teasing. “I don’t know,” you say. “Didn’t want to so early.” He hums. “Guess that means I scared everyone off.” You smile faintly, chewing on your lip. “You kinda went off on that guy.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. “Yeah. I didn’t like what he said.” You tilt your head. “Because it was gross or…?” There’s a pause. “Because it was you.” he says.vYour breath catches. You wish you could see his face, but all you have is the green ring around his icon lighting up. “…Oh.” Another pause. It stretches long enough to border on awkward, until he cuts the silence with a sudden, dry little mutter, “God, don’t make me say something corny at 3AM. I’ll literally throw myself out the window.” You laugh, soft and surprised. “There it is,” he says, pleased. “I was waiting for that.” You raise a brow. “For what?” you ask. “You always laugh like that when you’re trying not to.” You protest, “i do not.” But your voice is too light, too amused to sound serious. “You do,” he says, and you can hear the grin behind his words. “It’s cute.” Your stomach flips. “Are you flirting with me, Heeseung?” you ask, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it comes out breathy, shy. He lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t know. Are you gonna flirt back this time or just ignore it like always?” You go quiet. Then, “You notice that?”

“Course I notice that,” he says. “I notice everything when it comes to you.” Your cheeks go warm. You look away from your screen, heart thudding stupidly. “…You’re not as smooth as you think,” you mumble. He yawns, loud, exaggerated. “Mmm. Still made you laugh. Still made you stay in call.” You roll your eyes, “You’re impossible.” and smile. “Yeah, but you like me.” You want to say something back. Something playful or clever. But instead, you just go quiet. He doesn’t push. After a beat, he says, softer this time, “You sound tired.” You lean back on your chair. “Mm. Kinda am,” you admit. “But comfy.” “Yeah?” he says. “Stay a little longer?” You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “Okay.” There’s a long pause where neither of you talk, just the sound of keyboard clicking as he hovers around his screen, maybe checking stats, maybe just filling the silence. Then, quietly, “You know I wasn’t just teasing, right?” Your eyes flick to your monitor. “About what?”

“Earlier. The guy. The flirting.” His voice drops an octave, a little husky now. “I don’t like hearing other guys talk to you like that. Even if it’s a joke.” You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy staring at your screen like it’s going to tell you what to say. “I didn’t think you cared.” you admit. He laughs again, gentler. “I’ve been caring for a while, princess.” Your heart stumbles. You bite your lip. “…I kinda like when you call me that,” you whisper. He hums, satisfied. “I know.” You giggle, sleepy and flustered and way too warm all of a sudden. He lets out a soft sigh, then mutters, “If we were on cam, you’d be blushing, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“That a yes?”

“Shut up, Heeseung.”

He laughs, warm, lazy. “Sleepy girl.”

You giggle softly, cheeks already warm. “You’re so corny, Hee.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “You love it though.” You pause, just a second too long. “Mmm… kinda.” He chuckles, just this soft, fond sound that sinks right into your skin. “Cute.” Your heart skips. You don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile to yourself, suddenly way too aware of how quiet it is now, just you, him, and that little green ring lighting up every time he speaks. Neither of you says much after that. You just sit there in the silence, not awkward, not heavy, just full of something unspoken. Your eyes start to flutter closed. You think you hear him shift in his chair. Maybe yawn. You don’t log off. Neither does he.

It’s almost midnight by the time everyone’s in the lobby again. League this time, ranked. You’ve got your hoodie on, cup of something warm on your desk, legs curled up in your chair. Your screen lights up with everyone’s icons, voices overlapping in Discord. “Why are we doing this to ourselves.” Jay groans as he hovers over his champion. “Because,” you reply sweetly, “we have no self respect.” Then, “Speak for yourself,” Heeseung mutters. “I’m here to carry.” You roll your eyes, “You wish.” smiling already. “Oh my god,” Sunghoon groans. “You two start the exact same way every game.”

“Wait until she dies in lane,” Heeseung says. “Then she’ll blame me like usual.”

“Because you gank at level six like a coward.”

You hear him snort. “Don’t need to gank when you feed their mid laner for me.”

The game loads in. You settle into your rhythm fast, poking, last-hitting, barely listening to the chaos on comms. But every time Heeseung’s voice filters through your headset, you feel it, that lingering buzz from last night. The way he called you cute. The way you didn’t want to leave the call. You don’t know if it meant something. But you feel different now. Every time he says your name, it lands heavier than before. Fifteen minutes in, you’ve got your third kill, and Heeseung’s still climbing his way up in the jungle. You start pushing your lane harder, greedy. “Damn,” Kai says over comms. “She’s actually carrying again?”

“She does that,” Sunghoon says. “Every once in a while.”

Kai laughs. “Shit. If I play support next round, will you reward me, mama?”

You groan, already bracing yourself. “I mean damn,” he adds, “I’d let you leash me any day.”

The call explodes with groans. You groan too, out of habit, “You’re actually insane, dude.”

“You like it,” he says, clearly proud of himself.

You don’t reply, clicking back to lane. You’re not even thinking about it really. Until you hear…nothing. Heeseung’s gone silent. Not muted. Not disconnected. Just quiet. Then your phone buzzes. You glance at it out of instinct, brows furrowing.

Heeseung [12:16am]

tell your little fanboy to chill lol

You glance at the screen, smirking a little. You don’t reply , just keep farming, like your heart isn’t suddenly going crazy.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

kinda annoying hearing him talk to u like that tbh

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

doesn’t even say it right

if anyone’s gonna call you mama it should be me

You choke on your own breath. Your mouse stutters for a second. One of your minions dies.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

jk

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

unless u like it

Your skin is burning. You tuck your phone away without replying, biting back a smile. Across your headset, the match keeps going—Kai’s talking again, but his voice barely registers. You’re not listening to him anymore. You’re only hearing Heeseung. You don’t reply to his messages. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to. Your fingers are still shaky on the keyboard as the match rolls on. Heeseung’s acting normal again in vc, throwing out short callouts, occasionally bickering with Sunghoon, playing it cool like he didn’t just imply he wants to call you mama.

Your phone buzzes again once, but you ignore it this time. Your lane’s pushing, and your team is moving toward Baron. You focus. You click fast. And when Kai dies again, whining about being “baited,” you’re already ready to kill. You slide in, ult ready, and drop three of them before they can react, smooth, clean, and so fast that Jay literally yells through his mic. “OH MY GOD—okay, she’s cracked tonight.”

“Bro, what was that?” Sunghoon laughs. “Are you sweating?”

You’re already smiling to yourself when you hear it. Low. Offhanded. Just one beat late.

“Good job, baby.”

Everything stops. No one else reacts. But you hear it. Loud and clear. Your brain scrambles. You don’t know if anyone else caught it, maybe he was leaning too close to his mic, maybe it just blended in with the chaos, but your stomach drops. In a good way. In a terrifying way. You go quiet for a few seconds, and then, “…What’d you just call me?” There’s a beat of silence. Then Heeseung’s voice, smooth as ever, “Hm? I said good job.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Might’ve added something,” he says casually. “You complaining?”

You hate that your face is hot. You hate it more that you smile.

“…You’re annoying,” you mumble, half-giggling.

“Still blushing though.” he replies, grinning into his mic.

Sunghoon: “What did I miss?”

Jay: “I knew something was going on with you two.”

You groan, tugging your hoodie over your mouth. “Play the damn game,” you mutter, but your voice is way too giddy to be taken seriously. And even though everyone goes back to screaming over objectives and team fights, your head’s somewhere else completely. Still stuck on that word. Baby.

It’s the next night. Everyone’s in voice chat again—same group, same vibe. But now you know what he said last time. He knows you heard it. And he hasn’t brought it up since. He’s acting normal again, but you’re not letting him off the hook that easily. The match is halfway through. You’ve just landed a perfect kill steal on Heeseung’s target, claiming the bounty right out from under him. He groans dramatically. “You seriously just took that?” You smirk, leaning into your mic. “Mhm. Had to show off for you, baby.” Silence. Total, absolute, silence.

Jay wheezes. “Wait.”

Sunghoon: “Did she just—?”

You don’t say anything else.

But you can feel Heeseung scrambling on the other side of his headset. He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, which, for him, is a lot. Then he clears his throat. “You trying to start something, princess?” You smile. “Just matching energy.” He lets out a low laugh, little breathless, a little impressed. “Dangerous game,” he mutters. “Careful or I might start taking you seriously.” You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Maybe I want you to.” He doesn’t respond right away. And when he does, his voice is quieter. “…Noted.”

You’re walking behind Heeseung in-game, flashlight beam jittering as you peek into dark hallways. You are playing Phasmaphobia, already regretting letting the boys talk you into this. “Is that—? No, okay, that’s just a shadow.” you mumble, heart racing. Heeseung laughs softly through the mic. “You alright back there?”

“No,” you whisper, sticking close. “Why do you sound so calm?”

“‘Cause I’m brave,” he says casually, like it’s obvious. “You’re the scaredy cat .”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“You are,” he continues, voice smooth. “Cute though. I like it.”

Your stomach flips. You keep your eyes on the screen, trying to act unfazed. “Not my fault you’re so bad at protecting me.” you murmur. He pauses for half a second.

Then, “Oh, that’s how we’re playing tonight?”

You smile, shy but satisfied. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Mm. You didn’t have to.”

Jay’s voice cuts in on voice chat, “Guys? Where the hell are you two?”

“Clearing the hallway,” Heeseung answers smoothly. “She’s being brave.”

You don’t say anything, but you know he hears your quiet giggle, even through your mic.

It’s almost 3AM when the final round ends. Everyone’s laughing, still on edge from that last chase. Jay’s cackling over some glitch, Sunghoon’s threatening to uninstall the game, and you’re still trying to slow your heartbeat. Then Heeseung’s voice cuts in, calm and lazy through the mic. “Alright, I’m out. I need to shower before I crash.” You blink at your screen, suddenly still. “Damn, it’s that serious?” Jay says, yawning. “Alright, night bro.”

“Night, losers,” Heeseung says with a smirk in his voice. “Later, princess.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a reply, his little green Discord ring goes gray. Gone. You try not to pout. The call slowly empties, one by one, goodnights echoing into silence until it’s just you. Alone in the lobby, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, still hoping he’d maybe rejoin. But he doesn’t. So you log off too. Toss your headphones aside, get up and do your skincare, brush your teeth, your hair, fluff your pillows. But you don’t feel sleepy yet. You’re scrolling aimlessly on your phone, tucked under your blanket, when it lights up suddenly.

Incoming call: Heeseung

Your breath catches. He’s calling you. At 3:27AM. You stare at it for half a second, then answer. “Hello?” you say, voice soft and a little surprised. “Hey.” His voice is warm, low, a little rough. You can tell he’s laying down too. “I thought you were going to sleep,” you murmur. “I was,” he says, quieter now. “Shower helped, but… I don’t know. Something felt off.” You wait, heartbeat picking up. “Didn’t get to talk to you.” Your lips curve into the softest smile.

“I was waiting for you to stay.”

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to.”

Then there’s a pause, intimate, quiet. “You comfy now?” he asks. “Mhm. Just got in bed.” Another pause. “Wish I could see you.”

You bite your lip. “You’re sweet tonight.” you whisper. He chuckles. “You make me sweet.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a few seconds. Then, casually, “You played good tonight.” You blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Carried my ass a couple times.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I always do.” He chuckles too, low and warm. “You’re not gonna let me be nice, huh?”

“Mm, maybe not.”

There’s a pause, not awkward, just weighted.

“You ever think about playing just us?” he asks, voice a little softer. Your heart stutters. “Like duo by ourselves?” you say quickly, trying to play it cool. He hums. “Something like that.” You bite your lip, smiling into the darkness. “Maybe.” He doesn’t push it. Just lets the silence stretch again. “You sleepy?” he asks gently. You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah. You?”

“Mhm.” A beat. “Didn’t wanna sleep without hearing you again.” You go quiet, your heart going crazy. “…You’re sweet,” you whisper. He breathes a little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone.” You smile. “Secret’s safe with me.” There’s one last pause, so full of things neither of you say. Then finally, he says, “Sleep well, princess.”

“Goodnight, Hee.”

He hangs up. But you don’t sleep for a long time.

Discord is chaotic as always—half the team is yelling over each other mid-match, someone’s mic is echoing, and Sunghoon’s pretending to AFK just to piss people off. You’re trying to focus, but your mind’s a little too full of Heeseung. Ever since that late-night call, everything feels shifted. More intense. Every time he talks in call, your chest gets tight. And when his icon lights up just to say your name, it’s worse. “Okay, Saturday—Heeseung’s place?” Jake says. “Yeah, I’m in,” Sunghoon says. “Someone bring snacks.” Then Heeseung, smooth as ever, “You coming, princess?” You blink. Swallow the flutter in your chest. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” you say quickly, trying to sound casual. But barely a beat later, your screen lights up with a DM.

Heeseung [11:45 pm]

u don’t sound excited

Your lips twitch.

You [11:45 pm]

i am

Heeseung [11:46 pm]

lol?

that’s all i get?

You shake your head, smiling to yourself.

You [11:46 pm]

focus on the game hee

There’s a short pause.

Heeseung [11:47 pm]

not when you say my name like that

You bite your lip.

But before you can answer, Heeseung suddenly says in vc, “Yo—who just stole my red buff? I swear to god.” Everyone starts yelling again. The moment breaks, but not completely. It lingers underneath the noise, quiet and warm.

It’s almost 2:30 a.m. when your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, scrolling aimlessly, already half-asleep. The soft glow of your screen lights up your dark room.

Heeseung [2:28 am]

u still up?

You blink at the message, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

You [2:28 am]

barely

was abt to sleep

Heeseung [2:28 am]

wait

look at this

A photo comes through. It loads slowly, thanks to your shitty Wi-Fi, but when it does, your breath catches. Heeseung, shirtless. Pyjama pants slung low on his hips, just enough to tease, the band of his boxers peeking out. And right in the center of the frame, curled up perfectly in his lap, his small, fluffy kitty, fast asleep.

Heeseung [2:30 am]

isn’t she cute :)

You swallow, staring at the picture a little too long.

You [2:31 am]

so cute

must be comfy there too

The typing bubble appears almost immediately.

Heeseung [2:31 am]

yeah?

u jealous princess?

You grin at your screen, heart racing.

You [2:31 am]

hmm

maybe a lil :3

He doesn’t respond right away. You wonder if you went too far, until your phone vibrates again.

Heeseung [2:33 am]

could make room for u too

You stare at the words, pulse jumping.

You [2:33 am]

bold

Heeseung [2:34 am]

not bold if it’s true

u always look tired after carrying me anyway

You let out a soft laugh, trying to hide the way your cheeks are burning.

You [2:34 am]

i hate u

Heeseung [2:34 am]

no u don’t

you like me too much

You don’t reply right away. Instead, you bite your lip, heart pounding in the quiet dark.

You [2:35 am]

maybe :>

Heeseung [2:35 am]

see you saturday bby

sleep tight

You set your phone down on your chest and stare at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot. No shot you’re sleeping now.

You hadn’t seen Heeseung in two weeks, not in person, at least, but the late-night texts and flirty voice chats had kept him pressed into your mind like a fingerprint. Every time he called you “princess” every teasing message he sent before bed, made you blush behind your screen like some lovesick idiot. So yeah, now that you were about to see him again, you were nervous. Stupidly nervous. You stood in front of your mirror for way too long that afternoon, picking out something cute but not obvious, landing on a short, flowy dress that made you feel pretty. It felt casual enough not to raise eyebrows, but still, you hoped he’d notice. You wanted him to.

You met up with the others at the corner near Heeseung’s place. Everyone was buzzing with energy, talking about what games they’d play, what movies they’d watch, how long they were gonna stay. You tried to laugh along and act normal, but your heart beat louder with every step closer to his house. And then, you were there. One of the guys knocked on Heeseung’s door, you held your breath. A few seconds later, it swung open. He was standing there in a black hoodie and gray sweats, hair a little messy like he’d just run a hand through it before opening up. His eyes skimmed lazily over the group, and then landed on you. They didn’t move for a moment. Neither did yours. “Yo.” one of the others greeted him. Heeseung smirked. “You guys are late.” Then, to you, voice a little quieter, a little warmer, “You coming in, princess?” Your stomach flipped. “Uh, Yeah.” You tried to play it cool, stepping past him like your skin wasn’t already prickling from just hearing his voice up close.

You walk into the apartment, your eyes adjusting to the soft orange glow spilling across the living room. It was warm in there, literally and figuratively, the kind of cozy that made you want to curl into a blanket and never leave. Lamps instead of overhead lights, a couple of pillows tossed lazily across the couch, the faint scent of something like vanilla and laundry detergent lingering in the air. You quietly took a seat on the couch, smoothing your dress under your thighs. The fabric felt short when you sat, but you kept your expression neutral, pretending like you weren’t already hyper-aware of Heeseung moving around behind you. He dropped down into the armchair across from you, spreading his legs slightly, elbows on his knees. The hoodie he wore was unzipped, the edge of a plain white t-shirt barely clinging to his collarbones. He caught your eye for a second, just a second, and gave you a small smile. You looked away first.

The rest of the group slowly filtered into the living room, loud and casual like always. One of them kicked off their shoes and flopped dramatically onto the rug. “So,” someone said, clapping their hands together. “Are we being normal and playing something like Monopoly, or are we ruining friendships tonight with Uno?”

“Uno,” Heeseung said immediately, leaning back in his chair. “No mercy.”

“I’m voting for Mario Kart,” someone else chimed in from the floor. “Get on later and let me kick your ass, Lee.”

“Bro, last time you said that, I fucking stepped on you.”

Laughter erupted across the room. You giggled quietly, tucking your hands into your lap. It was easy being here. Loud, chaotic, but safe, like always. The way it always had been. Except…Except now Heeseung looked at you differently. They eventually settled on starting with a few board games, pushing aside the clutter on the coffee table and pulling out the boxes. Sunghoon opened the food delivery app and started taking orders—half the group wanted ramen, the other half wanted pizza. You stayed mostly quiet, watching it all unfold with a small smile, your knee gently bouncing on the couch. Every now and then, Heeseung’s eyes flicked toward you. When they did, he didn’t look away. He just watched, like he was content to see you sitting there, finally within reach again.

The living room had grown quieter since earlier, the post-game, post-food lull settling into everyone. Someone had queued up a movie, someone sprawled out across the couch and floor with blankets, while the others argued over what snacks were left and who was going to eat them. You slipped away quietly, rising from your seat and heading into the kitchen with an empty soda can in hand. The orange glow from under the cabinets bathed the room in a soft warmth, the hum of the fridge buzzing steadily behind you. You opened it, pretending to look for something, even though you weren’t really hungry. Your heart was beating too fast anyway. You closed the door and turned around, only to find Heeseung standing in the doorway. He wasn’t looking for snacks.

His hands were stuffed casually into the front pocket of his hoodie, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The laughter from the living room felt distant, muffled by the walls between you. He stepped inside slowly, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Been looking at you all night.” he said, voice low. You blinked, caught off guard. “What?” His eyes dropped, just for a second, to your dress—the way it clung softly to your waist before fluttering down your thighs. “That little dress,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?” You scoffed softly, trying to hide the way your stomach turned. “Shut up.” He tilted his head, amused. “What? I’m wrong?” You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. Not touching you yet, just close enough that you could smell the fabric softener clinging to his hoodie.

“You look so pretty, princess.” he said gently. Your breath hitched. The nickname sounded different when he said it here, alone, with the world gone quiet around you. No Discord call. No other people. Just him—tall and warm and real in front of you. “You’re gonna make me blush.” you whispered, glancing up at him through your lashes. He smiled. “That’s kind of the point.”

His hand rose slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you, and he touched your cheek. Fingers warm against your skin. You leaned into it without thinking, eyes fluttering shut. And then he kissed you. Soft and slow. Just enough pressure to make your knees feel a little unsteady. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for a while. And you kissed him back. Your hand came up to rest against the curve of his chest, clutching the fabric of his hoodie like you were afraid to let go. His thumb brushed your cheek. You sighed into him, and he pressed his forehead to yours for a second before pulling back slightly.

Before either of you could say anything, a voice echoed faintly from the other room, “I’ll go grab a beer, y’all want something?” You both froze, then stifled a laugh. Heeseung’s hand lingered on your face a moment longer before slipping away. “You should go,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Before someone comes in here and ruins it.” You smiled, breathless. “Yeah…” But neither of you moved.

You were the first to step back into the living room. No one looked up, the movie was too loud, and everyone else was too busy bickering over what just happened in the plot. You sank back into your spot on the couch, heartbeat still trying to even out, trying to act normal. Like Heeseung’s mouth hadn’t just been on yours. A few seconds later, he came in too, casually, like he’d just gone to the bathroom or gotten a drink or something. But instead of dropping into his old seat across the room, he sat beside you.

Right beside you. No one said anything. No one noticed. But you did. You were hyper-aware of every shift—the way the cushion dipped slightly under his weight, the warmth of his thigh brushing yours. You didn’t even dare look at him at first. You just stared ahead, pretending to focus on the screen. Then, his hand landed on your thigh. Your breath caught, but it wasn’t like that. It was soft, subtle. Just a palm resting over the fabric of your dress like it belonged there.

He didn’t move it. Didn’t squeeze, didn’t tease. He just…let it be there. And somehow, that was even worse. Eventually, the others started yelling at the TV again, someone shouting “YOU IDIOT WHY WOULD YOU GO INTO THE BASEMENT ALONE?” and the whole room dissolved into laughter. Heeseung’s hand slid away. But only to settle beside your thigh, knuckles just barely brushing the hem of your dress. You hesitated, heart thudding, before you let your pinky drop, feather-light, against his.

And he hooked it, like it was nothing. Like it was everything. You finally looked up at him, hust briefly. His gaze was already on you. He didn’t smile, not quite. But his expression softened, like he was memorizing this, keeping it tucked away somewhere quiet just for him. Your cheeks burned, you looked away, but you didn’t pull your hand back.

It was late when everyone finally started gathering their things. The movie had long since ended, and the energy in the room was quiet and warm, a buzz of satisfied laughter and sleepy goodbyes. Shoes were slipped on, jackets thrown over shoulders, as one by one, people trickled toward the front door. You were the last to follow. Dragging your steps a little, pretending you were still putting your phone in your bag, but really, you were just hoping he’d say something. Do something. And he did.

As you reached the door, Heeseung caught your wrist gently. Just for a second. Just enough to make you stop and glance back at him. He stepped closer, leaning down just slightly. And before you could even say anything, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. So casual, but not casual at all. His lips lingered for just a second before pulling back. “Goodnight, princess.” he murmured. Your chest fluttered. You tried to respond, but your words caught somewhere between your throat and your racing heart. All you could do was smile, cheeks burning, as you stepped out into the night. You didn’t even remember saying goodbye to the others. You just kept touching your cheek where his mouth had been.

Another night, another game. Everyone was online, the Discord call full of laughing and yelling as you all loaded into a League match. But it felt different this time. You could feel it immediately, even before Heeseung joined. Your heart jumped a little when his icon lit up green. “Yo.” he said, like always. “Hi.” you replied softly. He hummed, low and warm. “Miss me already?” Someone snorted in the background, Kai probably, but you didn’t even flinch. “Maybe a little,” you said, light and teasing. “Don’t let it get to your head.” He chuckled. “Too late, princess.” Nobody commented. Nobody knew. But you could hear the grin in his voice, and the sound made something tug low in your stomach. You played League. You laughed with the others. The usual trash talk flew back and forth, but the way Heeseung talked to you now? It wasn’t the same.

When you stole a kill from him, he groaned dramatically. “Wow. Can’t believe my own girlfriend would do me like that.” You choked. “Heeseung—!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Still pending, I guess.”

Kai laughed. “Damn, she’s got you whipped.”

Heeseung only hummed again. “Can you blame me?”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. You just pushed your mic away a little, smiled at your screen, and kept playing.

You were mid-game, headset on, pretending to be fully focused, but your phone kept lighting up beside you. You shouldn’t have looked.

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

u looked really pretty yesterday btw

Your fingers stuttered on the keyboard.

You [11:26 pm]

heeseung please focus i’m literally dying in mid rn

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

how am i supposed to focus when u looked like that in that dress

unfair tbh

Your face was burning. You typed quickly, glancing at your minimap.

You [11:26 pm]

stop distracting me :(

Heeseung [11:27 pm]

can’t help it

u get all shy when i text u and it’s cute asf

You tried so hard to keep a straight face. Then, right when you were getting pushed under tower, Heeseung’s champion appeared in lane. Ganked clean. You got the kill. “Nice!” you said out loud, a little breathless. And then you heard it through the headset. “That’s my girl,” Heeseung murmured. You giggled. Couldn’t even help it. The call exploded.

“Kill me already,” Sunghoon groaned. “Get a room.”

“I’m gonna uninstall.” someone else muttered.

You pressed a hand over your smile, pretending to focus again, but your phone lit up once more:

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

u liked that baby?

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh again. The match was still going, your screen full of chaos, but all you could think about was the heat spreading over your cheeks.

You [11:30 pm]

maybe i didd

The typing bubble popped up right away.

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

yeah?

bet you’d like it even more if i whispered it in ur ear while u were on my lap

Your stomach flipped, pulse thudding deep in your chest. You squeezed your knees together under your desk and stared at your screen, barely registering the game anymore.

You [11:31 pm]

hee.

stoppp that’s not fair :(

Heeseung [11:31 pm]

aww baby’s getting all shy now?

cute

You didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t need you to. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. And when he pinged on the map again to come help you in lane, you swear your hands were trembling.

It was past 2 a.m. now. The group was deep into another League match, your sixth of the night. And the fourth loss. Everyone was tilted. Half-joking, swearing under their breath. But Heeseung…Heeseung was seething. You could hear it in the way he was clicking. Rapid, furious, sharp. His voice had dropped into this low, tight drawl as he muttered, “This jungler’s a bot. Actually brainless.” You shouldn’t have found it attractive. But the heat in his voice, the frustration curling behind every breath, it made your stomach flutter. But then his mic went quiet. You knew that silence. The kind that was dangerous. “Bro, this is unplayable,” Heeseung muttered suddenly. His voice sounded a bit raspy and tired. “I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m out.” Disconnect.

The call fell into stunned silence for a second. Then Sunghoon sighed. “Yikes.” Your heart dropped. You stared at your screen for a long second, your fingers frozen over your keyboard. You hadn’t even typed “gg.” You stayed quiet. Just tried to blink back the weird sting that hit you way too fast. “I’m gonna switch to Valorant,” Jay said. “Anyone else?”

“I’m in,” you mumbled, a little too quickly. You didn’t want to log off. Not yet. Not if he texted. So you launched the game, joined a party, and tried to laugh along with the others, but every second that passed, your eyes flicked down to your phone. Still nothing.

It was almost 4 a.m. by the time you logged off. You barely said goodbye, too drained from the string of losses, but more so from the ache in your chest that had settled there after Heeseung left the call. He didn’t text. Not once. You went through your usual motions anyway. Washed your face, pulled on an oversized tee, got under the covers with your phone still in hand, brightness low, just mindlessly scrolling. Checking Instagram, discord, his profile—more than once. Still nothing. Your screen dimmed. You stared at the faint glow on your ceiling, curled under your blanket, and tried not to overthink it. You told yourself he was just mad at the game, not at you. Your phone eventually slipped from your hand onto the pillow beside you. And sometime after, you drifted off, eyes closed, heart a little too heavy for sleep to come easy.

Buzz.

Your screen lit up softly in the dark. You squinted one eye open.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

sry abt that

Your heart thumped. You reached for your phone with a sleepy hand, your fingers a little clumsy as you unlocked it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

wasn’t mad at u or anything

And then, after a moment:

Heeseung [4:23 am]

missed ur voice tbh

Your breath caught. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, your chest warm, a smile curling on your lips as you looked at the screen.

You [4:24 am]

it was boring without u :(

There was barely a pause before your phone buzzed again.

Heeseung [4:24 am]

yeah baby?

That one made your breath hitch. You turned onto your back, screen hovering above your face now, your lips pressing together to contain the smile threatening to break free.

You [4:24 am]

mhm

wanted u there

The typing bubble appeared again. Stopped. Then came back.

Heeseung [4:25 am]

wanted to be there too

but u know how i get with that game lol

You giggled softly.

You [4:25 am]

i do

but u still sounded hot all pissed off like that

You waited, then cringed a little, your heart racing like ‘shit why did i say that’. A second later:

Heeseung [4:26 am]

oh yeah?

u like when i’m mad baby?

should’ve seen me after i logged off

was thinking abt u

Your heart stilled.

Heeseung [4:26 am]

couldn’t stop thinking abt ur thighs

Your hand went to your chest like you could calm the thunder in your heart.

You [4:26 am]

hee.

you can’t say stuff like that rn

Heeseung [4:27 am]

why not?

no one’s around

just me n my sleepy girl

You [4:27 am]

hmm

u like my thighs? :3

Heeseung [4:27 am]

i love them baby

You stared at his last message, your pulse loud in your ears. You swallowed. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before you typed.

You [4:28 am]

u love them?

Heeseung [4:28 am]

mmhmm

love how soft they looked when u sat next to me

kept thinking abt how warm u’d feel on my lap

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, breath catching. You hesitated. Then, slowly, like some part of you needed him to see, you pushed the blanket down. Your legs were folded up, thighs squished slightly together. Your tiny shorts clung to you, barely covering the top of your legs. With one hand, you tugged your shirt up just enough to show a sliver of your tummy, skin warm and soft under the low light of your phone screen. Your finger trembled as you tapped the shutter. You stared at the photo for a long moment. You didn’t look perfect, not posed like other girls might be. But something about it felt so real. So you sent it anyway.

You [4:30 am]

here :)

Three seconds passed. Then five.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

jesus baby

you’re gonna kill me

so fucking pretty

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

can’t stop looking

want u so bad right now

Your body was warm all over. You stared at his words with your bottom lip between your teeth, your legs slowly stretching under the blanket again, your heart racing faster than it had all night. You type with shaky fingers.

You [4:31 am]

want u too :(

miss u

You don’t even care how needy it sounds, because it’s true. You miss the way he looked at you when no one else was watching. You miss the warmth of his hand next to yours. You miss how soft his lips were on yours.

Heeseung [4:31 am]

fuck baby

wish i could sneak into ur bed rn

kiss u slow n make u feel good

You bite your lip hard. Your whole body feels electric , flushed with adrenaline and want. You prop your phone up for a moment, your hand slipping under your oversized shirt. Your palm covers your left tit, squeezing softly. Your thighs shift and spread slightly as you angle the camera, lifting your shirt a little, enough to show a peek of tummy, the curve of your waist, the swell of your thighs pressed together in the low light. You snap the photo, heart hammering. And before you can change your mind, you send it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

holy fuck

look at u baby…

can’t believe u sent this to me

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

ur unreal

my pretty girl

all mine yeah?

Your legs curl up under the blanket again, warmth spreading between your thighs as you try to calm your breathing, but it’s impossible now, he’s everywhere, in your head, under your skin.

You [4:34 am]

mhm! only urs

want u so bad :((

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you shift on the bed, tugging your shirt higher. You take your shorts off, leaving your panties on, the cotton clinging to your pussy, soaked through, and you let your legs fall open. One hand moves to squeeze your tit, fingers covering your nipple, the curve of your breast spilling out just enough. Your shirt’s bunched under your chin, tummy soft and exposed. You lift your phone, and take a picture. You stare at it for a moment. You feel sick with nerves. Then:

You [4:35 am]

see? :(

You send the photo and immediately regret it. Not because you don’t want him to see it—you do, so badly—but because now there’s nothing. No reply. You stare at your screen, chewing your bottom lip. One minute passes. Then two. Then three. Your stomach twists, nerves bubbling up like soda fizz under your skin. Was it too much? Did you freak him out? You reach for your phone again just as the screen lights up.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

….

Your breath catches.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

princess i’m so fucking hard rn…

You bite down on your lip, heart pounding, legs still spread. His message replays in your head again and again. You can’t help yourself.

You [4:40 am]

proof? :3

The typing bubble appears instantly. Then disappears. Then it’s still again for a moment, until your screen lights up with a photo. He’s shirtless, skin flushed, abs tight. His hand is cupping his bulge through soft gray sweats, and the outline is obscene. Big. Thick. Heavy. You swear you let out the softest gasp, your thighs instinctively rubbing together. He’s huge. You press your phone to your chest, eyes wide, heart fluttering out of rhythm.

You [4:40 am]

ugh hee this is so unfair :((

Heeseung [4:41 am]

wanna make it fair baby

want u to touch yourself for me

You don’t even think. Your fingers are already slipping under the waistband of your panties before you start typing, your other hand barely steady.

You [4:41 am]

i’m already touching myself hee :( can’t stop

Your cheeks burn, your breath shaky as you press down, wet, aching, throbbing for him.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

fuck princess

wish i was there

i’d take care of u so good

you’d be shaking on my fingers

Your head falls back against your pillow as you whimper, reading and rereading his messages. He’s so good with his words, you feel them in your chest, between your legs, everywhere.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

how are u touching yourself baby?

You can’t even think straight anymore. His messages have your body burning, soaked and aching, and your fingers are moving slow, desperate circles over your clit, and all you can think about is him. The weight of his hand. The sound of his voice. His lips saying “that’s my girl.” You need him to see you like this. You pull the covers back just a little, breathing shaky as you lift your phone. One hand slips back under the waistband of your panties, your fingers teasing just enough to make your thighs twitch. You snap a photo. Your hand between your legs. Your panties slightly tugged down. Your thighs soft and parted. You’re trembling when you hit send.

You [4:43 am]

…

Seconds feel like hours.

Heeseung [4:43 am]

jesus fucking christ

look at you

fuck

keep touching yourself just like that

pretend it’s me

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, the other hand still moving—slow, desperate circles on your clit, slick and messy. You’re so close already it’s dizzying.

You [4:43 am]

i always pretend it’s u hee :(

You hit send, barely able to see straight. It takes him a moment.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

fuck baby

you’re driving me insane

wish i could hear u right now

whimpering all soft and needy

Another sharp flick of your wrist and you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. You are whimpering, broken, breathy sounds you try to muffle into your pillow.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

keep rubbing that pretty little pussy for me

slow circles baby just like i’d do it

make yourself cum for me yeah?

You [4:44 am]

mhm :((

are u touching yourself too?

You send it while circling your clit just the way he told you to—slow, trembling, and wet. You can barely keep your hand steady, your thighs twitching at every glide. A second later, his response lights up your screen.

Heeseung [4:45 am]

yes baby

can’t help it

your pictures, your little sounds in my head

i’m so hard it hurts

That does it. You rub harder, faster, the heat coiling deep in your belly, your hips stuttering into your hand as you let out a tiny gasp, cheeks flushed, lip caught between your teeth. You need more, and he knows it.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

baby

put ur fingers inside for me

pretend it’s my fingers deep inside u

You whimper at the message, already sliding your fingers down lower, slipping them in without resistance. You’re so wet, they glide in easily, your head tilting back at the stretch, the heat, the ache.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

god i wish it was me

wish i could feel how tight you are

i’d fuck u nice and slow

You moan into your pillow, fingers curling, fucking yourself just like he would—thinking about his voice in your ear, his breath on your skin, the way he’d whisper praises in your ear while kissing your neck. It hits hard, your orgasm ripping through you in waves, thighs trembling around your hand, lips parted in a silent cry. You stay like that for a moment, ruined and flushed, before managing to pull your hand away. Still breathless, you lift your phone with shaky fingers and take another photo—your soaked fingers, a glossy string of cum stretched between them.

You [4:48 am]

made a mess for u hee :)

Heeseung [4:48am]

fuck…

fuck princess

i’m gonna cum

You’re still catching your breath when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [4:50 am]

you’re unreal baby

so pretty

so good for me

my perfect girl

You smile, cheeks hot, curled beneath your blanket now, the ache between your legs softening into warmth. You type slowly, eyes heavy with sleep.

You [4:50 am]

hee

u make me feel so good :(

want u here

wanna fall asleep on your chest

Heeseung [4:51 am]

i’d hold u so close princess

kiss ur forehead

play with ur hair til u fall asleep

You let out a soft, sleepy giggle into your pillow.

You [4:51 am]

mm that sounds perfect

goodnight hee <3

Heeseung [4:51 am]

goodnight baby

dream of me yeah?

<33

You tuck your phone under your pillow, smile still lingering on your lips as your eyes flutter shut, his words wrapped around you like a blanket.

You wake up to the soft buzz of your phone against your sheets, light from the screen spilling across your pillow.

27 new messages.

Your stomach flips. The group chat is blowing up and your name is all over it.

Sunoo

okay so it’s settled?? Heeseung’s place again??

Jungwon

yup tonight

Sunghoon

y/n don’t forget your controller

Jay

does she even know what’s happening rn

You stare at the screen, frozen. Heeseung’s place. Your cheeks burn as last night flashes in your mind, his voice, his texts, your fingers between your thighs. The pictures you sent. The ones he sent. And now… this? What if it’s weird now? What if it was just fun for him in the moment, but he doesn’t actually want you? What if he regrets it, and you’re showing up like a fool? You’re overthinking. Still, your fingers hover above the keyboard, hesitation burning in your chest. Then a new message pops up.

Heeseung

y/n are u in?

Three words. That’s all it takes to make your heart skip. You wait, ten seconds, twenty, trying not to read too much into it. Then, finally, you reply.

You

yeah :)

You stare at the little smiley face, hoping it doesn’t look too nervous. Hoping he sees it and hears the ‘please still want me’ in your head. Your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [1:27 pm] (privately)

morning princess

missed u already

You [1:27 pm]

morning hee

missed u too <3

You send it before you can overthink, then hide your face in your pillow, kicking your legs. Your stomach is still tight with nerves, but his reply melts them just enough to let a smile creep in.

You’re staring at your reflection again. For the third time. Your skirt is short, but not too short, you tell yourself, sitting perfectly on your waist. The soft grey cardigan you picked out earlier clings to your frame just enough to show it off, the top buttons left undone so collarbones and chest show. You’re wearing perfume, a subtle one, the same one you wore last time at his place. You look cute. You know you do. You just hope he notices. Hope he wants you still. Hope none of what happened the other night has changed the way he looks at you.

Your phone buzzes again.

Sunoo

on our way! be there in 10

You grab your bag, swipe on a little extra lip balm, and head out. Fast-forward to Heeseung’s front door, everyone’s already inside laughing and talking as you step in. The same cozy orange light glows through the living room, voices echoing through the apartment. And then you see him, sitting on the edge of the couch in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair slightly messy like always, exactly how you like it. He turns his head the second you walk in. And you swear his eyes trail down your body, slow and shameless.

“Hey.” he says, voice low, lips lifting into the slightest smirk. “Hey.” you mumble, already feeling your cheeks warm. “You look cute.” he says simply. Like it’s just a fact. You barely manage a quiet “thank you.” before Sunghoon yells something about Mario Kart and the moment is gone. But not really, because you can feel his gaze on you even when you’re looking away.

The night has that same warm, familiar glow as last time—soft lights casting a gentle hue over Heeseung’s living room, the TV humming low as the next movie rolls. Everyone’s sprawled around the room now, Sunghoon’s half-asleep already with a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest, Jay and Sunoo are arguing playfully about which horror movie is better, and Heeseung’s legs are stretched out in front of the couch where you’re curled up on one end, hugging a fluffy pillow. Your skirt’s ruffled from how you’ve been shifting to get comfy, the neckline of your cardigan dipping slightly as you sink deeper into the cushions. You feel his gaze again, subtle but heavy. You glance up just in time to catch it, and he doesn’t even look away. He just smirks a little. You flush. Again.

Trying to act casual, you tuck your legs under yourself, tugging the hem of your skirt down just a little more. The warmth of the room, the quiet chatter, the way Heeseung hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in, it’s all making you drowsy. By the time the third movie starts playing, your head is dipped against the couch, your cheek pressed to your arm. You fight it for a bit, blinking slow, barely following the plot, but your body is already giving in. Your breathing slows, your limbs go still, and eventually…you fall asleep. Heeseung notices immediately. At first, he just glances over, ready to make a comment, maybe tease you, but the words never come out. Instead, his expression softens. The curve of your lashes against your cheek, the way your lips part ever so slightly when you exhale, it’s enough to make his heart stutter.

He shifts, propping his elbow on the couch, letting his fingers curl against his cheek, watching you in silence while everyone else reacts to whatever’s happening on screen. You’re practically glowing under the dim light, blanket half falling off your thighs, cardigan slipping off one shoulder just enough to make him swallow hard. A while passes like that. Quiet. Intimate. Like it’s just the two of you in the room. Then Jay says something about it being past 3AM, and someone stands, stretching with a dramatic groan. “Should we bounce?” Sunghoon asks, rubbing his eyes. Jay nods. “Yeah, i’m dead. Heeseung, all good?” Heeseung tears his eyes away from you for the first time in a while. “Yeah.” Someone notices you next. “She’s out cold.” Jay leans in, whispering loudly. “You want us to wake her?”

Heeseung shakes his head, protective without even realizing it. “No. Don’t. She’s fine.” And just like that, they gather their things. Shoes are slipped on, phones grabbed off chargers, quiet goodbyes are mumbled, but Heeseung stays seated beside you, gaze still locked on your sleeping form. When the door finally closes and the apartment is quiet again, he stays still. His living room is bathed in that same soft orange glow, the credits roll on the TV, and you’re still there, breathing slow and peaceful, curled up with your lashes fluttering faintly, as if even in your sleep, you know he’s watching. He shifts just a little closer. You stir slightly when you feel the couch dip beside you, your body still heavy with sleep. “Hey, princess,” a voice murmurs, soft and warm near your ear. “Everyone left.” You blink up at him, slow and disoriented, eyes adjusting to the dim light. “Oh…I fell asleep?” Heeseung’s face is close, framed by the golden hue of the room, his smile gentle and just a little smug.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing a thumb lightly over your cheek. “You looked too cute to wake up.” You bite back a flustered smile, pulling the blanket tighter around your body. “You could’ve at least nudged me…” He shrugs, still looking at you like you hung the stars. “Didn’t want to. You looked peaceful.”

Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as your sleepiness starts to fade. He doesn’t move away, his face is still close, his hand resting beside your waist. The room feels warmer than it did earlier, quieter. Like everything outside of this couch doesn’t matter right now. You shift a little, your voice still a bit hushed. “So…it’s just us now?” Heeseung hums, tilting his head. “Yeah.” A pause.“You wanna stay a bit longer?” he adds. “Just us?” And the look he gives you isn’t teasing, not this time. It’s curious and hopeful.

You nod, still wrapped in the blanket, and sit up a little. A quiet yawn slips out before you bring your hand up to rub your eyes, still groggy, still warm from sleep. When you look up at him again, Heeseung’s already watching you, so closely, his gaze soft and heavy, like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. His lips are slightly parted, his expression unreadable but so full of something you’ve never seen from him before, not like this. Your heart stutters. Maybe it’s the quiet of the room. Maybe it’s the way he hasn’t looked away from you once. Maybe it’s the leftover warmth from your late-night texts, from the ache you haven’t been able to shake since. But something makes you reach out, slow and uncertain, your fingers brushing against his cheek before settling there gently. His skin is warm under your touch, and his lashes flutter just slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t move away.

Heeseung leans into your hand just the tiniest bit. And then, before you can overthink it, before you can get too scared, you lean in. Your lips press softly against his, barely there at first, just enough to feel the way he exhales sharply through his nose. His hand brushes lightly against your knee under the blanket, but he doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t rush it. He just lets you kiss him, lets you decide. When you slowly pull back, your breath catching in your throat, you meet his eyes again. He’s smiling, soft, in awe, and he whispers, “Hey.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, bashful and sweet. “Hi.” You don’t say anything else for a second, both of you just sitting there in the glow of the room. And something in the way he’s looking at you, so soft, so wanting, makes the nerves dissolve into something deeper, heavier, needier. So you kiss him again.

This time with more pressure, more feeling, like all the nights of tension are finally spilling out through your lips. Your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his head, threading into his hair gently, and you feel him breathe in sharply when you do. His hands grip your waist and pull you effortlessly into his lap, and you melt against him, thighs bracketing his hips as his touch slides down to caress them slowly, reverently. You sigh softly into his mouth, and he hums in response, the sound low and satisfied. His fingers squeeze just above your knees, coaxing you closer until there’s nothing between you but heat and fabric.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair as the kiss deepens, grows hungrier, but still soft around the edges. His lips break from yours for only a moment, breath shaky against your cheek. “Could kiss you forever.” he whispers, voice rough and thick. Your lips are still barely touching when you whisper it—quiet, breathless, almost like a confession. “I missed you.” He pauses, eyes searching yours, hands still resting on your waist like he’s afraid to let go. His voice is gentler when he replies, like he’s matching your softness.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along the hem of your cardigan. “I missed you too, princess. So much.” You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away, not this time. Not when he’s holding you like that, not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. A shaky breath escapes you before you murmur, “You have no idea how much I thought about you.” Heeseung tilts his head, his thumb tracing slow circles on your waist. “Yeah, baby?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to hope. “Tell me.” You press your lips together for a moment before whispering, “I couldn’t stop replaying everything…the way you looked at me, the way you talked to me last night. I couldn’t sleep.” He lets out the faintest exhale, something between a sigh and a groan, like your words hit him right in the chest. “I know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve been in my head ever since i met you.” You look up at him again, shy and aching. “I was scared maybe you changed your mind.”

“Not even close,” he says without hesitation. “You don’t get it…I haven’t wanted someone like this, ever.” Your fingers curl into his hoodie, heart thudding. His lips find yours again, slower, more sure. His hands cradle you like he can’t believe you’re real. “I want you, Heeseung.” For a second, he just stares at you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Then he leans in, lips brushing yours, voice dropping into something husky and warm, so low it shoots straight through your spine. “Show me how much, baby.” You don’t hesitate. You crash your lips to his in a filthy, needy kiss—nothing like the soft ones you shared before. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body presses flush against his. He groans into your mouth, both arms wrapping around you, dragging you further onto his lap. His fingers slide up beneath your cardigan, caressing the soft skin of your waist, and your hips roll instinctively. Heeseung’s lips move feverishly against yours, and everything about him feels hot and overwhelming, like he’s been holding himself back for far too long. “You drive me crazy.” he mutters against your lips, breathless. You only kiss him harder in response, fingers clutching the sides of his jaw like you never want to let go.

His hands drift lower, until they slip beneath the hem of your skirt. You gasp softly into the kiss when his palms find the soft flesh of your thighs, then higher, until he’s gripping your ass with both hands, squeezing gently but possessively. “You’re so cute, baby.” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice thick with need and affection. You whimper, biting down softly on your lower lip as you pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, hooded, roaming over your face like he’s trying to memorize every little expression. Your cheeks flush, your hands stay tangled in his hair, your body warm and trembling in his lap. “You make me feel so…” you whisper, unsure how to finish the sentence with how full your chest feels. Heeseung leans in again, kissing you slower this time, his thumbs tracing soft circles over your skin. “I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Without even thinking, your hips begin to move , slow, subtle rolls against his lap, just seeking friction, something to ease the ache building between your thighs. You don’t even realize what you’re doing at first, too lost in the feeling of him, the way his hands are holding you, the way his lips feel on yours. But the second you hear him exhale, a deep, shuddering breath, you freeze. “Princess…” he murmurs, his voice all rough and low, like he’s holding back. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your cheeks burning. “Hee…” you whisper, flustered, your fingers gripping his shoulders for balance. “I didn’t mean to—” His hands slide up your back slowly, soothing. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, and you feel him smile softly against your temple. “Keep going, baby.” Your breath catches, and you nod slowly, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. Your hips keep moving against him, soft and needy, your fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you. “Hee…” you breathe, your voice trembling as your lips brush against the warm skin of his neck. “You feel so good…”

Your soft moan spills out before you can stop it—quiet, breathy, but it sends a sharp jolt through Heeseung. His grip on your waist tightens as his cock throbs beneath you, straining against his sweats. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, his voice rough and low. “You sound so good—gonna make me lose my mind.” You shiver at his words. You try to bury your face even deeper into his neck, cheeks burning. “Stop…” you whisper shyly, squirming in his lap, but not enough to actually get away. “Don’t say stuff like that…” He laughs softly, the sound husky and fond as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Why not?” he murmurs. “It’s true. You’re so fucking cute when you’re like this…all needy and shy in my lap.”

Your body moves again, hips rolling against him with a little more need, a little more desperation. Each soft moan and whimper that escapes your lips only fuels him more, your breath catching every time your clothed core drags along the thick bulge in his sweats. “Ngh…” you whimper, clinging to him. “Mmh—just like that, baby…” Heeseung groans, deep and low, his hands sliding down your waist until they’re gripping your ass again, squeezing it firmly. His fingers dig in just a little as he helps guide your movements, encouraging you to grind harder against him, a soft moan leaving your mouth. “Yeah?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “That what you want, princess?” You nod quickly, too dizzy to speak. He chuckles under his breath, hands keeping you steady as he rocks you against him, the pressure sending sparks through your whole body. “So pretty—so fucking soft—can’t get enough of you…”

His hands slip beneath your cardigan slowly, warm palms cupping your breasts over your bra, and the soft moan that escapes you only makes his breath hitch. “Fuck…” he murmurs, voice low and strained as he palms at you, thumbing over the fabric. You’re trembling, but still, you find the courage to sit back just enough to slowly shrug your cardigan off, cheeks burning as it falls to the couch behind you. You look up at him with wide, shy eyes, your chest rising and falling. His jaw drops slightly. “Holy fuck…” he breathes, eyes glued to the way your breasts spill against the bra, soft and full. He wastes no time, hands grabbing them over the fabric, squeezing them in his palms. “You like them, Hee?” you whisper shyly, barely able to meet his eyes.

He lets out a soft, strained laugh, eyes dark. “Princess,” he groans, “I’m so fucking hard right now, what do you think?” Your whole face flushes hot, lips parted slightly. Still, you manage a soft, almost breathless, “You can take it off…if you wanna,” your voice fragile, and your eyes impossibly big and trusting. He stares at you like you just gave him the universe. Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you for a moment, barely holding himself together. Then, slowly, he leans in. His lips find your neck, soft and warm, pressing kisses down the delicate skin like he’s savoring you. Each one slower than the last, trailing lower with every breath you take. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers threading back into his hair as a shaky sigh slips from your lips.

His hands move with purpose, sliding behind you, and you feel the gentle tug as his fingers find the clasp of your bra. With one flick, it comes undone. The straps fall loose against your arms, and he pulls back slightly, eyes meeting yours. You give him a small nod, cheeks burning. He pushes the straps off your shoulders and lets the bra fall between you. Then his hands return to your chest, palms warm and reverent as he cups you fully now, skin to skin. He groans softly, like he can’t help it, like the feel of you is too much. “So soft,” he mutters, squeezing you gently. “So fucking perfect…” Your head tilts slightly with a quiet whimper, lips parted, body buzzing with heat as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, teasing and slow. “You’re driving me insane, princess,” he breathes, voice thick and low. “You’re too pretty for your own good.”

You lean in just a little, shy but needy, and Heeseung catches on instantly. His hands slide up your sides again, and he brings his mouth to your chest, kissing over the soft swell before wrapping his lips around one nipple. He sucks gently, warm tongue flicking, lips tugging just enough to make you gasp. One of his hands squeezes the other breast while his mouth works you, slow and purposeful. You whimper, back arching instinctively, and your hips begin to move again, grinding softly against the bulge straining beneath you. He switches sides, his mouth now on your other breast, sucking, licking, groaning low in his throat like he can’t get enough of you. “You like it, princess?” he murmurs between kisses, breath warm against your skin. “mhm” you whine softly, your eyes shut tight as you let the pleasure wash over you. He chuckles, proud and a little breathless himself. “Yeah? Then keep going, baby.” he murmurs, voice thick. His hands settle on your hips, helping guide your rhythm as you rock against him. “Just like that.”

His mouth returns to your chest, and the room fills with quiet whimpers, heavy breathing, and the soft sound of his lips on your skin. Your fingers tug gently at the hem of his shirt, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hee…” Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, he pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion and tosses it aside, and you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes your lips. Your eyes roam his toned chest, the sharp lines of his abs catching the dim light. You bite your lip, hands instinctively rising to trace along the ridges, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your trembling fingertips. Still grinding against him, you lean forward slowly, pressing soft kisses to the side of his neck. One after another, each one deeper, needier. His breath catches when your lips suck gently, leaving behind faint red marks, proof of how badly you want him.

He groans, low and raspy, and his hands return to your ass, squeezing hard, pulling you closer as your grinding becomes more desperate. “Fuck, baby.” he whispers, voice thick and strained, his head falling back just slightly as your mouth moves along his neck. His grip on your ass tightens as he helps guide your hips faster, harder—grinding down on the thick bulge straining beneath you. Every drag of him against your clothed cunt sends sparks through your body, his cock catching perfectly on your clit, the pressure unbearable in the best way. Your moans come out higher now, breathy and helpless, and it only spurs him on. He groans low, “You’re gonna cum, princess?” You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, hips rocking with desperate rhythm. “Please…Hee, please—”

He doesn’t make you beg more than that. One of his hands slips down between your bodies, under your skirt, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. He rubs small, fast circles on your clit, syncing with your grinding, the friction making you cry out. “Shit, you’re so wet.” he breathes, watching you fall apart on top of him. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” And you can only nod again, whimpering, as your orgasm builds sharp and fast in your gut—his voice in your ear, his hands on your body, everything pushing you closer and closer. You tremble as the wave crashes over you, tugging on his hair as your orgasm hits—your soft, broken whimpers filling his ears as you finish, your body melting in his arms. Heeseung wraps you up, his hand stroking gently up and down your back as he whispers, “Good girl…so good for me.”

Still catching your breath, you lift your head, take his face in both your hands, and kiss him deeply, slow and messy and full of all the want that had been simmering between you for weeks. When you finally pull back, your lips are kiss-swollen, your cheeks flushed, your eyes shy, but burning with something he can’t look away from. You shift off his lap, still trembling a little, and settle down between his legs instead. Sitting back on your knees, you look up at him through your lashes, arms resting against his thighs, pressing your soft chest together just a little. “Fuck.” he breathes, his voice raspier now, his eyes dark as they rake over you. His cock is twitching in his pants, straining, aching, just from the way you’re looking at him. Just from you. “Princess…” he says low, barely holding himself back. Your voice comes out breathy and shy, but so full of want it makes his head spin. “I wanna make you feel good, Hee…”

Heeseung’s eyes drop to your hands as they move gently over the hard bulge in his pants, slow and curious, your fingers tentative but so eager. He swears under his breath, biting down on his lip, the way you look up at him so innocent while touching him nearly making him lose his mind. “Shit, baby…” he groans, hips twitching slightly into your touch. “You’re driving me crazy.” You blink up at him, a soft smile tugging on your lips as your hands press a little firmer, rubbing him through the fabric. “Let me?” you ask quietly, so sweet, so soft, like you’re asking for permission to ruin him. He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your skin, voice low and wrecked. “You can do anything you want to me, princess.” You give him the softest kiss on the cheek, your lips lingering just a second longer, like a promise.

Then, slowly, with trembling fingers, you tug down his sweatpants and boxers, your breath catching when his cock springs free—big, leaking, heavy against his stomach. Your thighs instinctively press together at the sight, and your lips part slightly, like you’re already imagining how he might taste. “God…” Heeseung exhales, his head tipping back as he watches you through lidded eyes. You wrap both hands around him delicately, like you’re handling something precious, and lean in, placing a soft, innocent kiss right on the tip. Your eyes flick up to meet his as you do, wide, shimmering, so sweet it makes his jaw clench. “You’re so pretty, Hee…” you whisper, kissing him again, lips brushing lightly down the side of his shaft.

He twitches in your hand, groaning low. “You’re the one that’s pretty, princess,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “So fucking pretty…down on your knees for me.” He cups the back of your head gently, fingers threading into your hair as you continue kissing along his length, so slow, so teasing, savoring every second. Your tongue flicks out slowly, tasting the tip, salty and warm. You kiss it again, before dragging your tongue just a little lower, teasing the underside as you hear Heeseung’s breath hitch above you. “Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, his grip on your hair tightening just slightly.

You kiss him again, and then finally part your lips and sink down just a little, taking him into your mouth, the warmth and weight of him making you shiver. The second he’s inside, even just barely, a soft moan escapes you, quiet, involuntary, but enough to make him groan. “You like it, baby?” he breathes, his voice low and ruined. You hum around him in response, sending vibrations up his shaft, and it makes him curse again. You pull back slightly, your lips wet and shiny, looking up at him with that same innocent gaze. Heeseung’s jaw clenches as he watches you. “God, you’re so fucking perfect, princess…” You wrap your lips fully around him, taking him deeper this time, your mouth warm and wet as you start to suck with more confidence. Your hand tightens its grip around his shaft, fingers sliding smoothly as you bob your head up and down, eyes locked on his dark, intense gaze.

A thin strand of drool escapes the corner of your mouth, dripping down his length, but you don’t care, your focus is on him, on the way his breath hitches and his body tenses under your touch. Heeseung groans, one hand curling around your cheek, thumb brushing softly over your skin while the other finds your hair, guiding your movements like a gentle command. “Fuck, baby,” he rasps, voice rough and desperate. “Just like that—keep going.” You obey without hesitation, the rhythm steady and slow, savoring every moment, every reaction from him. You take him a little deeper, the sudden stretch making you gag softly. Your eyes water, tears gathering at the corners, but you don’t stop, driven by the way Heeseung’s low moan vibrates through you. Pulling back just enough to catch your breath, you look up at him with wide, glistening eyes and ask in a quiet, tender voice, “Does it feel good, baby?”

The moment the word leaves your lips, his composure shatters. His grip tightens, jaw clenches, and a guttural growl escapes him.“Fuck…,” he rasps, voice thick with want and disbelief. “You calling me that…I’m losing it.” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you gently but firmly back down as his hips shift, desperate for more. Heeseung’s hands grip your hair firmly, guiding your head up and down faster now. Your soft moans fill the room, the vibrations sending shivers straight through him. He growls low, voice strained with need. “Shit—I’m gonna cum, princess.” he warns, breath hitching. You pull back just enough, lips parted and tongue sliding out to trace the length of him one last time. Your hands move eagerly up and down his shaft, keeping the pace as you wait for him to let go. His hips jerk forward suddenly, and he curses, fingers tangling tighter in your hair as he shudders, spilling hot and heavy into your mouth. You swallow it all and then lean in, lips parted, tongue peeking out to show him it’s all gone—clean, obedient, just for him.

His eyes darken as he exhales shakily. “Holy shit, baby…you’re fucking unreal.” You giggle softly, cheeks flushed, and crawl back onto his lap. Your lips meet his for a tender kiss, sweet and slow, but he kisses you back harder, possessive now, hands sliding over your hips before squeezing your ass firmly. The sudden smack he lands on it makes you whimper against his lips, body jolting slightly. Then, with barely a second to catch your breath, he flips you over on the couch, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thud, his body hovering over yours. He kisses you hungrily, like he can’t get enough, mouth trailing down your neck, your collarbones, teeth grazing, lips sucking until you know there’ll be marks. You whimper beneath him, arching into his touch, needing more.

He pulls your skirt down slowly, followed by your panties, dragging the soft fabric down your thighs with careful hands, like he’s unwrapping something precious. His breath catches when you’re bare for him, eyes darkening as he settles between your legs. His fingers gently part you, slow and deliberate, and he swipes through your slick with a quiet exhale. “So pretty…” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Embarrassment flutters in your chest and you instinctively cover your face with your hands, cheeks burning. He chuckles softly, voice low and warm. “Why are you hiding from me, baby?”

You don’t answer, you can’t, not when he leans in and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to you, licking a slow stripe that has your back arching. You gasp, your fingers reaching down to grab at his hair. He keeps going, licking, kissing, sucking, slow at first, then faster, more purposeful. You whimper his name, thighs trembling as he keeps you open with one arm wrapped around your hip. And then, his fingers. One sliding in, then another, curling just right as his mouth never lets up. The combination makes your toes curl, your moans growing softer but needier, your grip on his hair tighter with every flick of his tongue. “Hee…” you whine, breathless.

He groans against you in response, like he could stay there forever, completely lost in you. His fingers are working you open, curling and thrusting in a rhythm that’s already overwhelming. His tongue moves with practiced precision, flicking and sucking at your clit until your thighs are trembling around his head. And then suddenly, his fingers slip out, replaced by both of his arms wrapping firmly around your waist, tugging you closer to his mouth. His hands slide up your body and cup your tits, squeezing gently at first, then harder when you moan. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending jolts of heat straight through your core. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans between licks, his breath warm and ragged against you. “Could stay here all night, baby. You’re so sweet…so wet just for me.”

You let out a choked sound, high and breathy, your hands flying to cover his on your chest, needing to feel him, hold him, ground yourself. Your hips twitch helplessly as his mouth drags another moan from your lips. “So sensitive,” he mumbles, sucking your clit just right. “So fucking good for me. Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You whimper, eyes squeezed shut, fingers squeezing his tighter. “Please…Baby—don’t stop.” you whine. He moans against your cunt, sucking harder now, his fingers rolling your nipples as your body writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure building like a storm. Your whole body’s trembling, thighs tightening around his head, your hips bucking up into his mouth without you even realizing. “Hee—” you whimper, breath hitching. “I’m—I’m cumming—”

Your hands clutch his over your chest, knuckles white, your back arching as your voice gets higher. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, voice muffled against your soaked cunt. “Cum for me, baby. All over my fucking mouth.” And you do. A broken, high-pitched moan escapes you as your release crashes through your body, your hips stuttering against his face, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He groans again at the feeling, his tongue still working you through it, drinking every last bit of it up like he needs it to live. Your thighs tremble around him, your whole body going warm and overstimulated, but he’s still kissing the inside of your thigh, murmuring softly, “That’s my good girl…”

He pulls back from between your thighs, lips shiny, eyes dark and hungry. Still catching your breath, you reach up with shaky arms and hook them behind his neck, tugging him down into a messy, desperate kiss. You moan softly into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into the kiss, hands sliding under you, one under your back, the other under your thighs, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. You gasp, arms tightening around his shoulders, your forehead resting against his. He carries you through the quiet of his room, the only sound your shallow breathing and the soft creak of the floor beneath his feet. His eyes stay locked on yours, so intense it makes your stomach flutter.

And when he reaches the edge of the bed, he lays you down gently, hands never leaving your body, and whispers, “You’re so perfect like this, princess…” He crawls over you slowly, eyes raking over every inch of your bare body, like he can’t believe you’re really here, like this, under him. His hands trail down your waist, squeezing gently before gliding to your hips, your thighs, your ass. He lowers his head to your neck, kissing and sucking softly, then down to your chest, lingering there, murmuring sweet nothings between kisses.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he whispers against your skin, voice low and rough. You nod, already breathless, lips parting into a pout. “Please, baby…” you whine, fingers slipping through his hair, playing with it softly. His eyes flicker between yours as he pushes his sweatpants down, his voice low and breathless. “My sweet little girlfriend, yeah?” he murmurs, gaze heavy with want, but also something softer. You gasp, heart pounding, but you nod quickly, eagerly. “Yes, baby… please. Wanna be yours, Hee.” He groans under his breath, palming himself through his boxers. “Fuck…” Then he slips them off, his cock springing free once again. He positions himself between your thighs, stroking himself slowly as he looks down at you, completely bare and trembling beneath him. “All mine,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, “Gonna take care of you.”

He finds your hand beside your head and gently intertwines his fingers with yours, grounding you, holding you close. “Got you, baby.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. Then he slowly starts to push inside, inch by inch, his breath stuttering. “God…you’re so tight, princess. Love this pretty pussy…” You whimper, brows furrowed as you cling to his hand, squeezing it tightly. The stretch burns a little, making you wince, your thighs trembling around his waist. He pauses, his free hand stroking your cheek, eyes locked with yours. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice laced with care. You nod shyly, breathless. “Y-Yeah… just go slow, baby.”

As he inches in the rest of the way, your mouth parts in a sharp gasp from the stretch, but before the sound can fully escape, Heeseung leans in and kisses you, swallowing the noise and grounding you with his lips. “Doing so good for me.” he murmurs against your mouth. He stays there, buried deep, holding still, giving you time, kissing your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your lips. You squeeze his hand tighter, chest rising and falling as you adjust to the size of him. “Y-You can move…Hee.” you whisper shyly, blinking up at him with watery eyes. He nods, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Okay, baby. I’ll be gentle.” And then he starts to move, slow and careful, dragging his hips back and rolling them forward again. He keeps holding your hand, his other brushing down your side. Every thrust melts the ache into something warmer, deeper, and you whimper softly beneath him, each sound making his heart clench. “That’s it,” he breathes, kissing your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Feels good now, doesn’t it?”

You nod quickly, lips parted, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Mhm…feels so good…” Heeseung leans closer, voice rough and low in your ear. “Been thinking about you like this since the first time I saw you…” You gasp, your back arching at his words. “All wet and shy…wrapped around my cock like this.” His thrusts get slower, deeper, savoring every second. “Fuck, you feel like a dream, princess.” Your hands cling to his shoulders, lips brushing against his ear as you pant, your voice trembling but honest, too far gone to hold back now. “I touch myself to your voice…” you whisper, so shy but so desperate.“Every time you spoke, I’d get so wet.” You whine, tightening around him. “So wet for you, Hee… always.” His hips falter at the confession, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, voice rough with desire, and then he thrusts harder, faster, trying to reach deeper just from your words alone.

“You’ve been mine this whole time, hm?” he breathes against your lips. “Getting off to my voice, fuck—dirty little thing.” You whimper, completely unraveling, and he’s loving every second of it. “Please, Hee…wanna ride you, please.” Your voice is all breathy and sweet. He groans low, twitching inside you, the tip of his cock nudging that spot that makes your thighs tremble. “Fuck…yeah, baby,” he breathes. “C’mere.” He pulls out gently, lays flat on the bed, eyes burning into yours as he guides you up. “Come ride your man.” You’re quick to move, desperate, aching. You straddle him with shaky thighs and grab his cock, lining him up and slowly sinking down, whining as he stretches you open again. Your hands splay on his abs for balance, your head falling back at the fullness. “So deep…” you breathe. “F-fuck, Heeseung…” He watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, thumbs brushing under your breasts. “That’s it, baby… take what you need,” he says, voice low and full of want. “Look at you…riding me so good already.”

You start bouncing on him, slow at first, then faster, the wet sound of you taking him again and again filling the room, making his breath catch in his throat. Your head tilts to the side a little as soft, high-pitched moans spill from your lips, your eyes fluttering with every drag of him deep inside. “Holy shit…” Heeseung groans, eyes roaming all over you—your flushed skin, your bouncing tits, the way your stomach tightens every time you sink back down on him. His hands move up to your chest, squeezing your tits in his palms, thumbs brushing over your nipples just to hear you whine again. Then down, caressing the curve of your waist, trailing lower until they find your ass, gripping it hard, pulling you deeper on his cock, then suddenly landing a sharp slap to one cheek.

You gasp, a broken moan leaving your throat as your hips stutter. He smirks, rubbing the spot he slapped. “So fucking cute when you sound like that, princess.” Then his hands slide down your thighs, fingers dragging over the soft skin, admiring the way they tense as you keep moving. “Feel so good riding me, baby.” he says, voice breathless.

Your rhythm turns desperate, bouncing faster and harder as your hands cling to his abs, nails digging slightly into his skin. “Want you—so bad, Hee—need you,” you pant, voice high and breathless, “Need to be—under your skin…” He lets out a soft chuckle, the need in your voice making his cock twitch deep inside you. “God, baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down to rub tight, fast circles on your clit. “You’re so fucking needy…” You nod, crying out as his fingers work you harder, your thighs trembling. “Hee—Hee, I love you—love you so much—ahh!” His hips twitch beneath you, and he sits up just enough to pull you in for a kiss, messy and deep, all tongue and breath. “I love you too, princess,” he whispers against your lips, “I’ll always take care of you—my sweet, perfect baby.” You nod frantically, fingers tangling in his hair, overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion. “I’m gonna cum—gonna cum for you, Hee!”

“Cum for me, baby.” he groans, fingers still circling your clit as you crash into your orgasm, moaning loud, hips stuttering. He holds you through it, eyes fixed on your face, utterly in love. Then, with a low curse, he lifts you just enough to slide out of you, stroking himself fast and desperate before finishing all over your belly with a strangled moan, his hand trembling from the force of it. You both stay still for a moment, catching your breath, your skin warm and glowing, his cum sticky on you, his arms still wrapped around you as you sit on his lap. He’s pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your hips. “Was that okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and hoarse. You nod slowly, leaning your head against his. “It was perfect.” He smiles, nuzzling your neck, “You’re perfect.”

After a moment, he shifts gently, reaching for a tissue from the nightstand and cleaning you up carefully, his touch tender, eyes always flickering up to check if you’re okay. You just watch him, dazed and dreamy and completely in love. He tosses the tissue aside and pulls you into his chest. You tuck yourself under his chin, your fingers playing softly with his hair. His heartbeat’s still a little fast. “I still can’t believe i did this to you.” he whispers. You smile against his skin. “I always wanted you to do it.” You lie there like that for a while, tangled up, warm and soft, only the sound of your breathing filling the room.

His hand finds yours again, fingers interlacing without thought. Then, very quietly, you murmur against his chest, “Want you to fuck me again, Heeseung.” He freezes. Blinks. Tilts his head to look at you, his eyes wide. “W-What? Now?” You look up at him innocently, smiling, eyes wide and full of mischief. “Mhm!” He groans, dragging a hand down his face as the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Princess…you’re gonna kill me.” You giggle, tugging at his hair and pulling him back down for a sweet kiss.

a/n: got lazy at the end. also left a sneaky easter egg whoever finds it gets a kiss :p idk how this got so long sry if it was annoying

© guliexe

[revelboo]

I MUST request more Drive with the Construct-o-boys! Drive was my first introduction to your account and content and now I never seem to have enough time to read EVERYTHING! So in honor of my nostalgia I humbly request the boys <3

Sure! 🔞 🌶️

Drive Pt 14

Constructicons x Reader

• Feeling a warm, damp cloth slide against you to make you squirm, you groan and squint up at Hook. Exhausted and sore, you remember that you’d taken them all. More than once. Mixmaster’s head is laying against your belly and it feels like he might be drooling on you. Someone’s arm is thrown across your neck, your body tangled in a pile of your mates. “Easy,” Hook mumbles, disentangling you from his brothers and lifting you. And you’re not sure that you can stand let alone walk right now, your legs weak and body aching.

• Feels you lay your cheek against him, unresisting as he carries you over to your wash rack. And you startle again when he steps into the warm spray with you like you’d fallen asleep again. Knows that they got a little carried away, that he’s going to need to do better. To protect you from his brothers’s attentions when you need a break. But he’d been just as bad, unable to stop reaching for you. Hears you whimper a tired protest when he cleans between your thighs to make him feel guilty. You have to be sore, thighs painted in their dried releases.

• Head lifting when he realizes your warmth is gone, Bonecrusher rumbles and crawls over Mixmaster, the other mech snarling at him. Hears the water running and tiredly heads that way. Hook growls a warning at him as Bonecrusher joins you both, hooking an arm around your waist and resting his chin on top of your head while Hook vents tiredly and keeps washing you clean.

• Following Bonecrusher, Mixmaster shivers at the warm spray of water and rests his cheek against your shoulder. “Are you fragging kidding me. Move your lazy afts,” Hook snarls as Mixmaster palms your hip. And Hook twists up your washrag to smack his servos. “Off limits.” Mouthing your shoulder lazily as Bonecrusher rubs his jaw and cheek against you, Mixmaster refuses to budge when Hook tries to move him. “Keep your hands to yourselves.”

• Snorting as Bonecrusher and Mixmaster both rumble warnings at Hook, you lay your cheek on Mixmaster. Listening to Hook telling them off as he soaps you up, slowly running his washrag over you even though you’re more than capable of washing yourself. It’s weird, but nice to have someone fussing over you like this, especially since you don’t actually have the energy to wash right now. Relaxing under the warm water and the slide of Hooks hands over you, you try to stay awake. The two big mechs clinging to you too tired to try anything right now and it’s a relief because you need some recovery time. Feet leaving the ground when Bonecrusher and Mixmaster support you between them, Hook’s engine gets noisier, the sound aggressive as he keeps washing you.

• Coming online when Scrapper moves against him, Scavenger’s head comes up. Realizes you’re missing along with three of his brothers. And he’s pushing up to follow Scrapper toward the sound of Hook complaining loudly. Aware of Long Haul groaning as he rolls over. “No,” Hook snarls, spotting them as Scavenger steps into the wash stall, needing to touch you. Sleepy, hooded eyes watch him as his skims his servos down your arm. “You fraggers let our mate rest,” Hook growls as Scavenger grips your little fingers and you yawn when Bonecrusher cups your cheek, mouth brushing your chin.

Previous

[date-everything-dump]

Oddly hard to find a zoomed in picture of Telly in his non-realized form 🤔 I still love his realized form tho so I am a-okay with this hehe

Explanations/Rambling below!

- Current Favorite: Timothy Timepiece

I just started looking at a bunch of content for him lately and watched his gameplay 😭😂 and LISTEN

He’s so fun and silly?? The scene where he’s being gentle and showing you his watch collection and letting you CLEAN THEM WITH HIM? It’s so sweet guys. And the way he uses Time as a basis/metaphor for all of his advice! It’s so sweet, I didn’t expect it. I don’t care for Timmy, though- submissive cat boys areeee not my thing (I don’t love the whole ‘Master’ talk I’m sorry 😭- no hate if you like him tho!). I also love when people draw him with facial hair and a bit fluffier, like a Cats character. Notes for when I inevitably draw him….

- Second Favorite: Telly

MY GUYYYYY

The way he’s written! His rhymes don’t miss. The little worry and conflict he has over being replaced by a Streaming Service? With my current Tenna brainrot alongside this, I mayyy be a little biased. Also, I LOOOOVE his design guys. Ever since I first saw it I was astonished by how eye-catching he is. He’s got amazing hair and a piercing gaze. I love. Sm.

- By Design: Chance

NGL if I hadn’t already put Telly on here I would have put them here instead hehe. But Chance! His design! With and without the cape! He’s such a NERD with his hairstyle and glasses, plus his cape and shirt being made out of maps? And his PUFFY PANTS? Oh my gooosh. I also love how he’s like- stocky, kind of? He’s not overly muscular or skinny, but he still gives strong short guy energy. Smoochable. As a big ol’ DND nerd as well, all of the dice and the guidebook being his torso! I! Am! Going Crazy! AH

- By Plot: Daemon

Dawg. DAWG. The idea of not even actually belonging in a game, being aware of it, and learning to exist and be okay with that is INSANE and EXISTENTIAL. I adore it. Them being able to take control of the options too? It’s so eerie in a way that stands out against the rest of the game. I’m also a HUGE fan of him just being a friggin eldritch horror in all of his actions and descriptions. It’s so, so cool. I also like his design and voice but shhhh don’t @ me-

- Guilty Favorite: Jean Loo

…listen. Okay. I. May or may not have been looking at a lot of fan works around him lately. Despite being a toilet, he’s just so silly (do you see a reoccurring theme here) and his VOICE. Okay, his voice guys. I know he’s French but hear me out. The accent kinda hits here. AND THE ANGST I’VE SEEN OF HIM POST-REALIZATION? It’s so good guys, you don’t understand. I hate him and his bad breath but I also love him and his stupid plunger hat. Jughead-looking aaaaassss-/j

- All Time Favorite: Scandalabra

I am down bad for a candelabra. Oh what has my life come to.

Guys. Guyyyys. He is, and I must reiterate, SO SILLY. HIS VOICE. HIS MANNERISMS. HIS EXPRESSIONS. AHHHH. Dandys aren’t usually my thing but something about him and his wonderfully charming tooth gap and hair just hits. I wish to smooch him. All of the fanart of him is SO GOOD- I wish there was a bit more fluff fics for him to balance out all of the smut, buuut I am still happy to see him get attention hehe. I personally prefer the Scandalabra Hairdresser ending over the assassin ending, but either way he is a handsome fellow. Boopable, even. I could go on for a while, perhaps that will be a post on its own.

Hope you enjoyed my insane ramblings that I have been holding in for a while now lol. Have a nice night! Blank Template Below the cut, not sure who the original creator is? If you know, pls let me know!

[etherealangell1]

. ♡ ʙᴀʙʏ

Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Notes: WC: 3K. From soft fluff to angst. Tiniest kiss scene and honestly my LAZIEST work ever. I mean it this is horrible. Picture credits to the artist. Also not proofread and written over a span of time so some parts may be a little wonky

Synopsis: You and Aizawa finally revealed your feelings and life actually started sounding pretty good for you both. Then a drastic turn and only a piece of you left in the end.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

The sound of cicadas filled the humid air, rising and falling like waves. Somewhere nearby, water flowed gently over smooth stones, but Aizawa wasn’t listening to that. He was watching you.

You moved ahead of him on the forest path, your sandals in one hand, the other stretched out to touch tall grass or hanging leaves like they were sacred. You were humming—some off-key, bubbly little melody that had no structure and no end, like you were making it up as you went along.

He should’ve found it annoying.

You turned around suddenly, walking backward now with that grin—sunlight catching in your hair, your eyes alive with mischief.

“You’re walking like someone who hasn’t taken a break in a decade,” you teased, wiggling your brows. “Loosen up, Eraserhead.”

He scoffed under his breath but didn’t argue. You called him that sometimes, even when he wasn’t in uniform. You liked teasing him with his own name, like it gave you some kind of claim on him.

“I am loose,” he muttered dryly.

You raised an eyebrow. “That your idea of flirting?”

He looked away. “No.”

You laughed like it was the funniest thing you’d heard all day. Your laugh was unguarded—real. Not the forced kind people use in bars or team meetings, not the polite chuckle strangers give to fill silences. Yours had no filter. When you were happy, the whole world knew.

He never realized how much he liked that sound until today.

You skipped ahead again, pausing near the stream that split the trail. The water only reached your ankles, but you let it soak the hem of your dress anyway.

He stayed on the edge, hands in his pockets, watching you like a man looking into the sun. You knelt to pick something from the water—a smooth stone, shiny and dark, and held it up like a prize.

“It’s got a scar on it,” you said, holding it toward him. “Like a little battle mark. It’s still pretty though.”

He stared at the stone, then at you.

“I think you do that on purpose,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Make everything sound… softer. Lighter. Like you’re choosing to see the world better than it is.”

You looked at him for a moment, really looked at him, like you weren’t expecting something that honest. Then—softly, “Would that be such a bad thing?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he took the stone from your hand. Your fingers were wet and cold from the stream, but he didn’t let go right away. And neither did you.

He glanced up. You were already watching him, eyes calm and bright.

He realized he liked you in pieces. Not all at once.

He liked how you talked too much when you were nervous. How you made tea for everyone, even if they didn’t ask. How you sat too close sometimes and laughed too loud and smiled like you hadn’t been hurt before.

He liked how you were entirely yourself, even when he wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

You were joy. Not just light-heartedness—but real joy. The kind that made people want to stay.

And for the first time in a long time… he wanted to stay.

He went home that night later than he should have. His patrol had long since expired. He hadn’t even sent a text to excuse himself. Just let the time slip by while you made up stories about the clouds and called frogs in the stream your “admirers.”

He was annoyed with himself—or he told himself he was. He didn’t like when things veered off schedule. Didn’t like the way you always invited him to follow you into things that had nothing to do with duty—and he kept going anyway.

When he stepped into his dark apartment, the quiet hit harder than usual. No humming, no laughter, no sandals clacking on the porch. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the faint rustle of his scarf when he tossed it on the hook.

He stared at his boots for a long time after kicking them off. Then at the rock in his coat pocket—the little black one you handed him, with the pale scar across the middle.

He shouldn’t have kept it. But he did.

The next morning, you were still in his head.

Not in a loud way—just a nudge. A warmth in his chest when he passed the tea aisle at the corner store. You’d rambled once about how tea bags were an abomination. “Loose leaf or don’t bother,” you’d said, mock offended.

He didn’t buy any tea. But he lingered longer than he meant to.

By the third day, it was worse.

He caught himself scanning crowds, half-looking for you out of habit. Not that you were ever in one place. You were the type to be everywhere—helping with hero support students, patching up first-years with a bandaid and a sweet joke, showing up unannounced with paper bags of mochi and saying you “made too much again."

You were the kind of person who made yourself known without trying. And now that you weren’t around, the world felt a little too quiet.

Aizawa didn’t talk about it. He didn’t write about it. But the moment he laid down at night, your voice was louder than anything else. The sing-song way you said his name. The soft look you gave him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

He was in trouble.

It happened quietly. Not like some dramatic confession or heat-of-the-moment kiss. Just a normal evening.

You were on the roof of your apartment building. You’d invited him over because “the sky’s going to look good tonight,” and for some reason, that had been enough.

He wasn’t a sky-watcher. But you were.

He was sitting on an old lawn chair, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as you danced around with a flashlight and a pack of lemon cookies.

“You’re not even looking,” you teased, dropping down next to him on a faded picnic blanket.

“I’m looking,” he muttered, though his gaze was mostly on you.

You smiled, tucking your legs beneath you. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but lately it’s a weird quiet.” You leaned closer, your face turned toward him. “You’ve been thinking. About something. Or someone.”

He looked at you then, really looked.

There were strands of hair clinging to your cheek from the breeze. Your eyes were so open, so unguarded. You didn’t know. Or maybe you did.

He didn’t answer your question. Just stared.

You tilted your head. “Shota?”

And something cracked.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said suddenly, the words thick, unfamiliar on his tongue. “I don’t want this to be one of those things that comes and goes. You know?”

Your expression softened immediately. You blinked slowly, like you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. Then, like you realized what it meant.

“You mean… you want me to stay?”

He didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. Just leaned in, hesitant at first, until your foreheads brushed and your smile faltered.

Then you kissed him.

It was soft, slower than either of you expected. And when it ended, you didn’t pull away. You just curled up beside him, your head on his shoulder, hand in his.

The stars didn’t look any different. But something in him had shifted.

And this time, when he smiled, it wasn’t faint. It was full.

But then. Things changed drastically.

It started small.

A text that went unanswered. A night you didn’t show up to the usual spot. He figured you were busy. Distracted. People got like that sometimes. And you’d never been one for sticking to a strict schedule anyway.

But by the third day, the silence started to feel intentional.

He called. Once. Then again. Left a voice message even though he hated the sound of his own voice. You didn’t call back. You didn’t even listen to the message.

He went to your apartment.

No one answered.

Lights off. Curtains drawn. Mail gathering in the box like it had been days. He knocked until his hand hurt, until an old woman across the hall cracked her door and whispered, “She left in the middle of the night, I think. I haven’t seen her since.”

He stood outside your door long after that, staring at the frame like it might open on its own. Like maybe this was a joke you’d laugh about next week.

It wasn’t.

He searched.

Hospitals. Reports. Asked around at the support course. No one knew anything. No one had seen you. The last anyone remembered, you were smiling. Tired, maybe, but still you. Still warm. Still there.

You were just gone.

No goodbye. No note. No sign of a fight or a reason. You had been everywhere in his life—his texts, his thoughts, his damn routine—and now there was just silence.

A silence so sharp it cut straight through him.

He didn’t tell anyone how badly it messed with him. Not Hizashi. Not Nemuri. He buried it under patrols, exhaustion, the kinds of jobs no one wanted. Anything to keep himself from thinking.

But he still checked his phone more than usual. Still looked for your face in crowds. Still paused when he walked past lemon cookies in the store.

He kept the stone in his pocket.

Every day.

It had been nearly a month when the ache stopped feeling fresh and just started becoming part of him.

He told himself if you came back, he wouldn’t ask questions. Wouldn’t get angry. He’d just sit down next to you like nothing had happened, like the days apart were just a dream he’d finally woken up from.

But you didn’t come back.

And eventually… he stopped expecting you to.

It was late. The apartment was dark except for the dim kitchen light—Aizawa hadn’t bothered turning it off. He sat at the table, arms folded on its surface, forehead resting against his sleeves like he could sleep there. But he wasn’t sleeping.

He was remembering.

Not the first kiss. Not the rooftop. Not the sound of your laugh echoing down the trail.

But the shower.

You’d teased him about it all week.

“C’mon, babe. What are you afraid of? I promise I won’t peek,” you’d said with a grin so wide he couldn’t tell if you were serious or not.

He hated the pet names. Or at least… pretended to. Every time you called him babe or baby, he’d scowl. Roll his eyes. But you never stopped. And eventually, he stopped correcting you.

You knew what you were doing. Pushing at the edges of his walls with soft hands and shameless affection. You didn’t try to break through it. You just… waited for them to lower.

And that night, he let it.

Steam curled from the corners of the mirror, fogging the glass and wrapping around the tile walls. You stood beneath the water, back to him, hair plastered to your skin. He watched the way you moved—completely unguarded, as if you trusted him with everything. As if this wasn’t terrifying for him.

When you turned, your eyes locked on his. No teasing then. No jokes. Just soft, focused stillness.

Water beaded on your eyelashes. Ran in trails down your collarbone, over the curves of your body. And still, your eyes never left his.

He knew what you were doing. You wanted closeness. Intimacy. Not just sex. Not tension. Just him. Just him there, in the vulnerable silence with you.

And he let you.

He’d never felt more bare in his life—not because of the water or being fully naked, but because you looked at him like you saw him. Really saw him.

No judgment. No pressure. Just you, standing there like you knew all his worst parts and loved him anyway.

And somehow… that was the part that undid him.

You smiled faintly, eyes soft and quiet as you reached for his hand. Your fingers laced into his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re beautiful when you’re like this,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his.

He closed his eyes then, let the water fall over both of you, let the heat soak into his bones and into the ache in his chest. He didn’t speak. He just held on.

Now, alone in his apartment, that memory was a knife.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly through his nose, but it didn’t steady him. He could still feel the weight of your gaze. Still hear your voice echoing in his head like the ghost of something gentle.

“You’re beautiful when you’re like this.”

He didn’t feel beautiful.

He felt empty.

He missed you.

And God, it hurt to remember.

…

Nine months.

He hadn’t realized the weight of that number until he heard the truth. Until it meant something.

The pieces came slowly, out of order. A passing reference from a hospital clerk. A near-miss report on a clinic file. Then your name—tucked quietly into the corner of a record you never intended for him to see.

Pregnant.

Dead.

You’d disappeared not because you stopped loving him, but because you thought he might. Thought that carrying his child was a burden he’d never asked for. A mistake he’d walk away from.

But if you had told him…

God, if you had just told him—

He would’ve stayed. He always would’ve stayed.

Now he was gripping that too-late truth with both hands, digging his nails into his palms in the passenger seat of Yamada’s car.

The sky outside was gray. Neither stormy nor calm. Just overcast—clouds hanging low like the world was holding its breath.

Yamada didn’t say much. Just kept his hands on the wheel, eyes darting to Aizawa every few minutes. Checking on him like he was made of glass, like at any moment he might crack into pieces.

Aizawa hadn’t spoken since they left the house.

His hands were shaking, knuckles pressed hard against his thighs, jaw locked so tightly it hurt to breathe. Every minute felt like a countdown to something irreversible. Like the weight of your absence was finally about to collide with reality—and he didn’t know what would be left when it did.

The hospital was too clean. Too white.

Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a cold sheen across the linoleum. The walls smelled like antiseptic and muted sorrow. Nurses moved quietly in and out of rooms, their voices hushed, like even the air was mourning.

Aizawa walked slowly, each step heavier than the last. Yamada was at his side, one hand hovering behind his back, steadying but not pushing.

Down the hall. Around a corner. And then-

The door opened.

And she was there.

So small. Swaddled in soft linen, tucked into the arms of a nurse whose face blurred instantly from his vision. Everything else in the room faded.

Except her.

His daughter.

He didn’t move. Just stared.

The baby blinked slowly up at the ceiling, her lashes fluttering, lips parted with a faint little sound like a sigh. Her hair was dark and unruly—soft tufts sticking up as if in protest. But her skin had your warmth. Her cheeks carried your glow. And her eyes…

His throat clenched.

Her eyes were you. Wide. Clear. Innocent.

Still waiting for the world to explain itself.

He took a step forward. Then another. The nurse said something—gentle, reassuring—but he didn’t hear it. Only the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“Would you like to hold her?” she asked softly.

He nodded once. Barely.

The moment she was placed into his arms, his body stilled. Like a clock that had been winding too fast for too long—and suddenly stopped.

She was warm. So light it startled him. Like holding the beginning of something he didn’t know he needed.

His arms cradled her instinctively, muscle memory kicking in from a life he never lived but somehow always carried in his chest. She shifted against him, tiny fingers curling slightly. Her head fit perfectly beneath his chin.

He closed his eyes.

And broke.

Tears slipped silently down his cheeks, dripping into her blanket, onto her hair. His shoulders shook once, then stilled again as he lowered into the nearest chair, careful not to jostle her.

“I didn’t know,” he rasped, voice wrecked and brittle.

Yamada stood near the wall, his own eyes red, hands clenched uselessly in the folds of his jacket.

“You couldn’t have,” he whispered.

Aizawa stared down at the baby, barely breathing.

“I should’ve.”

His thumb brushed gently across her cheek, trembling.

She blinked up at him.

And he saw you.

Not just in her features—but in the quiet strength of her gaze. In the softness. The stubbornness. The spark.

His chest tightened.

“I see you in her,” he whispered, voice splintering again. “I feel you in her.”

Her hand moved. Just a twitch. But it was enough. He held her closer, like he could protect her from every terrible thing this world had taken from him.

Like maybe, just maybe, holding her was the beginning of finding you again.

Yamada stepped out of the room, his chest rising with a quiet sigh as he shut the door.

And for the first time in nine months, Aizawa wasn’t alone.

The baby was asleep in his bed.

Wrapped in a blanket he hadn’t picked, lying on top of the only clean sheet he had—because he hadn’t planned this. Not this way. Not like this.

His apartment was too quiet. Even quieter than usual. No faint city noise, no rustling from the hallway. Just the soft breath of a newborn, tiny and steady, rising and falling like it hadn’t yet learned the world was unfair.

Aizawa stood at the doorframe, unmoving. Watching.

His hands still smelled faintly of the baby soap the nurse had given him. His fingers, still curled like he was afraid to touch too much. Like if he touched her wrong, he’d break something he could never fix.

He should’ve gone to sleep. Should’ve eaten. But all he could do was stand there, drowning in it.

The silence.

The fact that you were gone.

The fact that she was here.

His thoughts hit in waves.

The way you used to walk ahead of him even when he asked you not to—“You're broody and slow, I’m leading.”

The way you teased him about pet names, calling him baby with a smile so warm it made him roll his eyes every time.

The way you’d slipped your hands onto his chest in the shower, looking up at him like you saw right through the walls he thought he’d never lower.

Or simpler things. Like waking up next to you. Watching your chest rise and fall. Or eating a meal with you.

He remembered every stupid reason he hadn’t said it sooner. Every time he had the chance to tell you what you meant, and didn’t. Not in words, anyway.

He'd just assumed there’d be more time.

But there wasn’t.

You were gone, and he hadn’t even known. Hadn’t felt it when it happened. Hadn’t seen the signs. You had slipped out of this world like mist in the morning, while he was living his life thinking you'd be back.

He dragged a hand down his face, nails grazing his jaw, heart clenched too tightly behind his ribs to function.

Yamada had stayed the night on the couch.

After helping him carry in the car seat, the borrowed clothes, the donated diapers from the nurse who used to be your neighbor. He’d gone to the kitchen, opened cabinets that were half-empty, and started a list.

“Some of the staff want to help,” he said gently, eyes kind but unreadable. “A few of them already pitched in for formula, bottles. Recovery Girl offered to teach you how to swaddle. I will help set up a crib this weekend.”

Aizawa hadn’t answered.

Didn’t know how.

Didn’t know how to accept help for a life he wasn’t ready for—let alone a life born from someone he still loved more than he could comprehend.

Coworker, they said.

Friend.

Gone too soon.

But none of them knew.

None of them knew the way your fingers lingered on his wrist when you handed him tea.

None of them knew the sound of your voice when you were falling asleep on his chest.

None of them knew what it meant when you called him “Shouta” in that quiet, sure voice, like the name belonged to you.

He stepped closer to the bed.

The baby stirred slightly, one fist twitching against the side of her head. Her face was peaceful. Unburdened.

He knelt slowly beside her.

She didn’t know. She didn’t understand yet that she’d been born into grief.

But she was here. She was real.

And she was his.

He exhaled, barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes never leaving her face. “I should’ve been there. For you. For her. I should’ve known.”

The baby shifted, breathing softly, like she forgave him without needing to hear it.

He reached out—slow, deliberate—and let his fingers lightly touch her hand.

She curled her fingers around his pinky.

It was such a small thing. Such a fragile, unconscious act.

But it unraveled him completely.

His shoulders hunched as he leaned forward, forehead gently touching the edge of the blanket, chest caving in with silent, exhausted tears.

“I’ll take care of her,” he whispered, broken. “I promise.”

The baby was asleep in his bed.

Wrapped in a blanket he hadn’t picked, lying on top of the only clean sheet he had—because he hadn’t planned this. Not this way. Not like this.

His apartment was too quiet. Even quieter than usual. No faint city noise, no rustling from the hallway. Just the soft breath of a newborn, tiny and steady, rising and falling like it hadn’t yet learned the world was unfair.

Aizawa stood at the doorframe, unmoving. Watching.

His hands still smelled faintly of the baby soap the nurse had given him. His fingers, still curled like he was afraid to touch too much. Like if he touched her wrong, he’d break something he could never fix.

He should’ve gone to sleep. Should’ve eaten. But all he could do was stand there, drowning in it.

The silence.

The fact that you were gone.

The fact that she was here.

The baby stirred slightly, one fist twitching against the side of her head. Her face was peaceful. Unburdened.

He knelt slowly beside her.

She didn’t know. She didn’t understand yet that she’d been born into grief.

But she was here. She was real.

And she was his.

He exhaled, barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes never leaving her face. “I should’ve been there. For you. For her. I should’ve known.”

The baby shifted, breathing softly, like she forgave him without needing to hear it.

He reached out—slow, deliberate—and let his fingers lightly touch her hand.

She curled her fingers around his pinky.

It was such a small thing. Such a fragile, unconscious act.

But it unraveled him completely.

His shoulders hunched as he leaned forward, forehead gently touching the edge of the blanket, chest caving in with silent, exhausted tears.

“I’ll take care of her,” he whispered, broken. “I promise.”

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

The Macaw Uso - a Jhea Crackfic

People I would buy a macaw for: @spiicii @acknowledge-reigns @minteagalaxea

Rhea Ripley didn’t ask for a bird. It was dropped into her life by Liv and Dominik, who showed up on a random Tuesday afternoon with matching grins, two iced coffees, and a five-foot-tall gilded cage wrapped in glittery ribbon like they were delivering a prize from a demonic carnival.

“Surprise!” Liv chirped, pushing the door open before Rhea could ask questions.

Inside the cage sat a vibrantly plumed macaw, blue, green, and a morally concerning shade of red around the eyes. It blinked once. Slowly. Judgingly.

“He’s a rescue,” Dom explained. “From a woman in Daytona who used to host underground twerking competitions in her garage.”

“We think he has depth,” Liv added.

Rhea knelt to meet the bird’s gaze. “What’s his name?”

Liv and Dom answered in unison:

“The Right Honorable Squawkimus Maximus, Grand Admiral of Vibetown and Certified Freak, Sir.”

Rhea’s eyes lit up. “I love him.”

Jey, husband of one year, meathead of the century, a little dense but not too dense, a man who survived Hell in a Cell and also a Cancun couples’ retreat with Rhea, had never experienced hate nor fear like this since he almost drowned in a wave pool at age twelve when Jimmy decided to pop his floaties.

But what she didn't realize, was that while professing her love to the macaw at that very moment... would send her husband into a psychotic break.

And it all started because of sex.

It was night three with Squawkimus Maximus in the house. Rhea was moaning into the pillow, knees pressed to the mattress, and Jey was behind her like a man possessed: sweaty, grinning, muttering things like “Yeah, let’s make date night count”.

After the first round, he reached to the drawer for another condom.

And there, across the hall, through the cracked bedroom door…

…the bird was watching.

Perched dead center in his gold palace. Eyes wide. Wings slightly raised. Unmoving.

Staring.

Jey froze mid-thrust like a man who’d just been told the IRS was at the front door.

“Babe…” he whispered, heart hammering. “He’s watching.”

Rhea looked over her shoulder, hair stuck to her cheek. “So?”

“He looks like he’s about to call the cops.”

“He’s a bird.”

“No. He’s the feds in feathers.”

Rhea rolled over, pushed Jey back against the pillows, and sighed. “You’re soft now.”

“I saw God, Rhea.”

To fix it, and she would later blame her own toxic maternal instincts, Rhea did what she had to do. She went down. Slowly. Intentionally. Until he forgot the bird entirely and was back to saying things like “You sure you on birth control, ma?"

But from that night on, something in Jey shifted.

He started avoiding Squawkimus. Wouldn’t walk past the cage without muttering “snitch.” Claimed the bird kept “telepathically slut-shaming” him. And to make it worse, the damn thing hadn’t said one word. Seven whole days. No squawk. No chirp. Just judgment.

Then Rhea left for the road.

She kissed Jey goodbye, kissed the bird goodbye (on the beak, like a lunatic), and left with a duffel bag and no remorse.

And Jey? Jey was left home alone with the demon.

Just him. And Squawkimus Maximus.

Jey spent the first hour pacing. Then cleaning. Then pacing again. Eventually, he flopped on the couch and turned on the TV, flipping through channels until he found something nostalgic on BET. A 2000s club hits playlist.

The speakers boomed. Something primal. Something crunk.

🎶 “YEEAAHHHHHHH!” 🎶

Jey bopped his head.

Then.

Behind him.

Clear. Loud. Squawky.

🎶 “OKAAAAYYYY!” 🎶

Jey blinked.

🎶 “WHAAAT?!” 🎶

He turned around slowly.

Squawkimus Maximus was flapping his wings in rhythm, head-banging, eyes glowing.

🎶 “TURN DOWN FOR WHAAAAAT—” 🎶

Jey screamed.

The bird hit a body roll.

Lil Jon lived again... In the form of a macaw.

Even though the actual rapper was very well still alive.. but Jey didn't care.

Jey continued to stare at the bird with the same expression one might wear after seeing a ghost dab in the hallway.

Squawkimus Maximus, Grand Admiral of Vibetown and Certified Freak, Sir… was going at it as the songs switched up.

🎶 “Snap yo fingers… do your step…” 🎶

His voice was crisp. Clear. Full of soul and spiritual residue.

🎶 “You can do it all by yo’self—LET ME SEE YOU DO IT!” 🎶

Jey whispered, “I need to show Rhea.”

The wings were back up. His little feathered chest was puffed like he’d just done time. He was bobbing, flapping, turning slightly side to side like he’d trained at Magic City.

🎶"AYE!"🎶

He whipped his phone up with all the energy of a man on the brink and slammed Rhea’s name. FaceTime. Again.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

🎶 “SHAWTY CRUNK ON THE FLO—” 🎶

“Come on, come on, come on—”

Rhea answered.

“Hey bab—”

Silence.

Jey flipped the camera. Shoved it at the bird.

Squawkimus stopped mid-move.

Dead stop. One leg up in the air. Beak closed. Frozen.

Then slowly and casually, he tucked the raised foot back under himself and blinked once. Innocent. Blank. Void of sin.

Rhea frowned. “Josh…”

“NO.”

“Josh.”

“NO.”

“Baby.”

“RHEA.”

She blinked. “Why are you breathing so hard? Why does your voice sound like it’s in italics?”

Jey flipped the camera back to himself. He looked haunted. Shirt slightly crooked. Hairline sweating.

“He was just—he was just singing, Rhea. The entire chorus. With falsetto. And a head bob. He did the ad-libs. He screamed AYE from his soul.”

The bird fluffed a wing and tilted his head, perfectly still.

“I’m sorry.” Rhea rubbed her forehead. “You’re saying the bird was singing Lil Jon?”

“Yes!”

“And then he stopped the moment I answered?”

“Yes! Again!”

Rhea blinked slowly. “So... just to be clear... you are FaceTiming me... to tell me... our bird—”

“YOUR bird,” Jey corrected darkly.

“—OUR bird, sings Lil Jon when no one else is around.”

Jey nodded violently. “And then gaslights me by pretending to be mute.”

There was a pause.

Then, mercilessly, Rhea smiled.

“Babe, are you okay? Do you need electrolytes? A nap?”

Jey’s mouth dropped. “Rhea. He sang Snap Your Fingers to me. TO ME. He looked me in the eyes!!”

She giggled. “So now the bird’s sexually aggressive?”

“No, the bird is haunted by Atlanta in 2006.”

The bird yawned. Audibly. Loud and slow like he’d just worked a double at the trap house.

Rhea shook her head, still laughing. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m not crazy,” Jey whispered like a man who very much was. “He is. He’s the problem.”

She was still laughing as she hung up.

Jey lowered the phone.

Turned to the cage.

Squawkimus slowly turned his back to him and preened a wing like the conversation hadn’t happened.

Jey whispered, “I will catch you, feathered bitch.”

And from the cage:

🎶 “YEEAAHHHHHH…” 🎶

Under his breath. Soft. Just loud enough for Jey to hear.

Jey dropped his phone and screamed again.

--

Two days. That’s how long it had been since Rhea had received the first of thirty-six FaceTime calls from her husband, each one more deranged than the last. She stopped answering after Call #12, where Jey whispered, “He knows I’m watching,” then slowly turned the camera to the cage only to catch the bird chewing on a plastic zip tie and absolutely nothing else.

Now, Liv and Dom stood outside Rhea and Jey’s front door, mentally preparing themselves.

“You ready?” Liv asked, knocking with the kind of hesitation reserved for haunted houses and sketchy Craigslist pickups.

“No,” Dom replied. “But I feel like we’re already cursed by proximity.”

The door swung open.

There stood Jey.

Shirtless. Hair frizzed. Holding a cup of uncooked rice and a Capri Sun. His wedding ring was taped to his earlobe for “spiritual alignment.” His eyes were wide, far too wide.

“Y’all got here fast,” he said calmly. “Good. You can witness the truth.”

They stepped into the living room.

It was chaos. Not messy, just constructed chaos. Notes pinned to the walls with spaghetti noodles. A whiteboard labeled AVIAN DECEPTION STRATEGY. There were three objects arranged neatly on the coffee table: a cracked shot glass labeled “Penny,” a worn wrestling wristband labeled “Napkin,” and a glittery rock labeled “Chip.”

Dom whispered, “He SpongeBob’d.”

Liv said nothing. She just took out her phone and opened the Notes app.

In the center of the room, perched in his golden cage, sat the accused villain himself:

Dr. Professor Sir Squawkimus Maximus, Grand Admiral of Vibetown and Certified Freak, Sir.

Unbothered. Regal. Tail fluffed like he paid rent.

“I’ve got it all planned,” Jey said, placing the rice cup on top of the microwave. “I’ll bait him again. He always sings when I don’t expect it. But the moment I record? He goes silent. Like a church mouse. Like a professional actor under a non-disclosure.”

Dom blinked. “So he’s… playing mind games.”

“EXACTLY!” Jey pointed, vindicated. “This bird isn’t just existing. He’s orchestrating. He performs when it’s inconvenient. He taunts me. He dropped a beat to 'Yeah!' the other day when I was brushing my teeth.”

Liv snorted.

Jey spun on her. “You think this is funny? He’s gaslighting me on a spiritual level! Rhea thinks I’ve lost it! She only fell in love with me ‘cause I gave her that pink Yeet shirt and ate her pussy for 26 hours! Now she’s sending reinforcements ‘cause I told her the bird said ‘skeet skeet’ to my face!”

Dom held up a hand. “Okay, let's just forget you speaking about your sex life. But I need you to breathe. Play the track. Let’s see what happens.”

Jey nodded. Marched to the TV. Hit play.

🎶 “To the window…” 🎶

He slowly turned to the cage. Hands raised like a prophet in prayer.

“Do it. Come on. I know you wanna. Say it.”

Squawkimus stared.

Unmoving.

Then, elegantly… pooped.

Jey’s hands dropped. His mouth opened in betrayal. “Every. Single. Time.”

Liv started wheezing. “You let a parrot mess with your mind?”

“HE’S A MACAW!” Jey screamed.

“I feel like that’s not the issue here—”

“He sings when I turn the music off! He stops when I hit record! He winked at me while doing the Lil Jon shoulder bounce! HE IS STRATEGICALLY UNHINGING ME.”

Dom tried to speak, tried to calm him, but then it happened.

While Liv and Dom were locked in on Jey, trying to gently remind him that sleep was real and therapy was a thing, they missed it.

The shift.

Squawkimus casually turned his body and lifted one claw.

Middle toe extended.

He flipped Jey off.

And smiled.

A smug, tiny beak smirk.

Jey’s voice cracked into a high scream: “YOU SEE!??!”

Liv and Dom turned.

They saw… the bird licking its paw.

“I’LL KILL YOU!!" Jey shrieked.

“JOSHUA!” Dom shouted, lunging forward. “Calm down!!”

Squawkimus blinked.

“I think,” Dom said slowly, cautiously, “we should maybe… clean up a little.”

Jey blinked. “Clean up?”

Liv nodded, already picking up the spilled Cheeto bag and gently setting Chip, Used Napkin, and Penny back on the coffee table like she was tucking in three emotional support toddlers.

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe we cook. Open a window. Play something other than Lil Jon. Stay here with you until Rhea gets back. Just... chill. Okay?”

Dom chimed in. “We’ll keep you company. No more solo face-offs with Big Squawk Energy over there.”

Liv smiled, moving to the sink. “You’re not alone, Jey. We got you.”

It was a good moment.

Jey stared at them. Breathing slowly. Jaw unclenching. For the first time in days, something in him started to relax. His shoulders dropped. His pulse steadied.

He looked between his two friends, voice quieter. “You’d really stay?”

“Of course,” Liv said, already rinsing dishes. “We’re family.”

“Plus I’ve always wanted to make tacos in someone else’s emotional crisis,” Dom added helpfully.

Jey exhaled.

Then, his eyes slid past them.

To the cage.

To him.

To Dr. Professor Sir Squawkimus Maximus, Grand Admiral of Vibetown and Certified Freak, Sir.

And the bird, sensing the moment, reading the vibe, aware that Jey was on the verge of healing, stuck out his tongue.

Just a little.

Just enough.

A small, dry flick of pink.

Mocking. Personal. Intentional.

Jey froze.

His eye twitched.

Liv was humming softly as she wiped down the counter. “We’ll clean up this whole place, I’ll put on some lo-fi—make it feel normal again.”

Dom was already moving couch cushions. “Where do you keep your trash bags?”

Jey didn’t answer.

He was still locked in. Staring at the cage. The bird. The tongue.

“Jey?” Liv asked.

Jey turned his head, slowly, expression vacant. “He licked the air.”

“What?”

“He licked the air like it owed him money.”

Liv and Dom both turned. The bird had resumed grooming. Innocent. Clean. Peaceful.

“Are you sure?” Liv asked carefully.

“It was aimed at me.” Jey’s voice cracked. “He knows I’m calming down and he wants me off balance. He’s trying to relight the fire.”

Dom groaned. “Bro. You’ve been eating craziness for two days. You need a shower and a hug.”

“No,” Jey whispered, narrowing his eyes. “I need revenge.”

---A Few Days Later

The front door creaked open just as the sun began to set, painting warm streaks of light across the walls of the freshly cleaned house.

Rhea stepped inside, suitcase rolling quietly behind her. She hadn’t even taken two steps into the hallway when Liv and Dom passed her like they were fleeing the scene of a crime.

“Hey,” Rhea blinked. “What—?”

“We love you,” Liv said, not stopping. “You’re strong. You’ll get through this.”

Dom gave her a pat on the shoulder as he moved past. “We left tacos in the fridge. He’s… still spiraling. Good luck.”

And then they were gone.

Rhea raised an eyebrow and stepped further into the house. It was… quiet. Too quiet. Which was already suspicious. The living room was spotless. The sticky notes and spaghetti-string conspiracy board were gone. The couch had pillows again. The cursed emotional support objects, Chip, Used Napkin, and Penny were nowhere in sight.

Even the bird cage was gleaming.

And then, from the kitchen:

“BABY!”

Jey popped around the corner, apron on, mullet pulled back into a tiny tiny tiny bun, eyes wild with panic.

“He’s fucking with me again!”

Rhea dropped her bag, sighing deeply. “No, he’s not.”

“YES, HE IS,” Jey insisted, charging toward her like a man begging for asylum. “You don’t see it, but I live it. He’s singing off-beat on purpose now. He mocked me while I peed. He made eye contact.”

Rhea rubbed her temples. “You’ve been home alone for too long.”

“We weren’t alone, Rhea. There was always him.”

They argued. Lightly. In the middle of the hallway.

Rhea accusing him of dramatics.

Jey listing off Squawkimus’ war crimes like they were going to trial.

And then from the cage in the corner:

🎶 “Wise… men say…” 🎶

🎶 “Only fools rush in…” 🎶

🎶 “But I can’t help…” 🎶

🎶 “Falling in love with you…” 🎶

They both turned at once.

Squawkimus stood tall, wings relaxed, voice eerily smooth and pitch-perfect, serenading the room like he had an entire Vegas residency lined up.

Rhea’s jaw dropped. “You taught him to sing Elvis?!”

Jey stood motionless. The betrayal already blooming behind his eyes.

He swallowed. “…Yeah baby. I did.”

Rhea smiled.

She crossed the room, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him hard.

Jey kissed her back, letting the moment sink in.

And then he cracked one eye open mid-kiss.

The bird was still singing.

And flipping him off.

Tiny feathered claw, proudly raised, face full of smug.

Jey, still kissing Rhea, slowly raised his arm behind her back…

And flipped the bird off right back.

They stayed like that, locked in a kiss, hands behind each other, silently trading middle fingers with a Broadway-bound macaw who had won the war.

Love was messy.

So was bird ownership.

But in that moment, all was forgiven.

Sort of.

🎶 “Take… my hand…” 🎶

🎶 “Take… my whole life too…” 🎶

Jey muttered, “I hate him.”

Rhea whispered, “I know.”

They kissed again.

The bird sang louder.

And in the kitchen, peace returned.

Kind of.

[dc-fanfic-sideblog]

ok so ive seen the new superman movie 3 times now (just watched it for the third time a fe whours ago and drank like 4 cups of coffee while watching it) and i have thoughtssss

so you will now hear them while im hopped up on coffee starting this at 11:03 PM (with lots of typos that idont very much care to fix unless its just straight up unintelligible, surprised i got that word on the first try)

time for david cornswet superman x reader thoughts

its now 11:16 because i got distracted making an application for something

anyways

mr superman, clark kent, big blue or whatever they call him

this version of Clark kent is not as nerdy and goofy compared to the 1978 (78?) movie with christopher reevees

and i mean he's still a bit of a pushover, like when steve sports section guy talks to him

but hes not a fidgity and stuttery(?) as '78 is

which i kinda love because its been three years since hes been out as superman, so i think with all the love and support he's been getting, it would give him more of a confidence boost

we can see that qwithin the first few scenes in the news room where he has little quips back and forth with Jimmy and especially Lois

but hey this is about you and clark so

lets go with thagtg

its 11:34 i keep getting distracted

i can come up with many different scenarios on how to pair you with clark

co-workers, civillian, other metahuman readers

but generally i really like civilian readers because its easy, and i dont know how journalism works and i end up making my superpowered readers all self inserts with bird wings and black magic-y powers so...

hold on, its 11:53 and gonna go get bad for me food with my brother one sec (i say as if youd have to wait to read)

12:22 im back with chicken nuggets

ok

so civilian reader, usually whatever i end up writing is theatre related but im just gonna go for boring office worker reader/you here

you clock in, normal 9 am office cubical job, do your work, then clock out at 5 if your superiors dont ask you to stay.

you take your subway home, maybe pick up some kinda food on the wayback, then promptly collapse onto your couch the second you step inside your apartment

same old routine you've had for years, going on autopilot

you look around your living room, picking at the takeout you got, thinking that maybe you should get some kind of pet, that way you have something to come back to

sure you live in Metropolis, a pretty great and grand city, but after a few years everything drags on

until a superpowered white dog (wearing a cape mind you) crashes through your fucking window, chasing after what looks like a flying sphere

you watch in shock, and slight fear because holy shit that flying dog is strong, as its kinda destroying your apartment

you're stuck on your couch UNTIL ACTUAL MR TERRIFIC AND ACTUAL SUPERMAN FLIES INTO YOUR HOUSE

CHASING AFTER THE DOG THATS CHASING A SPHERE

Superman corners the dog in your hallway, with his hands out like hes ready for him to bolt, while Terrific slowly moves the sphere out of the way

unfortunately that means in your small apartment, it moves right over your head

making eye contact with the dog, it seems that he's got a new objective

the dog leaps over superman before he can react and quite literally lunges towards your face

unfortunately superpowered dogs from another planet pack quite a punch, but given that he's taken to just licking your face you think that maybe this isn't the worst way to die

he seems quite excited to make a new friend even, maybe he realizes that youre not as strong as him because he seems pretty gentle compared to how he was flying around your house before

but still the dog slightly knocks the wind out of your lungs for a second as he lands like right on your chest, but youre laughing in no time with how kind of ridiculous this situation is

superman starts sputtering out apologies and keeps trying to manhandle the dog off you, while Mr Terrific sighs on the side lines, collecting his tech and making sure its not ruined

eventually everyone's calmed down and superman actually puts his direct attention on you

apologizing over and over for 'Krypto' as youve learned

he asks if you're hurt and you say no, which he seems to not believe you just after you got tackled by a kryptonian dog

and... fair, but you tell him nothing hurts other than getting the breath knock out of your lungs

he sighs in relief until he catches sight of your shattered window and slightly broken window frame

he cringes "we'll get that fixed for you, call someone right up and make sure its repaired in no time"

you hesitate to accept, but before you can even verbalize it Mr. Terrific says something like "Wouldn't be the worst property damage we've had to deal with" he looks up at you "no need to fight it, it'll be paid for by LordTech."

he nods at Superman before taking off, leaving to human emotion part to him

he scratches the back of his head, analyzing the damage done to your window

"at least its not that bad..." he tries to comfort

"i'll probably have to saran wrap and duct tape it for the night huh" you respond, getting up to search through your kitchen for said materials

he jumps at the opportunity to help, using his x-ray vision to find your stuff before you even have to rummage around

but you snatch the tape and plastic wrap from his hands before he can even move towards the window

"you might just want to leave the same way you came, cant imagine walking down my apartment stairs would be the best idea for your dog"

Krypto tilts his head at you, as if he understood what you were saying...

maybe he does

actually you don't want to think about that

superman chuckles and looks down at krypto, hands on his hips like a tired mom

"You might be right about that..." he looks back up at you, opening his mouth to say something, but gets interrupted by a voice coming from your window

"sorry to break up your bonding sesh, but we're gonna need you back out there Big Blue"

turning your head, you're met with the sight of Green Lantern casually leaning against your broken window frame, dusting something off his shoulder to look cool

or maybe its actually bits of your window

Superman startles and his eyes widen in the realization that he's just kinda standing in your slightly ruined apartment

"oh gosh, im sorry, i'll just get out of your hair- Krypto lets go"

as he passes you he assures you that "LordTech will send someone over as soon as possible, it'll be fixed in no time"

Krypto pauses by your hand, looking up expectedly, not listening to Superman call him over

"krypto come on. no need to bother them anymore"

you laugh at the dog, and his gently wagging tail

clearly wanting to be pet, you crouch down to give him a good chin and head scratch before giving him a big ole smooch on the top of his head

seemingly proud of himself, he take his time trotting over to superman, as if to flaunt that he got kissed and clark didn't

he just sighs and calls him a troublemaker

leaving your apartment, he hovers near the window to look at you

"again, im so sorry, we'll make sure you have a window again as soon as possible"

you wave him off before Krypto bites his cape and pulls him away

you sigh, standing for a bit in silence to actually process what just happened

you let out one little "hm" before getting to work on your temporary window fix

unfortunately you still have to go into work tomorrow, you realize

this bitch got away from me

turned into a kinda meet cute thing

its 2:07, im tired, caffeine crashing if we're being homnest here

uhhhh goodnight

hopw you like :3

[trashywormeateroffics]

you came along and you changed everything (steve rogers x female reader)

the gif is not mine!

summary: a valentine’s day party makes you question whether you’ll ever find love, especially since the one you love doesn’t seem to love you back. then again, you’ve always been kind of oblivious…

a/n: hello. i love steve rogers. that’s it. y/n is your name and y/f/n is your full name. enjoy!!!!

masterlist

\\\\

the party was in full swing. people laughing, drinking, and looking into each others eyes with lovesickness all over their features. those were actually the vast majority, since it was a valentine’s day celebration.

though you assured everyone- and yourself- that you didn’t care about the holiday, you still opted to dress on theme, the fabric with hearts on it covering your frame.

“having a good time?” sam asks you as he sidles up next to you on a table. you didn’t like to dance to loud and fast paced music- which is what tony was playing as of now.

“uh- yeah. you?”

“that was the least convincing answer i’ve ever heard. and i’ve interrogated lying criminals.” you snort.

“i’m having a normal time. you know i don’t really like parties.”

“hm…” he hums and takes a swig of his beer.

“what are you doing here anyway? did bucky already beat you at pool?”

he scoffs, offended.

“he did not.” your eyes narrow. “i chose to withdraw from the game. too easy.” he says the last thing as he leans closer to you, almost as if confiding a secret.

“right…” you draw out the word, clearly not believing him. “you seen steve?” his knowing smirk lets you know that it was the wrong thing to ask. or perhaps you used the wrong tone. too lovelorn and hopeful.

“your lover boy? yeah, he was at the bar talking to nat and violet.”

“they seem happy don’t they?”

“they can’t keep their eyes or hands off each other.”

you smile softly. a year ago, a new lab tech arrived at the compound. violet. immediately you could tell that nat was, for lack of a better word, struck by her. it took them a while, your best friend had her fears reservations. eventually though, about three months ago, both of them decided to take the step, and now they were together and more in love than ever. you were happy for her, though having your best friend be in a serious relationship certainly meant less movie nights and hangouts.

but that was all fine, because the compound was full of your friends. and he was always there for you.

he, steve rogers himself, the man and the myth and the legend and everything anyone ever said of him, though to you he was just stevie. your stevie. when you moved into the compound and became a member of the team two years ago, he was the first to offer a chance of friendship. he very quickly became one of your best friends, if not the best. the only difference between him and nat was that you weren’t hopelessly in love with her. but him… he was different and dear to you.

“we should go join them.” sam offers.

“sure.” you shrug and stand, beginning your walk to the bar.

as you get closer, you can see his blond hair peaking out from in between the crowd. he’s taller than most, so it’s easy to spot him. it’s also easy when you have a radar just for his presence.

when you step out from the big, bustling crowd and start approaching the group with sam by your side, you feel goosebumps rise on your arms. you look up and realize that he’s looking at you. a grin splits your face in two and he reciprocates it.

“ladies,” sam tilts an invisible hat, “captain.”

“wilson, do you think i could take out you, rogers and barnes at the same time? my girl here thinks it’s impossible.” nat asks him. as sam begins his explanation with a very obvious taunt, indicating that natasha could not even take him out alone, you sidle up next to steve, who is watching the debate unfold with quiet amusement.

“hey, you.” he says, making you purse your lips to stop yourself from grinning.

“hi stevie.”

“having fun?”

“are we doing small talk now?” he scoffs out a laugh. then he looks at you with those blue eyes that enchant and terrify you in equal measures. that’s the thing about steve rogers, when he looks at you, he really looks at you. and that’s comforting and unsettling, depending on the day. tonight he’s looking at you with a softness that’s poorly concealed by the dim lights of the room. he seems to have sobered up, and he smiles softly before saying:

“you look beautiful, sweetheart.” your breath hitches. that damn pet name. you suppose you deserve it, at least to make things even. he always says that while he’s your stevie you are his sweetheart. those are the things that confuse you, that make you think that maybe, just maybe, you aren’t completely alone in the pining.

you realize you’ve been staring at his eyes for too long without saying anything and feel heat creep up your neck.

“thank you.” you smile softly. “you too.”

he raises his brows.

“i look beautiful?”

“n-no! i mean not no but-“ you groan as he snickers. “shut up, steven.”

he grins almost boyishly.

“yes ma’am.”

you purse your lips again to stop the smile forming on your face, though this time you fail miserably.

you’re looking at each other with dumb grins on your faces when the aggravating— and always troublesome— voice of tony stark cuts the moment short.

“capsicle, the man i was looking for.”

steve sighs, already knowing where it was headed.

“what do you need, tony?”

“always so eager to help me. i love it.” tony says in his usual sarcastic tone. “an investors eighteen year old nephew really wants a picture with you. did i mention that it was an investor? you know, the people who give me money and then that money goes to giving you guys a free place to crash and free food and-“

“i got it.”

“awesome blondie.”

steve looks at the ceiling, almost asking god “what did i do to deserve this?” and then he looks at you. he opens his mouth to apologize for leaving you but you beat him to it.

“see you later, yeah?” he smiles softly.

“of course.”

and then he’s gone, lost in the swarms of people.

\\\\

it’s not until two hours later when you see him again. though this time, you don’t approach. you just watch from a longing distance.

steve is talking to bucky and thor, and he’s laughing at something the latter said seconds before. he tilts his head back and crinkles his eyes. he’s so beautiful, you want to watch him forever. you want him always laughing, always happy. he deserves nothing less.

before you can decide whether to approach a group of people and mingle or go get a drink, the lights dim. then, music notes you know all too well start resounding around the place. a romantic song start to play, and couples start heading towards the dance floor, including nat and violet, sam and ryan (the new agent he’s been seeing), even bucky seems to have found himself a partner. but steve is nowhere to be seen.

you take in a shaky breath.

as you watch wanda and vision dance and giggle to themselves, you feel something heavy in your chest. you have everything you’ve ever wanted: a family, a job you adore, belonging. but it doesn’t stop the ache in your heart, the ache for the one thing you know you’ll never have. because that kind of happiness is not for you and you have accepted it already.

another shaky breath. you feel like you’re breaking in plain sight, so before you actually can, you turn around and leave.

you walk fast to the elevator and press the button for the library floor, your safe space. as the elevator descends, you try to even out your breathing, try to swallow back the tears already forming in your eyes.

“this is so pathetic.” you say as you scoff at yourself. still, the sadness is too overwhelming and you find yourself getting choked up on a broken sob.

once you reach the compounds library, you head straight for the couch that’s in front of a fireplace and sit on it, now fully allowing yourself to cry. not like you could’ve stopped it anyway.

\\\\

you’re on the couch, laying on your side. now more calm, with only a few tears slipping down the bridge of your nose, your cheek and into your ear every now and then.

it’s not long after that you hear the door to the library opening and footsteps approaching you. your head turns immediately when you hear his voice without realizing that you look like you’ve been crying.

“hey-“ he stops in his tracks when his gaze lands on you. his brows furrow and his blue eyes turn so sad at the sight of your pathetic self that it makes your stomach churn. “hey, hey, sweetheart, what’s going on? what happened?”

sitting up, you wipe the few rebel tears that find themselves on your cheeks and smile, though not very convincingly.

“nothing, i’m fine.”

he scoffs softly and approaches you from behind the sofa, crouching down to be at eye level with you.

“come on, pretty girl, what’s going on?” he pleads with so much gentleness that it almost angers you.

“stop-“ you huff. “stop calling me that, and stop calling me sweetheart and all those other things!” you tell him, frustration lacing your tone as you stand up and move away from him.

steve narrows his eyes, seeing right through you, knowing full well that there’s something else going on.

“y/n.” god, that makes you want to cry again. it’s rare that steve rogers uses your actual name, it’s even rarer if it’s not during a mission.

you look at him.

“why can’t i call you that, hm? you know you’re my-“

“your sweetheart! i know! you always say it! but you don’t- you don’t mean it in that way and i can’t- i can’t…” your voice trails off and a fresh wave of tears start trickling down your cheeks once again.

“hey…” as soon as you start to break, he looks like a man on a mission, taking big steps towards you until he’s close enough to pull you into his arms.

as heartbroken as you are, and as isolated as you feel, there is no safer place than his embrace. no touch, no smell, no sound is more grounding than his.

“talk to me, honey, come on.” you burrow further into his chest but refuse to answer. “sweetheart,” he pulls away just a tiny bit to look at your face, “in what way should i mean it?”

you close your eyes, trying to not face him.

“i didn’t- there is no-“ you groan. “it doesn’t matter.”

“of course it matters, you matter to me. more than anything.” he says the last part quietly, almost to himself. but you hear it anyway.

“steve…” you’re looking into each others eyes and you feel the compulsion to tell him everything, so you do. “i saw all those people, those couples dancing and i… i just got sad.”

he furrows his brows in confusion, still holding you close to him.

“why?”

“because i’ll never have that, and it’s pathetic that i want it so much but-“

“why wouldn’t you have that?” he asks, completely baffled. you blink.

“because i won’t get that lucky. i won’t be loved like that.” before he can say anything, you beat him to it. “i’m already cheating fate by having this, you, the team, i can’t ask for more, i- i won’t.”

“y/n.” your name, again. though this time it means something serious, even sharp. “you will have that, and more, if it’s what you want.”

“n-“

“because you deserve that and anything else that you wish for. you deserve everything.”

“but i can’t have everything. the one thing that i-“

“you deserve it.” he insists. you huff through your tears.

“but it isn’t about deserving, he doesn’t-“ your eyes widen when you realize what you just said and your tears stop from the shock. steve’s grip softens a bit, but he doesn’t let you go.

“he?” something flashes across his face, something almost broken, but it passes way too quickly for you to actually be able to tell.

you sigh.

“it doesn’t matter.”

“who is he?” he asks. he’s looking at you so intensely, with such desperation, its beginning to scare you.

“it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t-“

“if he doesn’t he’s an idiot.”

“he’s not.” you tell him. “he’s… he’s perfect. and it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to be with me.”

“have you told him?” steve’s jaw clenches.

“no. and i won’t.” you try to move away from his grip but he stops you.

“who is he?”

“steve, what does it matter?”

“it matters to me.” your brows furrow.

“why?” steve looks away as he begins letting go of you. why would it matter to him? and then… your breath catches, your heart stops for less than a second and then starts beating erratically in your chest. it can’t be true, can it?

“steve.” he tries to move away but you stop him, grabbing his arms that are still loosely around you. he frowns, almost pained, as he keeps looking down. “stevie, look at me.”

at that, he does. and in his eyes, you see it. everything he hasn’t said, every lie you’ve told yourself reflected in the truth that shines through them. he’s yours as much as you’re his.

you’re breathing rapidly, he is too.

“sweetheart i-“

“it’s you.” he tilts his head. “i’m in love with you but i didn’t think- i mean how-“ you’re cut off by his lips crashing onto yours. you make a noise of surprise but quickly melt into him. his arms wrap even tighter around you, and his warmth envelops you completely. you kiss for what feels like forever, or maybe a second, because time doesn’t matter anymore, nothing does except for him.

when you pull away, you’re both panting.

“i am so in love with you, sweetheart.” he says, breathless. you look at him softly, with so much love you feel like you might disintegrate. “god, i though you were in love with someone else and it killed me, baby, i swear-“

“how could i be in love with anyone else?” you smile and tenderly caress his cheek. “you’re my stevie, remember?”

“and you’re the love of my life, honey.” your breath catches.

“i am?” he smiles softly and kisses you again.

“when you came into my life, that day you showed up with fury, i knew it. i knew you were it for me.” you lower lip wobbles.

“shut up, steve, no you didn’t.” you purse your mouth to stop yourself from grinning, but he doesn’t. the biggest grin splits his face.

“you dropped a cup of coffee on me, asked me to let you pay for it but then remembered you didn’t have any money so you offered to drop a cup on yourself so we’d be even.” you close your eyes, embarrassed.

“oh god…”

“you made me laugh for the first time in years, you made me- you make me feel human. you make me feel like myself. and i love you, for everything that you are. i love your rambling and when you squeal at something that excites you, i love your morning face and that sleepy smile that you give me every single time and the way you bite your nails when you’re trying to solve a problem you can’t figure out. i love your kindness and i love that you chose it, that you could’ve gone any other way and it would’ve been justified but you chose to be kind.” by this point, you’re a crying mess in his arms. he wipes away your tears with both his thumbs. “i love you, y/f/n, with all that i am. and i will love you forever.”

you can’t do anything else other than hold his face between your hands and kiss him harshly, trying to pour all the love you feel for this man in one simple kiss. but it’s not enough, because nothing will ever be enough to convey how much he means to you, how you would burn it all down for him or regrow it again, how you would bend reality just to keep him safe, how much you’ll love him until the day that you die. and even then you think it won’t stop, the love you have for him will live on forever. it’s a good thing though, that you have the rest of your lives to show him.

[biteyoubiteme]

I was so very excited to read this when i realized it was a familiar fic, ive always loved reading books, watching movies that have the concept in it and this was so so so good, i actually did not realize it was coming to an end i was so engrossed and emotional im sad it ended but this has to be one of the best things ive read on here. It was so atmospheric and warm, warm in a fall, dark, and moody kind of way that comes with reading dark academia and this was kinda hinting at that for me. Your writing style is so pretty and i know you said you wrote it well over three years and i could not tell, all of it flowed so well together. Anyways i loved this ><

Your magic has been weaker lately. You can feel it like a dwindling fire inside. Everything that should be easy is difficult, and all that was once difficult has become impossible. Not only are you half the witch you were, but you also feel like half the person you know yourself to be. Looking dazedly around the room, you try to calculate how long it’s been since it began. It began a few days past the last occurrence of the full moon. Was that a week ago? In your mind, you try to pry the blur of days apart, but since most of them have been much the same – lethargic and hazy – they seem unintelligible from one another. Ugh i love the way youre setting up the lore here, i love your writing style.

At your feet are the tracks of your dear companion; little paw prints still sunken into the soft dirt of the path that leads from your door to the garden gate. Stop this is actually so cute. 

You would be able to see every emotion of his in those eyes if you weren't able to feel them for yourself through the bond. "I didn't mean to be gone so long, o-or go so far. I lost track of time, and I was coming home but..." He trails off as he senses you aren't upset, your calmness washing over him. He sighs and leans back into the cushion of the settee tiredly. There's food in his belly, he's warm and cozy, taken care of, and most importantly, home. "I missed you." ugh i can feel the warmth and welcome, you made it so cozy. 

and, he’d pointed out, what was he to do with a pair of shoes once he’d shifted? Carry them around by his little cat mouth? Lmao stop now im picturing a cat with shoes in its mouth ;-;-; my own cat brings me her toys and im just seeing that lol 

If you were to lose your life, Hyuka would soon follow after. But if Hyuka were to die, you'd go on, your life forever missing one integral piece. Other familiars might come, perhaps, but they wouldn't be Hyuka. Hyuka, with his superstitions about ravens, scowling at them through the window as if he might pounce through the glass even in his human form. Who always muttered in his sleep when he went to bed with a full stomach. Whose soft snoring you had come to be unable to sleep without hearing across the hall. The small black bundle of fur with glowing moon eyes he shifted to and fro, always making you laugh as he strayed from the path his human counterpart had told you he would take the minute he saw a butterfly; chasing them always seemed more important to the cat. You were sure you'd still see his phantom running around the house and garden for years to come if he were to be taken from you. All you can do is what you have always done; do your best to protect each other and hope that fate will be kind. Stop i love this so much and i actually started to tear up, with real tears, i love their bond that they have ;-;-;

“I’m sorry I took it,” she says a little breathlessly. “I slipped it off while petting you when first we met. I don’t know why…” You can see her body growing heavier against the concrete of the porch, hear her breathing more shallowly. “Maybe I just wanted something to hold onto. Something like… a friend…” no this breaks my heart so bad, and knowing its mainly a token to show their bond so when kai wears it, its about reader, so its something closer to what she lost ;-;-

“She said this has been happening a lot, and getting closer to the village,” you say in an almost whisper, as if the trees might overhear and spread your words. “Do you think… do you think we're safe?”-A brisk chill blew across the clearing, as if the very wind itself was relaying a warning. -He meets your eyes and you find there a cloud of emotion and determination like you've never seen. When he replies, his voice is rough but firm. “We'll make sure of it. We'll lay low. At the first sign of trouble, we'll leave.” -You nod solemnly. “I'll do everything in my power to protect you,” you say, as if it needs saying. -“I know,” he replies in a gruff voice, and you feel your shared feelings of protectiveness intensify as his grip on your hand tightens.-As he takes a step forward, you fall into step beside him. He leads you out of the clearing, back through the forest, towards the village – towards home. Neither one of you lets go of the other's hand, both silent once more as you trek home in a flurry of emotions and anxieties, wondering what the future holds, and grateful to have each other. Ugh i know this is a big just block of text ive copied over but this is just so good, i loved every bit of it, i dont know why when i read like soulmates it sometimes feels so proformitive almost but reading this or about any familiar really it feels lived in, like its something deeper, i dont know if that makes sense but i love it so much. 

Safe & Familiar - Huening Kai

Synopsis: When your familiar goes missing, you set out on a search, only to find danger is brewing (I’m no good at writing synopsis)

Warnings: death, grief, brief mention of imprisonment and someone being killed (slowly so maybe torture?), reader is a witch so themes of magic, eludes to the beginnings of some considerably dark historical events 

Author's note: Finally finished! A little ashamed to say this took three years when hardly anything happens in it, but life happens and other ideas come up, and my writing brain doesn't always want to co-operate. This is a story I was really excited about when I started it and couldn't wait for it to be done to be able to post it, so I hope it's a good read because I enjoyed writing it. I was halfway through writing this when I lost someone special, and I thought it wouldn't get finished for a lot longer due to that. Surprisingly, the grief spurred me to work on it and I ended up able to use my own feelings because it matched the character’s thoughts. If it feels a little bare-bones or disjointed, it's because I worked on it on and off over three years including when I had lost my writing mojo but just wanted to get it finished!

Word count: 4.7k

At the break of dawn, with the first light of day intruding through the windows of your room, you decide to give up on the idea of sleep. Proper rest has evaded you for weeks, slumber slipping from your grasp as soon as you seem to catch it. You feel ragged and rundown, drained and lackluster, and you know the cause.

Your magic has been weaker lately. You can feel it like a dwindling fire inside. Everything that should be easy is difficult, and all that was once difficult has become impossible. Not only are you half the witch you were, but you also feel like half the person you know yourself to be. Looking dazedly around the room, you try to calculate how long it’s been since it began. It began a few days past the last occurrence of the full moon. Was that a week ago? In your mind, you try to pry the blur of days apart, but since most of them have been much the same – lethargic and hazy – they seem unintelligible from one another.

All you could clearly and vividly remember was the day that ended with the full moon. Watching your familiar disappear past the front gate, tail flicking between the garden shrubs, and then gone. Then you'd begun preparing for your own full moon rituals. It had been the same as every month before. Except that your familiar had not returned come next morning, and had not returned since. Every full moon phase the cat would go, called to the natural world, to explore, to hunt, bathe in the moonlight, instincts leading it out into the forest, part wild animal. It'd never been away from you this long, always returning home by mid afternoon of the following day.

Pushing yourself up from the still cold mattress, you walk to the doorway of your room, from which you can see through the open door of the room opposite. Once again finding the bed inside empty, you breathe in a sigh. Despite your misguided hope, you had not expected to see anything otherwise. Exhaling deep and slow, you resign yourself to what you know; that something is not right, and that it's time for action.

Not bothering to eat, for you have no appetite, you wrap a shawl around yourself over the clothes you have not changed for days, and slip your feet into a pair of boots. With one last look around the strangely empty quarters, you step out into the brisk early morning air. 

The light of day is hidden behind a substantial layer of cloud, casting a grey gloom over the garden. At your feet are the tracks of your dear companion; little paw prints still sunken into the soft dirt of the path that leads from your door to the garden gate. Closing your eyes, you visualize the animal leaving that day, before you'd closed the door behind it. You focus on the feeling of the cat and the empathetic bond that you share, searching for the tether between you. 

There – you get your first instinct of where you should be headed, though vague and foggy, and step onto the middle path into the woods, trampling through layers of pine needle and shredded tree bark, scanning the landscape of rocks and trees. As you walk, you try to reach out through your bond, asking for a sign. The cold bites at your face, and you curse yourself for leaving it so long, for not gathering your remaining strength to search earlier. Your familiar knows its way around, never lost – you know that. If it had not returned home, it meant something was stopping it – something has certainly gone awry. Why have you not forced yourself into the forest sooner?

The wind in the trees makes it harder to listen out for movement, creating noise all around you. The chill of the breeze tries to distract you, make you focus on yourself, the feeling of the cold settling heavy into your face and limbs. A few times you almost stumble clumsily as you look around you and not at the placement of your steps. As you venture further and further still, pushing your weary body along even while it begs you to stop, you feel something; a faint presence not far away, though there is no living being in sight. Unconsciously, you pick up your pace, ignoring the exaggerated ache of your legs and feet, eyes straining and searching, until suddenly, you stop. Your eyelids close of their own accord.

In your mind you see yellow and orange leaves making the transition from green to red, different from the foliage of the trees around you that remained a deep green. You caught a fleeting scent of moist soil, as if it had flown by on the swiftest of breezes, shivering as the phantom sensation of cool water dripping down your neck tickles your skin. Water.

Without another thought, you instinctively turn in the direction you know there is a stream in a glade. You find yourself almost at a run now, your body despises you for it. As the evergreen trees around you thin, you see the yellow-orange leaves of the liquidambar trees ahead. You begin to feel another pain, a pain that is not your own. 

Approaching the stream, eyes trained on the plants around the bank, you see black shapes against the greenery. Shapes that, as you grow closer, focus into birds. Sleek black feathers and beady eyes – five of them. Your mother had always tried to teach you the symbolic meaning of the number of crows one came upon, but you can't remember now, for better or worse, which number meant death or misfortune or good luck. You shoo them away, making them clear out, screeching their loud piercing calls, a blur of feathers and a racket of strong flapping wings. Finally, as they fly off, you lay eyes on your closest friend, laying in the shrubbery. 

Your heart pulses as you take in your familiar's unkempt state. The cat's midnight black fur is damp in patches and ridden with leaves and twigs from the forest floor. The yellow of its eyes is less vibrant than usual, and less attentive of the scene around it. Not until you stepped closer, until the two of you made eye contact, did the animal's eyes seem to focus. Worst of all were the cuts and scratches to its face and body. Whipping your shawl from around you, you carefully scoop up the cat, eliciting a pained ‘orw’ from the poor creature. 

"Shh, we're going home," you soothe as you wrap your shawl around it. 

----

The house is warm and welcoming, and relief washes over you the moment you step inside. The cat is sleeping in your arms, having relaxed into you on your journey back, and you can sense how it has missed your presence, that it feels safe once more with you. You feel considerably more stable and capable yourself. 

Placing the sleeping bundle on the settee by the fire, you leave the room to fetch water and some cloth. The kitchen is in disarray, having had no strength or desire to see to any of your chores since the last full moon. Thankfully though, the bread you bought last week is still good, and you grab it on the way back. 

"Ah ah," you scold as you enter the room and find your familiar halfway off the settee. 

Dark eyes look up at you, the bloody cut across his nose shining in the firelight, your shawl falling over his shoulders, no longer big enough to keep him warm. "Sorry," he says quietly, bringing his foot back up off the floor. 

His wounds don't look as severe on his less tiny body, but they need to be cleaned nonetheless. You hand him the chunk of bread as you set the dish of water on the table and sit on the space of floor in front of him. You hear his stomach make itself known at the sight of food, catching his eye as he chuckles with a small smile. Oh, how you've missed that smile. 

Being home again is doing him good, giving him more strength and allowing him to shift. He would not have been able to shift to his human form at all while he was out there alone and injured, away from you and your magic. Your bond causes you to depend on one another, and though other magic users found this frustrating, you felt that it made the magic that you did use more meaningful. 

One hand clutches at the edge of the shawl and readjusts it around himself as he eats, eyes watching your fingers dip the cloth into the bowl. You should have brought a blanket, you realize, but then you feel the warmth of his skin as the hand you use to press the wet cloth to his arm comes in contact with, and decide the fire is enough. 

"You scared me, Hyuka."

His chewing stills as his eyes find yours; those big innocent eyes that let him get away with even more in his human form. You would be able to see every emotion of his in those eyes if you weren't able to feel them for yourself through the bond. 

"I didn't mean to be gone so long, o-or go so far. I lost track of time, and I was coming home but..." He trails off as he senses you aren't upset, your calmness washing over him. He sighs and leans back into the cushion of the settee tiredly. There's food in his belly, he's warm and cozy, taken care of, and most importantly, home. "I missed you."

Images play in your mind of when Hyuka had come into your life. You had begun to have dreams, more vivid each night until he arrived, of paw prints through your house. Then one morning you'd opened the door to a ball of midnight fur. He had been nervous about how you'd feel about him being a shifter, and shy when it came to revealing his human form, but he needn't have worried. He'd come to you just when you needed him and you grew alongside each other. Now you could not do without each other, magical bond or no. 

His hand moves to the back of his neck, a well-known habit of his. His eyes grow startled as he feels the absence of leather cord, his hand flying to his throat to confirm the loss. "My... my charm… Do you have it?"

"No," you answer. You'd been too worried about getting him home to notice his accessory was missing. 

"I must have lost it in the tousle… a wild cat picked a fight with me," He looked down at a scratch on his forearm as he spoke with a scowl, as if mentally cursing said animal. 

You knew the charm was important to him—it was special to you, too. It was a long running tradition amongst magic users to give their familiars a token of their bond. Not only as a symbol of the connection, but for other magic folk to determine familiars on sight, give them shelter or aid, accept or send messages, or follow them to their human counterpart if they were in need of help. "We can go and look for it. Maybe in a week, when we're both back to our best, hm?"

Hyuka agrees, his eyes back to their usual warmth and calmness. As you tend to his cuts and scratches, he watches the fire, his mind wandering back into the forest. He'd gone further than he'd ever been, and if it weren't for his cat form's senses, he probably would have been lost. 

"There was another familiar in the woods," he says suddenly, remembering more as the haze of hunger lifts and the warmth of home settles into his being. 

Hands stilling their work, your eyes lift to his face. You had lived in this area your whole life, born and raised and never left, and never met another magic kind—not one you weren't related to. "A familiar? Are you sure?" 

Hyuka nods, looking solemn. "I had walked a long way. I must have been halfway between our village and the next. I was about to turn back and make for home, but I spotted a house. It was abandoned, I think. But... there was a woman."

Sitting back on your heels, you listen intently, fingers worrying at the cloth in your hands subconsciously. "At an abandoned house? Was she a squatter?"

"She was using the shelter. She was weak. I could tell she'd been through an ordeal. She was like me. A shifter, I mean."

Blinking in this information, your mind begins to rush with possibilities. Has there been someone else with magic close by all this time? Just a walk through the forest? Could you have had a friend, someone to share everything with? To exchange notes about herbs and spend traditional holidays with? Just the thought of it made your chest squeeze with longing. You had Hyuka, of course, but a familiar was different; an extension of yourself, in essence.

“Was she separated from her witch?” you ask, intrigued. “Was she lost, like you?”

You feel his mood dip lower before he even formulates an answer. “No,” he answers, eyes blinking faster, the way you knew he always did when trying to keep his composure. He looks off again, remembering. “I’d never met another shifter before, you know. What they say is true; I could sense that she was one, and she sensed me too. She talked to me, told me I’m more lucky than I know to have a bond. She told me I should go home.“ You notice a longing in Hyuka, just as you had felt moments before, perhaps a little stronger now. “She told me her witch was dead. She knew it would be her turn soon.“

Moving on instinct, you get up from the floor, planting yourself on the settee beside him and clasping his hand in both of your own. “That's terrible.”

He looks at you again, with sorry eyes and a heavy heart. If only you could take it away for him. “I wanted to do something to comfort her, to be able to say something, but…”

“You couldn’t shift to your human form,” you finish. Hyuka nods. As ragged and tired as you are, the feelings of desperation and distress you feel, both your own and shared, outweigh everything else. “Do you think you could find your way back to that house?”

His eyes light up a fraction. “But you need to rest and–“

“We can't just let her die all alone out there.” You feel your frazzled nerves sparking as you speak, mentally preparing yourself and what little strength had returned since your reunion. “Someone should be with her. If you’re up to going back again.”

Hyuka stands faster than you can blink, almost knocking over the dish of water at his feet.

–---

 Leaving the house with Hyuka in human form alongside you is something new. While his animal side was a keen adventurer, as a human he was somewhat of a homebody. As someone who could change himself from man to animal, Hyuka didn’t own a single pair of shoes. You’d offered to buy him a pair in the beginning, but he’d refused. For one, he never planned on walking around outside of the house as a human, and, he’d pointed out, what was he to do with a pair of shoes once he’d shifted? Carry them around by his little cat mouth?

For the first time, you were witnessing his bare feet in the elements. The pine needles, broken twigs, stray stones and other natural materials that made up the forest floor didn’t seem to bother him the way it would your own feet. 

It was getting into the afternoon now, and the sun had made an appearance from behind the clouds. Hyuka was much easier to keep up with when he was a cat; his long human legs made for big strides, and while you struggle to keep the same pace, straggling only a few steps behind, you understand his haste. 

Fear creeps in as your mind wanders ahead. What if you were too late? You can feel the desperation in Hyuka, wanting to help even if it was just by being there for someone, even a stranger, in their final moments. You knew that if she was already gone, he’d be crushed. You would be crushed. Hoping against hope, you chant silent prayers in your mind that there is still time.

Hyuka turns to look over his shoulder at you as he dodges a stray branch that had already lost all of its leaves. For once, you can’t think of anything to say to him, so you give him a small reassuring smile which he returns, though you both know the other’s feelings like your own – there could be no hiding them. You both wanted to say something to comfort each other, and that knowledge was enough. 

The further you walk, the drier the surroundings grow, as if the place had been abandoned not only by people but by nature itself. Brambles catch on your clothes, dried needles crunch and snap underfoot, and the air somehow feels stale as your lungs breathe it in and push it out again. This was unfamiliar ground for you, and so different from the areas close to home you were used to.

“Almost there,” Hyuka announces as you pass the remnants of a broken down and weather worn horse cart.

Your heart squeezes with hope when you approach a clearing and a small cream coloured house with a faded roof comes into view. Sensing Hyuka’s pulse quicken, you attempt to slow your breathing and be strong for him – for the both of you. He was losing something that might have been too, but he was also seeing his fate first hand should anything take you from this world.

As the two of you draw nearer to the home, you can make out the figure laying still on the doorstep. The closer Hyuka advances, the more carefully he treads the dry woodland floor, so as not to startle the woman. A few paces from the step of the porch, he stops and calls out softly, “Hello.”

The woman’s weary eyes open, and or a moment she looks panicked, her body tensing, the expression of a scared animal wanting to flee crossing her features. But you can see she is too exhausted to make a move even if she wanted to run away. Your stomach pangs with the realisation that the woman is not far from death. To look at her, you can see how shallowly she breathes, as if each intake of oxygen is an effort. You wish with all your being that this was an ailment you could cure with magic, with some special brew, but there could be no righting her condition or her fate.

“It’s okay,” Hyuka assures her, his hands held out flat in what he hopes is a calming gesture. “We’re friends. Remember the black cat you spoke to?”

A wave of understanding and surrender rolls over her face and she physically relaxes. She must feel comforted by the fact that she is in the presence of her own kind – even as her eyes take you in, it looks as though she puts it together; a familiar and his magic user. You feel Hyuka relax slightly at her acceptance.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

The woman’s lips part, her tongue darting out to wet them before she speaks in a weak, hoarse voice. “Alita.”

“Alita,” you address her gently as you step wider out from Hyuka so she can see you in full. Her eyes are slow to drift over to you once more. “Where is your bonded one?”

Alita’s eyes fall closed as if recalling a nightmare. “She is gone.”

“What happened to her?” Hyuka asks. Carefully he steps forward onto the porch, and when Alita doesn’t look frightened by this, he kneels down by her side. You follow suit, crouching down next to your companion. Her eyes look broken as she looks up at the two of you, flitting between both pairs of eyes. There is a sadness there that you can only imagine. 

“They came in the night, the people of our village. Shouting and banging on the door, on the walls. So many men. A few women, but mostly men. They were angry – more rage and hate than I’ve ever seen in one person, multiplied many times over,” Her lips quivered as she found her next words. “They broke the door down and took her, my mistress. Dragged her from the house and into town, locked her up. She was locked up for days, and they wouldn’t say why. Then she was taken to the town hall. There were so many people there, even people we knew. People my mistress had helped. Everyone was shouting at her. They all looked at her like she was the most evil thing they’d ever laid eyes on. A trial, they called it.”

You watch as Alita shudders, a sign you recognise as the irreversible cold someone feels as they linger at death's door. Even if you had a blanket to give, she would not get warm. She would never be warm again.

“I’d name it a screaming match. They all shouted such terrible things, claimed my mistress had done things that just weren’t true. It went on for days.” Alita’s next inhale was so shaky and stuttered you thought she might’ve been choking until she spoke again. “They said they knew she was a witch. That part was true. It wouldn’t be tolerated, they said. So they took–” Her voice caught in her throat. Hyuka placed his hand comfortingly over hers which laid limp on the concrete of the porch. You could see the pain written all over her face, her eyes far away as she relived the whole ordeal, grief that she would never get to heal taking her over. “They took her away again, and they killed her. Slowly. I know because I could feel it.” 

She was looking at Hyuka now, and when you glance at him you see tears wet on his nose. You had never seen him cry. He always held it back on the rare occasion he got choked up. But in this moment, hearing this story, he couldn’t. “It’s been happening more and more in our town,” she continues. “We thought we’d be safe because we live just on the outskirts, close enough to visit but not really part of it. I thought we were safe because so many people appreciated my mistress's help. She always went to them when they asked for her.”

Feeling your own eyes prickle, you take a sidelong look at your familiar as he holds Alita’s hand. You imagine what it would be like if he were suddenly gone from you, from the world; to never again be able to look into his eyes and feel seen and understood; no longer feeling that connection, your bond severed, left feeling cold and untethered. A shiver threatens to take over as you consider your life without him, and you stifle a gasp as a pain throbs in your chest. Alita’s fingers weakly clench Hyuka’s hand as she sobs. You are so lucky, your thoughts remind you. Lucky he came into your life, lucky the two of you get along as well as you do, and that your bond is a strong one. Lucky not to be completely alone in the world and your little cottage. 

If you were to lose your life, Hyuka would soon follow after. But if Hyuka were to die, you'd go on, your life forever missing one integral piece. Other familiars might come, perhaps, but they wouldn't be Hyuka. Hyuka, with his superstitions about ravens, scowling at them through the window as if he might pounce through the glass even in his human form. Who always muttered in his sleep when he went to bed with a full stomach. Whose soft snoring you had come to be unable to sleep without hearing across the hall. The small black bundle of fur with glowing moon eyes he shifted to and fro, always making you laugh as he strayed from the path his human counterpart had told you he would take the minute he saw a butterfly; chasing them always seemed more important to the cat. You were sure you'd still see his phantom running around the house and garden for years to come if he were to be taken from you. All you can do is what you have always done; do your best to protect each other and hope that fate will be kind.

Alita turns Hyuka’s hand over and presses her palm into his with a weak squeeze, and Hyuka’s eyes are drawn to their touching hands with curiosity. Her hand slips away and he up-turns his palm to find a silver moon charm in a leather cord – the one he had lost. She meets his eyes with a slightly guilty look in hers. Her breathing is growing more ragged by the minute, her eyes losing more and more of their light, and you want to suggest that she save her strength, but you don’t want to deny her of her last interaction. 

“I’m sorry I took it,” she says a little breathlessly. “I slipped it off while petting you when first we met. I don’t know why…” You can see her body growing heavier against the concrete of the porch, hear her breathing more shallowly. “Maybe I just wanted something to hold onto. Something like… a friend…”

Suddenly her eyes go hollow, the breath draining from her chest. Hyuka just has time to draw back his hands before Alita’s body shifts one last time into her animal form – a grey dove. 

You take in a shaky breath, feeling so many emotions yet numb at the same time. Hyuka turns to you, his eyes wet, and presses his forehead to your shoulder. The two of you sit like that for a while, until you’re sure Alita’s spirit has passed on. Until you’re both ready to do what needs to be done. Then, you pick up the grey dove and follow Hyuka in silence to a nearby tree, the biggest one in the clearing. Using his hands, he scoops out enough dry earth to make a hole just big enough. You place the dove inside, then carefully bury her together, handful by handful. You place some stones to mark the spot, but don't dare to leave any likeness of a symbol of magic.

Standing side by side looking over the site, you grasp Hyuka's hand. The numbness has given way to questions and concerns, leading you to finally break the silence. “She said this has been happening a lot, and getting closer to the village,” you say in an almost whisper, as if the trees might overhear and spread your words. “Do you think… do you think we're safe?”

A brisk chill blew across the clearing, as if the very wind itself was relaying a warning. 

He meets your eyes and you find there a cloud of emotion and determination like you've never seen. When he replies, his voice is rough but firm. “We'll make sure of it. We'll lay low. At the first sign of trouble, we'll leave.” 

You nod solemnly. “I'll do everything in my power to protect you,” you say, as if it needs saying. 

“I know,” he replies in a gruff voice, and you feel your shared feelings of protectiveness intensify as his grip on your hand tightens.

As he takes a step forward, you fall into step beside him. He leads you out of the clearing, back through the forest, towards the village – towards home. Neither one of you lets go of the other's hand, both silent once more as you trek home in a flurry of emotions and anxieties, wondering what the future holds, and grateful to have each other. 

[zylphiacrowley]

Love.

<previous - next>

[kickbutts-singsongs]

ever since i was a little girl i always wanted to be someone’s knight in shining armor

[helltiervriska]

i think im the only homestuck fan who isnt into troll romance as a concept. i skip the quadrant essay pages every readthru. ill read araneas leprechuan exposition rant tho. did u know they try to collect as many lucky charms (romance types) as possible. its like grindr but for breakfast cereal henchmen

[deadsince1973]

If one of these categories feels too general for your specific brainrot, feel free to vote for "Other". Follow your heart. :3

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

i love how they made it seem nick was so ostentatiously tall after his growth spurt when they also just said he was 5’6

[kryptoclark]

no strings attached... unless?

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: what was supposed to be a simple no-strings hookup between best friends turns complicated when feelings inevitably get involved. huh. who would've thought?

wc: 11.4k (i'm just as shocked as you)

genre/tags: fluff/minor angst (miscommunication trope tbh)/smut (TWO smut scenes woohoo!), best friends to lovers, protected sex (condom/bc), p in v sex, oral (fem & male receiving), size kink (clark has a huge dick, but y’all know that 😝), slight praise kink

"just one night," you had said. "no strings. no feelings." you liar.

you were the one who proposed it – all cool and casual, as if it wouldn't ruin you. and now? you can't even get through a bowl of cereal without thinking about the way clark kent sounded when he moaned your name.

it's been a week. one whole week since he wrecked you and then kissed your forehead like it was nothing.

(it was something. it was everything and you hate him for it.)

because now? you know no one else will ever come close.

you scroll through tinder like a bitter old woman; this guy's too short. that one uses the wrong "your." one says their most irrational fear is "women." (kill me.)

all the while, a tiny voice in your brain that you wish would just shut up whispers: clark would never.

and thanks to that voice, you end up mentally replaying that night for the thousandth time – back when it all started. back when it was just popcorn, a movie and a stupid, stupid idea.

– thursday, 9:42 P.M.

it had started the way movies nights at your apartment always did: clark stretched out on one end of your couch, his arm over the back of it, a bowl of popcorn sitting between you, and you on the other end, your socked foot tucked under his thigh, claiming the space like it was normal (which it was). you're halfway through some cheesy drama neither of you were really watching, spending most of the time catching up on life other than the daily planet.

you lean over, tossing your half eaten dragon roll from the takeout sushi platter onto the coffee table, before returning back to slumping against the couch, eyes scrutinizing the t.v.

then came that scene – hot and heavy kitchen counter action, complete with frantic kissing and someone getting hoisted onto the marble and you can tell it's a scene the actors had to practice at least three times by how seamless and graceful it seems.

you scoff, reaching for popcorn from the bowl between the two of you. "god, i miss that."

clark glances over at you, a brow quirking upward. "being thrown onto a kitchen counter?"

you popped a kernel into your mouth. "being kissed like that. hell, being touched like that. my last date ended with a side hug and apple cash request for half the appetizer."

clark winces, face visually contorting. "ouch."

you sigh dramatically, leaning your head back against the couch. "i'm in a dry spell so bad, it's actually concerning."

clark laughs. your transparence was something he had to get used to at first but over time, he realized that's just how you were. unfiltered. bold. honest in a way most people weren't. it didn't scare him. if anything, it made talking to you easy.

he nudges your leg. "join the club. last girl i dated told me i was 'too polite to be hot.' whatever that means."

your brows furrow, internally scolding the woman for ever saying a thing. "it means she had no taste, clark. trust me, you're hot and polite. some of us are into that, y'know."

clark flushes a little at that, lowering his head to conceal his shy smile but you see it anyway.

maybe that's why you said the thing. because of his dumb, stupid, clark smile.

you reach for another handful of popcorn, keeping your eyes fixed on the movie screen even though you've completely lost the plot. you may be blunt at the best of times, but even you have a little shame, so you cover it up well. "you know," you begin, tone softening considerably enough for clark to look over at you again, "we could fix that."

clark tilts his head, confused. "fix what?"

"the dry spell." you glance at him now, meeting his eyes. "you and me. just one night. a mutual exchange."

his mouth parts, just slightly, and then it opens and closes like a blubbering fish. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, the way his jaw flexes before he clears his throat. "are you serious?"

you shrug like it's no big deal, like your heart isn't hammering against your ribcage. "sure. we're both adults. good friends. we trust each other. and we're both painfully single. why not?"

he says nothing for a moment. you can see him doing that thing that he always does: thinking it through, being careful, considering every angle, every potential consequence.

your nails dig into the rough fabric of your couch, dwelling on the proposition you just made. with every second that passes, regret sinks heavy in your stomach.

you open your mouth, ready to backpedal and make a joke of it. you'll laugh it off, blame the movie or your hellish dating era–

clark cuts you off before you get the chance, his voice low. firm. certain.

"okay."

your breath catches, brows lifting slightly.

his eyes are on you now, his expression steady, unreadable but darkened in a way that makes your skin prickles and goosebumps rise on your arms. "if you're sure," he adds, softer this time. "i'm in."

you blink. "yeah?"

he nods. "yeah. just two pals keening for mutual relief." despite the joke in his words, he delivers it a little more seriously.

you nod along. "exactly. just sex. no strings. no feelings. we're still friends after this."

"right," he agrees sharply, adjusting the black frames on his nose. there's something different in his expression now, something unreadable. it's times like these when you wish you could read his mind. you share a planet with a superalien and yet, there's no accessible device you can use to know exactly what clark kent is thinking. pity.

"okay," he says again, resting his palms against his thighs. one of his thighs presses to yours. did he scoot over? "so, when do we start?"

your eyes flutter, startled at the sudden shift.

"um... now?"

and then he looks at you, really looks at you in a way that sucks the breath from your lungs, his gaze drags across your face like he's memorizing every detail he's never let himself linger on too long.

a beat passes.

"now works," he murmurs, nodding to himself and you're unsure if you're seeing things but you think you catch his adam's apple bob in this throat.

he turns to face you and there's another moment of silence between you, darting eyes looking into each other's with neither of you sure how to make the first mood. the tense air falters slightly when you both laugh, visibly shaking as if trying to fray the nerves you feel.

"you're allowed to kiss me, clark." you crack a smile, further easing the tension and giving him the go-ahead.

clark nods, reaching his arm up. his hand comes up gently, fingers brushing along your jaw, like he's hesitant in case you pull away. but you don't. you can't. you're frozen in place, heart pounding in your ears as clark kent, your best friend, your coworker and lunch break buddy, closes the distance and kisses you.

it starts slow and you shouldn't be surprised.

he's soft, tentative, like he's testing the waters, but the second your lips part and your hands slides up the back of his neck, feeling the curls at the nape of his neck, it's like a dam breaks.

the kiss soon turns hungry, almost desperate in a way that makes you feel dizzy.

he groans into your mouth, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through your chest when you gently tug at his hair, pulling him closer to you. his hands find your hips and he grips them tightly as he sits beside you.

your free hand trails down to tug at his shirt. he's quick to lift it off, breaking the kiss for a mere second, tossing the fabric somewhere behind the sofa.

you don't remember how you ended up in his lap, only that you're straddling him now, grinding down over the thickening length pressed against his jeans.

your hands aren't shy in the way they glide across the newly discovered fair skin of his torso. he's on the fairer side but you can imagine the farmer's tan he'd probably sport had he stayed home and not moved to metropolis.

you knew clark was a big guy. everyone did. he's a tower of a man, standing over you at six-foot four-inches, yet with the most gentlest of demeanors.

there's nothing gentle about clark's body though. you have half the mind to ask him when he finds time to go to the gym consistently but the other voice in your head tells you it'd ruin the moment.

clark's hands travel everywhere, too: up your thighs, your waist, your back. he touches you like he's been waiting for this. starving for this.

he hides pent up energy a lot better than i do, you think to yourself.

your teeth scrape against his bottom lip, holding the soft flesh between them and he exhales sharply, like you've knocked the wind out of him.

"bedroom?" he pants against your mouth when you release his lip.

you nod breathlessly. "please."

he stands with you still clinging to him, lifting you like it's nothing (seriously, what can this man bench?), and in a matter of seconds, you're in your room.

it's not the first time he's been in your room. it's not even the tenth. he's helped you assemble ikea furniture in here. he's helped you hang picture frames and fix a broken drawer. he's sat on your bed, fully clothed, eating pad thai while you struggled to find what to wear for a particular date.

but this...

this is different.

this time you're underneath him, flat on your back, watching as he looks at you like he's never really seen you before. granted, he hasn't. not like this.

his hands smooth under your shirt, eyes trained on the faded material. you're about to ask what he's staring at when he murmurs softly, "this is mine."

you glance down, eyeing the oversized fabric plastered with the logo of an indie band you know nothing about. a distant memory flashes in your eyes. "y'gave it me after that big storm," you remind him, your tone matches his. "never asked for it back."

"so you decided to steal it?" he asks, eyes flitting up to yours, a hint of amused challenge in his eyes.

"more like long-term borrowing," you correct him firmly. "i was going to return it eventually," you add.

"eventually," he echoes, like he doesn't believe you for a second.

his fingers toy with the hem of the shirt, brushing along the bare skin of your navel. it sends a shiver across your body, not only by his touch alone, but how he looks at you.

you swallow. "you want it back?"

clark hums, leaning in, nose brushing against yours. "eventually," he teases.

he kisses you again.

it's slower this time, like he has all the time in the world to taste you. his hands skim your sides, pushing the shirt up gradually, savoring each inch of skin he reveals. your arch to help him, letting the fabric slide up off your arms, over your head and get tossed somewhere beside your bed.

clark sits back just enough to look at you, really look at you, and the look on his face makes goosebumps raise your skin. his eyes drag down your chest, still clad in a bra.

"um, may i?" he asks, voice strained.

a smile cracks your features, warmth blooming in your chest at the his display of shyness during your moment of intimacy. you nod with a hum of approval, grateful that the bra you decided to wear today had the clasp at the front between the two cups.

clark breathes out a quiet sound of relief, like he's also grateful for the simplicity. his fingers find the clasp easily, but he doesn't rush. he hesitates for just a second, giving you one last chance to change your mind, even though your body is already arching toward him in invitation.

the clasp clicks open with a soft snap and you bra loosens against your skin.

with a bated breath, you feel clark slide the straps from your shoulders carefully, until the bra has been tossed aside to join your – his – shirt on the floor. you blink up at him as he finally takes you in fully, his breath catches.

"you're beautiful," he says simply, like it's a fact. not a line, not flattery. just the truth.

you swallow hard, unable to speak, so you reach for him instead, pulling him down into another kiss, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. this one is deeper, messier. your tongue slide together, desperate and hot enough to make your thighs press together.

clark groans into your mouth, feeling the movement of your legs, as if he knows exactly what it means. his hands slide down your sides, settling on your hips, thumbs tracing slow circles, just under the waistband of your sweatshorts.

then he shifts, dragging his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, pressing slow kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. you gasp when his lips find the sensitive spot below the corner your jaw, your fingers tightening in his hair as he sucks softly.

"clark," you whisper, barely able to get the word out.

he lifts his head slightly, eyes searching yours. "tell me what you want," he murmurs.

you bite the inside of your lower lip, feeling the heat pool in your lower belly. "i want you to touch me. really touch me."

he lets out a breath, nodding.

clark moves lower, trailing kisses down your chest, pausing to mouth at your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple until you arch beneath him with a croon. you moan softly when his lips close over your nipple, sucking at the stiffened flesh. your eyes flutter shut as his large hand gropes the breast that's not in his mouth, before it begins to trail down.

his hand coasts down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, and then he goes lower, beneath the cotton of your underwear.

your breath hitches when his fingers brush over your slit, already soaked and his breath stutters against your skin. he releases from your nipple with a soft 'pop,' eyes meeting yours.

"oh my," he groans, "you're so wet."

you whimper, half-embarrassed, half-desperate. "yeah, well... you're kind of hot."

he huffs to himself – maybe a laugh, maybe it's out of disbelief – and presses a kiss to the slope of your breast before slipping a finger between your folds, circling your clit with a precision you don't want to know from where he learned. your body jerks at the contact, a soft moan leaving your lips.

clark watches your expression closely, trying to read your pleasure.

"like this?" he asks lowly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

you nod frantically, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him closer. "mhm... just like that."

his touch grows more confident, smiling to himself as he coaxes another croon from you when he pushes the finger inside your velvet walls.

you gasp, hands moving to clutch his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut at the slow and deliberate stretch of his digit inside you.

he hums in approval at the feel, like the warmth of you is enough to drive him crazy. his thumb moved to your clit, circling in tandem with the curl of his finger, drawing sounds from your lips he's never heard before. now that he has, he doesn't think he'll ever forget them.

your hips buck up to meet his hand, your breath hitching as his finger begins to move faster and with more purpose. he carefully adds a second finger, watching your reaction closely.

"oh, clark," you pant, voice breaking.

"does it feel good?" he checks in softly, continuing to crook his fingers inside your gummy walls.

"y-yeah, real good," you nod, lashes batting.

your body burns and your pulse pounds in your ears, thighs trembling as he works you closer and closer to the edge with just his fingers.

"clark, i'm– oh my god–"

you're at the precipice. he can feel it, too.

"mhm, go ahead, sweetheart," he hums against your temple, his thumb circling faster over your clit.

you're unsure if it's his fingers or the pet name that triggers your orgasm but you cum with a sharp cry, legs tensing and back arching as waves of pleasure roll through your body. he doesn't pull his fingers out until you're gasping, twitching and whimpering from the overstimulation.

when you finally open your eyes, you look at his expression: tender. a littler in awe.

you pull him into a kiss before you can overthink it, your lips a 'thank you' for the orgasm he gave you. one of your hands drift down and feel how hard he his through the denim of his jeans.

"your turn," you murmur against his lips.

clark shakes his head slightly, kissing your jaw. "we're not playing a board game."

you arch a brow, still catching your breath. "clark."

he grins softly. "okay, fine. 'm not going to argue with you."

you laugh breathlessly tugging at the loops of his jeans before your reach the button of them. he lets you unbutton his jeans, finding the zipper and pulling it down.

clark hisses when the zipper comes in contact with his bulge, separated by the cotton of his boxers. you glance up at him, eyes flitting to his face, just in time to see him bite down on his lower lip and knit his brows together.

you push the denim down his hips and he helps, standing off the bed momentarily to tug the rest of them down his legs and kicking them aside.

"those, too," you murmur, eyes zeroing on his boxers, more specifically the hard outline behind them.

clark exhales sharply, his cheeks tinting a faint pink as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and leans over to slide them to his legs before stepping out of them and leaving them in the pile on the floor.

your breath catches as he straightens again, fully bare now and yeah... you're in awe.

your eyes roam over him and he shifts slightly under the weight of your gaze. he's not bashful per se, but he's something close to it.

"jesus, clark," you whisper.

"what?" his ears flush a darker pink and that makes you grin because of course he's shy about it. it's so him, it almost makes your chest ache.

"you, clark," you smile, chuckling through your nose. "that," you add, nodding toward his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs.

he sucks in a breath and you find his reaction dear. of course the guy with the biggest dick you've ever seen is modest about it. and of course it's clark kent of all men.

"c'mere," you beckon him over, sitting up in your bed. "wanna make you feel good."

he kneels at the edge of your bed, voice strained, raspy with want. "you don't have to," he murmurs but the twitch of his cock says otherwise.

"i want to," you answer softly, gently tugging him by the arm until he's settled against your headboard.

"sweetheart..." he trails off.

there it is again. that damn pet name.

"let me," you ask, practically beg, eyes boring into his with desperation. "please."

his lips purse as if he's holding something in and then he's nodding. "okay."

you wrap your fingers around him, heat returning to your belly when you realize your hand barely encircles his entire circumference. you stroke him once slowly, and clark's eyes flutter shut. his jaw tenses, tossing his head back against the headboard.

"god," he breathes, the sound low and guttural, like the air's been vacuumed from his lungs.

you smirk a little to yourself, tucking the moment away in your memory.

your hand moves again, slow and steady, watching his every reaction. you watch the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now, and the way his brows scrunch together while his lips part with a groan when you twist your wrist just the right way.

"feel good?" you ask.

clark's eyes flutter open, glassy and dark with heat. "yeah," he rasps. "feels... feels great."

you beam at his words, pride filling your chest.

you shift lower on the bed, settling between his legs and placing a hand on his thigh for support. his breath catches when he realizes where this is going and you don't give him a chance to overthink it.

you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. he lets out a sound that's part groan and part whimper, hips twitching up instinctively.

he moans your name softly, pressing the back of his head harder against the headboard. part of you wishes you could take a picture.

you hum around the thick head of him as you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue and easing forward until you feel the weight of him on your tongue, nearly overwhelming in girth. his hands twitch at his sides before one reluctantly moves up to your hair.

clark doesn't push. doesn't guide. he just holds, like he needs something to ground him.

you set a rhythm, bobbing your head and stroking him with one hand what you can't take. you relish in the way his moans grow louder, more broken, a sound you want etched into your mind forever.

"sweetheart," he calls, voice tense with strain. "you have to wait– i'm–"

you glance up at him, eyes wide and pupils blown, trying to read his expression.

"you're going to make me cum," he warns, voice cracking.

why does he say that like it's such a bad thing?

you double-down, sucking harder in response, flattening your tongue along the underside of his cock again, and that's it.

clark groans, loud and low and helpless, as he comes, hips bucking once before he stills them. his hand fists your hair while the other attempts to cover his mouth as if he's afraid of waking the whole building (too late, you think).

you ease off him slowly when his thigh trembles beneath your hand, lifting your head up and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him.

he looks completely and utterly wrecked. his hair is mussed, his skin is flushed pink and damp with sweat. his eyes are still dazed, slowly blinking at you as he comes down from his high. he looks... so pretty.

"jesus," he pants softly. "you really didn't have to do that."

"i know," you murmur with a small smile, crawling up his body until you're in front of his face. "i wanted to."

and then he smiles at you, a dazed one that sucks the breath from your lungs that you cant help but lean in to kiss him. he reaches up to cradle your jaw, uncaring at the fact that he can taste himself on you. his other hand drifts to your waist, pulling you closer and against him.

your tongues meet each other's, gliding together in almost a lazy manner. his kiss is languid, almost reverent, like he's trying to memorize the inside of your mouth.

you sigh into it, boneless and content as your body arches into his, bare chests pressing against each other's.

his hand drifts to your hip, toying with the hem of your shorts. "can't believe these are still on," he murmurs against your lips.

"you're the one who fingered me without taking them off first," you remind him with a chuckle.

"mm, my fault," he muses, beginning to tug down the material. you let him, allowing him to slide down your shorts until they're low enough for you to kick off and off the bed. "and these?" he asks, fingers playing with the lacy hem of your cotton panties.

you pull your head back slightly, eyes darting between his. "you want to?" you ask softly.

he swallows as he looks at your face in the dim light, just as flushed as his. "if you want," he answers, fingers still idly pinching the lacy fabric between his fingers.

you nod once with certainty. "yeah," you answer in a breath. "i do."

clark leans in to kiss you again, hands gripping your waist to flip you and ease you onto your back. he pulls away, his hands skimming your sides as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. his eyes meet yours once more, another silent check.

you lift your hips up in answer.

he slides your panties, soiled from your first orgasm, down slowly, tossing them aside into the growing pile on the floor.

you let him pull your thighs apart, exposing your core to the air and his gaze.

"you're so..." he trails off, but he doesn't finish, like the words fail him.

you look up at him, curious despite feeling so vulnerable before him. "so what?"

he smiles softly as if he's amazed. "just... beautiful."

your breath hitches at his words. it's so clark for him to say; it's so earnest and devastating at the same time, it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

he takes another glance down at your pussy before he snaps out of it, scooting away to reach for something on the floor. "i think i've got a condom in my wallet," he murmurs, a little hurried.

you choose not to dwell on wondering how often clark gets propositioned with sex to regularly carry a condom in his wallet.

it's clark after all.

any woman would be lucky to be with him.

you stop him, your voice calling out, "i've got a box somewhere in my nightstand."

the look on his face as he turns to look at you is boyishly flustered and adorable. you watch him crawl back over to you, hovering over you as he reaches in your nightstand drawer and retrieves a foil packet.

clark kneels up on the bed, leaning back against the back of his calves and carefully opens the packet. he rolls it on his hardened cock and you swear your brain circuits watching him do something so mundane and yet so intimate.

is this how you usually reacted to a date rolling on a condom?

then, he's hovering over you and his hand moves between you both, wrapping around himself and dragging the head of his cock slowly throughout your folds, gathering slick.

you whimper softly, hips twitching instinctively.

"you're sure about this?" he asks through gritted teeth, like he's not pressing his tip against your entrance, his restrain a hairline away from snapping. his glasses are already fogged and you hate to admit to yourself that it's one of the hottest things you've ever seen.

"yeah," you nod, letting out a breath.

he nods back at you, maybe to himself, before pushing inside you.

you cry out softly at the invasion, the head of his cock stretching your walls as he sinks into you. your hands scramble to find something, anything, to hold on to. they end up gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin as your breath stutters.

clark is big. thick. huge as he fills you in a way that feels overwhelming yet perfect at the same time.

"'s tight," he rasps, staying still as your walls flutter around the two inches he has inside you. "'m sorry."

"don't apologize," you pant, your eyes fluttering. of course he's apologizing for being too big. "i can take it."

he groans at your words, unable to resist pushing deeper inside you, another inch entering your tight walls. "sweetheart, y'sure? i don't have to go in all the way–"

how sweet.

"please," you whine, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to you, not letting him pull out.

he grunts at your eagerness as you urge him in closer, deeper as he sinks another inch into you, the stretch burning just enough to make your toes curl.

"fuck," he breathes, like the sound is punched from his lungs. is this the first time you've ever heard him swear? you think stars form your pupils just because he sounds so pretty when he curses.

you feel so full, so deliciously and impossibly full and yet you still want more, knowing there's a little more of him to go. you babbles something along the lines of 'more' and 'please' and who is clark kent but the man who'd grant your every wish?

with one final roll of his hips, he bottoms out, cock fully seated inside you. he lets out a low groan, feeling his pelvis press against your slick fold. the breath in your throat hitches at the pressure, the fullness you feel.

for a moment, the two of you stay sill like that, bodies locked together and foreheads touching. clark removes a hand from your hips to gently brush your jaw with the pad of his thumb.

"you okay?" he murmurs, voice so soft it makes your chest ache.

you nod, nails pressing into his back, but your grip loosens slightly. "yeah," you manage to say, a little breathless. "just... give me a second."

clark kisses your cheek, then your temple. "take all the time you need."

and so you do. you catch your breath. you adjust, the dull ache between your legs slowly becoming one of pleasure. you give him a nod, tilting your hips, silently inviting him to move and he takes the cue.

he starts the thrust, slowly at first but it's deep. so deep. every movement is unhurried and almost reverent. his gaze remain on you, maintaining an intense eye contact through every thrust, his lips parted as soft groans leave his lips.

"i can feel you everywhere," you whisper, half-dazed. "you're everywhere."

his pace stutters for a beat at your words. he lifts his head to look at you, to really look at them. you think you see a flicker of something raw in his gaze but you can't be sure.

he leans down to kiss you and it's messy, deep, and needy, while his hips roll into yours with a growing urgency. his hips pick up their pace, moving harder and faster now, each thurst enough to make your vision blur with pleasure.

you clutch his back tighter as the coil in your belly gets tighter. your walls flutter wildly around him, desperate for release.

"sweetheart," clark pants, his voice ragged. "i'm so close."

you nod, voice barely a whisper, "me, too."

clark buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath stuttering as his body tenses. you feel him twitch inside you, his release crashing through you like a tidal wave, your own orgasm ripping through your core in response.

you cling to each other as your breathing slows, skin slick with sweat and hearts pounding in your chests. clark stays inside you for a moment, catching his breath, and you’re both too dazed to say anything.

then he presses a kiss to your forehead.

and that’s when you know.

you’re fucked.

totally, completely, emotionally fucked.

the next morning, you blink awake to an empty bed.

the sheets are cold and tangled where he was only hours ago. the faint scent of his cologne lingers, but the warmth is gone – vanished with him.

your hand instinctively reaches out, only to find the space beside you painfully vacant. no familiar weight. no slow morning breath against your skin.

you sit up slowly, heart hammering in your chest, eyes scanning the room. you notice the faint imprint on the mattress where he had lain, and your hands brushes over the cold sheets.

his clothes are missing too. no sign he'd ever been there.

you swallow the lump in your throat, running a hang through your messy hair and check the clock on your nightstand: 7:02 A.M.

how could he just... leave? no goodbye?

your mind races but you push down the swirl of panic, reminding yourself: no strings. no feelings.

you shake your head bitterly.

but the ache in your chest says another story.

your morning routine is quiet, your mind muddled with the memories of the night prior: the way clark's hands skimmed your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, the way his mouth moved so smoothly against yours, the way he practically engraved himself in your gummy walls.

you expected some form of conversation when you woke up that morning. then again, what would you even say? good job, clark! maybe too good of a job haha... ha.

maybe not.

but still!

a text. a note. something.

you keep glancing at your phone like it'll buzz with a text from him. but your screen stays blank. almost mockingly silent.

it was supposed to be uncomplicated. it was to just be physical. fun, even. and that's all it was – right? so why does it feel like he permanently carved himself into you and then disappeared, making you feel hollow?

you try not to spiral, really. but it's hard when your body still aches from how he held you, how he was inside you. you continue relaying the night like a film reel with a stuck stop button.

within an hour, you arrive at the daily planet still shaken, though you pat yourself on the back for looking otherwise; your hair is neatly done, lip gloss on and blazer crisp over your shoulders. your stomach is still in knots but you're hoping the distraction of news will take your mind off it.

you half expect clark to avoid you completely, given how he left your apartment. instead, he's there, at his desk (early for once) and as chipper as ever.

"morning," he greets, offering that charming grin that usually makes your chest warm. today, it makes you want to scream.

you manage a polite smile, your throat dry. "morning."

he holds up a to-go tray, offering you the contents in it. "got your usual. extra shot of espresso. thought you might need it – perry's been on edge all morning."

your fingers wrap around the warm cup, but your heart twists at the casual way he says it. thought you might need it. not because of perry, but maybe because he spent the night buried inside you.

he moves on, heading over to jimmy's desk to talk about the recent superman sighting.

apparently there'd been some alien creature on the clinton bridge – some grotesque, hulking thing with four arms and acidic spit, according to eyewitnesses. superman had swooped in early enough before any casualties were made, defeating the alien. you suspect clark is the key reporter on the case, given his connection to the superhero.

still, since when did clark go to jimmy first about stories?

you stare down at the coffee in your cup as if it'd give you an answer.

the morning drones on. perry barks headlines across the office, jimmy's frantically pacing the tiled floors while chewing a pen cap and clark... clark is perfectly normal. he's chatting with interns, bouncing article ideas off perry, tossing you a smile when he passes your desk.

around noon, you're about to get up for lunch when he beats you to it, strolling over with a brown paper bag and a casual, "hey, got you that turkey pesto you like. hope that's okay."

you blink at him, startles as you crane your neck up to look at him. "oh. yeah. thanks." you glance toward the break room. "are you...?"

"nah," he cuts in, shaking his head. "swamped with edits. gonna eat while i finish the luthor piece."

and just like that, without waiting for you to respond, he's gone.

you try to not let it bother you. you try to convince yourself that this is how it was always supposed to be. always supposed to be before your big mouth ruined it.

but all you can think about is how warm he was in your bed. how soft his eyes were in the dark. how different he felt.

and how different everything is now.

what you don't see is the way clark watches you from his desk. how he catches every flicker of confusion on your face, every little sigh when you assume no one's listening.

the weekend creeps by in slow and dragged hours.

with no deadlines hanging over your head (no perry yelling in your ear about headlines), nothing to dive into, nothing to keep your brain from looping over every moment of that night – the silence is so loud.

you try to distract yourself. you do laundry, you achieve some cleaning, all while some old rom-com plays in the background – which just makes matters worse because even that couple seemed to check in on each other the morning after.

clark hadn't.

by sunday evening, you're mostly numb to it. not okay, but dulled around the edges. detached.

if clark could carry on so easily, so seamlessly (as if sleeping with your best friend was no big deal), then so could you. you'd have to.

monday rolls in with a dreary drizzle and a headache you can't shake, despite the two aspirin you'd taken already. when you step into the planet, clark is already at his desk, tapping away at his keyboard with the same focused expression he always wears.

he looks up when you enter, lifts a hand in greeting and gives one of his clark boyish smiles. "hey," he says, like nothing is different. "usual on your desk."

you blink. "thanks," you murmur.

the coffee cup is still warm when you pick it up. the lid has your name scribbled on it in his handwriting – something he does when he picks up coffee for everyone else in order to remember whose is who. your lid was always different – special – though. a smiley face is scrawled beside your name, just like always.

now, the smile seems like it's mocking you.

you shuffle into the morning meeting and take the seat farthest from him. clark barely notices. he doesn't even look at you.

at least not that you can tell.

lunchtime comes and goes. he stops by your desk with a neatly packed container of leftovers. "made extra this weekend. figured you wouldn't say no to pasta."

you look up at him, then the container in his hand. you can smell it from here. you love his cooking and you can feel your stomach rumble at the sight of it.

"thanks, but i brought mine." you give him a pressed smile, pulling out your own container from home. it's got a sad excuse of a sandwich in there but still, you're too proud to accept his.

you see something flicker across his face, so subtle and brief you're not sure if it was ever there at all, but he recovers fast. "oh. okay. cool." clark pats your desk softly before walking away.

by wednesday, your strategy of coping has been reduced to silence and sidestepping. an absolute shutdown.

you haven't looked clark in the eye once.

not really.

you pretend he's not there, except when you have to acknowledge him. and when you do, you do it with the same kind of politeness you'd give a coworker you don't really know.

you've been packing your own lunch consistently now, every day. it's not because you're being petty, but because you can't keep accepting his gracious offers.

today, he hovers by your desk with a paper bag and a hopeful smile. "brought you that chicken teriyaki over rice you like," he says. "figured you might not have had time–"

"i packed something," you cut in, before he can finish. you plaster a polite smile on your face. "but thank you."

you don't wait for his reply, turning back to your computer and after a moment too long, he sets the bag down and walks off.

you don't touch it.

today 7:15 P.M.

and that leads you to where you are now, scrolling on tinder in hopes – desperate hopes – for something, anything to distract you from your mood.

but there's a knock at the door.

you thought, no, you hoped clark would skip movie night. you really did. after days of keeping your head down, of ducking out of rooms the moment he walked in, of dodging any and every attempt at closeness, you figured he'd get the hint.

you freeze on the couch, bowl of half-eaten cereal in your lap and an oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, phone in the other hand, screen still showing off a man’s dating profile. you consider ignoring the door. you could pretend you're asleep, or not home, or–

"hey," clark calls from the other side of the door, his tone gentle. "i brought thai. they were out of the dumplings you like so i got extra spring rolls."

your stomach flips.

you set the bowl down on the coffee table, standing from your seat and slowly pad over to the door, hesitating for a moment before you open the door.

there he is.

normal as anything. stupidly handsome in a soft blue henley and worn jeans, his hair a little messy from the breeze. he holds up the takeout bag with a hopeful little smile.

you can't believe it took you sleeping with him to realize just how handsome clark kent is.

"movie night," he says simply, raising the bag for emphasis.

you blink, mouth opening and then shutting.

"i'm... not really feeling up to it tonight," you say, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. "sorry. kinda under the weather."

it's a decent lie. passable. you even sniff for good measure, eyes avoiding his.

clark doesn't say anything right away.

behind his glasses, his gaze dips over you, scanning the faintest tension in your shoulder, the steadiness of your pulse, the evenness of your breath, the warmth of your skin. they're all signs that your body is just fine. signs that you're lying.

he doesn't call you out on it. he just lets a slow nod carry his chin. "okay..." he murmurs quietly, frowning. he hands you the bag of takeout anyway. "you can text me if you need anything, alright?"

you nod and start the shut the door.

he turns to leave, letting the door shut behind him and you move to place the bag on the coffee table.

but then clark stops. you don't even hear his footsteps on the stairs before they pause and double back to your door. the knock is softer this time.

you open the door again, brows furrowed in confusion.

clark stands before you, his own brows knitted. "did i... do something wrong?" he asks, his voice careful.

you freeze.

"what?"

"you've been avoiding me," he reveals gently. "not just today. all week."

your mouth is dry and it takes a second for you to swallow. "i've just been busy. tired," you answer weakly.

clark exhales through his noise, eyes narrowing slightly. he doesn't buy it. you can feel him not buying it. the air between you tenses but he still doesn't push you.

you sigh and rub your hand over your forehead in attempt to buy time and think of some excuse for your detached behavior that doesn't make you seem pathetic.

"i just needed space," you say finally, eyes still averted.

clark shifts his weight. "so i did do something."

"no!" you manage, too fast. too loud. then softer, you force calm into your tone. "no. you didn't... not really."

clark waits. patient. unmoving.

the silence is long enough that your embarrassment starts to rise hot in your cheeks. you should shut the door. thank him for the food. tell him you'll see him at work tomorrow and crawl back into the shell you've spent the last week building around yourself.

but you don't.

you lean your shoulder against the doorframe, staring off to the side.

"i just thought it'd feel different," you admit, voice so quiet and just above a whisper, you're unsure if he hears it.

clark's brow creases. "different?"

"afterward," you clarify. "i thought..." you sigh. "i don't know what i thought." your words trail off and clark doesn't rush you to elaborate.

he waits.

"i guess i didn't expect you to act so normal," you finally settle on. "and then i didn't expect me to care so much that you acted so normal."

clark's eyes darken, and something in his jaw tightens. "i wasn't trying to brush you off."

"you didn't," you say quickly. "that's the worst part, clark. you didn't do anything wrong. you were just... being you. sweet and thoughtful and friendly and perfect."

with a calm tone, he murmurs, "well, apparently not if you're not okay."

you finally meet his gaze, though your head remains slightly tilted downward, looking up at him through your lashes.

"i was the one who said it'd just be physical. i made a whole thing of it. i joked about it. and then i–" you catch yourself. the words tremble on your tongue, about to slip.

clark doesn't look away, his gaze settled heavily on you. "you what?"

you hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"i caught feelings," you admit, the confession dragging out of you like you're wincing. "i said no strings but i lied. not on purpose, but... i did."

a beat passes.

you avert your gaze, too afraid to see his expression.

here's where your mouth moves before your brain can compute, attempting to fill in the excruciating silence.

"i didn't expect to feel this way," you say, quieter now. "but i do. and i just... i don't know how to be your friend and pretend like that night didn't change anything for me. i... i'm just sorry."

clark's eyes search your face, his face unreadable for long second.

then, he finally says your name. and the way he says it is so soft, so full of emotion, it feels like a kiss. he takes a step closer to you, crossing the threshold into your apartment.

"i didn't want to leave that morning," he says suddenly, voice low. "i had to."

that makes your head shoot up. you blink, head shaking slightly. "had to?" you echo.

his eyes flicker, almost like he regrets saying it, but he nods. "there was something... urgent. i should've left a note. i thought i could just... make it up to you. you know, the coffee, lunch, the usual clark stuff."

"i didn't know how to act," he continues, his head tilting down as he looks at you. "i didn't want to assume what that night meant to you since you brought it up in the first place... hell, i even asked steve about hookup culture and what was the appropriate thing to–"

"clark." you snap your head up to meet his eyes with incredulity. "you asked steve? for dating advice?"

clark huffs, shaking his head. "no, not dating advice. hookup advice," he corrects, matter-of-fact-ly.

"oh my god," you mumble to yourself. "you asked steve, the guy who has a horrible track record when it comes to woman for advice."

"well, i couldn't ask jimmy. he'd know it was about you and then i'd never hear the end of it."

you blink, stunned, your mouth opening slightly before you let out a short, surprised laugh. "you are so bad at this."

clark shrugs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah, well. sue me for trying to respect your boundaries while quietly losing my mind."

you're taken aback. "you were losing your mind?"

his hand drops, and he takes another step closer to you. "you seriously can't believe i just walked away from that night and felt nothing," he murmurs, voice quiet and earnest. "i've been thinking about you nonstop. i couldn't be around you for more than a few minutes because every time i see you i..." he trails off, gulping.

"you what?" you ask softly, your breath halting.

"every time i see you, i want to touch you," he says, voice low, almost like he's confessing a sin. "i want to pull you into the nearest room and kiss you. touch you. hold you. have you."

your breath hitches in your throat.

clark takes another step forward, so close now you have to tilt your chin to meet his eyes. "and it's not just physical. i think about how you laugh when you're half-asleep. how you hum when you're focused. i think about things i shouldn't know after one night."

you swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. "clark..."

"let me be clear," he says quickly. "i do feel the same. maybe – probably more."

you glance up at him, noting the sincerity in his expression, the barely restrained tension in his frame.

"i'm not going to pretend it was just sex," he says. "not when every second of it felt like something i didn't want to end. not when i still think about the way you sounded – how you looked under me."

your breath stutters, legs nearly giving out at the memory alone.

his voice dips even lower, if that's possible. "not when i've had to physically stop myself from calling you every night since, just to hear your voice while i–" he cuts himself off, swallowing the words.

your stomach drops and a familiar heat grows. "while you what?"

"i think you know."

"every night?" you ask, your voice a small murmur.

he exhales sharply, face flushing but his eyes are still as darkened as ever. "yeah."

your chest tightens at the confession. there's a beat of silence where the air between you feels heavier than ever, thick with things you never thought he'd say. never thought he felt.

"i tried to respect the line you drew," he says softly, almost apologetically. "but i crossed it the second i touched you and i haven't been able to stop wanting you since."

your heart pounds in your ears. you want to speak, say something, but your throat is dry and your mind is racing too fast to catch a single coherent thought.

so you choose to act instead.

you surge up, gripping the collar of his henley, and kiss him.

it's clumsy at first, all heat and urgency and too many feelings shoved into the kiss. his hands immediately find your waist, anchoring you as your fingers tangle in his shirt, wrinkling the blue material between your fingertips. you're already tugging at him. tugging him further into your apartment – he takes the hint and kicks the door behind him.

he groans into your mouth when your hands slide uo under his shirt, palms brushing over warm skin. his muscles twitch beneath your touch, like he's been waiting for this.

he lifts you effortlessly – god, you missed his strength – and your legs wrap around his waist like it's second nature. your back meets the wall with a soft thud, and his mouth never leaves your. it's greedy, relentless. it's like he's making up for lost time. granted, he is.

his hands roam with a desperate urgency, memorizing every curve and contour of you with free reign. the heat between you is palpable, a built up tension bursting at the seams. you cling to him, breath hitching as his lips trail down your jaw to your neck, nipping softly.

"you don't know how much i've missed this," he murmur against your skin, voice rough with need.

you shiver, fingers threading into his hair as he kisses lower, just beneath your ear, along the line of your throat. his breath fans hot against your skin. you're practically melting into him, undone by the weight and warmth of his body.

"i thought about you every night," he confesses, his pressing forward, still hoisting you up against the wall, making your breath hitch. all the while he presses open mouthed kisses to your skin. "your laugh." kiss. "your face." kiss. "your body." kiss.

you whimper, the memory of it rushing back all at once. you feel yourself clench around nothing, the heat in your belly pooling.

the words are stuck in your throat. you're too embarrassed to admit what he already seems to know: it was supposed to be just a hookup and you thought you could keep your heart out of it. but you failed. spectacularly.

so, instead, you lean in, teeth catching his bottom lip in a kiss that's filthy. needy. his groan rumbles against your chest, hand squeezing at the flesh beneath your thighs as he carries you, sliding up to your ass.

"i need you," you whisper finally.

his eyes darken at your words. "you have me," he rasps, and then his mouth is back on yours.

he carries you with effortless strength toward the bedroom, only breaking the kiss to make sure he's not bumping into anything in your hallway. your legs still stay locked around him, arms around his shoulders, fingers still tangled in his hair like you're afraid this moment isn't real. like he actually isn't here.

when his knees hit the edge of the side of your bed, he lowers you onto the mattress with a care that contradicts the heat in his gaze.

"tell me to stop," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead brushing nose, voice barely holding back restraint. "and i will."

you shake your head. "please don't."

and that's his green light.

his mouth is back on yours as his hands trail down your body. they slide along the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips until they find the hem of your hoodie. you easily slip out of it as he helps pull it over your head, tossing it aside. he pulls away for a moment glancing down at the shirt your wearing.

"what?" your question cuts through the tense air.

"you look better in my shirts," he murmurs, pinching the material between his fingertips.

you smile – grin, really – finding amusement in his words. "you should give me some more then," you answer, arms hooking around his neck. he lets you pull him in, smiling against your mouth as you attempt to press another kiss.

his hands grow more eager, tugging the shirt up and over your head in one swift motion.

he lets out a sigh, eyes raking over your chest with reverence and hunger all tangled together. his large hands cup you through your bralette, thumbs brushing over the lace.

you whimper beneath him, fingers tugging at his henley until he stands over you, yanks it over his head. that was hot.

you'd forgotten just how solid he was. all broad chest, sculpted arms. smooth skin over muscle. the kind of body that made you ache.

your hands glide over his chest, fingertips trailing down the dip of his sternum to the line of his abs. his muscles twitch under your touch, and then he's lowering again, mouth hot and wet against the swell of your breast as he works your bra off.

he mouths at you, tongue flicking and teeth scraping enough to make you gasp, "clark." your lashes flutter, fingers reaching to tangle in his curls. one of his hands stay at your chest while the other slips between your thighs, cupping you through your shorts, your heat unmistakable.

he groans, like it hurts. "oh my," he breathes, pressing his forehead between the valley of your breasts for a moment, like he's taking a moment to pull himself together. but then his fingers are moving again, sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear in one slow motion. he drags them down legs, eyes never leaving your center.

you're wet. he sees it. you feel it.

"sweetheart," he murmurs like a prayer.

that damn pet name.

he knows you like it, he can tell by the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest. clark makes a mental note to continuing calling you it.

then he sinks to his knees on your floor between your spread legs, your calves dangling off the edge of your bed. his hands grip your thighs, thumbs brushing reverently along the inside, like he's committing this to memory.

you're also committing the sight to memory. despite the obsceneness of clark kent kneeling between your les, there's still something so pure in his face: the adoration shining in his ocean eyes behind those glasses.

he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher and higher.

you suck in a breath when his lips ghost over the skin of your inner thigh and his glasses nudge you slightly. it unintentionally reminds you that it's him, still him, still the clark who holds open doors open and rambles about his dorky interests.

except now his hands are parting your thighs further, spreading you open.

"d'you wanna take off your glasses?" you murmur softly, swallowing thick.

he's quick – almost too quick – to shake his head. "mn-hm, wanna see you clearly," he answers, not revealing the real reason. he exhales shakily, seeing you up closes and the sound alone makes your core throb.

"so, so pretty," he says, almost to himself. he drags his thumbs along your folds, gentle at first. "

you drape your arm over your eyes, too flustered to answer and he smile – you can hear it in his voice, "don't hide from me now."

before you have a chance to answer, his mouth on you.

you gasp as his tongue licks a slow, careful stripe through your slick. when you whimper, hips shifting, his hands tighten on your thighs to hold you steady.

he eats you like he's starving, like you're the only thing he's allowed himself to have after months of being denied. his tongue flicks, circles, presses just right against you and he groans every time your body jerks against his face.

"been wanting to do this," he grumbles against your clit, pressing a chaste kiss to the sensitive bundle of nerves. "thought about it for days."

you gasp, back arching when his tongue plunges into your center, nose rubbing between your folds.

"clark," you whine, nails digging into his scalp as you push him closer to you, keening at the sheer pleasure from his nose and tongue. you don't know how long he's pressed to you like that but you're sure it's longer than a person can be before they need air.

he finally pulls away. "dunno why i didn't last week," he huffs to himself, as if he's scolding himself, breathing a puff against your twitching core, making your walls flutter.

he dives back in. he works you open with patience and purpose, like he wants to unravel you right here, right now, just with his mouth.

and you do start to unravel, your hips rolling and thighs tensing around his shoulders, his name slipping past your lips in broken gasps. you're close.

so, so close.

he pulls back.

your protest is immediate, a whimpering sound of frustration leaving your lips, but he's already climbing up over you, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips and murmuring softly, "i know, sweetheart."

you eagerly reach between your bodies, palming his through his jeans. he's already hard, straining, almost painfully so, and the sound he makes is low and guttural.

"clark," you pant, squeezing him through his jeans.

"yeah," he hisses, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. "yeah." he repeats with a nod, reaching down to unbutton his jeans with one hand, the other braced beside your head. you hear the rasp of the zipper being pulled down and then he's fumbling to shove them down just enough to kick off. his boxers follow and you can feel the weight of him slap against your thigh.

"normally, i'd want you to cum before i get inside you," he murmurs through a breath, swallowing hard. "but i just can't wait."

"it's okay," you say quickly, looking into his eyes, heat filling your gaze.

he glances around, reaching for your nightstand drawer and you stop him, grabbing his wrist.

with furrowed brows, he turns to look at you.

"i'm on the pill." you whisper, "and i promise i'm clean."

clark's jaw ticks and then he nods, only once, before you feel the deliberate roll of his hips as he lines himself up.

"you sure?" he asks, voice rough like gravel, like he's barely holding himself back.

you roll your hips back against him, nodding with a soft croon as the head of his cock glides between your slick folds. "y-yes," you breathe out.

"i'll have to go slow because..." he starts.

"–you're huge," you answer for him, a ghost of a smile on your face.

his face flushes. "i was going to say i had little time to properly prep you but i guess that also works."

you giggle, the sound a little breathless, a little wrecked as you lay plaint beneath him as he stands before you. "i mean... both are true."

clark huffs a quiet laugh through his nose but there's a brewing darkness in his eyes. "okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, lowering his voice. "deep breath."

you inhale and then he starts to push inside. the head of him prods against your velvet walls, barely squeezing through your entrance. the stretch is instant. it's hot, thick, overwhelming, just like you remember it but it's oh, so different now without the barriers of latex between you. you feel him more than ever, the bare skin of his cock sliding and rubbing against your walls.

"f-fuck," you whisper, fingers clutching the sheets.

"i know, i know," he pants, lifting the underside of your thighs up to anchor him as he struggles not to shove himself in in one push. "god, you're–" the glasses on his nose, fog up as he pants and slowly sinks another inch into you.

"so good," you whisper, your words a little slurred as you blink ip at him.

clark's jaw is clenched, tendons straining in his neck as he watches your face with utmost focus. it's like he's mapping your pleasure in real time.

"you're doing so good, sweetheart," he croons, squeezing the fat of your thighs. "so tight, warm... christ–"

you whimper, overwhelmed by the stretch and the praise. the way he's only barely in but you already feel full.

it takes a while for him to push himself in, whispering praises and sweet words your way all the while.

then, finally, he bottoms out.

a shaky sound spills from your lips as he buries himself to the hilt, pressing against a spot inside you that has you cumming in seconds without warning.

clark feels your walls spasm around him and he groans, throwing his head back. "shit, baby," he rasps, voice trembling. (mentally, you add another tick to how many times you've made clark swear). "did you just–?"

you nod, dazed, still catching your breath, your whole body twitching from the aftershocks as he stays buried inside you. "i... i didn't mean to," you mumble, blinking up at him, lashes wet.

his smile is crooked and fond as he looks down at you, pupils blown wide. "oh, that's alright sweetheart," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "you okay?"

you hum, looping your arm around his shoulders, keeping him close. your legs wrap around his waist, making his arms move from holding your thighs up to brace beside either side of your body. "better than okay."

he grunts at your closeness, rolling his hips just a fraction. "sweetheart, you're squeezing me s'tight."

"sorry," you whimper, attempting to unclench around him. "y'can move," you add softly.

his eyes soften as he looks down at you. "you're not overstimulated?" he asks.

you must have the kindest man inside you right now.

"i need you more than that," you answer, looking into his eyes with determination.

he sucks in a breath at that, experimentally bringing his hips back slightly before pushing back in. your walls are slick with your orgasm so it becomes easier for him to slide between your walls. at your soft moan and fluttering lashes, he starts to move.

clark pulls out a few inches and thrusts back in with a slow, deliberate snap of his hips. you gasp, nails digging into his back and he hisses softly.

the rhythm he sets is measured and patient, but every stroke presses right against that devastating spot inside you that made you fall apart the first time. he doesn't look away from your face, like every flutter of your lashes, every gasp and tremble is something sacred.

"you feed so good, sweetheart," he mumbles, dipping his head to kiss along your jaw. "could stay here all night. buried inside you. just like this."

you shudder from beneath him, his words sending another wave of heart in your belly. "you can," you murmur.

"yeah, you'd let me?" he grunts against your neck, needing the confirmation between every slow roll of his hips. his glasses press against your cheek to the point you're worried they might snap.

"mhm, we could'a been doing this every night since last week," you whimper, squealing when he deliberately snaps his hips against yours out of rhythm.

"then, i guess i have to make up for lost time," he murmurs against your skin, picking up his pace.

you cry out, legs tightening around his waist as he begins to fuck you harder. it's still tender but it's deeper now. it's more insistent, like he's trying to imprint himself inside you (you think he already has from the week prior).

“fuck,” you breathe, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, anchoring him to you. “clark—”

he groans at the sound of his name, mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “say it again,” he pants. “say my name like that.”

“clark,” you whisper, and he gives a sharp thrust in return that has your back arching, the pleasure overwhelming. you whine when he pulls his torso away from you, leaving your hands to grip the sheets beside you instead.

his fingers curl under your knees, pressing them up toward your chest to angle you open for him. the new angle has him hitting that spot with merciless precision, and your moans dissolve into something breathless and high-pitched.

“look at me,” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your face with a tenderness that contrasts how deep he’s fucking you. “wanna see your eyes when I make you cum again.”

your eyes flutter open, teary and half-lidded, and the moment they lock with his, noticing his blue eyes blown behind his fogged-up glasses, you shatter.

your walls clench around him, your cry muffled by the way he kisses you through your orgasm. it's the kind of kiss that feels like everything. it feels like home.

“that’s it,” he whispers against your lips. “good girl. you’re perfect. perfect.”

your body trembles under him, but he doesn't stop. not yet. he keeps thrusting through your aftershocks, voice low and ragged. “can I cum inside, sweetheart? please... need to feel it. need to feel you.”

you nod, dazed and desperate. “please, clark. want it.”

with a strangled groan, he pushes deep one final time, hips stuttering as he spills white ropes of cum inside you. he holds you tight, face buried in the crook of your neck, catching his breath.

you don’t say anything for a while, your limbs heavy and boneless as his weight settles over you. clark’s still inside, still pulsing faintly, and your body feels like it’s humming, buzzing with the aftershocks. he carefully pulls your legs back down from your chest, letting them dangle off the bed again.

"you okay?" he asks softly.

you nod, a dazed smile on your face as you look up at him. "yeah."

he cups your jaw, thumb caressing your flushed skin softly. "sorry if i went too hard at the end," he murmurs.

"it's okay," you quickly reassure him, turning your cheek to kiss the palm of his hand.

clark smiles at the gesture, basking in the warmth of you and being inside you. "can i stay over?" he asks, breaking the silence that falls between you.

the way your eyes narrow makes his heart stutter in his chest, second guessing everything that just happened prior. but then you speak.

"are you going to leave in the morning like i was some dirty mistress?" you ask, tone mostly teasing.

his shoulders relax and he laughs through his nose, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "sweetheart, i'm sorry," he apologizes, smiling against your skin. "i swear it was urgent. i didn't mean to do a walk-of-shame on you."

"mm, yeah okay," you hum along as if you don't believe him.

he pulls back to look down at you. "i'll spend the rest of forever apologizing to you for it," he promises.

"you better."

sure, tonight he won't tell you the real reason he left in a scramble and without a word that morning was because of the alien monster wreaking havoc on the clinton bridge that he had to deal with as his alien superhero counterpart, but until then, clark will do whatever it takes to make it up to you.

for now, he'll be right here and by your side until morning light.

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Unpopular opinion

I am actually a fan of T3 Fuuta

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