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sillyswriting · 1 day ago

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: ̗̀➛ Guilt of the quiet one

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ₊✩ˎˊ˗ Clark Kent x Luthor!Reader

synopsis : Your life was unraveling, little by little. Bored and drained by your job, terrified of your brother, and silently denying the weight of your own depression. Nothing made it easier, especially when one of Metropolis’s most persistent reporters began digging into places he definitely shouldn’t have.

cw : smut, angst, slight enemies to lovers, slight morally grey reader, depressed and suicidal thoughts, implied voyeurism from superhearing, unprotected p in v, mentions of torture, mentions of human trafficking. luthor and chubby reader. (david!clark kent) words : 22.7k

ㅤㅤ ㅤ masterlist ⋆ ao3

Boredom.

That’s what you felt every time you set foot in LuthorCorp. It wasn’t the worst job in the world, it paid well, but it left you utterly uninspired. The work was mind-numbingly dull. You were in charge of your brother’s legal team, yet he never let you be an actual lawyer.

Lex trusted you just enough to manage his public image, filing lawsuits against anyone who dared tarnish the pristine version of himself he insisted on maintaining. The number of cease-and-desist letters you sent to the Daily Planet was absurd. Especially to two particular reporters : Lois Lane and Clark Kent.

But beyond that? You were on the outside looking in. Lex kept you out of the real business. He didn’t let you in. Not really. He didn’t trust you, not with everything.

You had never set foot in his big office, the one with the sweeping view of the city. You had no idea what went on up there. Whatever it was, it was a secret he shared with his latest girlfriend, but not with his own sister.

Shaking your head, you stepped forward in the line at the coffee shop on the main floor. Nothing much had happened at LuthorCorp lately. Nothing thrilling, nothing exciting. Just the same routine, day after day.

Eve breezed past behind you, shouting your name in that high-pitched voice of hers and waving like it was a reunion after years apart. You rolled your eyes slightly and gave a lazy wave in return. You liked Eve, she was sweet. A little dim, maybe, but a breath of fresh air compared to your brother’s cynical, brooding behavior.

Once you were seated in your office, you opened your inbox and were immediately greeted by a flood of emails, dozens of them. Most were about the latest failed experiment at Lex’s military base. There was a list of names : people who’d been fired, others who had quit, and new hires who still needed their NDA signed.

Just more messes for you to clean up. More people to bribe. More lies to hold together with duct tape and NDAs.

It was all starting to feel like too much. But the paycheck? More than generous. Your brother might not trust you, but he made damn sure you’d never want for anything, at least not financially.

By the time lunch rolled around, your head was already pounding.

You had a rare hour alone. The entire legal team was on their lunch break, including your assistant. You didn’t mind. In fact, you liked it this way.

You’d gone down early to grab your food, so you had the luxury of eating at your desk, half-working as you chewed through both your lunch and another batch of legal threats. The further you were from your colleagues, the better.

You were halfway through drafting yet another cease-and-desist when your phone rang.

You let it ring a few seconds before remembering : no one was going to answer it for you today. Sighing, you wiped your hands on a napkin and picked up the receiver.

“LuthorCorp, Head of Legal,” you said mechanically, not bothering to check the number calling.

“Miss Luthor.” A deep voice resonated on the other end of the line.

You groaned. You were not in the mood for this.

“Mr. Kent,” you sighed, drawing it out with deliberate irritation. His amused chuckle came through loud and clear. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

He chuckled again. “Still charming as ever.”

Slumping back into your chair, you hit the speaker button and let the handset drop onto your polished mahogany desk with a soft clunk. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhaled slowly. You were really not in the mood for the Daily Planet circus today.

Still, if you had to deal with one of them, you supposed it was lucky it was Clark Kent and not Lois Lane. At least he had the decency not to shout.

“Make it quick,” you snapped, irritation curling in your voice. “I’m on my lunch break.”

“Believe me,” Clark said smoothly, “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your overpriced salad unless I had a reason.”

You rolled your eyes. “If this is about that cease-and-desist from last week, I'll let you call back to get in touch with LuthorCorp lawyers, as I don't deal with those.”

“Not this time,” he replied. “It’s about the recent firings at the LuthorCorp research division, the ones connected to Project Tonite.”

Your fingers froze just above your keyboard. How did he know about this? This happened in the last two days.

“Never heard of it,” you said coolly.

Clark gave a small, skeptical laugh. “Come on, Miss Luthor. Three scientists let go in twenty-four hours, all under suspiciously vague NDA conditions? One of them told me, off the record, that they weren’t even allowed to collect their personal items. That usually happens when someone’s trying to bury something.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk. “And let me guess, you want to dig it up?”

“That’s kind of my job.” You could hear the smirk.

“I know you’re good at your job, Mr. Kent,” you said coolly, already clicking through the internal database. “But let me assure you, I’m very good at mine.”

Your tone didn’t waver as you scanned the list of recently terminated staff, searching for any names connected to the classified project.

“Also,” you added, eyes narrowing as you located the relevant files, “thank you for informing me that some of our former employees have been violating the contracts they signed. That’s… helpful.”

You found the three names instantly. With practiced efficiency, you forwarded their files to your best in-house counsel, including a brief note : One of them talked to the press. Find out who, and get the paperwork ready.

The goal was simple. Identify the leak. Then sue them into silence.

There was a pause on the line. Clark’s voice came back, just a little more pointed this time. “So that’s it? One of them speaks out, and your first move is to sue them into the ground?”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other as you stared at the phone like it had personally insulted you.

“My first move,” you said evenly, “is to protect my company’s legal interests. What they signed was very clear, Mr. Kent. Confidentiality. Non-disclosure. No public commentary. If they broke that, they don’t just get a slap on the wrist, they get consequences.”

“You don’t even know which of them talked.” Clark deadpanned on the other side of the phone. He must of known it was a stupid thing to say.

Scoffing, you grabbed a bit of your meal, answering with a mouthful. "We'll find out."

You heard him sigh, and you knew that sound, he was about to launch into another one of his noble little speeches. You cut him off before he had the chance.

“Listen, Mr. Kent,” you said flatly. “Whatever they told you is irrelevant, and illegal. You want to use it? Go ahead. But you and I both know how this ends. Same circus, different headline. Every time the Planet comes sniffing around our business, it’s the same tired routine.”

You leaned forward, voice like ice.

“Let’s just skip to the part where your editors get a not so polite letter from my office. Save us both the effort, and your lawyers the headache.”

Clark didn’t back down. Of course not.

“I have reason to believe LuthorCorp is moving forward with something dangerous. If you're hiding—”

“If,” you snapped, cutting him off again, “LuthorCorp is hiding something dangerous, then it’s buried for a reason.”

You paused, letting the weight of your words settle.

“And unless you’ve got something more substantial than your hero complex and secondhand paranoia, I suggest you stop fishing before you fall into waters you can’t swim in.”

There was a long silence. You didn't fill it. Let him sit in it.

You were just about to hang up when Clark spoke again, quiet, but deliberate. "I know about the Superman Project."

Your fingers froze above the keyboard. How could he know? There was no possible way he actually did.

You weren’t even supposed to know.

You had been tired of your brother keeping things from you. Of being left in the dark while he handed off his most secretive, most dangerous operations to a hidden legal team that answered only to him. Meanwhile, you were left dealing with the fallout. The lawsuits, the corporate scandals, the media fires. Always cleaning up after his messes, never trusted with the truth.

So, you had started digging.

It hadn’t been easy. Lex had buried the trail deep, tucked behind fake departments, encrypted files, and names scrubbed from every system. But you were a Luthor. And when a Luthor wants the truth, they find it, no matter how deep it was buried.

What you uncovered was worse than you imagined.

Project Superman was, in a way, connected to Project Tonite. The latter was part of Lex’s broader plan to enter politics by offering authorities a method to control, and, if necessary, eliminate, metahumans. Lex was obsessively working to recreate Kryptonite, aiming to engineer it into a universal weakness for anyone with meta-genes. Though deeply unethical, the project could be easily justified under the guise of public safety, a means to protect civilians and prevent the fear of becoming targets in a world increasingly influenced by alien forces.

It was your job to handle Project Tonite. Unethical, certainly, but not lethal.

Project Superman, as you later discovered, was something far darker. It was Lex’s attempt to create his own metahumans, an army of loyal enforcers to protect him and his interests. He was experimenting on people in a hidden lab in Boravia. Officially, they were “volunteers.” In truth, they were either brainwashed soldiers, convinced they were dying for their country, or desperate civilians lured by promises of money.

This was harder to bury. No amount of spin could justify it. No one would stand for such atrocities, not even you. You'd seen how they handled those who tried to speak out. Death would have been a mercy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quietly, slightly knowing the phone was tapped. “Now, if that’s all, I’d like to get back to my lunch, Mr. Kent.”

You hung up, your hand lingering on the phone just a moment too long. You weren’t ready, not for the fallout that would come once your brother realized you knew about his most secret, most dangerous project.

Hanging up was the only way to delay that reckoning.

For the rest of the day, you were on edge every time someone knocked on your door. Each phone call made you flinch slightly, every email felt like it could be a threat in disguise. But nothing came. It was as if Clark Kent hadn’t told anyone he called your office, like he had made sure to reach you when you were alone.

Normally, when reporters tried to contact you and couldn’t get through, they’d go after someone else on the legal team. That would always end the same way : Lex finding out. And then he’d storm into your office, acting as if you had invited the scrutiny, as if your actions had put the corporation at risk.

Yet, as you locked the door of your flat, you finally let out the breath you’d been holding since Kent's call. You turned down the alarm, slid every bolt into place, and only then started peeling off your shoes and vest. It wasn’t until that moment that you realized just how tightly wound you’d been all day.

You kept replaying it in your head, over and over. You still couldn’t understand how the hell a Daily Planet reporter knew about Project Superman. It made no sense. Everyone who had been terminated from the project had also been… terminated from life itself. Either dead, or locked away in whatever deranged side project your brother had been developing on that goddamn beach of his.

You didn’t know which fate was worse. And you weren’t interested in finding out.

Slumping onto the couch, you stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it. Why hadn’t it been front-page news the moment Clark Kent found out? Why the quiet call? Why the restraint? You sat up. Maybe he didn’t know much. Maybe the call was a bluff, an attempt to catch you off guard, to shake you just enough that you’d slip. That had to be it.

Scoffing, you shook your head at your own stupidity. He’d played you. And you’d almost walked right into it like a debutante at her first scandal.

You were about to get up when your phone buzzed.

Unknown number

"Hello," you answered, hesitant.

“Miss Luthor,” came Clark Kent’s voice, calm, low, unmistakably his.

You let out a heavy sigh and collapsed back onto the couch. It was late. The day had already been a disaster, and this felt like the final insult.

“How the fuck did you get this number?” you snapped, not bothering to be polite.

A soft laugh came through the speaker, calm, maddening. It only fuelled your irritation. It was almost like he didn’t realize the weight his words carried, or worse, he did and simply didn’t care.

You knew your personal phone was clean. You checked it weekly. Lex had tapped your work line, of course, listened to every conversation, tracked every call. You let him believe you didn’t know. Occasionally, you even used it to call friends just to maintain the illusion.

“You told me yourself,” Clark said, voice smooth and infuriatingly gentle. “I’m very good at my job.”

You frowned, confused by his tone, the softness, the restraint. He sounded patient. Not like a man cornering someone with a bombshell. Not like someone planning to go public.

Why wasn’t he pressing harder? What the hell did he want?

“Tell Jimmy he’s going to have real problems if Lex finds out about him and Eve,” you said, dropping it like a bomb. It was the only explanation that made sense, how else would Clark have your personal number?

“He didn’t—” Clark started, then cut himself off. He refused to take the bait. Refused to treat you like an idiot. “I’m not calling about Jimmy. Not even about what I called you about earlier.”

You scoffed, your patience nearly gone. He was playing you again, acting calm, composed, pretending like he wasn’t pushing some carefully constructed agenda. You weren’t a fool. You knew manipulation when you heard it. He spoke like someone who thought his sincerity was a weapon.

“What do you want then?” you snapped.

There was a pause. And then, in that same calm voice, he asked : “I just want to know why you defend him.”

You stilled.

"Of the records." He added at your silence.

Of course. There it was. Another angle. Another motive. You recognized this game, draw out the sympathy, lower the defences, build just enough rapport for the truth to slip out. He wanted you to pity yourself. To question your loyalty. To crack.

But you wouldn’t. Not for him. Not for anyone. Not anymore.

Lex had played this game too many times, for far too long. It left scars, sure, deep ones, but it also taught you how to bury your feelings, how to do the job without letting guilt cloud your judgment. It made you sharp. Unshakable.

You wouldn’t let Clark Kent be the one to undo all of that.

“Listen, Clark,” you said, spitting his name like it tasted wrong. “I don’t know what you want, or what you think you’re going to get by being all honeyed and soft-spoken, but it’s not going to work. People have tried before you. People smarter, more ruthless, more desperate. And they failed all the same.”

Your voice hardened.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want anything from you. Not your questions. Not your insight. Not even your damn voice.”

Silence stretched on the line. Heavy. Intentional.

“I can help you,” his voice came through, calm, measured, infuriatingly composed. “I have nothing to gain if your brother finds out I called you. This is a safe line. I made sure of it. But a lot of person have something to gain if you leave that company.”

“Leave the company? And then what?” you shot back, the words sharp and fast, your anger rising. “Vanish into thin air so Lex never finds me again? You think I can just disappear?”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“I don’t need your help. I don’t even know what the hell you think you’re helping me with. Do I look like some poor damsel waiting for a knight in shining armour? Because let me tell you something—” You stood abruptly, pacing the living room now, one hand in your hair, the other clenched at your side.

“There is no one, nothing, that can take my brother down. Everyone who’s tried? You know exactly what happened to them.”

You stopped pacing and stared at the wall, breath heavy, heart pounding in your ears.

“So if you really want to help me, like you say you do, then here’s what you’re going to do : you’re not going to call this number again. You’re not going to contact my office talking about project neither of us should known about. And for the sakes of both our lives, you’re going to forget Project Superman ever existed.”

Silence. You didn’t care what he said next. You were already reaching for the button to end the call.

“Don’t call this number again,” you said coldly, and hung up.

The line went dead, but the tension didn’t leave with it. You pressed the heel of your palm against your eyes, breathing hard, trying not to cry. From the anger. From the pressure. From the horrifying things you’d seen while snooping around Project Superman.

You were a coward. You knew it.

Maybe that’s why you resented Clark Kent so much. He’d had the nerve to reach out, to ask the hard questions, even knowing the risks. You hadn’t even been able to speak about the things your brother had done. The things Lex Luthor had done in the dark, to others, and sometimes even to himself.

You knew the consequences. You’d seen them firsthand. And you didn’t want to be next.

Even if speaking out could help hundreds. Maybe thousands.

You sat down slowly, hands shaking in your lap.

You were a coward. And for now… you were okay with that.

Weeks passed in total silence from both the Daily Planet and Clark Kent.

No headlines about LuthorCorp. No reason to threaten them with lawsuits. Just silence.

And honestly, it made your job easier. A lot of your day-to-day involved clashing with reporters, especially them. So when they left LuthorCorp alone, your workload lightened, and your days felt strangely manageable. Almost peaceful.

You were on the roof, smoking a cigarette, your lunch long forgotten beside you. From here, you had one of the best views in the city, skyline stretching wide, sunlight brushing against the tops of the tallest towers, but it meant nothing. You hadn’t felt anything in a long time.

Just boredom. That’s all that was left.

Bored of covering up messes. Bored of threatening people into silence. Bored of your brother constantly looking down on you. Bored of your life.

“You know those things kill you?” The deep voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You jumped, startled, spinning around to see who had disturbed your rare moment of quiet. And froze.

Superman. Standing just a few meters away.

You frowned, instinctively scanning the sky, expecting to find some incoming threat, maybe a drone, a villain, a building seconds from collapse, but there was nothing. Just blue sky and distant clouds. Calm.

You turned back to him, confusion painting your face. He let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused.

“Can I help you with something?” you asked, dumbly. It should have been the other way around, you knew that, but you were too off-balance to care.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” he replied politely. His voice was warm, even amused. He stepped a little closer, his boots landing gently on the gravel. “I was just flying by and saw you sitting here all alone. Looking kind of sad. Thought I’d check in.”

“Just flying by…” you echoed, mocking him with a dry tone, taking another drag of your cigarette. “What, you checking rooftops now?”

“Only the ones with interesting people on them,” he said with a faint smile.

You weren’t sure what bothered you more, the fact that Superman was here, talking to you, or the fact that some small, treacherous part of you actually appreciated it.

Running into metahumans in Metropolis was nothing new. Practically routine. You were used to it, numb to it. And honestly, you didn’t care about them. Not really. Especially not this one.

Not the one your brother had developed a borderline obsessive fixation with.

The thought made you laugh under your breath. If Lex could see you now, sitting on a rooftop, casually chatting with his so-called nemesis, he'd probably have a stroke. Or throw someone off a building. You were fairly certain Superman didn’t even care about Lex, at least not in the same way Lex cared about him.

You figured ignoring him would be enough to make him leave. But no, of course not.

Instead, the man in spandex sat down right next to you, just a couple of meters away. Calm. Relaxed. As if this was all perfectly normal. Then he blew. A gust of air, deliberate, sharp, and your cigarette sailed out of your fingers, flicked clean into the sky.

“Okay, now,” you snapped, sitting up straighter. “Those things are expensive.”

He gave you a mild look, clearly unbothered. “They also kill you slowly.”

“Maybe I wanna die?” you shot back.

“Problem in paradise?” He smiled, almost teasing.

You scoffed. Anyone with half a brain knew LuthorCorp was anything but a paradise. Lighting another cigarette, you let the silence hang between you. Truth was, you didn’t know what to say to him, not to him. What was there to say?

“Don’t make me do it again,” he teased, eyes locked on your cigarette like it had personally offended him.

“If you do,” you said flatly, taking a long drag, “I’ll jump off the building.”

He laughed, genuinely. Since when did Superman have dimples?

“Dramatic,” he said, still chuckling. “Besides, you know I’d catch you.”

And just because he knew he could, he blew again. Your cigarette vanished into the sky.

You sighed, stood up without a word, and, before your mind could stop your body, you walked to the edge of the roof. And stepped off.

“What the— NO!” came the shout behind you, his voice laced with panic as you tumbled from the tallest building in Metropolis.

Wind tore past your face. The ground rushed up to meet you. And for the first time in months, maybe years, you felt something. You giggled, wild and breathless, as the city blurred around you. It was chaos. It was stupid. It was reckless.

But for one glorious second… it was freedom.

You were caught mid-fall, arms of steel wrapping around you, pulling you hard against a solid chest. The impact wasn’t rough, but it jolted you all the same. Warmth surrounded you instantly. The wind disappeared.

Your arms, on instinct more than intent, wrapped around Superman’s neck as he steadied you both, slowing until the momentum was gone and you were simply floating. Suspended above the city like a feather caught in still air. His grip didn’t falter. Not for a second.

At first, you were just looking into his eyes, breath heaving from the adrenaline, heart pounding in your chest, while he remained perfectly calm, just as he had been before. Of course, you’d known he would catch you. He’d said it himself. But there was something exhilarating about catching Superman off guard.

And then, for the first time in months, you laughed. A real laugh, raw, unfiltered, shaking your whole body as it spilled out of you, rocking you gently against him in midair. It caught both you and the metahuman by surprise. The laughter felt genuine, liberating, like something had cracked open inside you.

For a few long seconds, he just held you there, floating above Metropolis, watching as you laughed like a madwoman in his arms. His expression was soft, confused, maybe even concerned but never judging.

“You really did it,” he muttered, voice low. “You actually jumped.”

“I told you I would,” you replied, breathless.

A beat of silence passed between you. His heartbeat was steady. Yours was not.

“You think this is a game?” he asked, not angry, but something quieter. Something that stung more.

You looked away, eyes scanning over Metropolis before looking down. The world looked so tiny from up here, it was almost addicting. “I think I just wanted to feel something.”

His arms tightened just a little. Protective. Anchoring. Without a word, he flew you back to the rooftop of LuthorCorp, setting you down gently, right in the middle of it, very far from the edge. The choice made you laugh, just a little. It was almost sweet.

“I’m not jumping again, don’t worry,” you said quietly, stepping out of his warm embrace.

You walked back to the spot where you’d been before, beside your barely touched lunch, your pack of cigarettes, and your phone, and sat down again, staring out over the city. You could feel his eyes on your back. The way he’d looked at you, genuinely concerned, not out of duty but something almost human, left a strange warmth in your chest.

How pathetic did your life have to be, for the only person who seemed to care, even for just a moment, to be Superman?

Nobody would’ve truly cared if he hadn’t caught you. Not really. You wouldn’t have cared, either. Just one last rush of adrenaline before the long, quiet sleep. It might’ve even made a decent headline : Lex Luthor’s sister falls to her death, dramatic, poetic even, if anyone had been paying attention. They wouldn't even say your own name.

Lex probably wouldn’t have mourned, not really. Maybe for the cameras, because it would be expected of him. Clark Kent would’ve gotten his front page. LuthorCorp would’ve named a new Head of Legal. The world would’ve kept turning. And you, you would’ve finally had peace.

It all came tumbling down at once. That invisible wall you'd spent years building, the one between feeling and function, cracked. Funny how the mind could carry so much until it just couldn’t. Until, in one fragile second, everything became too much.

You had no one important in your life. No real friends. No boyfriend. No one waiting for you to come home.

You never made time for it, and honestly, you didn’t want to. Letting someone in meant dragging them into Lex’s orbit, into his world of control and consequences. And you knew, sooner or later, when everything finally came crashing down, you’d be caught in the blast.

No one deserved to go through that for you.

Without even realising it, tears had started slipping down your face. Quiet and relentless. You’d carried so much for so long, buried it deep, locked it away ever since the day you said yes to Lex’s job offer. Maybe the real mystery was that you hadn’t broken sooner.

And just your luck… it had to happen in front of fucking Superman.

Still, in a strange way, maybe that made it easier. He wasn’t someone who would haunt your life later. He wasn’t someone you’d have to explain yourself to. Just a stranger, powerful, distant, untouchable. Someone you could fall apart in front of for a moment, and never see again. And in that moment, as you sat there, broken and small on the rooftop of your brother’s empire, you could pretend, just for a second, that you weren’t truly, utterly alone.

In a world this massive, this overwhelming, it was easy to forget that people like you didn’t get to be the heroes. By name, by blood, by inaction… you were one of the bad ones.

It felt almost comical, crying over how your brother had ruined your life, all while sitting on the rooftop of his building. As if you weren’t part of it. As if you hadn’t played your role.

You could have said no. Could’ve turned down his offer. Could’ve taken the harder road, fought your way to the top, maybe even become one of the best lawyers in this goddamn city. But you hadn’t. The promise of money, luxury, and an “easy” career had won. And the rest of you, the better part, had lost.

Even now, three years later, you weren’t sure if you would’ve made a name for yourself. Maybe you’d still be stuck in that old, crumbling apartment. But maybe, just maybe, you’d still have your friends. Maybe you’d have someone, a boyfriend, a partner, a life outside of this cold marble empire. Certainly you'd be happier.

“You should have let me fall…” you said, barely above a whisper.

But he heard it. Of course he did.

He was beside you in seconds, sitting just like before, only this time, a little closer. His warmth was a quiet comfort as the wind picked up, brushing through your hair, while dark clouds slowly crept into the Metropolis skyline.

“You know I can’t do that,” he said gently.

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“No one would know. And trust me, no one would care enough to ask questions,” you said, your voice low, bitter. Before he could answer, a thought surfaced, sharp and sudden, and you added, “Well… maybe The Daily. Maybe your little buddy Clark Kent would’ve called just to have the perfect front page.”

It was his turn to scoff, the sound laced with something close to anger. You glanced at him through blurry eyes and saw the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.

“Don’t say things like that,” he replied, frustration barely held back in his voice.

Ever the saviour, you thought. Of course Superman wouldn’t be the kind of man to let you spiral, but it felt like if you didn’t speak now, your brain might just implode. Like some switch had flipped inside you, and there was no turning it off.

“No, but really. You should’ve let me fall,” you said again, firmer this time. “It wouldn’t have changed a thing. Might’ve even made a few people happy.”

You stared out at the skyline as your voice hardened. “Laura would finally get her promotion. She’s hated me ever since I took her spot three years ago.”

You sniffed, eyes stinging, glancing over at him.

“Lex… he’d be relieved. Wouldn’t have to keep watching me out of the corner of his eye, worrying that maybe I’ll grow a conscience and talk to the press. I know he’d still come after me if I did, but I like to think it’d be harder with me than with a regular employee. You know?”

Leaning a little closer to the edge, your eyes settled on the ground far below. You heard Superman shift beside you, subtle, but ready, as if he thought you might jump again.

The thought made you laugh, quiet and bitter. Of all the places to have a complete mental breakdown, it had to be on the roof of LuthorCorp, with the strongest metahuman alive standing beside you like some guardian angel you never asked for.

“I’d finally be at peace,” you murmured. “No more complaints. No more threats. No more bribes. No more guilt. Just a coward lying cold in her grave.”

You whispered the last part, almost to yourself. More tears slipped down your face, blending seamlessly with the rain now falling in heavy sheets, as if the sky had decided to cry with you.

"You're more than just this job," Superman said softly, his hand wrapping gently around your arm as he pulled you back from the edge.

You let out a genuine, tear-filled laugh, harsh and wet in the rain. Always the optimist. But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

You weren’t more than this job. This job was you now. It had devoured every part of the person you used to be, every ideal, every boundary, every line you swore you’d never cross. Now you were a void version of yourself, filled with legal jargon and lies, a polished shield for monsters in suits.

It had rotted you from the inside out. Turned you into everything you grew up hating : a corrupted executive, pocketing blood money and defending the indefensible for the sake of a paycheck and an office.

This wasn't who you had wanted to be. And why? Because you had never known how to stand up for yourself in front of Lex.

"I'm really not..." you murmured, rubbing at your eyes. "But... thanks for saying it, I guess."

You rose to your feet, water dripping from your clothes. The Metropolis rain was rare, but when it came, it never held back. At least now you had a decent excuse to go home early. The office had been slow all day, nothing you couldn’t handle from your laptop if needed.

As you gathered your thing, your half-eaten lunch, your phone, the crumpled, now soaked, cigarette pack, you stole one last glance at him.

He looked almost human like this.

Soaked from the rain, seated quietly with his cape clinging to him, his expression caught somewhere between concern and sympathy. The image the media had built around him didn’t do him justice, not enough. Not the way his hair curled when wet, not the way his blue eyes held entire conversations shining with so many emotions, not the dimples still ghosting along his cheeks even when he wasn’t smiling. And certainly not the softness of his lips.

You blinked the thought away, scoffing silently at yourself. Of course, the only man you found attractive was also the most unreachable one. Classic.

"Thank you," you said at last, your voice softer now, more sincere. "For not letting me fall."

"Always," he replied simply, his voice steady as he watched you disappear behind the rooftop door.

You took the stairs down slowly, each step heavier than the last. You felt like hell, worse than you had in a long time. As if your own mind had finally decided to punish you for every cry for help you’d ignored. For every night you spent awake, staring at the ceiling with a racing heart and hollow chest. For every morning you dragged yourself out of bed, feeling like your skin didn't fit right.

For every moment you scratched your arms raw just to feel something through the guilt and pressure. For every hour spent dissociating in your office, staring at legal documents you didn’t care about, defending things you didn’t believe in.

Now it was all crashing down, and it couldn’t have picked a worse time.

But maybe, deep down, you believed you deserved every second of it.

The sound of your office door slamming open yanked your head up from your folded arms. In truth, you didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Lex.

He stormed inside like he owned the place, which, of course, he did, trailed by your assistant, who wore a familiar apologetic look. Without a word, the young man gave you a regretful glance before slipping out and shutting the door behind him.

Lex dropped onto the large leather sofa across the room with an air of theatrical exhaustion. He didn’t even bother to take off his coat.

You had to admit, it was a beautiful office. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls offered one of the best views in the city. Your mahogany desk alone was worth more than most people’s rent for a year. The latest computer sat, the expansive bookshelf filled with legal volumes you rarely touched anymore. A pair of sleek leather sofas flanked a marble coffee table no one ever used.

You never had clients in here. Never held meetings. Most of your team knew better than to knock unless absolutely necessary. That reputation, distant, cold, unapproachable, had followed you ever since. Maybe you hadn't done much to stop it.

"We have a problem," Lex said, his eyes closed as he leaned back into the couch.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Still, it was somewhat reassuring that he came alone, without the usual pair of silent goons who tailed him like shadows. If he didn’t bring muscle, chances were you weren’t the problem.

"Do we?" you asked, keeping your voice even, doing your best to hide the anxiety curling in your stomach. Lex had always been too good at reading you.

"I think yes, we do," he replied, tone laced with mockery, almost daring you to guess. Daring you to slip. To reveal something he didn’t already know.

Opening one eye, he glanced your way, clearly waiting to see if you'd take the bait. When you raised an eyebrow at him, he only smirked.

"The Planet has been snooping around too much lately," he said, his voice calm and measured. "Reporters asking questions they shouldn’t be asking. Digging in places they shouldn’t even know exist."

You rolled your eyes, already unimpressed. You weren’t sure why this warranted Lex barging into your office like the ceiling was about to collapse. Your legal team was probably already handling whatever nonsense the Daily Planet was stirring up. And if it was more serious, if they were digging into the same shadows Clark Kent had called you about a month ago, you were certain Lex’s personal legal hounds were already biting at their heels.

“Sounds like a regular Tuesday,” you muttered, rubbing the space between your eyes as a headache began to bloom.

“Kent hasn’t published anything, but he’s been sniffing around again. More than usual. And this time, it’s not just the public projects he’s asking about. Classified-level stuff.” He said, watching for your reaction.

You gave a small shrug, feigning indifference. “Then maybe it’s time to sue them again. That usually quiets the barking.”

Lex smiled thinly. “Not this time. He’s being careful. No paper trail. No sources willing to go on record. Yet somehow… he knows things. Enough to be dangerous.”

Frowning, you sighed. You had to play this carefully. You hadn’t spoken to Clark Kent since those calls, and you hadn’t told anyone about Project Superman. But if Lex wanted to pin the blame on you, he would. He always found a way.

“How do you even know it’s him, if he’s being this careful, Lex?” you asked cautiously, choosing your words with care. You didn’t want to provoke him, but you hated how he danced around the point like he was waiting for you to slip.

He sat up straighter, his cold gaze locking onto yours. “I have my ways,” he said with that familiar, dangerous smirk. “Little ears here and there.”

You leaned back slightly, your throat suddenly dry. “And did those little ears tell you I was involved? Because it sure sounds like you’re accusing me of something.”

He stood, slowly making his way around your desk until he was behind you. You stiffened as his hand came down on your shoulders, firm, not painful, but unmistakably controlling.

“Of course not,” he said with a mockingly sweet tone. “What kind of brother would accuse his own sister?”

You didn’t move. Not when his thumb absently dragged over the curve of your shoulder, not when the silence stretched long enough to chill the air between you. You knew better than to flinch. That’s what he wanted, fear dressed up as respect.

He leaned in slightly, just enough for you to feel the brush of his breath near your ear.

“I just worry, you know?” he said softly. “This kind of scrutiny… it makes people act irrationally. Makes them do things they shouldn’t. Say things they regret. He even got in the head of some of my most trusted employees once…”

He paused, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile in his voice. Too calm. Too rehearsed.

“And he did call your number a few weeks ago.” Another pause. Dread filled you, fear gripping you strongly. “I’d hate to think he had put ideas in your head.”

His hand slipped away like a shadow, but the pressure lingered in your skin.

He moved with the slow, calculated confidence of someone who never had to hurry. Circling the desk, he didn’t sit, Lex never sat when he could loom, but rested a hand casually on the edge, watching you like a scientist studying a specimen under glass.

His voice lightened, almost amused. “You know, I’ve always trusted you.” A pause. A tilt of the head. “But I pulled the call recording anyway. Just to be sure.”

He gave a small shrug, smooth, almost dismissive, though the smile that followed was razor-thin. “I knew you wouldn’t say anything. You’re smarter than that.” Another beat. “You know what would happen if you weren’t.”

He left your office on that note, not even waiting for a response. The door clicked shut behind him, and only then did you exhale the shaky breath you'd been holding since he walked in.

He knew.

He couldn’t prove it, not yet, but he knew. Whether you’d stumbled onto the truth before Kent or started digging after that call, it didn’t matter. Lex didn’t care about the details. All he cared about was ensuring your silence.

And his message had been clear : Talk and you end up like them. Family or not.

Your phone buzzed. It was a message, from your brother.

Opening it, your breath caught in your throat. A strangled sound escaped you.

Lying strapped to a medical table, bruised and bloodied, was Thomas. Your ex-boyfriend from law school. The only man you’d ever introduced to Lex. Someone you hadn’t seen, or even spoken to, in years.

And now he was a rat lab. All because of you.

All because Clark Kent couldn't stop.

That how you ended up on the roof again, standing just at the edge of the building. Your eyes fixed on the floor below. Dark clouds were coming toward Metropolis, still far but advancing quickly. A storm was coming.

It was late, all your colleagues at gone home already. You had waited in your office, trying to play it cool, not wanting to be suspicious. You were certain Lex had bribed someone of your team, most likely your assistant, into telling him your every move. Every call. Every mails.

Looking down, you wondered. What would it be like to fall again? Would it feel exhilarating, like the first time? Maybe even more, knowing no one was here to catch you this time. It was mesmerising how small the world looked from up here.

Ironic, really. From this height, you'd once felt powerful. In the early months of the job, standing on this rooftop made you feel untouchable, like you were finally someone. But that illusion had long since crumbled. This place had taken everything from you.

“You’re not gonna jump again, are you?”

The voice cracked through the silence like a whip.

Startled, you turned too fast. Reflexes dulled by the cold and the weight of sleepless nights, your foot slid on the slick rooftop, gravel scattering under your heel.

And then, you were falling. The edge vanished behind you as gravity seized your body. Wind roared in your ears. Your scream tore free as Metropolis' concrete rushed up to meet you. Truth be told, it was just as exhilarating as the first time, but a thousands time scarier.

The wind howled in your ears. Your mind blanked, panic flooding every nerve. You didn’t even know if you wanted to be saved, not really. But as the ground rushed toward you, instinct took over. You didn’t want to die like this. Not yet.

And then, closing your eyes, you waited for the impact.

But not the one you expected. Strong arms wrapped around you mid-air, a blur of red and blue cutting through the grey skyline. Your fall halted with a jarring stop as your body slammed into Superman’s chest, breath knocked from your lungs.

His grip was tight, almost desperate.

Your arms instantly wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeboat in open water. You were breathing heavily, gasping in sharp, uneven bursts, but you felt the rapid rise and fall of his own chest against yours.

You had scared Superman.

You. You had done what even aliens from other worlds hadn’t managed to : make him panic. To be fair, it was his own damn fault.

Silence settled between you, save for the harsh rhythm of your breaths. You looked up, eyes locking. His gaze roamed across your face, scanning for injuries, intent, urgent, while yours traced his features in quiet awe. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the weight of thinking you were seconds from death, but right now, he was the only real thing in your world.

His eyes dropped to your lips, just as yours lingered on his. Time seemed to pause, holding its breath with the two of you suspended in midair. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. But in that fragile, trembling second, none of it mattered.

And then, a crack of thunder rolled across the distant sky. The moment shattered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Superman said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he gently ascended, bringing you both back to the rooftop.

He spoke to you like someone coaxing a frightened stray animal : patient, careful, almost painfully kind. It was sweet. Unexpectedly so.

As your feet touched the gravel of the rooftop, back in the centre, far from the edge, you let out a breathless laugh. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, like he was afraid you'd vanish the moment he let go.

But it was you who stepped back first, untangling yourself from his hold. You bent slightly at the waist, hands on your knees as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, sharp and strange with adrenaline, dizzy in your chest.

Then, just as suddenly, the laughter crumbled.

Tears spilled from your eyes without warning. Heavy, wracking sobs tore from your throat, years of pressure snapping loose like cracked glass. Three years of holding it in. Of surviving instead of living. Of becoming someone you didn’t even recognize.

And now it was all pouring out. Right here, in front of Superman. Again.

You sank down onto the gravel, knees giving out beneath the weight of everything. You didn’t even try to stop it, the tears, the ragged sobs, the chaos clawing through your mind. You just let it all go. And strangely, it felt good.

Not pretty. Not peaceful. But real.

For once, you weren’t pretending. Weren’t holding anything back or biting your tongue. You were breaking, fully, openly, and somehow, that honesty felt like a release. What made it bearable, what made it safe, was the quiet presence that lingered nearby. Superman didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix it, or fill the silence.

He just stayed. Not looming, not judging. Just there. And in that small, powerful kindness, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a very long time. Protected.

So safe, you talked.

“Next time you see Clark Kent,” you muttered through the last of your tears, “tell him that if I suddenly disappear because of his little investigation… he better make a damn good front page out of it.”

You tried to make it sound like a joke. You even forced a smile. But the fear didn’t budge, it had rooted itself too deeply now, curled in your gut like a sickness.

Superman didn’t smile. His brow furrowed, gaze sharp with concern. “What do you mean?”

You snorted, shaking your head. It was laughable, really, how tangled everything had become. And maybe it was reckless, telling Superman anything at all, but what could it hurt? Deep down, you hoped maybe he could talk to Clark, get him to back off before Lex did something irreversible.

“He’s getting too close,” you said finally. “Too close to something Lex doesn’t want exposed. Something I shouldn’t even know about. And if he keeps going, Lex is going to blame it on me.”

Superman didn’t speak right away. You saw the shift in his expression, quiet, calculating. Not judgment, but focus. And you realized then : he was listening. Really listening.

“I can help you.” His voice was deep, sure, but there was something gentler beneath it. Genuine.

You let out a soft, tired laugh, wiping your face with the back of your hand. There was no point in hiding the tears anymore. “You sound just like him,” you said, voice still shaky. “No wonder you two are friends.”

That earned the smallest smile from him, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it was there.

You didn’t know what made you keep talking. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash, or maybe it was just the comfort of being heard without being judged.

“He said the same thing… Clark. When he called. Said he wanted to help me. But people like you, like him, you don’t realize how dangerous it is to be helped in my situation. Lex isn't scared of anyone, not even you.”

You met his eyes then, and something flickered in his, something beyond concern.

“He’s getting close to something Lex would kill to protect because it could destroy him. And if I get caught in the middle of that?” You shrugged. “Let’s just say Lex doesn’t always send warnings twice. Not even to his sister.”

The metahuman approached you gently, crouching so he could meet your gaze without towering over you. A flash of lightning split the sky, casting a pale light across half his face, making him look almost unearthly. Like he didn’t belong to this world at all. Like maybe he never had.

“I can really help you,” he said softly. “I can take you somewhere he’d never find you. I can take you to—” He stopped himself mid-sentence. Whatever he’d almost said, it hung in the air between you like something too fragile to speak aloud.

His hands rested on your knees, not forceful, not firm, just grounding. As if reminding you that, despite everything, you were still here. Still alive. Then he looked at you again.

You weren’t prepared for it. That kind of kindness. It was the sort of look no one had given you in years, not pitying, not clinical. Just real.

He sighed, steadying himself. And when he spoke again, it was with purpose.

“Listen,” he said, voice low but sure. “If you’re willing to speak out against your brother, I can promise you, there’s a place he’ll never find you. Not even Lex Luthor can reach everywhere. You’ll have time, space. Peace. With Clark’s help, we can protect you. You can be safe from him. For good.”

You frowned, confusion clouding your already stormy thoughts.

“Lex can reach everywhere,” you murmured, voice thin and cracking under the weight of truth. “He knows people, high places, deep pockets. There’s nowhere in this city, in this whole damn state, he wouldn’t find me.”

Another tear slipped down your cheek. You didn’t bother wiping it away.

Superman’s hand tensed where it rested against your knee, as though he were physically restraining himself from doing more, comforting you, pulling you away from all this. From him.

It was a tempting proposition, you had to give him that.

The promise of safety. Of silence. Of finally breathing without the constant weight of eyes watching, judging, threatening. If he could really assure that, if he could promise you a world where Lex Luthor wasn’t a shadow at your back… You might just give in.

You had nothing left anyway. Nothing but your life. And right now, that felt like the most worthless thing of all.

But then, before you could argue back, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Just the faintest glint of something lighter behind the concern.

“I never said anything about Metropolis,” he said softly, with a quiet kind of defiance.

What the hell were you doing here?

In a car. Headed to god knows where. And sitting next to the man who, in a way, had put you in this mess to begin with. Superman had convinced you to trust Clark Kent, insisting the reporters could protect you better than anyone else. That he—Superman—would always be nearby, watching from the shadows, ready to step in if Lex ever found out.

You didn’t know why you trusted him. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, so full of concern and quiet determination.

Maybe it was something else.

So here you were. For the past seven hours, you’d been curled up in the passenger seat of Clark Kent’s car, heading out of Metropolis. The road ahead was dark and endless, and the farther you got, the lighter you felt.

For now, it was a peaceful ride. The heater hummed softly, the music playing low and unobtrusive. Clark didn’t talk much, which you appreciated. He seemed to understand you weren’t quite ready for conversation.

He’d shown up at your door at exactly 7 p.m., just like Superman had promised. Same concerned look. Same gentle voice. That same quiet steadiness that made you say yes before you could second guess yourself.

Now, after hours on the road, you were beginning to realize just how similar the two men were. Too similar. It was strange, every time you looked at Clark for more than a few seconds, something pulled at the edges of your mind. Nothing overtly wrong. He was handsome, annoyingly so, you’d admitted that around hour two of the car ride. But there was something… off. Familiar.

Yet completely out of place. You shifted slightly in your seat, your fingers brushing the strange phone he’d given you earlier, sleek and impossibly light, clearly not something off the shelf. Courtesy of Mr. Terrific, Clark had said, untraceable. The device had only two contacts programmed in : Clark Kent and Superman.

Two names, side by side. Almost like two sides of the same coin.

Clark Kent. Superman.

By hour eight, the safety of being far from Metropolis and the lull of the moonlight hanging high above had made you a little petty. Restless. Bold, maybe. Or maybe just fed up.

After all, you were stuck in a car with the reason you'd had to flee your entire life. If Clark had just dropped it, had actually listened to you when you warned him weeks ago, none of this would have been necessary. You would still leave your miserable life, but at least, you'd be home.

But no, he had to snoop in.

"You know what?" you said suddenly, eyes narrowing as you looked at him sideways.

He glanced at you, quick and cautious, like someone easing into a trap. One brow arched in confusion, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No?”

You turned your body a little more toward him, expression sharp. “This whole mess? It’s your fault.”

You didn’t even raise your voice. You didn’t need to. It landed like a punch anyway. Clark blinked. The smile dropped. You could see it hit him, and part of you hated how guilty he looked, because it meant he already knew you were right.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied softly. “Just know I never meant for any of this to come back on you. This was never supposed to boomerang in your direction.”

You scoffed, dry and sharp. “Oh, yeah? Then who was it supposed to boomerang on, Kent? Please, enlighten me.”

The sarcasm dripped off every word, venomous and tired.

Gone was the woman who broke down sobbing on a rooftop under thunderclouds. That version of you had receded into the shadows, tucked away where no one could see her. In her place now was the version the world expected. The one who wore tailored suits and litigation like armour. The Head of Legal. Ice-blooded, sharp-tongued, impossible to shake.

Not quite you. Not quite not you either.

Clark didn’t answer right away. He kept his hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, the soft hum of tires filling the silence. But his jaw clenched. Just enough for you to notice.

“In a perfect world? Your brother,” he admitted, after a few seconds of silence. His sigh was heavy, resigned, even.

You bit your tongue before another petty remark could slip out. It wouldn’t change anything. And truth be told, he was helping. Whether it was because Superman told him to, or because Clark Kent genuinely wanted to, it didn’t matter. He was here. And that was more than most people had ever done for you.

So instead, you chose to shift the conversation.

“Where are we even going, anyway?” you asked, eyes drifting out the window into the thick darkness. Every road sign you passed only confused you more, you couldn’t piece together the route.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered, maddeningly vague.

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “You sound like you’re gonna murder me in the middle of nowhere, Kent.”

It was his turn to laugh, a warm, low sound that curled in your chest in a way you didn’t expect.

“I don’t think I’d live very long after that,” he said, a playful edge to his voice. “Not with your new little friend watching over you.”

There was a glint in his eye as he glanced sideways at you, and something in his tone made the hairs on your neck rise, not from fear, but from a flicker of recognition. Familiar. Almost too familiar.

“You’d get a thank-you letter from Lex, though,” you joked lightly. “And that means a lot in a city he practically owns.”

Clark’s smile vanished almost instantly. The mention of your brother had yanked him right back to reality, reminding him of why you were really here, why you’d spent the last eight hours tucked into the passenger seat of his car, fleeing the only life you’d ever known.

Silence settled between you again, heavy but not uncomfortable. The quiet hum of the tires against the road and the soft rhythm of the engine created a strange kind of peace. The car was warm, the music still playing low, something old and soothing.

Your body, pushed to the edge for days, finally began to surrender. The tension in your shoulders loosened. Your eyelids grew heavier with each blink. It had been a brutal week. You’d run on power naps and caffeine and sheer will.

And now, somehow, this car felt like the safest place in the world.

So you let your guard down. Just for a moment. Just to rest your eyes. As Clark kept driving into the night, your breathing slowed, and sleep took you before you even realized it had come.

You jolted awake as the driver’s door slammed shut. Disoriented, your heart kicked up in your chest as you blinked rapidly, trying to get your bearings. Your neck ached from the awkward angle you'd slept in, stiff and sore from hours pressed against the window.

Squinting into the sunlight, you groaned. The sun was already high in the sky, blinding and unapologetic. Glancing down at your phone, you read 9:57 a.m.

Shit. You’d slept far longer than you'd meant to.

Pushing open your door, you stepped outside, wincing as you stretched your limbs, popping joints and shaking off the lingering fog of sleep.

“Morning,” came a voice behind you.

You turned, blinking again, and saw Clark Kent standing next to the car, casually filling up the gas tank like he hadn’t just driven fourteen hours straight. His shirt was barely wrinkled, hair still mostly in place, and he looked fresh.

Not even remotely tired.

"Are we close yet?" you asked, squinting as you looked around, trying to piece together where the hell you were. Some tiny, nowhere town in the Midwest, Indiana or Illinois, maybe. Either way, very far from Metropolis.

"About another eight hours or so," Clark replied casually, like that was completely normal.

You frowned at him, studying his face. No dark circles, no signs of fatigue, not even a yawn. Maybe he’d pulled over during the night to sleep and you’d just slept through it? But you doubted it. You were a light sleeper, and the car stopping would’ve definitely woken you.

“What?” he asked with a small laugh, noticing your suspicious expression.

“What?” you echoed mockingly. “You’re seriously gonna drive like what… twenty-two hours straight? Without a single ounce of sleep? Are you on drugs or something?”

He snorted. “No drugs, no.” You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Clark just grinned, annoyingly unreadable. “Just built different, I guess.”

"Built different? That’s it?" you muttered, still not buying it. "Well, I hope you don’t drive us into a freaking tree because you’re built different," you grumbled under your breath, already turning away as you headed toward the small convenience store by the gas pumps.

Coffee. That would fix your mood. Hopefully.

The little bell above the door chimed as you stepped into the nearly empty shop. A teenage girl stood behind the counter, completely absorbed in her phone. She didn’t glance up, not that you cared. You weren’t in the mood for small talk.

Wandering the narrow aisles, you grabbed a few snacks for the road and the least bored-looking book they had on a spinning rack. The coffee machine was either out of order or didn’t exist, so you settled for a canned iced latte from the fridge. As an afterthought, and maybe out of guilt, you grabbed a second one. If Clark didn’t like it, you’d just drink both.

At the counter, the girl scanned your things at a snail’s pace, barely lifting her gaze. You told her to add the gas pump Clark had just been at. But before you could pull out your credit card, a large, warm hand wrapped gently around your wrist.

"You don’t wanna do that," Clark said calmly, stepping up beside you. He slipped a folded wad of cash from his coat pocket and handed it to the girl.

Suddenly, the cashier perked up, her phone forgotten as she blinked up at Clark like he’d just dropped from the sky. You couldn’t blame her. He was handsome. And kind. In that steady, patient, maddeningly unbothered way.

Back in the car, your sour mood returned like a headache that wouldn’t quite leave.

“I could pay, you know?” you muttered as you buckled your seatbelt with a little more force than necessary. “I probably have more money than you.”

A smirk tugged at Clark’s lips as he started the engine. “Oh yeah, my bad,” he said casually, letting the words stretch a beat too long. Then he added, with a touch of mock innocence, “You know, you could just call your brother, tell him exactly where we are. How does that sound?”

His tone was light, but the edge in it was unmistakable. Your eyes narrowed. It was his turn to be snarky, and unfortunately, he was good at it.

You disappearing after Lex’s threat told him everything he needed to know. You hadn’t needed to say a word, Lex never needed much. And you both knew he’d stop at nothing to find you. Pulling your bank records wouldn't been hard either. Not when he practically owned the bank.

You didn’t answer. You were too proud for that. Instead, you turned your face toward the window, watching the endless stretch of land roll by. Without a word, you reached into the plastic bag at your feet and handed him one of the iced lattes you’d grabbed at the gas station.

He took it instantly, barely a pause. The can disappeared from your fingers like he’d been waiting for it. You heard him chuckle, soft and breathy, almost like he hadn’t meant to. A whisper of amusement. It lingered for a second longer than it should have.

You didn’t look at him. You just let the silence stretch between you again, quiet, but not empty.

The rest of the drive passed quietly, a kind of exhausted peace settling over the car. Around midday, you’d stopped for lunch at a small roadside diner in Kansas City, one of those unremarkable places with red vinyl booths and chipped coffee mugs. That’s when he finally had told you where you were going.

Kansas. Specifically, Smallville. Even more specifically, his childhood home.

It had been awkward, to say the least. The words had hung between you like something delicate and misplaced. You were going to stay with Clark Kent’s parents. You were going to sleep under the same roof where he’d grown up, eat meals at the same table he had as a kid.

Had you been together, it might’ve felt like something monumental, a next step kind of moment. A milestone for the scrapbook. But you weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even sure what you were.

A witness? A burden? Another helpless case? Still, he hadn’t hesitated. And maybe that was the strangest part.

He explained that he had taken ten days off, claiming a family emergency. You couldn’t help but notice how conveniently timed it was, for both of you to disappear at once. Lex would connect the dots easily. He always did.

But Clark had reassured you: his parents’ place wasn’t on any record. It hadn’t been for years. He’d made sure of that.

It struck you as odd. He wasn’t a criminal, why go to such lengths to keep them hidden?

He’d just laughed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Exactly for situations like this,” he had said. “Working at the Daily Planet means going after people with real power, no conscience, and a long reach. You don’t poke the devil without having somewhere safe to run.”

A safe haven. And right now, it was the only one you had.

Finally arriving at the Kent farm, you felt unmistakably out of place.

You were a city girl, through and through. Your tailored coat and designer boots stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of open fields and grazing cattle. The air smelled fresh, too fresh. You were used to exhaust fumes, coffee shops, and wet pavement. Not dew-covered grass and distant hay. There wasn’t a neighbor in sight, just endless land stretching toward the horizon. It was peaceful. Isolated. A perfect hidden haven.

You’d braced yourself for a lie, certain Clark would come up with some excuse to explain your presence, an old friend needing a break, a colleague tagging along for fresh air. But when he introduced you to his parents, he told them the truth. Every word of it.

He told them how he’d gone poking around places he shouldn’t have, how that had put you in danger, not him. How you'd been left to deal with the fallout while he got to keep writing. “That’s why I had to help her,” he said. Simple. Honest. Sincere.

It caught you off guard, how human he was. How kind. The past three years of your life had been about leverage, power plays, cold threats and airtight lawsuits. You were always the hammer, and others were always the nails. You had buried people’s reputations without losing sleep. But Clark Kent wasn’t like that.

He hadn’t asked for anything in return. Not a confession, not information, not even details about the secret project that had started this whole mess. He had simply brought you here, because it was the right thing to do.

And it didn’t take long, just one meal at the dinner table, to see exactly where he got it from. The Kents were among the kindest people you’d ever met. Genuine warmth radiated from them, compassion, patience, trust. They welcomed you without question, offered you food, a room, and the kind of quiet grace you hadn’t known you were missing.

They didn’t want anything from you. And somehow, that unraveled something deep in your chest more than any threat ever could.

“Well, it’s not much, but…” Clark trailed off, glancing around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. “Yeah.”

He looked awkward now, scratching the back of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The guest room wasn’t anything fancy: just a bed, a dresser, and a mirror. The wallpaper was fading at the edges, and the floor creaked when you stepped on it. But there was warmth here. And peace.

“It’s perfect,” you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you, Clark.”

His shoulders relaxed a little at your words, and the tension he’d been holding in his jaw softened. That awkward smile returned to his face, shy, boyish, almost bashful.

“I’ll, uh… let you settle in,” he said, backing toward the door like he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. If you need anything... I’m just across the hall.”

“Goodnight, Clark,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He paused at the door, turning slightly with that familiar, gentle smirk. “Goodnight, Miss Luthor.”

Even after only a few hours in this house, you understood now where Clark Kent’s kindness and unwavering sense of morality came from. Was this what a real, loving family felt like?

Later, lying on the guest bed after your shower, tears returned, slow and quiet. How had it come to this? How had your family shattered so completely that you were now hiding from your own brother? When had Lex become someone so ruthless, so untouchable, so far above the law?

The sheets smelled like lavender and woodsmoke, a scent so unfamiliar it only made you feel more out of place. You turned to your side, staring at the wall as if it held answers. But there were none. Just silence, and the soft creaking of the old house settling into the night.

The quiet here was different than in Metropolis. There, silence came with the hum of neon lights and distant sirens, noise that reminded you you were still alive, still in motion. But this, this quiet made your thoughts louder, crueler. Every regret screamed a little louder in your head.

You should have said something years ago. You should have fought harder, sooner. You should have said no. Maybe then your life wouldn't be reduced to running, hiding in someone else’s safe haven.

You clutched the blanket a little tighter. Somewhere in this quiet house, Clark was probably still awake. Maybe writing, maybe just thinking. Maybe wondering if you were okay. You weren’t.

You closed your eyes and let the tears come again. Softer this time, slower. You didn’t sob. There was no energy left for that. Just salt and silence and the quiet ache of someone who had spent too long holding everything in.

Just across the hall, the man’s heart quietly broke. Clark sat on the edge of his childhood bed, hands clasped between his knees, eyes trained on the wooden floor like it might somehow offer a solution. But all he could hear was you, silently weeping.

Guilt was eating him alive.

He hadn’t listened to you. He’d kept digging, kept pushing, even looped in Mr. Terrific for help, convinced he was doing the right thing. But all it had done was draw unwanted attention. And not onto him. It had landed on you.

All because he had made that call.

The image of you standing on the edge of that rooftop haunted him. Something in him had cracked wide open when he saw you there, your posture brittle, your eyes hollow, like the life had been drained out of you. He couldn’t shake the thought : This is my fault.

With a heavy sigh, Clark laid back on his bed and closed his eyes, willing the ache in his chest to dull. But it didn’t.

Whatever it took, no matter the cost, he would make this right. He would tear down Lex Luthor’s empire.

And he would set you free.

It took a couple of days to finally settle into the rhythm of life at the Kent farm.

You tried to help out wherever you could. Mornings began early, walking through the fields alongside Jonathan, tending to the cows. At first, you felt completely out of place, the cliché city girl, useless with her hands and awkward in the dirt. But Jonathan never laughed. He didn’t mock or criticise. Instead, he stayed patient, calmly guiding you when you made mistakes, his voice always steady and kind.

After lunch, you'd join Martha by the chicken coop to collect eggs for dinner. She often filled the quiet with stories about Clark’s childhood or the latest gossip from the town market. You weren’t allowed to go into town, everyone had agreed it was best to avoid attention, but you found yourself eagerly listening to her tales, learning the names of townsfolk you’d never meet and becoming surprisingly invested in their dramas.

The Kents had told you more than once that you didn’t need to do any of this. They insisted rest was what you deserved, especially after everything Clark had told them. They thought you needed peace. And maybe they were right. But you couldn’t sit still for long. The silence gave space for darker thoughts to creep in. Helping around the farm was the only thing that seemed to keep your mind quiet.

Clark helped around the farm too. When he wasn’t out in the fields with his pa or fixing something around the barn, he was on the phone with someone from the Daily Planet or typing furiously on his laptop. So much for a “family emergency,” you’d joked once, raising an eyebrow at him.

He had laughed, genuinely, that quiet, warm laugh that made his dimples show, and replied, “News doesn’t wait.”

You were pretty sure that wasn’t the actual saying, but you let it slide. The way he said it, you almost believed it was.

It was about an hour before dinner. Clark’s parents chatted softly in the kitchen while Martha moved around preparing the meal. You sat on the couch, trying to focus on the book in your hands, but it was nearly impossible with Clark just a few meters away, perched at the dining table, typing away on his laptop.

The look of concentration on his face was one of the most captivating things you’d ever seen. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, lips bitten in focus, fingers dancing over the keys, and when he paused to jot down notes in his little notebook, you caught yourself staring at those unexpectedly graceful hands. Since when did he have such pretty hands?

Shaking your head, you tried to force your attention back to the pages in front of you, but the steady clicking of the keyboard pulled you back. Your eyes locked on his slender fingers as they moved. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, imagining how those fingers might feel against your skin : curling around your hands, pressing softly to your throat, tracing paths between your legs.

Your heart quickened, breath catching as your thoughts spiralled. You shouldn’t be thinking like this, he was the reason you were tangled in this mess to begin with. But you didn’t hate him anymore. Maybe you never truly had.

In fact, you had envied him. His courage, his fearlessness. He did what you’d never managed to do, not scared of the consequences, while you’d hidden away like a coward. You hated yourself for it, more than you could admit. So much of that self-loathing had been projected onto Clark Kent.

“You alright?” His voice pulled you back from your daydream, soft but curious.

You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d squeezed your thighs together, searching for some kind of relief. Suddenly, the room felt unbearably warm, despite the crisp late October air outside. You could feel heat flushing your cheeks and neck.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine. Why?” You tried to sound casual, hiding the flutter in your voice.

“Well, I could hear your—” He cut himself off, a flicker of panic flashing in his eyes. “You just looked lost in thought.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry…” you apologised quickly, frowning at yourself. Why were you even apologising?

He brushed off your awkwardness with a gentle laugh before returning to his work. For the next hour, those restless, lustful thoughts kept sneaking into your mind, while Clark shot you sweet, knowing smirks from time to time, almost like he was aware.

Dinner was good, as always. It felt refreshing to share a meal with others, to sit around a warm family table instead of being alone in your cold Metropolis penthouse. This felt almost too good, and a part of you dreaded the day it would end.

So, when Jonathan suggested a poker night, you said yes without hesitation. Of course you did. You knew moments like this might never come again, and you wanted to savour every second. If that made you selfish, then so be it.

The game stretched well into the early morning before everyone finally agreed it was time to call it a night. Every one looked exhausted, but your mind refused to settle. You’d always considered yourself smart, but watching Clark quietly calculate his moves—counting cards, playing his tricks flawlessly, winning again and again without making a fuss like it was second nature—something stirred inside you.

That feeling spread, crawling from your brain down to somewhere much more intimate, a subtle, tingling heat that had been simmering for the past hour. You tried to focus, to play properly, but you kept losing. And the way his fingers toyed with the coins, the deliberate way he revealed his cards on the table, it was almost unbearable.

Now lying in your bed, your mind refused to quiet. Those thoughts crept in faster than you could push them away, relentless and insistent. You imagined his hands on your skin, his lips tracing yours, his deep voice murmuring close to your ear.

A warmth gathered between your thighs. At first, you tried to ignore it, close your eyes, tell yourself to sleep. But the images persisted, vivid and demanding. You saw him, naked and moving above you, the bed creaking with every thrust, his hand pressed firmly over your mouth to stifle your moans so you wouldn’t wake his parents.

You opened your eyes, breathing quick and shallow. You were burning up, both frustrated and aching.

It had been so long since you’d touched yourself, even longer since you’d shared a bed with someone. Without overthinking it, knowing it might ruin the moment, your hand slid inside your panties. You were drenched, soaked with desire.

Your other hand moved to your breast, first tracing over your shirt, but when that wasn’t enough, you shed it quickly. Pinching and teasing your nipples, your fingers began their slow dance on your clit. Eyes closed again, you imagined those hands, bigger, warmer, gentler, how soft they’d feel, how small you’d seem beneath their touch, as they traced every inch of you.

You let out a shaky breath, your body arching slightly against the bedsheet as your fingers circled over your clit in lazy, experimental strokes. Every movement sent a thrill through you, a contrast to the heavy silence of the house. The distant sound of the wind outside barely registered over the pounding of your own heartbeat.

Your mind refused to stop painting him there, Clark. His mouth against your neck, trailing slowly down your body with a patience that felt unbearable. You imagined him watching you now, those deep, perceptive eyes noticing every twitch, every sigh. Would he kneel beside the bed, take over without a word, his calloused fingers replacing yours, teasing you until you begged?

The need to moan his name burned at the edge of your throat, threatening to slip out with every gasp. But you bit down hard on your lower lip, your teeth sinking into soft flesh until you tasted copper. A sting of pain. A grounding sensation.

He was just across the hall. You glanced at the door when that thought crossed your mind.

That thought alone was enough to make your pulse race harder. One sound, one sigh too loud, and he'd heard you. The farmhouse was old. The wood creaked with the slightest shift. The walls were thin, not made to keep secrets.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, hand still moving against your slick heat, slower now, more purposeful. You imagined how his hand might replace yours, rough from typing all day, sure in its touch. Not teasing. Not hesitant. Like he knew what you needed before you even asked.

The ache grew sharper. Your thighs tightened as your hand moved faster, chasing that release you hadn’t realized you’d needed so badly. Your breath came out in short gasps now, quiet, but desperate. One hand pressed against your mouth out of instinct, muffling a soft moan as pleasure spread out in waves, warm and all-consuming.

When it finally released you, your body softened with a quiver, sweat cooling on your skin. Your thighs twitched. Your lip throbbed where you’d bitten it.

Lying there in the dark, you blinked up at the ceiling, heart still stuttering in your chest. It took some moment for your breathing to go back to normal, but you couldn't help thinking this wasn't enough. It had felt amazing, but your body craved more. Almost like Clark had put you in a trance, with his easy charm and dimpled smile.

Shaking your head, you got up when it all became too much. Slipping your shirt back on in haste, you quietly padded toward the door. Maybe some cold water would cool your flushed skin, maybe those herbal pills you always kept on hand would finally lull your mind to sleep.

Carefully, you cracked the door open, only to freeze when the door across the hall opened at the exact same time. Clark.

He looked, disheveled. Not just sleep-rumpled, but wrecked.

His hair was a wild mess, like he’d run his hands through it over and over. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his cheeks tinged pink, and his glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, as though he’d thrown them on in a hurry. His eyes widened when he saw you, surprised.

Caught. Which was odd. He always seemed to hear you coming.

The hallway was silent, save for the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears and the unmistakable sound of his heavy, uneven breathing. His shirt clung to his chest like he’d just worked up a sweat. Or hadn’t bothered to redress completely. Your gaze dropped for the briefest second, just a flicker, and then back to his face.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, careful not to wake his parents.

Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again, jaw tightening slightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, clearly caught off guard. Not like him at all.“Uh, yeah. Just need to hum… use the bathroom.” His voice was low, almost hoarse.

You nodded, mirroring his awkwardness. The silence stretched a beat too long before your eyes drifted up to meet his, and not before you noticed the quick flick of his gaze. From your face, down to the outline of your breasts under your tank top then back up, almost too fast to catch.

Almost.

“Are you okay?” he asked next, his voice gentler now. Too soft. Too intimate.

“Yeah. Just… thirsty.” You meant water, but the way your eyes lingered on the way his shirt stretched around his arms told a different story. You were definitely thirsty. But for what, exactly, well, that answer was becoming harder to ignore.

“Okay,” he said after a pause, clearing his throat like he was trying to reset the tension.

“Okay,” you echoed, the word falling flat between you.

And then, without another glance, you both turned and hurried in opposite directions, your footsteps echoing in the quiet hall like the aftershock of something neither of you were ready to name.

Hastily making your way back to your room, you caught the soft glow of the bathroom light still spilling into the hallway. The door was closed. Still.

You didn’t linger. You didn’t want to know what he was doing in there.

The conversation, or whatever that awkward exchange had been, was still playing on a loop in your mind, each second replaying with fresh waves of secondhand embarrassment. The silence, the stolen glances, the heat.

You shut your bedroom door behind you with a quiet click, leaning back against it for a second. No way. He couldn't have been doing what you thought he had been doing…

Right?

And yet, the look on his face. His breathing. His flushed cheeks. The way his hand had been gripping the doorframe like he needed it to stay upright.

Fuck. You were getting bothered again.

You huffed out a breath, forcing yourself to focus, to move. Rummaging through your bag, you searched for the herbal pills that usually helped you sleep. Something, anything, to quiet your mind and body.

But instead of the soft bottle, your fingers brushed against something small and metallic. Frowning, you pulled it out. A sharp breath escaped your lips.

An old USB drive. That USB drive.

The one where you had dumped every scrap of evidence you found about Project Superman. All of it. The hidden files, the encrypted memos, the off-the-record lab reports. The pictures. Proof of what your brother had done. What he was doing. You had told yourself it was just leverage. A safety net. Something to keep in your back pocket if Lex ever turned on you.

But you had never planned to use it. Not really. You had been too scared. Too loyal. Too broken. Your fingers curled tight around the metal. It dug into your palm, grounding you in the now.

From beyond your door, you heard his shut, soft and final. Clark.

Superman had told you Clark could help, and you had trusted the metahuman. It had felt scary at that time, diving into the unknown.

But now? Now it was time to stop running. To stop hiding. To stop letting fear write your story.

It was time to trust Clark Kent.

For real.

“Here,” you said, slamming the USB drive onto the dining table, the same table that had become Clark’s makeshift desk over the past few days. “That’s everything you need to take Lex down.”

You didn’t wait for his reaction. Didn’t want to see it. Couldn’t.

Spinning on your heel, you headed for the door, where Jonathan was already waiting outside by the old truck. You were grateful he hadn’t come in to fetch you. Grateful you could escape before the weight of what you’d just done caught up to you.

The storm was coming. Jonathan had said so the night before at dinner, heavy wind, maybe even hail. There was work to do. Crops to secure. Cattle to shelter. It was the kind of hard, honest labor that demanded your full attention. The perfect distraction from the bomb you’d just dropped.

Clark had offered to help, of course, but his father had waved him off with a quiet look and a pat on the shoulder. “We’ve got it,” he’d said. “Besides, I think she wants to help.”

And you had.. Especially now.

Your hands still felt shaky from what you’d done, but the physical work steadied you. You had given Clark everything he needed. If he used it, if it worked, Lex could finally be exposed. Stripped of his power. Stopped.

But if Lex caught wind of it before justice came? If he vanished into the shadows with all his money, influence, and contingency plans? You’d be left to face the consequences alone. There’d be no more running. No more hiding.

Nothing in those documents mentioned your name. You weren’t cited, not even once. And that was good, because with a decent lawyer, you could walk away from this without consequences. It wasn’t the justice system you feared. It was your brother’s power.

And the unknown future.

What would you do, once Lex was behind bars? His downfall meant the end of your job. With a scandal of this scale, no reputable firm would want your name anywhere near their letterhead. That thought had twisted your stomach with dread before you’d handed Clark the USB. But still, you’d done it.

It was the right thing to do. You’d worry about the fallout later. When Lex was finally out of your life.

“Clark told us you was some kinda lawyer.” Jonathan said, getting you out of your mind. His tone easy but with something thoughtful behind it. Like an idea was forming.

You let out a soft snort, raising your eyebrows. “Technically, yeah. Got the diploma to prove it. Just haven’t done a whole lot of actual lawyering.” You tried to joke, but it came out a little too close to the truth. A little too heavy.

“I hate to ask, but…” He trailed off, the pain in his eyes surprising you.

It never failed to catch you off guard, how kind the Kents were. Genuinely human in a way that felt untouched by the kind of darkness you’d grown used to. As if tragedy had knocked but never found a way in.

“You can ask me anything, Mr. Kent. Really,” you said softly, meeting his gaze with something close to gratitude. If it mattered to him, then it mattered to you.

"You see, there’s this young man we hire every spring and summer to help out around the farm," Jonathan began, his eyes drifting toward the horizon instead of meeting yours. "There’s just too much work for the two of us sometimes, you know?"

You nodded gently, letting him continue at his own pace.

"He’s Mexican. Not many folks around here wanna do farm work anymore, not like the old days. But he’s a good kid, real good. Kind with the animals, never complains, not afraid to get his hands dirty. Works hard. Honest."

Jonathan’s voice tightened slightly, the weight of something unsaid hanging between you.

"He’s got a heart of gold, that one. But…" he hesitated again, rubbing a weathered hand across the back of his neck. "His papers aren’t exactly in order. And now, well, someone’s been sniffing around town asking questions."

He finally looked at you, something quietly desperate in his eyes. "I know it’s not your job, and you’ve already got so much on your plate. But I thought… maybe you could help him. Just take a look. Talk to him. Tell us what we should do."

For some reason, the way he spoke, with such genuine care for this young man, and the quiet embarrassment in asking for help, brought tears to your eyes. It hit you then : no one had ever cared for you like this. Not selflessly. Not without expecting something in return. Not the way the Kents cared about people.

"Of course I’ll help," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as a single tear slipped down your cheek.

You hadn’t expected it, but Jonathan gently pulled you into a warm, fatherly hug. It had been so long since someone held you like that, like you were precious, like you mattered. Like someone truly cared.

You’d only known him for about a week, but somehow, he already treated you like family. Like someone worth trusting.

If he had known you before all of this, back when you were still hiding behind sharp suits and sharper lies, you were certain he would’ve seen you as something else entirely. Cold. Ruthless. Maybe even a monster.

But now, melting into his embrace, you let yourself feel. Really feel. A few tears slipped free, but you didn’t hide them. Not this time. Because in that moment, you weren’t being judged. You weren’t being pitied.

You were just appreciated.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of hard but honest work. The cows were restless, as if they could sense the approaching storm. The mothers stuck close to their calves, letting out low, warning moos every time you got too near. Milking them had been a challenge, they weren’t having it, but you weren’t about to leave them full and aching until tomorrow. They didn’t deserve that kind of discomfort.

By the time the sun began to set, dark clouds had already taken over the sky. The wind howled across the fields, fierce and fast. Walking back toward the house felt like trying to walk through a hurricane, it tugged at your clothes, your hair, nearly lifting you off your feet.

You laughed despite yourself, catching sight of Martha running after the last few chickens, ushering them into the coop and locking it up tight for the night.

But the moment you stepped into the house, the laughter drained from your face.

There he was, Clark Kent, zipping up a bag.

He looked up, almost like he’d sensed your presence. His brows furrowed when he caught the look on your face.

“What you gave me…” he began, carefully, as if trying not to startle you. Or say the wrong thing. “I can’t do this alone. It’s too much. We only get one shot at this, and I can’t afford to screw it up. Not if it means you’ll get hurt.”

“You’re leaving?” you asked quietly, eyes flicking from the bag back to his face. He nodded. Your gaze shifted to the storm now raging outside. “But… the storm.”

“It’ll hit in a few hours. I’ll be out of Kansas by then,” he said gently, even though the thunder was already rumbling in the distance. His voice was soft, reassuring, but you could see the tension in his jaw. “Don’t worry about me.”

You could tell he wasn’t lying, but he was definitely hiding something. Biting your lip, you nodded gently, unsure of what to say. The week you’d spent here had been one of the best of your life. And it wasn’t just because of the gentle kindness of his parents, it was because of him.

What you’d once assumed was a cocky reporter, willing to do anything for a front-page story, turned out to be the sweetest, kindest man you’d ever met. He was a bit goofy, hopelessly nerdy about certain topics, but never once did he mock anyone. Never once did he act like he knew better, or like he was above the people around him. He believed, truly believed, that there was still good in the world.

Even in you.

And somehow, through his gentle patience and quiet presence, he made you feel at home. He never pushed. Never demanded answers about your brother, even though you’d told Superman you would share what you knew.

Clark had just waited. With warmth. With humour. With dimpled smiles. With a softness that felt like sunlight after too many years in the cold. He had been patient. Kind. Funny. And so incredibly sweet.

And you were only realising it now, just as it was ending.

Clark leaving Smallville meant your brother was going to be exposed. It meant that soon, you’d either be safe to return to Metropolis and try to start over… or you’d have to disappear forever, vanish before Lex could find you.

Either way, Clark didn’t belong in either version of that future. He wouldn’t be part of your life.

And that broke your heart. This wasn’t just him leaving town. This was goodbye.

A forever kind of goodbye.

The weight of that truth hit you hard, and tears slid silently down your cheeks before you could stop them. It felt unfair, the way you were reacting. Selfish, even.

Because he was doing the right thing. The brave thing. The thing you had once been too afraid to do. And you? You were no one to him. Just a stranger he’d offered a hand to while you were drowning. That’s what you had told yourself, what you had clung to in the quiet moments to keep from hoping too much.

But now you realized, it was more than that. He made you feel warm. He made you feel safe. Like maybe you weren’t broken beyond repair. Like maybe you deserved more than just survival. And now he was walking out the door, carrying all of that with him.

"Hey," Clark said, just above a whisper, stepping toward you with that familiar gentleness that made your chest ache. "When I come back, all of this will be over. We're going to do things right. He won’t get away. I promise."

God. The gentle soul he was.

He thought the tears were from fear, fear of what was coming, fear of retaliation, of the unknown. And sure, part of you was scared. But the real reason your heart was breaking was something else entirely. It made no sense.

You’d truly known him for a week. Seven days.

It was rushed. Unreasonable. Too much, too fast. And yet, in that short time, he had looked at you like you mattered. Like you weren’t just Lex Luthor’s sister or some tainted shadow of a woman walking through her own life. He made you laugh. He made you feel seen.

Not like your parents ever had. Not like Lex ever could. Not even the men you’d let close before, who saw only your face or your name, but never you.

Here, in this small safe heaven, you had been yourself. Your real self.

You had laughed. Joked. Talked until midnight with people who didn’t want anything from you. You had gossiped in the kitchen and helped mend fences. You had been happy. In just a small, fleeting week.

And now he was leaving. And your heart didn’t know how to hold itself together.

Without thinking, you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping around him as best you could, given how much taller he was. His arms instinctively closed around you, strong and warm, pulling you into the safety of his chest.

Behind you, the back door creaked open, followed by a small gasp of surprise, then the quiet click of it shutting again. Silence settled in the room, thick and still. You and Clark stood alone in the living room, though you could feel the eyes watching from outside. His parents. They were giving you this moment.

A soft, genuine smile tugged at your lips. They truly loved their son.

His body felt strangely familiar. Like you’d stood here before, wrapped in this exact embrace. A strange, aching déjà vu pulled at your chest. A memory you couldn't place. A feeling you couldn't explain. As if, somehow, you had been here already.

Breaking the hug, you noticed the rosy tint on his ears, his cheeks flushed to match. You could feel the heat on your own face, knowing you weren’t any better.

“Thank you, Clark,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Truly.”

Then, with the last bit of courage you had left, you rose onto your tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

You owed him more than words could say. And with time, you hoped you’d find a way to give it back, to him, and to his parents.

With Clark gone, the days felt a little grimmer.

You still helped around the farm, but those long afternoons spent quietly sharing space with him were over. You didn’t want to intrude on Martha and Jonathan’s intimate moments either, they’d earned their peace. So, you found yourself alone again. But somehow, it didn’t hurt as much. You were starting to appreciate yourself again and even the silence. The thoughts that once plagued you were mostly quiet now.

It helped that Jonathan brought Luis around not long after Clark left. He hadn’t been lying, Luis was just a kid, and a very sweet one at that. He came with all his paperwork, every document and paychecks he’d received. You went through them all, piece by piece.

Helping him felt good. It felt right. Like this was what you were always meant to do. This was why you went to law school. Not to make the rich richer, but to help people. To do good. To give back.

Word spread quickly that the Kents were housing a lawyer willing to help. Soon, people were showing up daily, asking for guidance, hoping not to lose their homes, or their jobs, or custody of their children. And when Luis returned one day, clutching his official American papers, the news travelled like wildfire.

After that, your days on the farm were done. You no longer had time to milk cows or fix fences. But Jonathan and Martha never said a word. They were just happy you were helping people, like family did.

Whatever slow moments you had, you spent them scrolling the Daily Planet website, waiting. Hoping to see a big article with Clark’s name under it. But it never happened.

Not after a few days.

Not after a week.

Not after a month.

There was so much on that USB key, and you knew it was a one-shot deal, they couldn’t afford to mess this up. Still, you had hoped the fallout would be quick. You loved the farm, but you longed to be back in the city. Now that you understood how powerful you could be when you did your job right, there were so many people in Metropolis you wanted to help.

Clark texted every few days. He told you things were going well, that they were making progress at the Daily Planet. He asked how you were doing, and he said he was proud of what you were accomplishing, his Ma told him all about it. Every little texts of his filled you with warmth.

Sitting down on the couch, you let yourself enjoy a rare moment of peace before your next appointment arrived. Appointment, that word still made you smile. Back at LuthorCorp, you’d never taken appointments. Everything had been done through layers of emails, assistants, and pressure. Nothing like this.

Cradling your tea, you watched the winter sunlight settle across the fields, December leaving its quiet trace on the farm. The wind outside shook the windows lightly, and the kettle still hissed faintly in the kitchen.

You were lost in the calm until Martha’s voice called your name from down the hall. Looking up, you saw her leaning slightly around the doorway, her apron dusted with flour. “Would you mind grabbing Clark’s radio from his room? The one in the kitchen finally gave up.”

“Of course,” you said with a soft smile, rising to your feet.

You had never actually stepped into Clark’s room before. You’d only caught glimpses through a half-open door when he was still home. It felt personal. Like you were trespassing on something private. But you pushed the feeling aside and walked in carefully, quietly.

His room smelled faintly of cedar and something else, something familiar. The walls were lined with old posters, framed articles, photographs of the Kents, and a few hard-earned trophies from another life.

Then you spotted the radio near the window.

Just as you stepped toward it, something red caught your eye, half-hidden behind the bookshelf, draped carelessly like someone had shoved it there in a hurry. You squinted, drawn to it by instinct. Your fingers reached out, brushing over the fabric. It was soft, unnaturally smooth almost and familiar.

You tugged gently, freeing the red cloth from where it had been wedged. And then you saw it, fully.

Superman's cape.

You gasped, a quiet, involuntary sound escaping your lips as your hand tightened around the fabric. Of course. It all made sense now.

Why his body had felt familiar. Why he was never tired, no matter how long the days stretched. Why Superman had said Clark could help. Why Clark looked at you with such real concern, as if he knew your pain firsthand.

Your thoughts spiralled, the weight of the truth crashing down on you like a wave.

Then, another gasp, loud and sharp, cut through your haze. Followed by Martha’s voice, shouting your name.

Heart pounding, you sprinted toward the kitchen, but froze in the living room. The television was on, the screen glowing bright. Martha and Jonathan were standing still, their eyes wide, glistening with tears they hadn’t yet let fall.

Your gaze followed theirs to the screen.

Lex Luthor Arrested After Daily Planet Accuses Him of Human Trafficking and Other Crimes

That was the headline. Everything stopped. They did it.

You were free.

Home. Finally.

It felt strange to be back.

Clark hadn’t been able to return to Kansas, but he had booked you a flight to Metropolis, along with a taxi waiting at the airport. You knew why. It was all over the news. Superman had been needed.

Lex hadn’t gone down quietly. His arrest had made headlines around the world, but it was the footage of Superman, restraining him, shielding civilians from his outbursts, that had dominated every screen. There was no way Clark could just vanish back to the quiet of Smallville right now.

Your penthouse hadn’t changed. It was still cold. Still too quiet. Still not home.

You’d taken a long shower, trying to wash away the dust of the farm, the small guilt of having turned your back on your own blood. Your old phone, finally charged again, buzzed relentlessly with texts, missed calls, emails, hundreds of them. From old colleagues, contacts, reporters. People wanting answers, or wanting to know if you were okay. Or worse, if you were complicit.

You wandered through the apartment slowly, your eyes catching every tiny detail. It had been searched. Meticulously so, almost invisible. But you knew. You felt it. Drawers slightly off, a coat pocket turned the wrong way, your files just a touch out of alignment. Lex must have sent someone after you disappeared.

You were so focused, checking every corner, scanning every surface for hidden mics or cameras, that you didn’t notice the figure landing silently on your balcony.

The metahuman stood there quietly at first, watching you. Admiring you. He felt a pang of guilt. You clearly had no idea he was there yet, no idea he’d come. You were barely dressed, just an oversized shirt draped over your body, brushing the tops of your thighs, leaving your legs bare. It looked like you had been ready to call it a night. He couldn't blame you, it was late, and he had meant to arrive earlier. But the world had other plans, and so had Lex.

Still, there you were, moving with a quiet intensity, checking corners and closets. Clearly worried. Clearly unsettled. You weren’t just back in Metropolis, you were back in enemy territory. You were searching for anything Lex might have left behind.

Understanding immediately, he activated his X-ray vision, scanning the walls, shelves, electronics. Nothing. No bugs, no hidden cameras. You were safe. Satisfied, he let out a soft breath.

You jumped when you heard the knock on the glass door behind you. But the moment your eyes found him, standing tall in the red and blue, your tension melted into a smile.

Superman. Clark.

And now that you knew, they were one and the same, it was impossible not to see it. How had you missed it? The same dark hair, the same kind, thoughtful eyes. The same dimpled smile that made your stomach flutter.

You were sure of only one thing in that moment, you were safe now.

Rushing to the door, you threw it open without hesitation, and then threw yourself into his arms. He caught you instantly, as if it was second nature. As if he had been waiting for that exact moment, arms open just for you.

It felt strange to feel this way again, relieved, happy, safe. Relaxed.

You had almost forgotten what that felt like. Your days had long been filled with fatigue, stress, and a dull kind of numbness that clung to your skin like a second layer. Even back in Smallville, where the quiet and the kindness had started to peel it away, it had still lingered, dormant, but ever-present.

But right now, here in Superman’s arms? It was gone. There was only warmth. Strength. And the overwhelming calm that came from knowing, finally, that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.

“You did it,” you whispered, your cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Strong. Constant. Comforting.

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied softly, humble as ever. “It was all you… and Clark.”

That made you laugh, a soft, breathy sound muffled against him. Looking up, you tilted your head back, stretching to meet his gaze as he leaned down slightly.

His eyes.

God, those eyes.

An endless ocean of blue, warm, gentle, filled with hope and that quiet, unwavering kindness. The same eyes you’d seen every day in Smallville. The same eyes that watched you over a cup of coffee. That had crinkled with laughter when you made some dumb joke.

You could see it so clearly now.

Deciding to play along with his little charade, you smiled, something soft and knowing curling at the corners of your lips.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen Clark yet,” you said sweetly, feigning innocence as your gaze stayed locked with his. “You think he’ll be around soon?”

“He might be busy dealing with the fallout from the article,” Superman said, his voice steady but his posture shifting ever so slightly, like he was trying to find an exit that didn’t exist. “But I’m sure he’ll text you soon.”

“Hmm, yeah,” you murmured, finally stepping out of the embrace, letting your hands slide slowly away from him. The warmth lingered, but your tone had taken a teasing edge. “You two seem real close, aye?”

His eyes flicked to yours, briefly amused, mostly flustered.

You folded your arms across your chest, tilting your head with one brow arched. “I mean, the way you talk about him… how you said he could help me, that he could be trusted. It’s almost like you’re two sides of the same coin.”

He let out a breath of a laugh, nervous, uncertain. “We get along well.”

You hummed at his answer, the corner of your mouth curving into a teasing smirk. “And physically, you’re very similar,” you added, your tone playfully innocent. “Same height, same build, same hair, same eyes… same cute, dimpled smile. Someone might even say you’re the same person.”

Superman opened his mouth, but no words came out. You caught the flicker of panic in his eyes, quickly replaced by something that looked an awful lot like resignation.

“And it’s strange,” you went on, stepping forward just slightly, “that Clark Kent is the only reporter who’s ever interviewed you. Yet… there are no pictures of the two of you together? It’s almost like no one’s ever seen you in the same place at the same time.”

His jaw twitched, barely. But you caught it.

A beat passed, tense, heavy with unspoken truths. His cape fluttered gently in the breeze drifting in from the balcony, but he didn’t move. He just watched you with those painfully familiar eyes.

“Coincidence,” he said finally, though not even he sounded convinced.

“Mmhmm.” You arched your eyebrow higher, letting the silence speak louder than your words. He shifted, just slightly, and ran a hand behind his neck, Clark’s tell. The exact nervous habit you’d seen a couple of times before.

“Yeah, must be,” you added, nonchalant, turning back toward the open window.

Behind you, you heard a soft sigh, the kind that sounded suspiciously like relief. It brought a slow, wicked smile to your lips. He didn't think you were that clueless, did he?

“Oh, and it’s also just a coincidence that Clark Kent happened to have Superman’s cape tucked away in his old bedroom?” you said over your shoulder, turning around just in time to catch the relief drain from his face.

He closed his eyes, the smallest groan escaping him, then shook his head with a tight, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He opened his eyes again, no glasses now, no disguise, and for the first time, he let you really see him. Not as Superman. Not as Clark Kent. Just him.

“You weren’t supposed to find that,” he said softly, almost embarrassed.

You shrugged, your smile still lingering. “You left it in plain sight.”

“It was behind a bookshelf.” He deadpanned.

"Blame your mom," you replied quickly, raising your hand in defence. "She's the one that send me in your room."

That earned a quiet laugh from him, but there was a nervous energy underneath it. You could see the vulnerability now, the way he stood slightly straighter, like bracing for impact.

“I just knew there was something so familiar about the two of you,” you said, eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to fish for more answers. “I just couldn’t figure out what.”

“It’s the glasses,” he admitted with a sigh. “They’re designed to distort facial recognition, subtle enough to confuse the brain, make it hard to fully picture my face. Courtesy of Mr. Terrific.”

“They look cute,” you admitted with a teasing smile. “Almost as cute as the guy wearing them.”

You were shooting your shot. If not now, then when? Your heart thundered in your chest, terrified he might just turn and leaven, vanish off your balcony and out of your life.

His eyes snapped to yours, darker now, swimming with an emotion you didn’t dare name. “Your heart…” he whispered, taking in a deep breath like he was trying to calm his own.

Dread crashed over you. He could hear it. He could hear your heart. He had heard you. Oh no.

Oh fuck.

You gasped, slapping a hand over your mouth as your eyes went wide with embarrassment. The realisation dawned on his face, and with it, a slow, smug grin that turned him from sweet and sincere to infuriating.

“Oh yeah,” he said, sniffing lightly, voice dropping into something teasing and low. “I heard that, too.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks and down your neck. You opened your mouth, trying to come up with an explanation, but nothing came. What could you say? That his intelligence had turned you on so badly you ended up touching yourself? Yeah, no. That definitely wouldn’t do.

Trying to save face, and maybe flip the power dynamic, you raised your chin and replied, voice just as smug, “Well, I seem to remember you looked pretty bothered yourself.”

That shut him up.

The grin faded, laughter dying in his throat. His eyes locked on yours, a different kind of tension suddenly filling the space between you. The playful air cracked into something heavier, charged, as if the truth had landed and neither of you knew what to do with it.

The atmosphere shifted instantly, thickening with unspoken desire.

“It was hard not to be when you sounded so sweet,” he murmured, voice dropping even deeper, his dark eyes locked on yours. You caught the quick gulp, the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, threatening to burst.

He must have heard it too.

Moving closer with careful intention, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted, his soft hands cupped your cheek. Then, without warning, his lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding.

The sudden contrast of emotions hit you like a whip.

Your breath hitched as his lips pressed firmly against yours, the heat of the kiss melting away all your worries, that had clung to you for so long. His hand moved gently from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if you belonged there, like this was where you were meant to be.

For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you, his warmth, his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, the taste of him lingering on your lips. You felt the tension in your body unravel, replaced by a fierce, aching need.

Taking hold of his suit, you gently tugged him toward the inside of your flat, walking backward without breaking the kiss. You could only hope nothing got knocked over, though honestly, you wouldn't have cared. You’d burn the whole damn place down if it meant keeping his lips on yours for even a moment longer.

Once inside, the warmth of his body, combined with the cozy heat of the apartment, sent shivers cascading down your spine. You melted deeper into him, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his suit. His lips were everything you had imagined, soft, warm, deliberate. Not rushed or demanding, just present. As if he had all the time in the world for you.

A quiet moan slipped past your lips at the realization, and he took that as his invitation. His tongue brushed gently against yours, slow and exploratory, dancing in a rhythm that left your knees weak.

Without breaking the kiss, he slid his arms beneath your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing. You let out a soft gasp into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively, your hands finding their way into his hair.

Of course, you were just about to make some self-deprecating comment about your weight, some old habit, a leftover from past lovers who made you feel too much. And then you remembered who he was.

This wasn’t like before. He wasn’t like them.

This was Superman, a man who could lift buildings, outrun sound, and fly through storms. Your soft stomach, your thick thighs, your so-called imperfections, none of it could possibly scare him.

The thought hit you all at once, and something in you gave in.

You deepened the kiss with renewed intensity, your fingers threading deeper into his hair. Your thighs instinctively tried to clench for some friction, to ease the growing ache between your legs, but you were only met with the hard wall of his body. Solid. Unyielding.

You whimpered softly in frustration, which only made him smile against your lips. That damn dimple again. One of his hands slid up your spine, the other under your thigh, holding you so effortlessly close it made your heart stutter.

Looking up quickly, he returned his gaze to you, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. Before you could ask anything, or make some kind of comment, you felt your stomach drop softly. The floor was no longer under your feet. You were floating. Held securely in his arms, Clark flew the both of you gently upstairs, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Easier than taking the stairs, apparently.

Looking down, you felt the same flutter of excitement you’d had the first time you fell off the roof, minus the adrenaline spike. Flying felt like freedom. Like being weightless, untouchable. If you were him, you’d never stop. You’d stay up there forever.

He landed gently just in front of your bedroom door. You expected him to set you down, maybe let you walk in on your own, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes glazed over for a second, scanning the room with silent intensity. You realized he was checking everything.

When his gaze finally settled back on yours, it had softened again. “No cameras. No bugs. Nothing,” he said, his voice low, reassuring.

Then his lips were back on yours, and he pushed the door open with his foot like he belonged there, like this was already his home, too.

The door clicked shut behind you, but you barely heard it. All you could focus on was the way his hands gripped you, firm, but gentle. Like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he was still holding back.

You didn’t want him to.

Still holding you in his arms, he leaned down, your back finding the soft comfort of your mattress as he settled above you. His weight didn’t crush, it grounded. A reminder that this wasn’t a dream. That he was here. With you. Wanting you.

His lips found your neck, slow, deliberate, teasing, sending warm shivers down your spine. You gasped, fingers threading through his hair, urging him closer. His breath caught at the contact, lips trailing lower, skimming across your collarbone with featherlight grace.

His hands, warm and sure, slipped beneath your shirt. They explored the curve of your thighs, his touch loving and careful, before gliding higher. He bypassed the most sensitive place between your legs with a restraint that made your breath hitch, instead resting his palms on your stomach. He kneaded the soft flesh there gently, almost like a cat finding comfort, as if he wanted to memorise every inch of you.

All the while, his lips stayed at your throat, moving down, then returning to the beat of your pulse like it was calling to him. Drawn to it. To you.

Craving more, you shifted your weight and flipped the two of you over. You knew he let you. With his strength, he could’ve taken control in an instant, pinned you down with barely a thought, but he didn’t. He let you lead, and the heat that flooded your core at that realization was overwhelming. You were already soaked, and he’d barely touched you.

You leaned down to kiss his neck, what little you could reach, your lips grazing over warm skin and the edge of his jaw. His breath caught, just slightly, and you grinned against him. Fingers fumbling, you tugged at the edge of his suit, trying to find a seam, a signal that it could come off. Was he even wearing anything underneath? The material felt barely there, sleek, smooth, almost too easy to remove.

Before your mind could spiral any further, his soft chuckle pulled you back. With a gentle but firm push, he shifted you off him and stood. Your breath hitched as he made quick work of the suit, fluid, practiced movements, and you couldn’t look away.

You clenched your thighs instinctively, trying to ease the pulsing need between your legs, but it only made the ache worse. Watching him undress, knowing what was coming, had your entire body lit up with anticipation.

He was, indeed, completely naked beneath the suit. His cock stood fully hard, pressed against the firm plane of his stomach, practically begging for attention. You licked your lips, unable to tear your gaze away. It was beautiful, clearly above average in size, with thick veins tracing along its shaft. A bead of precum had already gathered at the flushed, angry-red tip, taunting you. Carefully trimmed hair sat nicely on top on it all.

Clark noticed the look in your eyes, but he didn’t take it for granted. As he stepped toward the bed, clearly intending to sit down beside you, your hands on his hips stopped him. You lowered yourself onto your haunches, settling near the edge of the bed.

Your breathing had already quickened, your heart pounding unnaturally fast. Still, your eyes remained fixed on his arousal, mesmerised. Then soft fingers tipped your chin upward, gently guiding your gaze to meet his.

Kind blue eyes stared back into yours.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine care. He wanted you to know this wasn’t expected, he wouldn’t cross any lines.

“I want to…” you whispered, leaning closer. You pressed a soft kiss to his tip. “You’ve been so good to me.” Another kiss. “So patient… so helpful.” A gentle lick followed. “I just want to say thank you.” Another slow, deliberate lick.

The sound he let out in response might have been the most perfect thing you'd ever heard.

His breath hitched, chest rising sharply as your tongue teased him again, a little more boldly this time. The tension in his thighs was unmistakable, muscles flexing under your hands where they still rested on his hips. Yet he didn’t move. He didn’t rush you. He let you set the pace, just like he had before.

Your lips wrapped gently around the head, tasting the salt of his arousal. A soft hum escaped your throat at the heat and weight of him. He groaned, low, rough, and utterly unguarded, and your whole body reacted to the sound, warmth pooling deep in your core.

You answered him by taking him deeper, slowly, savouring every inch as your mouth stretched to accommodate him. He was thick, and the way he filled you was dizzying. You used your hands to steady yourself, one gripping his thigh, the other gently stroking what you couldn’t take yet.

Clark’s hand remained at the back of your head, not guiding, not insisting, just there, his fingers threading tenderly through your hair. It wasn’t just a touch, it was a silent kind of worship. His palm was warm, soft as it caressed your scalp, and the sensation sent a fresh rush of heat surging through you. You could feel it, wetness gathering again in your panties, your body aching with want.

You found a steady rhythm, working him with your mouth and hand in perfect coordination, slow, deliberate, controlled. Your tongue swirled around the head each time you rose up, then slid back down with delicious pressure, your hand stroking what your lips couldn’t reach. His hips twitched slightly, and you could feel the restraint in him, the way he was holding himself back.

As your confidence grew, so did your need. The hand that had rested against his hip slid downward, past your stomach, over your waistband, slipping beneath the hem of your panties. The moment your fingers brushed your clit, a quiet moan vibrated from your throat and against him, making his body shudder in response.

You were soaked. Every nerve ending felt electrified, your clit pulsing and swollen with need. You circled it gently, teasing yourself as you sucked him a little deeper. The contrast, his weight in your mouth, your fingers pressing into your own heat, felt like heaven. Your thighs clenched instinctively, chasing the pleasure building inside you.

Clark groaned above you, his voice hoarse, laced with disbelief and pleasure. His moans and grunts grew louder, more desperate, as you gradually took him deeper, your throat adjusting to him with every pass. Looking up at him through tear-filled lashes, you caught the moment his gaze dropped to yours. His cock twitched violently in your mouth, and his head flew back with a broken, helpless whine.

The sound made you moan around him, low and needy, sending another ripple of sensation through his body. He had to love the sight. And honestly, so did you.

He was a mess. Sweat clung to his chest, dampening the dark hair there, his neck flushed, cheeks glowing, ears pink with heat. He looked utterly wrecked, just like he had that night at the farm.

The memory made your thighs clench, need spiraling higher. The wetness between your fingers had grown slicker, hotter. You couldn’t stop now, not with the way your body was pulsing for release.

You rubbed faster, chasing it, matching the rhythm of your mouth around him, both of you slipping closer and closer to the edge. His hands gripped your shoulders suddenly, stopping your movement.

“You’re gonna make me—” But the rest of the words were swallowed by a guttural moan as his hips involuntarily bucked forward. His control was fracturing, and you loved it.

“Come here,” he groaned as he pulled his cock from your mouth. The sudden absence made you whimper, but the sound was quickly silenced by his lips crashing onto yours.

You instinctively tried to turn away, after all, you’d just had him in your mouth, but he didn’t seem to care. His kiss was fierce, messy, his tongue forcing its way between your lips like he needed to taste himself on you.

Pushing you back onto the bed, he climbed over you, his body radiating heat. Without hesitation, with a sharp tug, your shirt was torn apart, ripped down the middle like it was nothing. Your panties followed, shredded in his hands, leaving you gasping beneath him.

You gasped, staring down at the wreckage of your clothes, your chest heaving, before his mouth found your skin again. Hot and wet, his lips closed around one nipple while his hand claimed the other, squeezing and teasing in perfect rhythm.

A moan escaped you, hips grinding up instinctively, desperate for friction. Sensing your need, Clark shifted and pressed one of his thick thighs between your legs. The pressure was immediate and perfect. You cried out, rubbing yourself against the strong muscle, your slickness already coating his skin. He groaned against your chest, the sound sending shivers through you.

Clark groaned into your chest, the sound vibrating through you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice dark and raw. "Doing so good."

Then he was back on your lips, kissing you fiercely. The kiss was messy, teeth occasionally knocking together, but it felt like the most electric moment you’d ever lived. His warmth pressed against you, solid and unyielding, as he shifted some of his weight onto you, pinning you gently but firmly against the mattress. Locked against him, breath mingling, your bodies pressed tight in an intoxicating, perfect embrace.

With a particularly hard thrust of your hips against his, you begged, “Please, Clark.”

His mouth brushed against yours as he laughed softly, a light, breathy sound that cut off the moment your warm hand closed around his cock. You tried to guide him toward your entrance, but your movements were rushed and a bit awkward, causing him to press against your sensitive clit. The sharp sensation made you bite down hard on Clark’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay…” he said calmly, as if your teeth sinking into his skin barely registered. Gently shooing your hand away, he replaced it with his own larger one.

His fingers nudged at your entrance with care, waiting patiently. Waiting for you to look up, to meet his gaze, to show him you truly wanted this, wanted him.

Your eyes met his, wide and shining with need. The vulnerability there made his gaze soften even more, filled with a mixture of tenderness and desire that made your heart skip.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice low and gentle, as if asking permission without pressure. This filled you with warmth.

You nodded, breath catching in your throat. “Yes. I want this. I want you.”

With that, he pushed forward slowly, inch by inch, allowing your body to adjust to every new sensation. You gasped softly, fingers clutching at the sheets as the fullness spread inside you, warm and deep.

When he was fully inside, he paused, resting his forehead against yours again. “You feel—,” he whined, his voice thick with emotion, out of breath. "Perfect. So warm."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Please move.” You moaned in his ears.

He began to move, slow, steady, a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. Each thrust was deliberate, filled with both passion and care. Your bodies moved together as if they were made for this moment, for each other.

His movements grew more confident, a little rougher but still measured, as if he was memorising every reaction, every shiver that ran through your body. You clung to him, nails digging lightly into his back, needing to anchor yourself as waves of pleasure built inside you. He never stopped kissing you, in between moans and grunts.

Clark’s breath was ragged now, lips brushing the curve of your jaw with every thrust. “You feel so good,” he groaned, voice thick with need.

You pressed your forehead against his, your voice barely a whisper. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He responded by picking up the pace, hips rolling with a deeper, more urgent rhythm. Your body answered instantly, every nerve ending on fire, every touch setting off sparks. The heat between you built rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter until your breath hitched and your chest trembled. Clark’s hand slid down your side, slipping between you to find your clit, circling it with gentle, insistent pressure.

The combination, his body moving inside you, his fingers teasing you, was almost unbearable. You cried out, clutching him tighter, your body arching up to meet his.

“Clark…” you gasped, voice thick with need.

You could feel his cock twitching inside you with every clench of your cunt. You were both so close to the edge, the sensation overwhelming. You could count on one hand the number of times a guy had made you come through penetration alone, and Clark was dangerously close to that milestone. And this was the first time he was fucking you.

His fingers never stopped moving on your clit, perfectly synchronised with his heavy thrusts. What finally pushed you over the edge was the sound of his deep voice grunting in your ear as his forehead pressed against your shoulder. He was whispering your name, telling you how good you felt, how warm you were, how perfect.

Then he said something that was almost too much to bear.

“I’ve been wanting you since I saw you, so pretty, at the farm,” he whined, struggling to hold back his release. “A soft city girl like you, all pretty on my family’s farm… I couldn’t help thinking this was the—” He stopped himself with a filthy moan. “The prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.”

That broke something inside you. Knowing he had been dreaming about you just as much as you had about him made everything shatter. Scratching down his back, your own body arching, you let it all go.

Your body trembled as the waves of release crashed over you, every nerve ending alight with fire. Clark didn’t pull away; instead, he held you tighter, his own breath hitching as he followed you over the edge.

A desperate moan left Clark's lips. His hips stuttered, movements faltering as he tensed inside you, the warmth of his release flooding deep. You felt the mix of him and yourself, a messy, intimate testament to the moment you’d just shared.

Before he could crush you beneath his weight, he quickly rolled onto his back, pulling you flush against him. Your body pressed warmly against his, his softening length still nestled inside you. The shift made you instinctively clench around him, and he responded with a low, warning groan.

“Sorry…” you murmured, laughing softly.

Looking up, you smiled gently, and he was already watching you.

It felt strange.

Just a few months ago, you’d hated this man. Not really him, but everything he stood for. The Daily Planet. The goodness. The righteousness. The morality.

He had barged into your life, unwanted and uninvited, turning everything upside down. But he hadn’t left. He stayed. Helped when everyone else had walked away the moment they got what they wanted. Not him.

Now, as you laid your head back against his chest, you didn’t know where any of this was headed. But for once, you were ready to take a leap of faith into the unknown.

As long as he was with you.

©sillyswriting 2025

this took all my energy for days, but i think it was worth it !

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egophiliac · 20 hours ago

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I.CANT.WAIT.FOR.THE.TWISTED.WONDERLAND.STORY.UPDATE.ANY.LONGER! LIKE.ONE.WEEK.IS.STILL.FAR.😭

THE END IS IN SIGHT, YOU CAN DO IIIIIIIIIIIT

(...meanwhile my big fear right now is that if we don't get 7.5 next month, then we aren't gonna get it until at least November due to the traditional big Halloween block. 😭 Twst PLEASE I can't wait that long --)

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #maybe sort of not really???????#eh let's be safe anyway #eng has anniversary in september right?#so i wonder if they're aiming to do an anniversary timing thing there also 👀#crucially i do not pay attention though so ignore everything i say about schedules #now hold on as i talk about schedules for a while #(marking this as yet another post that is NOT going to age well but look. i'm venting.)#because august is a complete mystery right now (birthdays aside) and it is eating my WHOLE brain #like. i feel like it makes sense for 7.5 to be the big thing for august?#aside from the blazing jewel live ofc but that's in like two weeks so they have the rest of the month there #and that way they can leave us on a terrible cliffhanger and have that halloween block + end of year time to prep for 8 #no LISTEN they LOVE pulling shit like this. 7.5 is going to end with malleus tripping over his stupid blot stone and exploding or whatever #and then we gotta pretend everything's totally fine as we go visit halloweentown with him again :)#AND ALSO they wouldn't have teased it on the stream if they were just going to make us wait 5+ months for it? right?#r-right?!#i'm grasping at straws and coming up with nothing #god i hope they aren't going to make us wait until they've done full pickups for all of the ob boys. i might actually implode.#...WAIT is THIS going to be where we finally get those diadorm reruns #i was obsessed with those as the sign that 7 would finally be ending and then they just kind of never happened #tell me you didn't just forget about them twst #TELL ME YOU DIDN'T JUST FORGET ABOUT THEM

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sweetonsin · 2 days ago

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hi i saw requests were open…im in college and id love a story about how sarah is your room mate and youre out for the summer break and you realize you packed some of her things up and find an address and go to drop it off just to find out shes on a trip cross country.. bonus if joel is in the yard working on a car and asks about the college boys before splitting you in half on his cock :’) maybe joel has grease on him and sweaty with no shirt and reader is in either a 2 piece sports set or a short dress with lace and is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long while xx

SWEAT AND SPIT

pairing: roommates dad! Joel Miller x reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, piv unprotected, oral (f recieving), joel's hunnnggg, kitchen table hehe, shameful sex, large age gap (20s and 50s?), orgasm, creampies, pervyish! Joel, no outbreak au, sarah is still alive and well:)

wc: 3k

The sun’s brutal. Your thighs stick to the seat the whole drive.

The little box on your passenger seat sat halfway taped up. Sarah had left it in your dorm room — just a few things she’d forgotten to pack before summer break. You meant to drop it at her house on your way out of town, and now here you are, sweating through your dress and wishing you’d worn something that didn’t cling.

You pull up to the curb, killing the engine. Her driveway’s half-shadowed by a low carport. One truck. An old, dusty Chevy in the drive. The garage door is cracked open, the sound of a radio drifting through the heat.

You ring the doorbell. Wait.

No answer.

You knock again. Still nothing. You're hoping Sarah answers before you start sweating again.

Your hand’s on the knob when you hear it — a deep grunt, the clink of metal. Then—

“’in the garage!”

You follow the sound of his voice, careful not to let your sandals slip on the hot concrete. The sun’s behind the house now, casting long, soft shadows across the garage where he’s half-buried under the hood of a car.

Joel.

Sweaty, shirtless, and entirely unprepared for the way your stomach twists at the sight of him.

He wipes his hand on a rag as he straightens up, squinting at you in the golden light.

You can’t remember the last time you saw him up close. Maybe last fall when he helped Sarah move her mini-fridge up the dorm stairs. You remember thinking he looked too young to be her dad — all rough edges and callused hands, the kind of man who fixed things with his bare fingers and never once looked rushed doing it.

Now, he’s sun-baked and grease-slicked, sweat rolling down the curve of his throat. His jeans are riding low on his hips, clinging to his thick thighs, and his hands look even bigger than you remembered.

He eyes you slowly. Then—

“Well hey there, darlin’.”

You swallow. “Hi, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes drag down the length of you — slow and sharp. Your dress feels shorter under the weight of that stare. The cotton’s sticking to your back. You shift, subtly tugging the hem down.

He nods toward the box in your hands. “That for Sarah?”

“Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “She left it in our room by accident. Figured I’d bring it by since I was passing through.”

He scratches his beard, frowning.

“Girl didn’t tell you she left already?”

Your head tips. “Left?”

“Road trip. Left this morning.” His lips curl.

“Oh.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “You look surprised.”

“I just— thought she’d be here. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You ain’t intrudin’.”

He steps back, waves you toward the house.

“C’mon,” he says. “You can leave that in her room if you want. ‘Less you’re in a rush.”

You’re not. Not now.

You follow him inside.

The house is cool, a quiet contrast to the heat baking off the driveway. The scent of sawdust and something citrusy lingers in the air, mixed with whatever mechanic grease still clings to Joel’s skin.

You set the box down on the kitchen table, eyes adjusting to the dimmer light inside.

Joel nods toward the fridge. “You want something to drink? I’ve got water. Sweet tea. Maybe a soda if Sarah didn’t clear ‘em out.”

“Water’s fine,” you say.

He grabs one and slides it across the counter to you. You unscrew the cap and take a sip, grateful for the distraction. You can feel the sweat drying on the back of your neck. The heat clings to you even here, in the quiet hum of the kitchen.

He cracks open a beer for himself, leaning against the counter across from you. The way his arms fold over his chest makes every muscle in them flex, slow and casual.

“So,” he says, voice rough like gravel, “you just finished up the semester?”

You nod. “Yesterday, actually.”

He gives a soft whistle. “Bet you’re glad to be done.”

“I am. It was a long one.”

Joel takes a sip, eyes not leaving yours.

“What’re you studying again?”

“Medicine. I think.”

He smirks. “You think?”

“I keep changing my mind.”

“You got time to figure it out.”

He pauses. Tilts his head a bit.

“Sarah says you’re one of the smart ones.”

You raise an eyebrow. “She say that before or after she scored higher than me?”

Joel chuckles, the sound low and real. It makes your skin prickle.

His eyes fall to your collarbone when you laugh — just briefly. But enough that you notice. Then they flick back up to your face, unreadable.

“How’s college life treatin’ you otherwise?” he asks, tone deceptively casual. “All them parties and boys and whatnot?”

You shrug, fiddling with the plastic bottle cap.

“It’s...fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Most of the guys there are…” You pause. “Boring. Or high. Or still think calling me baby girl in a text is enough effort.”

He huffs, clearly unimpressed. “Sounds about right.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I ain’t surprised,” he says. “Just disappointed.”

He takes another long pull of his beer.

You glance up at him through your lashes. “Disappointed in me?”

Joel smirks. “Nah. Just them.”

You shift your weight. The room feels warmer now, or maybe it’s just him — the way he’s watching you, like he’s not sure if he should or not. Like he’s trying to decide if it’s okay to want the things he’s already thinking.

Your eyes fall to his chest — the sweat still clinging to the curve of his throat, the fading tan lines, the patch of hair low on his stomach disappearing into his jeans. You bite your lip.

Joel notices. You can tell from the flicker in his eyes.

There’s a long pause. Neither of you speak.

Then he pushes off the counter and nods down the hallway.

“Sarah’s room’s the second on the left,” he says, voice quieter now. “You can leave that box there.”

You nod, turning to go. But you feel his gaze follow you — heavy on your hips, your bare shoulders, the back of your legs.

You’re almost sure you imagined it.

Almost.

You walk down the hallway slowly, aware of how silent the house is.

Sarah’s room is where you remember it, door cracked slightly open. The bed’s made, surprisingly neat for someone who usually has shoes on the floor and gum wrappers under her pillow. You place the box on her desk, careful not to knock over a cup of pens.

You glance around, hands fidgeting at your sides.

She’s got a few photos up — old Polaroids, clipped to a string of fairy lights. Her, some friends, a couple of blurry ones that look like concerts. One of her and Joel, too. It’s older — he’s got fewer lines in his face, less gray in his beard. His arm’s wrapped around her shoulders. He’s smiling.

You stare at it for a second too long, then look away.

Behind you, the wooden floor creaks.

You turn — and Joel’s leaning in the doorway.

“Everything alright?”

You nod. “Yeah, just…uh— looking. Sorry–..”

He gives a short, almost sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to hover. Just figured I’d see if you found the place alright.”

You nod again. He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

Your eyes flicker — a mistake. Arms crossed over his chest, beer bottle dangling from one hand. There’s a smudge of grease near his ribcage, and another on the inside of his wrist. His hair’s pushed back with sweat, a little curl behind his ear.

You don’t remember Sarah’s dad being this hot.

Like, at all.

But then again, you’ve never really looked. You’ve never stood in his daughter’s bedroom in a short summer dress, watching sweat roll down his neck while he leans in a doorway like he’s waiting for you to say something. Do something.

“I forgot how hot it gets here,” you mumble, more to yourself than anything.

His brow lifts just slightly. “Yeah. That heat’ll knock the wind outta you if you’re not used to it.”

He takes another sip of beer, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Your eyes follow the movement. His forearm flexes, veined and dirty, and it doesn’t help that your dress is clinging to the sweat on the back of your thighs and every breath feels like it’s sticking to your skin.

Joel shifts, slowly dragging his gaze over the room — not lingering, but looking. And then, for a beat too long, he looks at you.

You catch it this time. The flicker of his eyes to your chest, where your dress dips just slightly too low. Your skin prickles.

Your arms instinctively cross, but you hesitate halfway through the motion. Because what if that was just…you being weird?

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to stare.”

Your cheeks heat. “It’s okay.”

He clears his throat. The silence stretches again, thick and warm.

“I should probably let you get goin’,” he says finally. But he doesn’t move.

You step past him into the hallway, and he shifts just slightly to let you through — not quite touching you, but close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body. That scent again — oil, sweat, beer, and something woodsy underneath.

You nearly stumble. It’s not even noon and you feel drunk on him.

He follows you back to the kitchen, slower this time. You feel his eyes on your back.

You turn around when you reach the table, grabbing your bag and water bottle. Joel leans against the fridge now, arms braced behind him. His abs flex as he shifts.

You glance at the doorway. Then back at him.

“So… I guess I’ll let you get back to the car.”

Joel lifts the bottle in a slow shrug. “She’s not goin’ anywhere.”

A pause. He scratches his beard, eyes dragging over your dress again — slower this time, less shy.

“You, uh...you got a guy waitin’ on you?” he asks, like he’s trying to sound casual and failing a little.

You blink. “Back home?”

“Anywhere.”

You snort. “No.”

He hums, something unreadable in his expression.

“Boys these days don’t know what to do with a girl like you, huh?”

Your stomach flips.

You swallow.

“Meaning?”

Joel shrugs. Still looking. Still slow. “Meanin’, you show up at my door, wearin’ that pretty little thing, bein’ sweet as ever… I doubt half those kids you go to school with know what they’re missin’.”

The heat surges between you. It’s heavy. Slow. You’re stuck somewhere between flustered and dizzy.

You grip the edge of the table behind you, unsure what to say.

Joel doesn’t move. Just watches you — eyes dragging from your lips, to your throat, to the hem of your dress, which is maybe a little shorter now that it’s ridden up your thighs from sitting, from walking, from this heavy tension he’s not helping defuse.

Joel shifts first. Just a step forward.

You hold your breath.

Another.

He’s close enough now that you have to look up to meet his eyes. They’re darker than before. Tired, maybe, but sharp. Focused.

“You sure there’s no one?” he asks again, voice barely above a whisper. “No one who’d mind me standin’ this close?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

He exhales through his nose, jaw ticking.

“Didn’t think so,” he mutters.

He takes one more step and reaches past you — slow, deliberate — to set his empty beer bottle on the table beside your hand.

And as he pulls back, his fingers graze your waist. Light. Just barely there. But enough.

You shift, breath catching.

Joel doesn’t pull away this time.

His fingers slide over the curve of your hip, slow and reverent, then up your side until his thumb brushes the edge of your ribs.

His other hand lifts, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek. Your breath hitches.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You whisper his name — a question, or maybe a warning.

“I shouldn’t,” he says. But he doesn’t let go.

You tilt your face up slightly. His thumb strokes just beneath your jaw.

“Why not?,” you whisper.

That’s it.

Joel kisses you like he’s starved for it.

There’s nothing hesitant anymore — just heat and hands and the groan he lets out when your mouth parts for him, soft and sweet. His tongue slides against yours, slow and messy, and you whimper when his hand grips the back of your neck.

You’re pressed between him and the table now, his hand sliding down to grip the back of your thigh. You’re pulled flush against him, your dress riding high up your hips.

He breaks the kiss with a breathless growl. His forehead rests against yours.

“You have no fuckin’ idea,” he rasps, “what you’re doin’.”

Your hand finds his chest — sweat-slick, warm, solid muscle under your fingers. You trail down, across his stomach, to where his jeans are already tented with how hard he is.

Joel grits his teeth.

“Christ,” he mutters. “You want this?”

You nod, eyes wide.

“Need to hear you say it.”

“I want you, Joel,” you whisper. “Please.”

He crashes into you again — kissing you harder this time. His hands grab under your thighs and lift you easily onto the table, shoving everything else aside. You gasp when your back hits the cool wood, legs spread and dress bunched up around your waist.

He groans at the sight of you.

“You wear this little thing just to drive me outta my mind?” he mutters, sliding your panties down and off your ankles. “Or do you always wear lace for no damn reason?”

You try to answer, but he’s already dipping down, kneeling between your legs like a man with nothing to lose.

This is so fucked.

You’re fucking your roommate’s dad.

On her kitchen table.

His tongue is hot, firm, devastating. He licks a slow stripe up your slit, groaning at the taste, then closes his mouth over your clit and sucks.

Your back arches. Your hands scramble against the table.

This is wrong. This is so, so wrong.

You’re moaning for him. Legs shaking. His beard scraping your thighs and his fingers curling inside you like he already knows what makes you fall apart.

You’re fucking your friend’s dad.

Her hot dad. Greasy and shirtless and built like sin.

And God, the way he eats. You try to quiet yourself, to hold it in, but he flattens his tongue against your clit and sucks, and your moan breaks from your chest before you can stop it.

Your spine arches. Your fingers grip his hair.

He groans again when you tug.

“Fuck—sweetest thing I ever tasted.”

You don’t last long. Not with his fingers pumping into you, his tongue working perfect little circles until your thighs are shaking and your moans are echoing off the walls.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing,” he groans. “Gonna make you come on my tongue before I even fuck you.”

You want to say no. That he shouldn’t.

But your body doesn’t care.

Your body wants all of it.

The shame, the heat, the wrongness.

And when he pulls back and looks at you — mouth wet, eyes dark with something dangerous — you think:

This is horrible.

But you’ve never wanted anything more.

You come with a cry, and he doesn’t stop — keeps going, keeps eating, like he’s trying to make it last forever.

When he finally stands, his mouth glistens. His beard is damp with you. You’re panting, boneless, your dress rucked up to your ribs.

Joel leans over you, kisses you filthy, lets you taste yourself on his tongue.

You’re too gone to speak. Your hand fumbles with his belt instead, desperate.

He lets you, watching you through hooded eyes as you undo him, pull his cock out.

You pause. Stare.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

He smirks. “Yeah?”

You wrap your fingers around him — thick, heavy, already leaking. He groans when you stroke once, twice.

He grabs your hips, lines himself up. The tip of his cock drags through your folds.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

You nod.

“Need you to use your words.”

“Please,” you whisper. “Joel, I need you.”

He pushes in slow — inch by inch. Watching your face. Groaning when your legs tighten around his waist and you cry out at the stretch.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he hisses. “Takin’ me so good.”

He bottoms out with a deep, broken sound and holds there, buried inside you, chest heaving.

Then he starts to move.

It’s slow at first. Controlled. Deep.

You let out a breathy moan before you can stop it, but your head spins.

You shouldn’t want this.

You shouldn’t have let it get this far.

But God—

Your breath stutters with every thrust, each one grinding perfectly into that sweet spot.

Joel groans above you, gripping your thighs, watching the way your tits bounce beneath your dress.

He fucks harder now. Deeper. You’re gasping, crying out with each snap of his hips.

You come again with a sob, legs shaking around his waist, your fingers clutching his shoulders.

Joel groans, hips stuttering.

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters. “Fuck, baby. You want it?”

“Yes—Joel—please—”

He thrusts once, twice more—then buries himself deep and comes with a rough, shattering sound.

The silence afterward is thick.

Joel's still leaning over you, arms braced on either side, chest heaving. His skin glistens with sweat, hair damp and curling at his temples. Your thighs are sticky with arousal, the air still thick with sex.

You don’t speak. You can’t.

Your dress is bunched up around your waist, and your panties are somewhere on the floor, forgotten in a heap of lace and bad decisions.

Joel looks down at you — and for the first time since he touched you, really looks.

Like he’s seeing it clearly now.

What he’s done.

Who you are.

Your breath catches when his hand slides down — and you expect more. Another grope, another filthy word, another pull back into his gravity.

But instead, his fingers grip the waistband of your panties from the floor. He lifts your legs slowly, gently — too gently — and slides them back up your legs, his thumb brushing the inside of your knee as he settles the lace back into place.

Then he reaches for the hem of your dress, still bunched above your ribs, and smooths it down with both hands. Tugs it back into place over your hips. Your thighs. Your stomach.

Like it never happened.

Like he can erase it with fabric.

You sit there, breath uneven, heart pounding.

Then he gives your thigh a small pat.

Not a smack. Not rough.

Just a soft, brief press of his palm.

Too casual to mean nothing. Too intimate to mean anything else.

You look up at him.

His jaw’s clenched. His eyes don’t quite meet yours now.

He steps back. Wipes his hand across his mouth like he’s trying to catch the taste of you still clinging to his beard.

He says nothing.

And it’s not cold, exactly.

It’s worse.

It’s quiet.

Shameful.

Like he wants to say something — but he doesn’t trust what’ll come out if he does.

He leans one hand on the edge of the counter, shoulders tight. Then glances toward the hallway, toward the front door.

Like he’s remembering this is his house. That this is his daughter's roommate. That he may have just ruined something.

Finally, after a beat, he mutters, “I’ll walk you out.”

And fuck it.

You let him.

Because the weight of what you just did feels better than whatever emptiness you’re about to walk back into.

The door creaks open, and the golden light outside doesn’t feel warm anymore. It feels blinding.

Joel follows you out slowly, like his feet are dragging, like every step toward your car makes the truth of what happened inside settle heavier on his shoulders.

The cicadas are louder now. A dog barks a few houses down. It’s normal out here, and that somehow makes it worse.

You walk a few steps ahead, down the front path, clutching your water bottle too tightly in your hand. You can feel the mess between your thighs, the cling of your panties he just pulled back up like he was fixing a broken rule.

Joel’s watching you. Arms crossed, mouth tight. Like he’s waiting for something. Or dreading it.

“I won’t tell,” you say softly. “You know that, right?”

His eyes flicker. Something in his jaw ticks.

He just nods.

No thank you. No explanation. Just a slow, heavy nod.

You hesitate again, and for a moment—God, just a moment—you think he’s going to say something. Anything.

But all he does is let his gaze fall down the length of you one last time. Not in that hungry way he did before. Not quite.

It’s almost sad now.

Like he’s memorizing a mistake.

Then you hear his voice, low and rough — like gravel, like regret.

“Better go,” he says. “Before I do something else I’ll regret.”

You turn to look at him, your breath catching.

His hand is still on the doorframe. His body tense, like he’s holding himself back from following. From pulling you back inside, dragging that dress up again, forgetting the whole world all over.

He doesn’t meet your eyes. Can’t.

And then, just like that, he shuts the door.

Not hard. Not gentle.

Just final.

You stand there in the silence, staring at the wood in front of you. Breathing. Swallowing.

Your panties are still damp. Your thighs are sticky. The inside of your chest feels hot and hollow at the same time.

You should feel disgusting.

And you do.

But there’s something else curled deep in your belly. Something like satisfaction. Like relief.

You lean your head against the door for just a second, eyes fluttering shut.

You know seeing Sarah again is going to be hell.

You know every night of homework, every smile she gives you, every casual mention of her dad’s name is going to taste like a secret you’ll never be clean of.

But God help you—

It might’ve been worth it.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel x reader #fanfic #tlou fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller x you #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #smutty smut smut

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fear-is-truth · 19 hours ago

Note

am i crazy for rq dryhumping w clark

content warning : dry humping. premature ejaculation. 18+ note. am i crazy for loving the idea & writing it ??

his hands stayed exactly where they were: frozen at the slope of your ribs, thumbs resting beneath the band of your bra as if stalled in negotiation. permission, restraint—all but outdated concepts rapidly losing meaning by the second. you were in his lap, forehead pressed to his, breaths intermingling in the scant inches between your mouths and fogging his glasses. clark hadn’t moved much; you were doing all the work, hips grinding down in pursuit of friction as he tried to reconcile the physics of cotton-on-cotton contact and why it felt so good.

“you—uh,” he stammered, voice breaking on the inhale. “you’re really… committed to this angle, huh?”

the chuckle you let out ghosted across his cheek.

“clark.”

his name worked better than persuasion. his hands dropped to your waist in a last-ditch effort at moderation. he might’ve meant to slow you down, maybe regain some upper hand, but whatever the motive was, it achieved the opposite. you felt the thick line of his cock through his slacks, twitching against the seam of your panties.

“sweetheart,” clark’s voice pitched embarrassingly high. “you’re… gosh, you’re—o-oh wow.” his head thumped back against the couch cushion, one hand came up to cradle the base of your skull, fingers weaving through your hair, less to control than to orient himself—as if holding onto you might keep his sanity intact. “we’re still wearing clothes,” he mumbled, as if that fact ought to matter. his hips had already started canting up to meet yours, without shame. “this shouldn’t feel this good.” in answer, you pressed your mouth to his throat. felt the jump of his pulse against your tongue, then the tense bob of his swallow as you mouthed lower. beneath you, a tiny patch of dampness darkened through the front of his slacks.

clark swore, in full volume kansan.

#superman #clark kent #superman 2025 #clark kent smut #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #superman x reader #superman smut #clark kent fanfic #superman x you #clark kent drabble #david corenswet #dc universe #dcu #dc

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liuhsng · 1 day ago

Text

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ honey on ice ( psh ! )

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — sunghoon x fem!reader

⤷ word count — 18.4k ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), non idol au, dilf!sunghoon, single dad!sunghoon, ice skater!sunghoon, college!reader, nanny!reader, size kink, praise kink, slight dumbification (reader gets v babygirl-coded), manhandling, light nipple play, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, creampie, aftercare, soft dom!sunghoon, slight breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, fluff

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — you were supposed to save his daughter from loneliness—not him. park sunghoon has it all: medals, money, and a schedule too packed for bedtime stories. when his little girl starts closing off, he hires you—a broke college student with a bright laugh and quiet charm—as her nanny. you’re warm, young, and everything his cold, controlled world isn’t. or where saving him was never in the job description—but you did it anyway.

It was late into the night, the soft hum of the television filling the massive living room of Park Sunghoon’s estate. The faint glow of the screen cast light across the leather couches where Sunghoon sat slouched with a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.

Chips and half-empty takeout boxes were sprawled across the coffee table—evidence of three hours spent yelling at football players they’d never meet.

Heeseung was nearest the remote, lazily clicking through channels until Sunghoon let out a deep sigh that made all three heads turn.

“I swear…” Sunghoon muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m trying to be a better father to Sooyun.”

Heeseung’s thumb paused on the remote as he shot him a knowing look. With a sigh, he lowered the volume. “Alright, here we go. Let’s all listen to Sunghoon complain about his miserable life again.”

“Fuck you,” Sunghoon said flatly, though his glare lacked any real heat.

Jay, sprawled casually on the loveseat across from them, smirked over his beer. “That’s mean. Let him vent. He’s sensitive.”

Jake, curled up in an armchair with one leg over the other, groaned dramatically.

“What now, Sunghoon? Did Sooyun draw a frowny face in her diary again? Or did she call you Mr. Park instead of dad?”

Sunghoon threw a chip at him—it missed. “I’m serious, assholes. Am I a shitty dad?”

Without hesitation, Heeseung and Jake chorused in unison: “Absolutely.”

Jay snorted into his drink, the sound muffled by the rim of the bottle.

“Goddamn it,” Sunghoon groaned, running both hands down his face as he leaned forward, elbows on knees.

“I’m trying my best for Sooyun. I give her whatever she wants. Toys, trips, dresses, a whole fucking pony if she asked—but it’s never enough. She’s always…” He trailed off, staring at his beer bottle like it held the answers.

“Sad,” Heeseung finished softly, voice surprisingly lacking its usual bite.

Sunghoon nodded, the crease between his brows deepening.

Jake leaned back with a sigh, swirling his beer lazily.

“Well, I mean… you’re always busy. Being a figure skating coach isn’t exactly a 9-to-5, dude. But let’s be honest—you’re out there looking after other people’s kids. Spoiled little heirs and heiresses whose rich parents don’t know how to raise them… sound familiar?”

The words hit harder than Sunghoon expected. He set his beer down on the table with a soft thud, staring blankly at the floor.

“Don’t turn into them,” Jay added quietly, picking up where Jake left off.

His eyes flicked briefly to Sunghoon before returning to the TV. “You’re not like those parents… yet.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unsaid things. Sunghoon’s fingers tapped absently against his knee. “Okay, so what the hell do I do then?”

They all went quiet.

Then, Heeseung suddenly snapped his fingers with a grin. “I think I have a solution.”

“Oh boy,” Jake muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“Shut up, this is genius.” Heeseung leaned forward like he was about to pitch the next big startup.

“Hire someone. A nanny. You know—someone young, fun, patient. Someone who can actually be there when you’re not.”

“A nanny?” Sunghoon echoed, eyebrows furrowed. “What am I, sixty?”

Jay chuckled under his breath. “You’re a single dad, Sunghoon. And your kid’s lonely. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

“Think about it,” Heeseung pressed, eyes gleaming now. “She gets someone to hang out with who’s not cold, distant, and dead inside like you—”

“Again. Fuck you.”

“—and you get peace of mind knowing she’s not sulking around this big empty house.”

Sunghoon rubbed his temple. “You make it sound so simple.”

Heeseung only grinned, leaning back into the couch as he took another lazy sip of his beer. “That’s because it is.”

Sunghoon shot him a flat look, his head lolling to the side against the leather. “What do you mean?”

“I know someone,” Heeseung started, his grin widening.

“Well—not me. My brother.” He paused, and the others immediately perked up.

Jake arched a brow. “This sounds suspicious already.”

Ignoring him, Heeseung continued, gesturing vaguely with his bottle. “He and his wife hire this college student. At least every month. Whenever they have to fly out of the country for business trips, she comes over to watch their kids.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed as he sat up straighter, resting his forearms on his thighs. “And I’m supposed to just trust some random college student with my daughter?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, waving him off. “She’s not random. I’ve met her. She seems… sweet.”

Jay let out a low laugh from across the room, swirling his beer lazily. “Coming from you, that doesn’t say much.”

Heeseung’s grin dropped as he squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake, already biting back a laugh, didn’t even try to hide it this time. “It means you think every girl’s cute, Heeseung. A waitress smiles at you and you’re ready to wife her up.”

“Bullshit,” Heeseung scoffed, flipping Jake off.

“But seriously, she really is sweet. Like… good with kids, not annoying, and actually smart. She’s studying education or psychology or something. My brother’s wife raves about her.”

Sunghoon stayed quiet for a moment, fingers drumming against his knee. The idea was absurd. Entrust his daughter to some college kid he didn’t even know?

But then again, Sooyun’s sad little eyes flashed in his mind. The way she barely smiled anymore, how her room felt quieter lately even when she was home.

He let out a long breath. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to marry her, Sunghoon. Just meet her.” Heeseung tilted his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Talk to her, see if she’s a fit. If not, then fine. But at least try.”

Jay smirked, voice low and teasing. “Or maybe you’ll like her, and she’ll be Sooyun’s nanny and your emotional support system.”

“Fuck off.”

The room erupted with laughter. Jay nearly choked on his beer, Jake slapping his thigh as he doubled over, and Heeseung grinning like he’d just won some unspoken game.

Sunghoon leaned back against the leather couch with a groan, tipping his head up to stare at the ornate chandelier above.

“Send me her number,” he muttered, his voice low but reluctant. “I’ll look into it.”

Heeseung’s grin grew impossibly wider as he reached for his phone. “Look at you, Mr. Progress. Daddy of the Year.”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t fuck her on the first meeting, yeah?” Heeseung teased, typing something into his phone with a smirk.

The throw pillow flew across the room before he could even blink, smacking Heeseung square in the chest. He let out a surprised laugh as the pillow hit the floor.

“I’m not like you,” Sunghoon shot back, narrowing his eyes.

Jake leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with an amused grin. “He’s right though. Heeseung would have her up against the counter by dinner.”

“Hey!” Heeseung protested, pointing a chip at Jake. “I have self-control. Sometimes.”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, grabbing his beer again and swirling it in his hand. “I’m not hiring a nanny to flirt with her. This is for Sooyun. That’s it.”

“Sure,” Jay hummed, clearly unconvinced. “That’s what they all say.”

“Fuck all of you,” Sunghoon muttered, but there was no bite to his voice. He took a long sip, already dreading whatever setup Heeseung was planning.

Heeseung’s phone buzzed, and he waved it at Sunghoon with a shit-eating grin. “I already texted Heedo. Her name’s (Y/N). I’ll send you her number later. Don’t be an ass when you call her.”

“I won’t.” Sunghoon sighed again, staring at his phone on the coffee table like it had just become another thing to deal with.

Jake raised his beer in mock salute. “To Sooyun’s new nanny—and to Sunghoon hopefully getting laid for the first time in years.”

The throw pillow found its next victim.

The sound of animated singing drifted from the living room speakers as you gently tucked the two boys under their blanket, their small faces already soft with sleep.

The Disney movie credits rolled in the background, the room glowing with the warm light of the TV.

“Sweet dreams, Hamin. You too, Hyunmin,” you whispered, brushing Hyunmin’s hair back from his forehead.

“Night night,” Hamin mumbled sleepily, already clutching his stuffed lion tighter.

You smiled, your heart warming at the sight before you straightened up, quietly gathering the plastic plates and juice boxes abandoned on the coffee table.

You were halfway to the kitchen when a low voice called out from the hallway.

“(Y/N), can I talk to you for a second?”

Startled, you looked up to see Heedo, the boys’ father, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Oh—sure,” you said, balancing the plates in your hands. “Just give me a moment.”

You carried the plates into the kitchen, setting them down carefully on the table.

But your eyes widened slightly when you noticed someone else sitting there—a tall man in a fitted black coat, sleeves pushed up just enough to show a luxury watch, his posture relaxed as he leaned back in the chair.

He gave you a lazy grin, one that was equal parts charming and mischievous. “Hey.”

You blinked at him, then at Heedo, and back. “Am I in trouble?” you asked cautiously, though there was a teasing lilt to your voice.

Both men chuckled.

“No, no trouble,” Heedo said, shaking his head. “Actually… Heeseung wanted to talk to you. So I’ll leave you two to it.”

You tilted your head slightly, brows furrowed in mild confusion, but nodded. “Uh… okay.”

Heedo excused himself with a smile, leaving you standing in the kitchen doorway with this stranger—well, not a total stranger. You’d heard of ‘Uncle Heeseung’ from the boys before.

Heeseung pushed off the chair slightly, arms crossing over his chest as he looked at you with an amused glint in his eyes. “(Y/N), right?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes, Mr. Lee.”

He barked out a short laugh. “Oh, no. Heeseung’s fine. Makes me feel old otherwise.”

You smiled politely, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Okay… Heeseung.”

“Better.” He gave a small nod of approval. “So. (Y/N). You regularly babysit Hamin and Hyunmin, right?”

“When they need me, yeah,” you replied, crossing your arms loosely. “Why?”

Heeseung leaned casually against the counter, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

“A friend of mine needs help with his daughter. And, well, I’ve seen how you are with my nephews. You’re good. And they adore you.”

You tilted your head slightly, an eyebrow raising. “Why are you the one telling me this and not your friend? Does he not have a mouth?”

That earned you a full laugh this time. “Feisty.” Heeseung’s grin widened as he shook his head. “I like that.”

Your brow furrowed a little more. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or if I should be worried.”

Heeseung chuckled, uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on the counter. “Relax. I’m just the one who knows you, so it felt easier to ask. You interested?”

You hesitated, glancing back toward the living room where Hamin and Hyunmin were snuggled under their blanket.

“What about Hamin and Hyunmin?”

Heeseung waved it off with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover them. This won’t interfere.”

You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your initial wariness. “Sure, I guess. I’ll help.”

“Atta girl.” Heeseung’s grin softened slightly. He reached for his phone, already scrolling through his contacts.

“I’ll give you his number. His name’s Park Sunghoon. Don’t let the cold exterior fool you—he’s not as scary as he looks.”

You raised a brow again, smirking a little. “Now should I be nervous?”

“Only if you’re afraid of handsome, broody single dads.” Heeseung winked.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Noted.”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pulled out your phone and unlocked it, the screen glowing faintly in the warm kitchen light.

“Here,” you said, holding it out to Heeseung.

He took it without hesitation, his fingers flying over the screen as he quickly typed in a number.

You noticed the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he worked—like he knew something you didn’t.

“There,” Heeseung said finally, handing your phone back. “I’ll notify him soon. Probably tomorrow morning. Expect a call or a text.”

You nodded slowly, clutching your phone to your chest. “Alright…”

Heeseung’s grin softened as he pushed off the counter. “You’ll do great, (Y/N). Trust me.”

“Do I have a choice?” you asked under your breath, but he only chuckled.

“Not really.” He gave you one last wink before strolling out of the kitchen, his footsteps fading down the hall.

Left alone, you stood there for a moment staring at the empty doorway, your fingers tightening around your phone.

You glanced down at the screen where the new contact—stared back at you in neat numbers.

“What have I gotten myself into?” you muttered under your breath.

With a small sigh, you gathered the plastic plates again and carried them to the sink, the faint sound of water running as you began rinsing them off. Your mind was already racing.

“Please don’t let him be weird,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head as you set the plates aside to dry.

The sleek black car rolled to a stop outside the massive building, its chrome letters gleaming under the pale winter sunlight: ‘PARK ICE & CO.’

Heeseung snorted under his breath as he slammed the car door shut. “Yeah, okay, flex harder, Sunghoon.”

His eyes flicked to the row of luxury cars parked nearby—Porsches, Teslas, even a matte black G-Wagon.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, Heeseung strolled toward the glass doors. The guard at the entrance straightened at the sight of him.

“Good morning, Mr. Lee.”

Heeseung nodded back with a lazy grin. “Morning.”

The first thing that hit him as the doors slid open was the sharp bite of cold air. It smelled faintly of ice, rubber, and hot chocolate—probably from the snack counter at the far end of the lobby.

But the next thing was louder: the sound of children laughing, skates scraping against ice, and a few harried babysitters watching nervously from benches lined along the rink.

Heeseung’s lips curled in amusement as he muttered to himself, “Rich people.”

His eyes scanned the rink until they found him.

Park Sunghoon.

The man stood out effortlessly—tall, lean, dressed in sleek black athletic wear as he moved fluidly across the ice. His voice was calm but firm as he instructed the group of young skaters clustered around him.

“Careful when stopping. Don’t let your weight pitch forward. You’ll hurt yourself if you tumble.”

Heeseung leaned casually against the glass, his arm brushing the cold surface as he watched Sunghoon smile at one of the smaller kids who nodded earnestly.

There had to be at least eighteen kids on the ice, their colorful jackets like moving confetti against the pristine rink.

“Coach Park,” Heeseung called out, his voice carrying easily over the ambient noise.

Sunghoon looked up instantly, his expression still calm, though his brow arched slightly. The smile didn’t leave his face—at least not yet.

Heeseung smirked, tapping the glass lightly. “Got a minute?”

Sunghoon turned to his assistant, murmuring something Heeseung couldn’t hear as he nodded and stepped forward to take over.

With a graceful push, he skated toward the edge of the rink, stopping neatly in front of Heeseung.

Leaning on the barrier, Sunghoon tilted his head, his dark hair slightly damp from the cold air. “What are you doing here?”

“I got you a babysitter,” Heeseung replied simply, his grin infuriatingly bright.

Sunghoon raised a brow, unlatching the small side door beside Heeseung. As he stepped off the ice, he crouched to remove the guards from his skates, his fingers quick and precise.

“What bribe did you offer Heedo to loan you his regular babysitter?” Sunghoon asked, standing tall again as he handed the guards to Heeseung.

Heeseung caught them with ease, shrugging. “I didn’t. I talked to (Y/N) myself.”

Sunghoon crossed his arms, the fabric of his jacket stretching slightly over his shoulders. “She said yes?”

“Yeah. Told her you needed one.”

“She agreed just like that?”

Heeseung leaned back against the glass, his grin widening. “Told you she’s a sweet girl.”

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “What now?”

“I sent you her number a few minutes ago. That should do it.”

Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Are you sure about her?”

Heeseung laughed, the sound echoing faintly in the cold rink air. “Come on, Coach Park. What do you take me for?”

“A fuckboy with no morals,” Sunghoon said flatly, one corner of his mouth twitching.

“Wow,” Heeseung sighed, dramatically clutching his chest. “The disrespect. I’m banning you from my company building with the amount of insults you throw at me daily.”

“Good,” Sunghoon muttered as he pulled the zipper of his jacket up slightly, already moving back toward the rink door.

“Don’t scare her, Sunghoon!” Heeseung called after him.

“You’re not even sure if I’ll reach out to her.” Sunghoon shot back over his shoulder, crouching briefly to pull off the last skate guard.

He tossed it lightly to Heeseung, who caught it with a grin.

“Seriously. That guy,” Heeseung muttered to himself with a shake of his head, watching as Sunghoon stepped smoothly back onto the ice and glided away like he hadn’t just been volunteered for a life change.

Sunghoon didn’t know how long he’d been spacing out after that. He barely remembered finishing the class.

Didn’t register the polite goodbyes from the kids or their parents.

Couldn’t even recall the moment he stopped by a restaurant to grab takeout—though the faint smell of soup lingering in the car told him he had.

He didn’t remember the drive home either, his luxury sports car eating up the darkened streets until the familiar towering gates of his estate came into view.

With a sigh, he pressed his thumb to the scanner by the driver’s side, the gates sliding open with a soft mechanical hum.

The tires crunched against the gravel driveway as he pulled in, the headlights briefly illuminating the grand facade of the Park residence before fading as he killed the engine.

Leaning back against the leather seat, Sunghoon let out a long breath, staring at nothing.

His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the steering wheel before he finally grabbed his things from the passenger seat—the brown paper bag of food and his sleek leather satchel—and pushed the door open.

The warm light from the house spilled out onto the driveway.

The first thing he heard wasn’t silence.

It was chaos.

“No, sushi tomorrow!” Jake’s voice echoed from inside.

“Pizza. You literally ate sushi yesterday, you weirdo,” Jay countered, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to the living room as he stepped in, taking in the sight of his two friends half-sprawled on the couch, bickering like teenagers.

But his gaze softened when it landed on the small figure curled up in the corner.

Sooyun.

She was lying across the couch in her pink pajamas, her tiny arms hugging a stuffed bunny to her chest, her lashes fluttering slightly as she teetered on the edge of sleep.

Quietly, Sunghoon set down his things and walked over. He pulled the soft blanket from the arm of the couch and draped it over her small frame before kneeling down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Shut up,” he said without looking up, his voice quiet but firm.

Jake jumped slightly at the sound, his head whipping around. “Shit, you’re like a ninja—”

Jay chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, man.”

Sooyun stirred at the voices, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists as she blinked up at her father. “Hi, Daddy,” she whispered sleepily.

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a rare, soft smile. “Hey, baby.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead.

She reached out, her voice small. “Pick me up?”

“Of course.”

He scooped her up with practiced ease, cradling her against his chest as she buried her face into his shoulder. She still smelled faintly of baby powder and strawberry shampoo.

“Did you have fun with Uncle Jay and Jake?” he asked as he turned to face his friends, who were now watching with matching sheepish smiles.

Sooyun nodded, her voice muffled against his jacket. “They took me to eat nuggets after school.”

Sunghoon’s eyes softened again. He looked back at Jay and Jake, his expression unreadable at first before he sighed. “Seriously. You two… thank you.”

Jay waved him off with a small grin. “It’s nothing. I got off work early anyway.”

“Yeah, and it was my day off,” Jake added with a shrug.

Sunghoon arched a brow at them. “You two own your own companies.”

That earned him twin laughs. Jay ran a hand through his hair. “Exactly why we can sneak out whenever we want.”

“Yeah,” Jake said with a grin. “Plus, we love taking care of Sooyun, don’t we, baby?”

Sooyun peeked up from Sunghoon’s shoulder and beamed at them, her dimpled smile making Jake laugh and reach out to ruffle her hair gently.

“Seriously, thank you,” Sunghoon said again, his voice quieter this time, almost reluctant like the words didn’t come easy.

Jay picked up his jacket. “The stuff we bought for Sooyun’s in her room, by the way.”

“They got me stuffies!” Sooyun said excitedly, her tiny hands tugging at Sunghoon’s collar. “And they’re all pink, Daddy!”

Sunghoon couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. “You spoil her, don’t you?”

Sooyun nodded solemnly. “They do. And I love them.”

Jake and Jay exchanged grins like proud uncles as Jake said, “We better get going before she starts crying for us to stay.”

Jay laughed softly, adjusting his coat. “Night, Hoon. Bye, Sooyun.”

“Bye, Uncles,” Sooyun said with a sleepy wave, her voice small.

Sunghoon nodded at them, watching as they slipped out of the door, the house falling quiet again save for the soft hum of the heating system.

Carrying Sooyun upstairs, Sunghoon nudged open the door to her room with his foot. The pink night light glowed faintly, casting her room in a soft, comforting hue.

He gently laid her down on her bed, tucking her in with practiced care as she clutched one of her new stuffed animals.

“Night night, Daddy,” she murmured, her lashes already lowering.

“Night night, baby,” he whispered back, brushing her hair from her forehead. He turned on her night light fully before flicking off the main switch.

As he closed her door quietly behind him, he let himself linger for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. His mind drifted—not to work, not to the rink, but to a name flashing on his phone earlier.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and padded down the hall, his socks silent against the polished wood floors.

When he reached the double doors of his office, he pushed them open, the faint scent of leather and cedar greeting him.

The room was dark until he flicked on the lights, soft recessed bulbs illuminating the sleek space. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls gave him a view of the city lights blinking in the distance, but he barely looked.

He dropped his satchel onto the desk and sank into his leather chair, leaning back as his eyes flicked to the night outside.

One hand rubbed at the back of his neck while the other reached for his phone.

He unlocked it lazily, scrolling to Heeseung’s message.

heeseung [8:10 A.M.]: here. it’s (y/n)’s number. don’t be a dick.

Sunghoon snorted under his breath, his thumb hovering over the contact details.

“Don’t be a dick,” he muttered, repeating his friend’s words with a scoff. “Easier said than done, Heeseung.”

He glanced at the time on his phone screen—11:07 PM. A low hum left his throat as he drummed his fingers against the desk.

Too late? Maybe. But part of him wanted to just get this over with.

He tapped the number. The keyboard popped up.

His thumb hesitated above the letters.

“What am I even supposed to say…” he murmured to himself, frowning. “This isn’t a job interview.”

With a quiet sigh, he started typing anyway.

He stared at the message for a moment, his finger hovering over Send. It looked so… blunt. Cold. But what else was he supposed to say?

“Whatever,” he muttered. “She’s not here to be my friend.”

And with that, he hit send.

The message went through instantly, the little gray bubble staring back at him mockingly.

He leaned back in his chair, tossing his phone onto the desk like it had burned him. His eyes flicked back to the city lights outside, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“She’s probably asleep,” he said under his breath. “Or she’s going to think I’m some uptight asshole.”

Which—he realized grimly—wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate.

Across the city, you were in a completely different world.

You were sprawled out on your bed in soft pink silk sleepwear, the delicate fabric catching the warm glow of your desk lamp.

Your laptop was perched precariously on a pile of open textbooks and highlighted notes, pastel highlighters scattered around like candy.

A cooling eye mask clung under your tired eyes as you skimmed through another line of your chemistry review, highlighter in hand.

Your laptop screen was split in half: one side showing your study materials, the other side a video call where Sunoo and Jungwon were in the middle of their third heated argument over tomorrow’s exam.

“I’m telling you, it’s sodium hydroxide, not sodium carbonate!” Jungwon said, his voice rising slightly.

“Jungwon, no. You’re gonna fail if you keep thinking like that,” Sunoo countered, holding up a pen like it was a gavel.

You muted yourself, suppressing a laugh as you highlighted another sentence in aggressive pink.

Then your phone buzzed. A soft chime against your stack of books.

You glanced at it absently, thinking it was just a random group chat notification, but your brow arched when you saw the screen.

Unknown [11:11 P.M.]: Is this (Y/N)?

You froze for half a second, your highlighter hovering midair. Setting it down, you reached for the phone, unlocking it quickly.

you [11:11 P.M.]: yes. who’s this?

The typing dots appeared almost immediately, and you tilted your head slightly. Whoever it was, they weren’t wasting time.

Unknown [11:11 P.M.]: This is Park Sunghoon. You’re the babysitter Lee Heeseung recommended, correct?

You sat up straighter now, legs crossing under you as your brain caught up to the name. Park Sunghoon. The mental image of Heeseung’s lazy grin from earlier flashed through your mind.

You swallowed down the surprise and typed back quickly, keeping your tone polite.

you [11:12 P.M.]: oh! good evening, mr. park. yes, that’s me.

The typing dots appeared again—fast.

Unknown [11:12 P.M.]: Are you available tomorrow at 12 noon? I’d like to discuss the details and have you meet my daughter.

You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment, your eyes flicking back to the still-muted Sunoo and Jungwon, now arguing about molarity.

you [11:12 P.M.]: yes, i’m free tomorrow at noon!

Unknown [11:12 P.M.]: Good. Thank you. Have a good evening.

You blinked at the abruptness of it, lips twitching into the faintest smile. Typical rich guy energy. Still, you decided to add a little warmth.

you [11:13 P.M.]: you too, mr. park. good night!

The message sat there for a few seconds before the read receipt popped up. No reply.

You stared at your phone, laughed, then set it down beside your stack of notes.

Unmuting yourself, you leaned back against your pillows just in time for Sunoo to pause mid-rant and squint at you.

“Wait. Who was that? Why’d you mute?” he asked suspiciously.

Jungwon perked up too, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, you never mute. Was it your little situationship?”

You snorted, shaking your head as you swiped your highlighter across yet another sentence in your textbook. “You know I don’t do all that romance stuff. Situationships, flings, love letters—pass.”

Sunoo hummed, spinning his pen between his fingers before pointing it straight at the camera.

“I really hope you get married someday. Just so you’ll finally stop looking down at love like it’s a bad group project.”

You laughed, the sound soft and unbothered as you leaned back on your pillows. “Give me, what, ten years? Maybe then I’ll find a man who fits into my very selective standards.”

Jungwon snickered. “As if that’ll magically happen. Ten years from now, you’re gonna be rich, successful, and still babysitting other people’s kids for fun.”

“Sounds like a vibe, honestly,” you teased, clicking your pen closed with a little flourish.

But Sunoo wasn’t letting up. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing playfully. “But really. Who was that? You muted us and suddenly went all polite-girl mode. ‘Yes, sir. Good night, sir.’ Suspicious.”

You scrunched your nose, tucking your phone half under a notebook as if that’d hide the glow of the screen.

“Relax. It’s just a new babysitting job.”

Jungwon raised a brow. “What about those two boys you’re always babysitting? Hamin and Hyunmin?”

You set down your highlighter and stretched your arms above your head.

“Well, their uncle said he’s got it covered for now. Long story short? The uncle basically referred me to his friend who needed someone for his daughter.”

Sunoo tilted his head like a curious cat. “So… the one you were chatting with just now was the dad?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, picking up your pen again like you weren’t phased.

“Is he your type?” Sunoo asked bluntly, wiggling his brows.

You barked out a laugh, shaking your head with a grin. “I doubt it. He gives off serious businessman who doesn’t smile often vibes. Probably allergic to pink too.”

Sunoo clasped a hand over his mouth, scandalized. “Not the pink allergy! (Y/N), don’t do him like that.”

Jungwon smirked knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face into your hands. “Oh my god. You two are exhausting.”

“Not as exhausting as you pretending you’re not curious,” Sunoo singsonged.

You peeked at your phone screen, still faintly glowing with Park Sunghoon’s message.

A small smile tugged at your lips—one you quickly hid behind your highlighter as you said, “Focus on chemistry, you love-struck losers. I’m trying to pass.”

It was just past eleven-thirty when you slid your laptop shut and grabbed your tote, brushing off Jungwon and Sunoo’s twin pouty faces on the call.

“You’re ditching us for lunch?” Sunoo gasped, hand to his chest like you’d betrayed him personally.

“I have a meeting, geez.” You slipped on your shoes with a little huff. “I’ll make it up to you. Pinky swear.”

“Better be with free food,” Jungwon muttered. “And dessert.”

“Noted.” You flashed them a cheeky grin before ending the call.

Now you were tucked in the back of a taxi, your fingers tracing over your phone screen as the driver wove through the upscale neighborhood.

Every house looked like it belonged on a movie set—towering gates, marble fountains, neatly manicured hedges.

Your lips moved as you muttered the house numbers under your breath, watching them blur past the window. “52… 54… 56…”

The taxi slowed, and your eyes caught on a massive black-gated manor. You pointed. “Ah—I think we’re here.”

“Big place,” the driver remarked with a whistle as he pulled up.

You laughed softly, offering a polite smile as you handed over your payment. “Yeah… Thanks for the ride.”

As you stepped out, smoothing down the hem of your white skirt and adjusting the bow on your pink blouse, your eyes immediately landed on a familiar figure.

Heeseung.

Leaning against a sleek black car, sunglasses perched on his head, his posture was as casual as if he owned the place.

You raised a brow, clutching your tote tighter but choosing not to comment right away.

“Why are you here?” you asked as you approached, tilting your head in curiosity.

Heeseung’s lips curved into a grin. “I told Sunghoon I’d be picking you up.”

Your brows furrowed. “Picking me up? I literally took a cab.”

He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Didn’t want you to show up nervous. Thought you’d be more comfortable seeing my pretty face before dealing with my grumpy friend.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed, “Very funny, Mr. Lee.”

“Also,” Heeseung added, tapping his finger against his chin like he was pondering something, “figured you wouldn’t want to be stuck in a car alone with a total stranger. So… congratulations. You get a less intimidating escort.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t,” you said, tugging gently at the ribbon tied neatly in your hair.

He laughed at your bluntness. “Fair enough. You look cute, by the way. Very…” His eyes flicked over your outfit—soft pink silk blouse, delicate lace-trim skirt, and a little pearl bow clip in your hair. “…non-threatening.”

You let out a little laugh, shaking your head as you adjusted the strap of your tote. “I’m not here to impress, Mr. Lee. I’m here for the job.”

“Sure, sure,” Heeseung teased, his lips quirking into a knowing grin as he nodded toward the towering gates.

“Come on. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

You took a deep breath, clutching your bag a little tighter as you followed him.

The imposing black gates loomed taller with every step, the quiet hum of the fingerprint scanner filling the silence as Heeseung pressed his thumb to it.

With a sharp beep, the gates swung open.

The air seemed cooler here. You weren’t sure if it was the sheer size of the estate or the eerie calm that hung over it like a fog.

“Relax,” Heeseung said casually, glancing at you over his shoulder as you trailed behind him.

You let out another slow breath, nodding silently as you adjusted your skirt nervously.

The front door opened into a sleek, glassy expanse of a home—white marble floors, minimalist décor, sunlight spilling in from ceiling-high windows.

The faint smell of cologne and something sweeter—vanilla, maybe?—lingered in the air.

Heeseung led you past a spiraling staircase and into an open-plan kitchen-living room where someone was already sitting at the island counter, sipping from a mug.

“Hey, Sunghoon,” Heeseung called, clearing his throat lightly. “We’re here.”

The man turned.

You nearly froze.

He was tall—maybe just a shade shorter than Heeseung—but somehow his presence filled the room. Broad shoulders, perfectly tailored black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms.

His dark hair fell slightly over his eyes, framing a face so sharp it could’ve been carved out of stone. His expression was unreadable, except for the slight furrow of his brows as his gaze flicked to you.

You swallowed hard, instinctively stepping a little closer behind Heeseung like his broad frame could shield you from the weight of Sunghoon’s stare.

Sunghoon stood and walked over, his strides purposeful and smooth.

“Did you seriously force her to get in your car?” he asked, voice calm but edged with faint disapproval, one brow arching.

Heeseung only shrugged, utterly unfazed. “Relax. (Y/N) came here by herself. I just happened to be by the gate.”

Sunghoon’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer—like he was sizing you up, calculating something.

Heeseung chuckled, giving your arm a playful nudge. “Relax. He won’t bite. Yet.”

You let out a nervous laugh, clutching your tote a little tighter as Heeseung stepped aside, leaving you standing there fully visible for the first time.

And Sunghoon—oh, Sunghoon—his sharp gaze faltered just slightly.

He’d expected someone more serious. The kind of college student who wore a pressed blouse and stiff slacks to interviews.

But you—standing there in your soft pink silk blouse, lace-trim skirt, and delicate bows—were not at all what he imagined.

You looked so bright. So warm. So young.

‘This is who Heeseung vouched for?’ he thought, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his features before his usual stoicism slipped back into place.

“Mr. Park,” you said softly, offering a polite little nod, your voice sweet but steady despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.

Heeseung cleared his throat loudly, a grin playing on his lips. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve got a board meeting at twelve.”

“Of course you do,” Sunghoon said dryly without breaking his gaze from you.

Heeseung patted your shoulder gently. “You’ll do fine. He’s not as scary as he looks.”

You gave him a small, appreciative smile, even as your fingers curled tighter around the handle of your tote.

“See you around, (Y/N),” Heeseung teased, giving a little wave as he strode out, leaving you alone in the vast, quiet space with the man you were supposed to work for.

The silence that followed felt heavier.

You squirmed slightly, clutching your tote in front of you like a shield as Park Sunghoon’s gaze settled on you—slowly, almost painfully, dragging from the top of your pearl hair clip to the tips of your white Mary Jane heels. His expression gave nothing away.

He cleared his throat, his voice smooth but cool. “Let’s take this to the living room.”

You nodded quickly, trailing just a step behind as he walked toward the sunken living space.

His tall frame moved with precision, like everything about him had been rehearsed a thousand times over—posture perfect, steps silent even against the marble floors.

He gestured wordlessly to one of the black leather couches. “Please. Sit.”

You obeyed instantly, perching on the edge of the couch with your knees together and hands resting carefully on your skirt.

Sunghoon’s brow lifted ever so slightly at how quick you were to follow, but he said nothing as he settled across from you, one arm draping loosely over the back of his seat.

The silence stretched.

The faint ticking of a modern clock filled the room as your eyes flickered nervously around—the towering bookshelves, the marble coffee table, the floor-to-ceiling windows that let sunlight spill across the pristine floors.

Everything felt expensive. Too expensive for you to even breathe on.

“(Y/N), right?” Sunghoon’s deep voice broke the quiet.

You nodded. “Yes, Mr. Park.”

A deep, rich laugh rumbled from his chest. It was warm and low, catching you off guard as your fingers curled in your lap.

“Just Sunghoon,” he corrected, his lips tugging faintly at the corners.

You hesitated, testing it softly on your lips. “Okay… Sunghoon.”

Something flickered in his dark eyes—amusement, maybe—but it was gone just as fast.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” you answered quickly, your voice even but soft.

He nodded once. “College student?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your major?”

“Psychology.”

“Psychology,” he repeated, his tone unreadable as his eyes locked onto yours. “Interesting choice. Why?”

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt, then glanced back up at him with a small smile. “I like understanding people. And I guess I’ve always been the type to listen to others… it felt like the right path.”

He hummed, leaning back slightly. “Why do you babysit?”

You blinked at the abruptness of the question but answered honestly. “I love kids. There’s… something innocent about them. They’re so easy to make happy. You just have to listen, really listen.”

You smiled faintly at the thought. “I want some of my own someday.”

Sunghoon’s gaze softened for just a fraction of a second before his usual stoic expression returned. He nodded slowly. “I see.”

You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore how the weight of his stare made your heart thump harder in your chest.

“Do you have much experience?” he asked.

“Yes. I babysit my neighbor’s kids regularly. And Mr. Lee’s nephews sometimes. They’re…” You let out a small laugh. “A handful. But fun.”

“Mm.” Sunghoon’s fingers drummed lightly against his knee, his gaze still fixed on you. “And you’re sure you can handle Sooyun?”

You met his gaze for the first time, your voice steady despite your nerves. “I can. I don’t scare easy, Mr—Sunghoon.”

That faint smirk tugged at his lips again, and for a fleeting second, he looked almost impressed.

You didn’t drop your gaze—not yet. But he could see it. The slight quiver in your fingers where they rested atop your tote. The tiny shift of your knees like you were resisting the urge to fidget.

“(Y/N),” Sunghoon said suddenly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.

You blinked. “Yes?”

“You’re hired.”

You froze. “…Just like that?”

A laugh escaped him—low, rich, and warm enough to catch you completely off guard. “You seem like a nice girl,” he said easily, one corner of his mouth curling upward.

“Smart. Calm. Polite. And…” his eyes flicked over your delicate blouse and tidy posture, “…you don’t look like the type to break things.”

Your lips parted slightly as your cheeks warmed under his stare. “O-oh. Thank you?”

He leaned back against the leather couch, his long fingers drumming idly on the armrest as his dark eyes stayed fixed on you. “Are you available every day?”

“Yes,” you replied, finding your voice again. “Most of my classes are online. I barely have to go back to campus except for the occasional exam or meeting.”

He nodded at this, satisfied. “Good. I’m always needed back at Park Ice & Co., my rink, and…” He trailed off slightly, his jaw tightening for a moment. “…as much as I want to spend more time with Sooyun—”

“You’re busy,” you finished gently, a small, understanding smile tugging at your lips. “Right?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the first time since you stepped foot in the house, his expression softened—not much, but enough to make your heart stutter.

“…Right,” he echoed, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You didn’t think someone like Park Sunghoon—stoic, intimidating, poised—was even capable of that kind of smile. But there it was, fleeting and quiet, and it made your chest warm.

Just as you were about to ask another question, the soft sound of small footsteps echoed from the spiral staircase.

Sunghoon’s head turned instantly.

Peeking out from behind one of the carved pillars was a little girl—wide-eyed and hesitant, clutching a stuffed bunny almost as big as her head. Her pink pajamas were slightly wrinkled, and her short black hair was tousled like she’d just woken up from a nap.

“Sooyun,” Sunghoon called softly, his tone warmer than you’d heard all morning. “Come here. Don’t be shy.”

The little girl hesitated for a moment, then padded carefully across the marble floor.

She stopped just short of the couch before instinctively curling into Sunghoon’s chest, her tiny fingers fisting in his shirt as she buried her face against him.

Your heart melted at the sight.

For someone so sharp and poised, Park Sunghoon held her with a gentleness that didn’t seem possible.

One large hand cradled her head protectively, and his voice dropped to a low murmur as he brushed her hair back. “Hey, baby. Did you just wake up?”

She nodded shyly against him, peeking one wide brown eye up at you.

“This is (Y/N),” Sunghoon said, glancing down at her with a small smile that somehow made him look ten years younger. “She’s going to be spending time with you when Daddy’s working.”

You gave a soft smile, crouching slightly so you were eye level with her. “Hi, Sooyun. It’s nice to meet you.”

She blinked at you, then tucked her face back into Sunghoon’s shirt.

“Sorry,” he said with a quiet laugh. “She’s not usually this shy. She’ll warm up to you.”

You tilted your head, still smiling as you straightened up. “That’s okay. I’ll give her time.”

Sooyun peeked at you again from the safety of her father’s arms, her big brown eyes curious but cautious.

You met her gaze with a soft smile, your voice gentle. “Hi, baby.”

She blinked, her tiny fingers still clutching Sunghoon’s shirt. But then—hesitantly—her lips curved into a shy little smile.

“There she is,” you whispered like it was a secret, smiling even brighter.

Sooyun slowly uncurls herself from Sunghoon’s lap, her small hands gripping the edge of the leather couch for balance as she leaned forward slightly. “Do you… like pink?”

Your eyes lit up, and you nodded eagerly. “Mhm! It’s my favorite color.”

Her little face brightened. “Mine too!”

“Really?” you said, your grin widening. “It’s the best color, isn’t it? So cute and soft.”

She nodded enthusiastically, head bobbing.

But then she glanced up at her father like she was silently asking for permission. Sunghoon, still sitting back with an arm draped lazily over the couch’s armrest, gave her a single nod.

That seemed to be enough.

Sooyun carefully slid off the couch, clutching her stuffed bunny to her chest as she padded over to where you sat. She stopped just in front of you, tilting her head like she was examining you.

“You’re really pretty,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but sincere.

Your heart melted instantly. You beamed at her, resting a hand over your chest. “You too, baby. You’re so, so pretty.”

That got her to smile—finally a genuine, little-kid grin that made her cheeks puff up adorably.

You patted the empty spot beside you on the couch as she made a small attempt to climb up, her tiny arms trying to pull herself up but failing with a soft huff.

“Do you need help, Sooyun?” you asked, giggling softly at her effort.

“Yes, please,” she mumbled.

“Okay, up you go.” You carefully slipped an arm around her small frame and helped her onto the couch. She settled beside you shyly, clutching her bunny tightly.

“What’s your name?” she asked after a pause, her big eyes curious.

“(Y/N),” you replied with a warm smile.

Sooyun turned to her father then, her little voice full of excitement. “Daddy… can I call her Aunt (Y/N)?”

You froze slightly, eyes darting toward Sunghoon in surprise. He raised a brow at you but didn’t seem as shocked as you. Instead, his lips twitched faintly like he was holding back a laugh.

“Only if she’s okay with it,” Sunghoon said, his voice low and smooth.

Sooyun immediately looked up at you expectantly, her small hands clutching her bunny tighter. “Can I?” she whispered.

You let out a soft laugh at her earnestness, reaching out to gently boop her nose. “Of course, darling. I’d love that.”

Sooyun beamed so brightly it nearly blinded you, her little legs swinging where they didn’t quite reach the floor. “Yay! Aunt (Y/N)!”

Sunghoon watched the interaction quietly, his dark eyes thoughtful. He wasn’t used to this—not to Sooyun smiling so fast, or to a stranger matching her energy so naturally.

Sooyun kicked her little legs slightly and tilted her head at you, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “Who’s your favorite Disney princess?”

You gasped softly, placing a finger on your chin in mock thought. “Hmm… probably Belle. Because she loves books, and she’s really kind. What about you?”

Sooyun’s eyes widened. She gasped so dramatically it made you giggle. “Mine too! I love Belle!”

“Really?” you smiled, eyes softening as you reached to fix the little flyaways of her ponytail. “Do you love books too, Sooyun?”

She nodded eagerly, hugging her stuffed bunny tighter. “I love picture books. We read lots of them at school.”

“That’s wonderful!” you said brightly. “If you don’t mind me asking… how old are you, sweetheart?”

Sooyun puffed out her cheeks proudly and raised six tiny fingers. “Six!”

“Six?!” you gasped playfully, clapping your hands together. “No way! You’re such a big girl already. Good job, baby.”

Sooyun beamed, leaning closer into your side.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon was still standing there silently, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the easy warmth between you and his daughter.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Well… I guess there’s no need for introductions,” he said smoothly. His deep voice startled you slightly, and you immediately straightened your posture, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as your cheeks warmed.

“Oh—right. Sorry,” you murmured softly.

“Don’t be,” he replied, his tone softer this time. “Let’s go over a few things.”

You nodded quickly, and he gestured toward the kitchen. “Shall we?”

You stood, but not before Sooyun tugged gently at your sleeve, her big eyes staring up at you. “Can you carry me?” she whispered softly.

You melted on the spot, smiling as you scooped her up into your arms with ease. “Of course, baby. Come here.”

That earned you another shy grin as she tucked her little face against your shoulder, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck.

Sunghoon glanced at the scene, his brow raised slightly—not a word leaving his lips as his gaze lingered on the way Sooyun clung to you so effortlessly.

He said nothing as you followed him to the sleek, modern kitchen, Sooyun nestled comfortably in your arms. The space smelled faintly of coffee and citrus cleaner, the marble counters spotless.

He opened the massive stainless steel fridge with a quiet hum. “It’s usually stocked full like this since I don’t really cook… but I assume you do?”

“I do,” you said with a small smile, scanning the fridge briefly. It was neatly organized, full of fresh produce, bottled water, and neatly labeled containers. “It’s no problem at all.”

“Good,” he replied. “As for her routine—Sooyun eats almost everything except broccoli. She hates it, so don’t even try.”

You laughed lightly. “Noted. No broccoli. Anything else?”

“School ends at 12:00 PM. Her driver will bring her home unless I say otherwise. Bath time’s usually around 7:00 PM, bedtime at 8:00. She likes a story before bed.”

You nodded attentively, trying to commit each detail to memory.

“Good. That’s pretty much everything,” Sunghoon said, closing the fridge and leading you back to the living room.

He stopped near the couch, his dark eyes settling on you again. “I was going to ask if you preferred starting next week… but it looks like she already likes you.”

Sooyun, now leaning against your chest with her small hands clutching your sleeve, nodded eagerly. “I do!”

You laughed, smoothing her bangs with a fond look. “I wouldn’t mind starting early for this cutie.”

Sunghoon’s lips twitched—just barely—but it looked like the beginnings of a smile.

He stepped closer, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of Sooyun’s head. “Be good for (Y/N), baby.”

“I will!” she chirped. “We’re gonna have a blast, Daddy!”

Sunghoon straightened, meeting your eyes one last time. “Thank you.”

You nodded with a polite smile. “It’s no problem.”

He grabbed his coat from the armrest. “I won’t be too late. Call if anything comes up.”

“Of course,” you said softly.

“Good.” With that, Sunghoon strode toward the door, his presence somehow leaving the room a little colder once he stepped out.

It was already dark when the sound of laughter reached Sunghoon the moment he stepped into the manor. His brow furrowed slightly, a hand loosening his tie as he set his keys down by the door.

He followed the cheerful noise to the kitchen, and there you were—perched comfortably by the marble island, Sooyun sitting cross-legged on the counter in her little pink pajamas.

She giggled as you held up a tiny fork with roasted broccoli, your expression exaggeratedly sweet.

“Here comes the broccoli train—choo choo!” you teased.

Sooyun squealed before taking the bite with a grin. “Mmm! Cheesy broccoli is my favorite now!”

Sunghoon cleared his throat lightly from the doorway. “I’m here.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning slightly to face him. “O-Oh! Good evening, Mr. Park—”

“Sunghoon,” he corrected smoothly as he strode closer, his voice warm but lined with exhaustion.

“Right… Sunghoon.” You gave him a sheepish smile.

“Hi, Daddy!” Sooyun beamed, kicking her little feet happily as she waved at him.

His gaze softened immediately as he stepped forward, loosening his jacket and leaning over to press a kiss to her temple. “Hi, princess. What’s all this?”

“Broccoli!” Sooyun declared proudly, lifting another piece from the plate.

“Broccoli?” Sunghoon blinked, his surprise clear. “You hate broccoli.”

“She likes them roasted with cheese,” you admitted with a small laugh, holding up the pan on the counter. “We did a little experiment. Turns out it’s all about the presentation.”

His eyes flicked to the pan, then back to you, something unreadable flashing in his gaze. “Huh. Impressive.”

You flushed faintly under his lingering stare, busying yourself with wiping your hands on a dish towel. “We also watched Disney movies and had spaghetti for lunch. There’s still some in the fridge if you’re hungry, Sunghoon.”

He raised a brow at the way you caught yourself but said nothing, only nodding faintly. “I’ll grab some later.”

“Daddy! Aunt (Y/N) makes the best spaghetti ever!” Sooyun chirped, her words making your heart skip.

Sunghoon’s brow quirked again. His lips curved—just barely. “I see.”

“Anyway, she’s already had her bath,” you added, eager to shift the focus. “Isn’t that right, missy?”

Sooyun lifted her little palm, and you leaned in to meet it with a high five. “All clean and ready for bed.”

“Good job.” Sunghoon’s voice was quiet as he watched the exchange, his dark eyes unreadable as they lingered on you holding his daughter like you’d been doing it for years.

You gave him a small, polite smile as you gently set Sooyun down on the counter. “Thank you. Um… it’s getting late. I think I should get going now.”

Sunghoon, still leaning against the counter, straightened slightly. “Do you have someone picking you up?”

You shook your head, trying not to sound sheepish. “No, but it’s okay. I’ll just call a cab or book a ride—”

“No.” His interruption was firm, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll drive you home.”

You blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Oh, no, really. I wouldn’t want to bother you—”

“It’s no bother,” he said simply, already moving to scoop up Sooyun who was rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Stay here. I’ll tuck her in first.”

Before you could protest again, he was already heading for the stairs, his tall figure disappearing up the hallway.

You stood there frozen for a moment, clutching your bag to your chest as the faint sound of his footsteps upstairs mixed with Sooyun’s sleepy murmurs.

He was back almost as quickly as he left, his sleeves now rolled up slightly and his hair a little tousled from leaning over his daughter’s bed. His dark eyes flicked to you. “Ready?”

You nodded slowly, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “Uh… yeah.”

“Good.” His voice was unreadable as he strode past you, motioning toward the front door.

You followed him out to the driveway where his sleek black sports car gleamed under the soft glow of the porch lights. He walked ahead, reaching the passenger side first, and without hesitation, pulled open the door for you.

“Oh—” you stammered, startled by the gesture. “Thank you, Sunghoon.”

He didn’t say anything, only gave a faint nod, waiting patiently until you slipped into the seat. The leather smelled faintly of cedar and something else distinctly him—cool and clean.

By the time he rounded to the driver’s side and slid into his seat, you were nervously fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

He buckled his seatbelt with a smooth click and glanced at you briefly.

“Seatbelt,” he reminded gently, his tone softer now.

“R-Right.” You scrambled to pull it across your chest, cheeks warming as his eyes lingered for just a second longer than necessary before turning back to the road.

The car purred to life, the faint hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence.

“Is your address saved on your phone?” Sunghoon asked as he shifted gears, his hand resting casually on the wheel.

“Oh—yes! I’ll send it to you.” You quickly fumbled with your phone, trying not to let your fingers shake as you sent him your location.

“Got it.” He said, his eyes fixed ahead as he eased the car smoothly out of the driveway.

The car fell into a comfortable silence. The soft hum of the engine filled the space as you leaned your cheek on your propped-up hand, watching the world blur past through the window.

The streetlights painted fleeting golden streaks across your reflection in the glass.

The quiet didn’t last long.

“Thank you.”

You blinked, turning your head slightly to look at him. His face was calm, but his hands tightened around the steering wheel as he pulled to a stop at a red light.

“For what?” you asked softly.

“For taking the job.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you shook your head. “Sooyun’s a really sweet girl. You did a good job raising her, Mr. Park.”

He huffed out a laugh, low and dry. “If you mean my friends, then yeah.”

Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, his eyes still fixed on the traffic lights as they shifted to yellow, then green. “Look—I’m not the sentimental type. So don’t expect me to burst into tears in gratitude.”

You chuckled lightly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on your skirt. “I’m not going to force anything out of you, Mr. Park.”

His jaw ticked as he clicked his tongue. “Sunghoon. Drop the ‘Mister.’ Makes me feel old.”

“Okay… Sunghoon.” You tested the name again carefully on your tongue, earning the faintest upward curve of his lips.

For a moment, you thought that was it. But then he spoke again, voice quieter now—almost like he wasn’t used to saying the words out loud.

“I’m… not the best father to my own daughter,” he admitted, his knuckles going a shade lighter as his grip on the wheel tightened.

“I’m always gone. Meetings, the rink, work—it feels endless sometimes. Without Heeseung and some of my other friends stepping in when I can’t, I’m pretty sure Sooyun would’ve started resenting me by now.”

You watched him carefully, your chest tightening at the rare vulnerability slipping through his normally calm exterior.

“She doesn’t resent you,” you said softly. “She adores you. Anyone can see it.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Sooyun’s mom was never there either. Not even for the first year of her life.”

Your breath caught, but you stayed quiet, letting him speak at his own pace.

“We weren’t even together. It was… a one-night stand. She wanted nothing to do with Sooyun. And suddenly, there I was—with a week-old baby on my doorstep and no idea what the hell to do.”

His voice dipped lower, and you swore there was the faintest crack in it. “I didn’t think I’d ever figure it out.”

You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, then said gently, “But you did. She’s happy, she’s healthy, and she’s kind. That didn’t happen by accident, Sunghoon.”

He didn’t reply immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, streetlights flashing across his sharp profile. After a moment, he let out a small hum—low and unreadable.

“I guess,” he murmured finally, his voice quieter than before.

You only smiled faintly, choosing not to press further as the car turned down another familiar street.

The silence settled again—not uncomfortable, but heavy, like there were still words lingering in the air that neither of you was ready to say.

The sleek black car slowed to a stop in front of your apartment building, the dim glow of the porch light casting a soft haze over the steps leading up.

“Oh—we’re here,” you said softly, unbuckling your seatbelt.

As you reached for the door handle, you hesitated, turning back to him with a polite smile. “Thank you for the ride, Sunghoon.”

His eyes met yours briefly in the darkness of the car, and for a moment it almost felt like time stretched. Then he gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.

“Get inside safe,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm.

You blinked at the unexpected softness before nodding. “I will. Good night.”

“Night.”

You stepped out into the cool night air, the faint sound of your shoes against the pavement filling the quiet. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you climbed the small set of stairs to your apartment door.

Sunghoon stayed parked, headlights dimmed, one hand on the wheel as he watched in his peripheral vision.

Only when he saw the door click shut behind you and the faint glow of your apartment lights flicker on did he finally let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Hmph…” he muttered to himself as he shifted the car into gear. The engine purred as he eased back into the road, fingers drumming once against the steering wheel.

“(Y/N), huh…” His voice was low, almost like he was testing the sound of your name on his tongue.

His lips twitched—maybe a smirk, maybe just a flicker of amusement—as he shook his head faintly to himself.

Sunghoon was used to the quiet. He liked it, even. It was the kind of silence that came from living in a house too big for just two people, where the only sounds were Sooyun’s occasional giggles or the faint hum of the fridge at night.

But these past three weeks? The quiet was gone.

And the strangest part? He didn’t mind.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he padded barefoot down the stairs, still in his plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He hadn’t even bothered to fix his bedhead—messy strands of soft black hair falling over his forehead—but he didn’t care.

The smell of pancakes hit him first. Sweet and warm, like brown sugar and childhood mornings. Then came the sound of soft laughter—your laugh.

His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no real annoyance in it as he stepped closer to the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, and let himself watch for just a second.

You were standing at the counter, a pastel pink apron tied around your waist, sleeves rolled up as you held out a plate. Sooyun was carefully passing you strawberries from a little bowl, her tiny fingers sticky with juice.

“Thank you, baby,” you said with a bright smile, taking them and placing them neatly on a stack of golden pancakes.

Sooyun grinned, grabbing the next bowl—blueberries this time—and held them up to you like it was the most important job in the world.

“You’re such a good helper,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Sunghoon’s lips twitched—fighting off the smile threatening to tug at his mouth.

“Isn’t it a little early for you two to be this happy?”

Your head whipped around at his voice, eyes widening slightly before softening into a sheepish smile. There he was, leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, his dark eyes slightly lidded with sleep.

“Sorry,” you said with a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He tilted his head faintly, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Sooyun,” he drawled, his voice low and rough from sleep, “what time does your school start again?”

The little girl froze for half a second before glancing up at you like she was waiting for you to answer for her.

You crouched slightly to her level, smiling reassuringly. “It starts at seven, right, baby?”

Sooyun nodded quickly.

You straightened, giving Sunghoon a calm, practiced smile. “It’s only six twenty. We’ve got plenty of time, don’t we?”

Sooyun nodded again, her twin pigtails bouncing. “Plenty of time, Daddy.”

He let out a small huff of air—something between amusement and resignation—as he pushed off the doorframe and strode toward his daughter.

“Come here, princess.”

Sooyun’s face lit up as she waddled over to him, and he scooped her up effortlessly, settling her on his lap as he took a seat at the dining table. Her little arms curled instinctively around his neck.

“You’ve been busy this morning,” he said to her, brushing a crumb off her cheek.

“We made pancakes!” she declared proudly. “With strawberries and blueberries. Aunt (Y/N) said they’re healthy.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you managed a smile. “Hope that’s okay… she insisted.”

Sunghoon shook his head faintly, his lips pressing together—not in disapproval, but something unreadable. “I don’t,” he said simply.

You blinked, unsure how to take that, but before you could respond, Sooyun spoke up.

“Daddy, can you try the one with blueberries? Aunt (Y/N) made it so pretty!”

You used her distraction as a chance to lower your gaze, placing her plate gently in front of her before sliding Sunghoon’s across the table.

He murmured a quiet thank you, but you didn’t dare meet his eyes, retreating slightly as you settled into the chair opposite him.

The three of you ate in near silence, the only sounds being Sooyun’s happy humming between bites and the faint clink of cutlery against plates.

Sunghoon sipped his coffee slowly, his dark eyes occasionally flicking toward you.

There was something different about you this morning, he noted. Something he couldn’t name.

You hadn’t been like this in the first week. Back then, you’d been polite but warm, exchanging small smiles and laughing with Sooyun easily. But over the past few days, there was a change.

You avoided his gaze now. You stepped away—barely noticeable, but enough for him to catch—whenever he got too close while reaching for Sooyun’s juice cup or helping her off the chair.

He wasn’t the type to care what people thought of him. Not with colleagues. Not with strangers.

So why did it irritate him now?

Why did it feel like you saw something in him—something dangerous or unworthy—and decided to keep your distance?

Was it the late-night confession in the car? The slip about Sooyun’s mother? He had let himself say too much, maybe.

He ran a thumb absentmindedly along the rim of his coffee cup, his jaw tightening as you rose from your seat to help Sooyun, who was now waddling toward the living room holding her little backpack.

“Aunt (Y/N),” Sooyun called sweetly.

You smiled and excused yourself softly, your chair scraping gently against the floor as you followed her out.

Sunghoon was left staring at the empty plates and the faint pink stain of strawberry syrup on his daughter’s now-vacant seat.

His fingers drummed against the table as he stared at nothing, mind racing.

Was he imagining it? Or had you already decided what kind of man he was and placed him in some unspoken box labeled keep distance?

He was still scowling at his coffee when Sooyun’s tiny voice floated back in.

“Bye, Daddy!”

He stood automatically, stepping out toward the foyer just as you were helping Sooyun into her little shoes by the door. The driver stood waiting patiently outside.

Sunghoon crouched slightly and pressed a kiss to Sooyun’s forehead, his voice softening in a way that still caught you off guard. “Be good, princess.”

She nodded eagerly. “I will! Bye, Daddy!”

“Bye, Aunt (Y/N)!” she added, beaming up at you.

You smiled, gently fixing the loose ends of her pigtails. “Bye, baby. Have fun at school.”

Together, the two of you watched as the car pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the road. Silence settled like a heavy blanket in the grand entryway.

You cleared your throat softly and glanced at him. “Don’t you have work today?”

His eyes didn’t leave the window. “It’s my day off.”

“Oh.” You nodded slowly, unsure what else to say. “That’s… nice.”

You hesitated for a moment before turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll just… clean up breakfast.”

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He only watched your retreating figure as you disappeared back into the kitchen, the faint sound of running water and clinking dishes soon filling the quiet house.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’

It had been another week.

Another week of you driving him absolutely insane.

At first, Sunghoon thought he could handle it—your soft laugh echoing through the house, your sweet scent lingering in every room you passed, your habit of brushing past him with a polite “excuse me” and never meeting his eyes for longer than two seconds.

But now? He was convinced you were doing it on purpose.

You avoided him like it was a sport—disappearing into Sooyun’s room, using her bath time or snack time as an excuse to flee any space where he happened to exist

And whenever you weren’t tending to his daughter, you were cleaning, reorganizing cabinets, folding laundry that didn’t even need folding.

It was late in the afternoon when he finally snapped out of yet another endless meeting, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes and sighing.

His glasses slid back on lazily as he stood, his shirt wrinkled slightly from hours of sitting. He pushed the sleeves of his black button-up to his forearms, exposing lean, veined arms as he rolled his shoulders.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

His bare feet made almost no sound against the polished stairs as he descended. He didn’t know why he went looking for you—not really. Maybe to scold you for avoiding him.

Maybe to—God help him—beg for a single conversation that didn’t involve Sooyun. Or maybe because he was weak, and he missed seeing you.

He didn’t expect the sight that greeted him in the kitchen.

You stood at the counter, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing across from you. Steam curled lazily from the kettle as you poured hot water into your mug, a little sigh leaving your lips as you stirred in honey.

The short silk skirt you wore rode high up your thighs, brushing dangerously against the tops of your socks—white knee-highs that looked so soft his fingers ached to tug them down slowly.

The oversized white sweater hung delicately off one shoulder, baring the smooth curve of your neck and collarbone to his hungry eyes.

Your hair was out of its usual bow, falling down your back in loose waves that made his hand twitch at his side. He wanted to thread his fingers through it, to pull it gently and watch your head tilt back—

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

You jumped slightly at the sound of a deep voice cutting through your little bubble. When you turned, your eyes went wide.

“Mr. Park,” you said softly, the mug clinking against the counter as you set it down too fast. “I—sorry, I didn’t hear you come down.”

Sunghoon said nothing at first, just dragged the fridge door open and grabbed a bottle of water like he hadn’t just caught you wearing something straight out of his fantasies.

“Rough day?” he asked casually, his voice husky from hours of talking in meetings. He twisted the cap off and tilted his head back, gulping down a long sip.

His Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow, and for some reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shifted your weight nervously. “You could… say that.”

He let the fridge door swing shut and leaned a hip against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. The way his muscles flexed under the rolled sleeves of his shirt made your breath hitch.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Your head snapped up. “I—I haven’t.”

“You have.” His dark eyes didn’t waver. “Every time I come into a room, you find a reason to leave. Is it something I did?”

You swallowed thickly. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” His voice was quiet but dangerously low, the kind of tone that made heat bloom in your chest and rush down your spine.

You gripped your mug a little tighter, knuckles turning white. “I—”

“Do I make you uncomfortable, (Y/N)?” Sunghoon’s gaze sharpened, studying every twitch of your expression like he was dissecting you piece by piece.

You shook your head quickly. “N-No. Of course not. You don’t—”

You were already trying to excuse yourself, your voice tight, “I—I should check on Sooyun, I think she—”

He clicked his tongue, low and sharp, cutting you off mid-sentence. “She’s still at school.”

You froze.

“B-but—”

He stepped closer. Another step and the air felt heavier, thick with something you couldn’t name.

“You’ve been cleaning her stuff since morning,” he said, voice dropping lower, smooth as velvet but laced with something far more dangerous. “Folding, dusting, scrubbing… avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Another step.

Your back bumped into the counter, his shadow falling over you as his hands braced the countertop on either side of your hips, effectively caging you in.

You refused to meet his eyes, staring down at the mug like it might save you. But your breath came quicker, chest rising and falling beneath the loose sweater you wore.

“What’s your excuse this time, sweetheart?” His words came out like a low growl, soft but suffocating.

Your throat worked as you swallowed hard. “I… I don’t want to overstep.”

That made him laugh—a short, breathy sound that was more incredulous than amused.

“Overstep?” He tilted his head, his lips curling into something wicked. “I think we’re already past that, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer. Your pulse was hammering in your ears, drowning out rational thought.

His long fingers reached for your chin, tipping it up gently but firmly until your eyes finally met his. The sharpness in his gaze nearly made your knees buckle—dark, hungry, and unbearably intense.

“Tell me, (Y/N)… are you here to be Sooyun’s babysitter…” he leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek as his lips ghosted near your ear, “…or are you here to seduce me?”

Your eyes went wide. “I’m not—”

“Are you sure about that?” His voice was pure sin now, low and teasing as one of his hands dropped.

Fingers traced lightly along your thigh, stopping just where the hem of your skirt met your knee socks. He outlined the edge with the pad of his thumb, the touch feather-light but enough to make your stomach flip violently.

“You go outside looking like this every day?” His words were laced with mock reproach, his dark eyes sweeping over you again. “That little skirt, those socks…”

You nodded mutely, unable to find your voice.

“Do you know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing up slightly over your thigh now, “the amount of boys you’ve probably got hooked on you without even realizing?”

You shook your head, lips parting slightly as you struggled to catch a steady breath.

“Such a naive little girl.” The words dripped from his tongue, almost like a scolding. His fingers pressed just a little firmer at the top of your thigh, enough to send your head spinning.

��Mr. Park…” you whispered, voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or a warning that you couldn’t handle what he was doing to you.

His smirk deepened as his other hand cupped your jaw fully, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“What am I going to do with you, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping lower—silky, lethal, and so intimate it made your knees threaten to give out.

You met his eyes finally, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Mr. Park… I’m not sure if this is a good idea…”

He clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and condescending as he leaned in closer, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Tell me, (Y/N)… have you ever had a boy treat you right before?” His breath was hot against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You hesitated, your hands tightening on the counter’s edge as you shook your head. “I-I’ve never… I’ve never had the time to.”

He chuckled darkly at that, a sound so low it vibrated in your chest. “Good.”

Before you could even process his answer, he surged forward. One strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against his chest, while his other hand slid up to cradle your cheek.

You gasped at the sudden closeness, your mug nearly tipping over behind you. His scent—clean soap, faint cologne, and something distinctly male—flooded your senses.

“Mr. Park—”

Your words were swallowed whole as his lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was hungry.

His lips moved over yours with a bruising intensity, demanding and firm, like he’d been holding back for far too long.

Your gasp slipped between the kiss, and he groaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth as his teeth nipped your lower lip, pulling just enough to make you whimper.

“Mr. Park—” you tried to say again, but it came out broken, caught between a gasp and his relentless mouth.

He pulled back just barely, his nose brushing yours as his eyes—dark and blown wide—held you captive.

“I told you to stop calling me that, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

His hand left your cheek for only a second. You barely caught the flash of movement before his glasses clattered carelessly onto the counter beside you.

“Say my name.”

“Sunghoon—”

That was all he needed. His lips crashed into yours again, harder this time, his thumb tilting your chin just right so he could deepen the kiss. His other arm kept you caged against him, his hand splayed wide across your lower back like he was staking a claim.

You let out a small whimper as his tongue teased at your lower lip before slipping past, coaxing you to respond.

And when you finally did—tentatively at first, then with growing desperation—he groaned, low and sinful, like you’d just undone him completely.

“You have no idea,” he murmured hotly between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Your head tilted back instinctively, a soft gasp escaping as his teeth grazed your skin.

Then, his voice—lower, rougher than you’d ever heard—broke through your daze.

“Jump.”

You blinked. “W-what?”

His hands gripped your thighs firmly, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. “I said jump.”

This time you didn’t think—you just obeyed, a startled sound leaving your lips as your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Good girl,” he muttered against your neck, his voice vibrating against your skin as he effortlessly hoisted you higher, your skirt riding up dangerously.

You could feel his strength in the way he carried you like you weighed nothing, his arms flexing beneath your thighs as his mouth never left you—kissing, nipping, leaving trails of heat down your throat.

“Sunghoon—” you gasped, hands clutching at his shoulders.

He didn’t answer. His only response was a low growl, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss that stole every ounce of air from your lungs.

Somehow, he navigated through the hall with you clinging to him, barely breaking stride as he reached his bedroom.

The door swung open with a sharp shove, and before you could even glance around, it slammed shut behind him with a loud thud—his foot kicking it closed as he strode in.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you were laid down on the bed, his hands sliding from your thighs to your hips as he set you down with maddening care.

But the second your back hit the sheets, he was on you again.

Sunghoon braced himself above you, one hand cupping your jaw as his lips crashed back onto yours. The kiss was desperate now, his teeth tugging on your lower lip as if punishing you for every second you’d made him wait.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” he rasped between kisses, his breath hot and ragged.

Your fingers threaded into his hair instinctively, tugging gently, and the groan it pulled from him was nothing short of sinful.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispered harshly against your skin, his mouth trailing to your neck, “how hard it’s been—watching you walk around my house, in those little skirts, acting so damn sweet—”

“Sung—Sunghoon…” your voice broke into a moan as his teeth scraped lightly at your pulse point, his tongue soothing the sting a second later.

“Thought you were here to make my daughter happy…” he muttered against your neck, his voice low and full of something dark.

His hands slid up your thighs slowly, teasing the sensitive skin as your skirt bunched higher.

“…and you just had to drag me into it too, huh?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers curved around the swell of your ass, squeezing firmly. The sound you made—embarrassed, breathless—drew a low groan from his chest as his lips trailed down your neck.

“You’ve been playing with fire, sweetheart,” he whispered, his hands still gripping you possessively. “Walking around like this… looking at me like you’re innocent.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Arms up,” he interrupted sharply, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel.

Your eyes widened, but something in his gaze left no room for argument. You obeyed, raising your arms shakily.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise making your stomach flutter as his fingers hooked into the hem of your sweater.

In one fluid motion, he tugged it off, tossing it somewhere behind him without ever breaking eye contact. You felt the cool air kiss your skin, leaving goosebumps as you sat there in your lace bra.

Sunghoon stilled for a moment, his dark eyes sweeping hungrily over you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice husky. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your cheeks burned under his gaze, but before you could speak, his hands reached behind you, fingers expertly unclasping your bra.

“Sunghoon—”

The garment fell away, and instinct took over. Your hands flew to your chest to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists gently but firmly, pinning them to the bed above your head.

“Don’t.” His tone was soft but commanding, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Don’t hide from me.”

You froze, your lips parting as he leaned down again.

“Let me see you,” he whispered, his eyes burning into yours.

His mouth descended, lips wrapping around one of your nipples while his hand moved to play with the other, fingers teasing and rolling gently. The sudden rush of heat shot through you so fast it made your back arch off the mattress.

“A-ah—Sunghoon—”

“You sound so pretty when you say my name like that,” he murmured against your skin, switching sides to give the same attention to your other breast.

You instinctively tried to close your legs, flustered by how exposed you felt, but his knee slid between them, pushing them apart effortlessly.

“Don’t do that either,” he muttered against your chest, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep them from closing.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his kisses began trailing lower.

Slow, torturous kisses down your stomach, his warm breath fanning over every new inch of exposed skin as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your skirt.

“Sunghoon—”

“Shhh.” His voice was low, thick with hunger. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

With one smooth motion, he tugged your skirt down your legs, tossing it aside to leave you in nothing but your panties.

He paused for a moment, his dark gaze locked between your thighs like he was already imagining how you’d taste.

“Fuck…” he murmured under his breath, almost to himself. “You’re so pretty for me like this.”

You whimpered, instinctively trying to press your thighs together again, but his hands slid between them, pushing you wide open.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said again, firmer this time. “I want to see all of you.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside just enough to bare you completely to his gaze. The cool air against your slick heat made you shiver.

“Already so wet,” he muttered darkly, his thumb grazing lightly over your folds. “You’ve been acting all shy, and this is what I find? Such a liar.”

“Sunghoon—please—”

“Please what, sweetheart?” His lips curved into a smirk as he kissed the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing gently. “Please stop? Or please keep going?”

Your back arched slightly, hands gripping the sheets as a whine slipped out.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

Then, without warning, he dove in.

His tongue parted your folds in one slow, deliberate lick from base to clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“God—”

“Shit, you taste so fucking sweet,” he growled against you before latching onto your clit, his tongue flicking in slow, teasing circles that had your hips jerking.

“Sunghoon—ah—” Your voice cracked as his hands gripped your thighs, forcing them wider and holding you down like he wasn’t about to let you squirm away.

“Stay still,” he ordered roughly between licks. “Let me enjoy this.”

You felt his fingers join in, two of them sliding into your soaked heat with maddening ease as his tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. The stretch made you cry out, your nails digging into the sheets.

“You’re tight,” he groaned, pumping his fingers slowly before curling them just right. “Bet you’d feel even better wrapped around my cock.”

Your walls clenched at his words, and he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive spot.

“Oh? You like the sound of that, sweetheart?” His tongue pressed flat against your clit before sucking gently, sending white-hot sparks shooting through your body. “You want me to fill you up, huh? Stretch this pretty little pussy until you can’t think?”

“S-Sunghoon—please—”

“Please what?” He smirked against your core, his pace unrelenting as your thighs trembled in his hold. “Use your words, baby.”

“I—I don’t—fuck—”

You couldn’t even finish the thought before your body locked up, heat flooding through you in a sharp wave as your climax crashed over you.

Your thighs trembled around Sunghoon’s head, but his strong hands kept you spread wide as his tongue continued its relentless assault.

“Shhh… there you go,” he murmured against your clit, his voice low and wrecked. “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum for me. God, you taste so fucking perfect.”

Your back arched off the mattress, fingers clutching desperately at the sheets as the pleasure spiraled, making you whimper his name over and over.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were slick, his dark eyes glittering with pure hunger.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss you. The taste of yourself on his tongue made you moan into his mouth, your body still shivering from the aftershocks.

As his mouth claimed yours, you barely noticed his hands working at the buttons of his black shirt, tugging it off his shoulders and tossing it to the floor.

He moved with purpose now—quickly unzipping his pants and pushing them down along with his boxers.

When he straightened back up, your eyes widened, lips parting in shock.

“Is… is that going to fit?” you stammered, staring at his length, thick and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself slowly, precum already glistening at the tip.

A low, deep laugh rumbled from his chest as he leaned forward, his thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip.

“It will, sweetheart. I got you,” he said softly, his tone dripping with reassurance. “We’ll take it slow, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

You nodded weakly, your thighs instinctively trying to press together again. But Sunghoon was already settling between them, his broad frame dwarfing yours as he lined himself up.

“Relax for me,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. “You’re so perfect. So fucking perfect.”

The blunt head of his cock rubbed through your folds, gathering your slick as he teased your entrance. The sensation made you whine, your hips twitching involuntarily.

“Shhh… it’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. “Just a little stretch, yeah? I’ll go slow.”

Then he began to press in, inch by inch. The stretch burned slightly, your walls clenching instinctively around him as you let out a hiss.

“God—Sunghoon—”

“I know, I know.” His hand cupped your cheek tenderly as he stilled, letting you adjust. “You’re doing so good for me. So tight—fuck, I can feel every bit of you.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his other hand stroking your thigh gently.

“Breathe, sweetheart. You’ve got me. I’m right here.”

When he finally bottomed out, buried fully inside you, he paused. His eyes softened at the sight of yours—glossy and overwhelmed, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He cooed, thumb brushing your temple. “Take your time. Don’t rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded shakily, your hands gripping his shoulders as you whispered, breathless, “You… you can move.”

His eyes softened, his thumb stroking your cheek before his lips ghosted over yours. “You sure, sweetheart?”

“Yes…” you exhaled, your hips shifting slightly beneath him. “Please.”

That one word made something in him snap.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple as he slowly began to rock his hips.

The stretch burned at first, but then his thick length dragged against that perfect spot inside you, making your lips part in a moan.

“Fuck—you feel so good,” Sunghoon groaned, his voice husky and low as his pace stayed slow, deliberate. “So warm, so tight. Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin soon filled the room, mingling with your breathy whines and his deep, guttural groans. Each thrust sent shocks of pleasure spiraling through you, your nails digging into his back as you struggled to hold on.

“Sunghoon—” you gasped, arching into him as his hips rolled deeper, the head of his cock brushing places that made your toes curl.

“Yeah, baby?” he panted, his lips pressing kisses down your neck between words. “Talk to me. Tell me how it feels.”

“So—so full—”

“That’s right,” he growled, his pace picking up slightly as your walls fluttered around him. “Taking every inch of me like such a good little girl.”

You raked your nails down his back at a particularly deep thrust, and he hissed, his hips stuttering for a moment.

“Shit—do that again,” he gritted out. “Mark me up. Don’t hold back, sweetheart.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, leaving angry red streaks in their wake, and Sunghoon’s groan turned into something feral.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered harshly, his pace now rougher, faster. “So fucking perfect for me. You hear that? Mine.”

“Y-yes—yours—”

“That’s it,” he praised, his thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip as his hips snapped harder. “Cum for me again, baby. Wanna feel you soak my cock.”

The knot in your stomach unraveled fast, your walls clenching tightly around him as you cried out his name.

“Sunghoon!”

“Fuck—there it is—goddamn,” he groaned, hips jerking as he buried himself deep one last time. His release spilled hot inside you, his breath ragged against your ear as his body trembled with the force of his climax.

He stayed like that for a moment, chest pressed to yours, both of you panting in the quiet room now thick with heat and the faint scent of sweat and sex.

“You did so good for me,” he murmured finally, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw as he slowly pulled out.

You whimpered at the loss, and Sunghoon hushed you gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I got you.”

Sliding off the bed, he disappeared into the bathroom, returning seconds later with warm towels. He cleaned you up carefully, his touch tender as his thumb brushed soothing circles on your thigh.

“Sunghoon…” you murmured, dazed and still trembling slightly.

“Shhh. Rest, baby.” He wiped himself down quickly before climbing back into bed with you, his fingers brushing stray hairs from your face.

You looked so perfect there—bare, flushed, glowing in the soft golden sunlight slipping in through the slightly open curtains.

He felt his chest tighten at the sight.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, almost to himself, as his thumb traced your bottom lip.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, still hazy but soft. “Sooyun’s… almost done with school.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

“Do you want to pick her up together?” he asked softly, his voice warm and calm now.

You nodded, and he chuckled lightly, his fingers still stroking your cheek.

“Alright, sweetheart. But first…” He pulled you into his chest, tucking you against him as the sunlight bathed you both. “Let me hold you like this for a little longer.”

The sleek black car slowed as Sunghoon turned into the school’s parking lot, his hand casually resting on the gear shift. He parked smoothly, cutting the engine with a quiet sigh.

Without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out. The afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, highlighting the strands of brown as he strode around the front of the car.

You fumbled with your seatbelt, but before you could even reach for the handle, the passenger door swung open.

“Come on,” Sunghoon said softly, his hand outstretched.

You blinked up at him, your heart fluttering at how natural this all felt. Sliding your hand into his, you let him help you out.

“Thank you,” you said with a smile.

His lips tugged upwards—barely noticeable, but it was there—as his thumb brushed against yours briefly before he let go to shut the door.

As he fell into step beside you, his presence steady and grounding, he gently placed his palm on your lower back, guiding you toward the parents’ waiting area.

But before either of you could even speak, the sound of quick, tiny footsteps broke through the hum of other parents chatting.

“Daddy! Aunt (Y/N)!”

You looked down just in time to see Sooyun barreling toward you both, her little backpack bouncing wildly with each step.

“Hi, baby!” you greeted, crouching slightly with a wide smile.

“Hi!” she beamed up at you, her little face glowing with excitement before turning her attention to her father.

“Daddy, carry me!”

Sunghoon’s expression softened instantly as he bent down, scooping her up in one arm with practiced ease.

“Gotcha, princess,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

Sooyun giggled, clutching her tiny arms around his neck as you straightened. Without thinking, Sunghoon’s free hand found yours again, fingers intertwining effortlessly as he started walking back toward the parking lot.

It felt natural. Like this was always meant to be. The three of you—together.

As you reached the car, Sunghoon set Sooyun down gently, ruffling her hair as she tugged her backpack straps back into place.

She looked up at you suddenly, her big eyes blinking.

“Can I sit with you at the front, Aunt (Y/N)?” she asked sweetly, her voice hopeful.

You glanced at Sunghoon, unsure if he’d be okay with that, but he gave you a single nod—subtle, approving.

Your heart warmed as you crouched again, holding your arms out. “Of course, baby. Come on, I’ll carry you.”

Sooyun squealed happily as she ran into your arms, and you lifted her with a soft laugh, adjusting her on your hip as Sunghoon opened the passenger door for you both.

“Let’s get you buckled up, yeah?” you said softly, kissing the crown of her head as she leaned against you contentedly.

Sunghoon’s eyes lingered on the two of you for a moment longer than necessary, his expression unreadable but warm.

And then, as if nothing had shifted—when in truth, everything had—he turned back toward the car, opening the door for you both.

The drive back was quiet, Sooyun’s little head resting against your shoulder as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair.

Every so often, Sunghoon’s gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, catching glimpses of you two together, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips each time.

Now, hours later, the three of you were curled up in the living room. A thick knit blanket was draped over you and Sooyun, who had snuggled firmly into your side with her small hand clutching your sweater.

‘The Little Mermaid’ played softly on the TV, the bluish glow of the screen painting the room in gentle hues.

Sunghoon was stretched out on the other side of the couch, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a mug of tea cooling on the coffee table in front of him.

His hair was slightly messy now, his black sweatshirt hanging loose on his frame.

As Ursula sang her climactic reprise, Sunghoon leaned forward slightly, his brows furrowed as he whispered,

“How did Eric not notice that it wasn’t Ariel? I mean, her whole voice was gone, but come on…”

You stifled a laugh, pressing your lips together.

Sooyun, however, wasn’t as amused. She sat up slightly, her little brows knitted together as she shushed him fiercely. “Shhh! Watch, Daddy!”

Sunghoon raised his hands in mock defeat, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, okay—my bad, princess. I’ll be quiet.”

You let out a soft laugh at the exchange, shaking your head as you said teasingly, “That’s not very nice, Sooyun. Poor Daddy.”

Sooyun’s stern expression faltered, her lips twitching as she sheepishly muttered, “Sorry, Daddy…”

“That’s better,” Sunghoon chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her bangs.

You smiled as you gently brushed her fringe away from her eyes, tucking it back as she settled in against your side once more, her attention glued to the screen.

From his spot, Sunghoon watched the way you handled her—so gentle, so natural. It pulled at something deep in his chest, a warmth he wasn’t prepared for.

“She really, really likes you,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the movie.

Your gaze flickered to him, the TV’s glow catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness in his eyes. You gave him a quiet smile, your voice equally tender.

“It’s a good thing I took up this job then, yeah?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and warm as his eyes crinkled. “Yeah… yeah, it really is.”

There was a pause, something settling between the two of you like a secret too precious to name. Then he leaned his head against yours, his dark hair brushing your temple as his hand rested loosely across his stomach.

Sooyun yawned suddenly, the little sound pulling both your gazes down to her. Her eyes fluttered sleepily, her grip on your sweater loosening as she shifted closer to your side.

“She’s out,” you whispered with a small laugh, your heart melting at the sight of her soft, peaceful face.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon murmured, his eyes soft as he gazed at her. “And she looks perfect.”

You blinked back the warmth pooling in your eyes, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sooyun’s forehead as you whispered, “Should I tuck her into bed?”

Sunghoon’s gaze shifted from his daughter to you, something unreadable flickering across his face before he stood, stretching slightly.

“I’ll come with you,” he said quietly, reaching for the remote to pause the movie.

Carefully, you adjusted your hold on Sooyun, her little arms still loosely wrapped around your neck as she slept soundly against your shoulder. Standing slowly, you tried your best not to jostle her.

Sunghoon’s hand instinctively went to your lower back, steadying you as you moved, his touch warm even through the fabric of your sweater.

Together, you walked up the staircase, the soft creak of each step the only sound between you.

When you reached her room, Sunghoon pushed the door open gently, the faint glow of the hallway spilling across the pale pink walls.

You stepped inside carefully, the scent of her vanilla-scented nightlight already filling the space.

The little girl’s room was as dreamy as her personality—tiny stuffed animals arranged neatly on a shelf, her small bed framed by a sheer canopy.

Sunghoon moved ahead of you, switching on her pink bunny-shaped nightlight so the room was bathed in a soft, comforting glow.

You lowered Sooyun onto her bed as delicately as possible, tucking her under the pastel comforter. She shifted slightly, a little sigh escaping her lips, but didn’t wake.

You were smoothing the blanket over her small frame when her voice, sleepy and soft, broke the stillness of the room:

“Night night, Daddy… night night, Mommy…”

Your breath hitched.

You froze, your wide eyes darting to Sunghoon. He was standing at the foot of the bed, his hands resting loosely in his pockets. His lips parted slightly at the sound of her words, but then… a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The look he gave you made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. It was warm. Gentle. Almost longing.

He didn’t correct her. Didn’t laugh. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against Sooyun’s forehead.

“Night night, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and tender.

You swallowed hard, willing the lump in your throat to ease as tears pricked your eyes. Slowly, you brushed your fingers through Sooyun’s hair, your voice coming out shakier than you wanted.

“Sweet dreams, baby girl,” you whispered with a soft smile, even as you blinked rapidly to keep the tears from spilling.

Sooyun moved again, already drifting deeper into sleep, her small hand clutching the edge of her blanket.

You lingered for a moment, staring down at her peaceful face before forcing yourself to step back. Sunghoon was waiting by the door, his dark eyes still fixed on you.

When you met his gaze, there was a softness there that made it almost impossible to breathe.

Sunghoon’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

Without a word, his hand slid gently around your waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through your sweater.

You sat comfortably on the bleachers, one hand resting on the curve of your very pregnant belly while the other balanced a thermos of warm tea on your thigh.

Your eyes followed Sunghoon as he glided effortlessly across the ice, giving calm instructions to a group of young skaters. His voice carried even from where you sat—firm yet gentle.

But your attention drifted just a little as two very familiar figures hovered by the rink’s edge.

Sooyun—now fifteen and nearly the spitting image of her father—skated gracefully, her hand clasped protectively around the chubby fingers of her little brother, Sangwon.

At five years old, he was a carbon copy of Sunghoon: jet-black hair, doe eyes, and even that little furrow of concentration as he tried to balance himself on the ice.

“Careful, Sangwon,” Sooyun murmured, adjusting her grip as his tiny skates wobbled dangerously.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, the warmth spreading in your chest as you slowly stood, your free hand bracing the small of your back.

The weight of your belly made you move carefully, but there was a soft contentment in it now. You strolled toward the low door by the rink’s edge, calling out in a gentle tone,

“Be careful, you two. Don’t pull each other down.”

Sooyun looked up, her face brightening at the sight of you. She carefully guided Sangwon toward you, her long hair bouncing as she skated.

“Mom, don’t strain yourself,” she said quickly, eyeing your belly with exaggerated concern.

You laughed softly, smoothing a hand over the dress that hugged your rounded figure. “I’m not disabled, Sooyun. Relax.”

She pouted as she helped Sangwon step clumsily through the little door. His tiny arms immediately wrapped around your legs.

“Hi, Mommy!” he chirped up at you, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

You ruffled his hair, leaning down slightly with a grin. “Hi, baby. Were you skating like a big boy?”

Before Sangwon could answer, a familiar voice drawled behind you. “Careful there, pregnant lady. One fall and Sunghoon’s gonna kill all of us.”

You turned sharply, rolling your eyes at the sight of Heeseung strolling toward you in his oversized coat, hands shoved into his pockets, a smirk plastered across his face.

“Shut up, Heeseung,” you shot back playfully, though you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out.

“Uncle Heeseung!” Sangwon and Sooyun beamed in unison, their faces lighting up as two more figures appeared from behind him.

“Hi, Aunt (Y/N)!” chirped Hanmin and Hyunmin—Heeseung’s twin nephews who were the same age as Sooyun.

“Hanmin, Hyunmin,” you greeted them warmly with a smile, waving as the pair grinned back.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sooyun warned, narrowing her eyes at the twins as they exchanged mischievous looks. But it was too late.

With a yelp, Sooyun found herself being tugged back toward the ice by the two boys.

“What are you two doing?!” she shrieked, her skates scraping against the rubber mat as they dragged her through the little door.

“They’re gonna get it,” you murmured with a grin, watching the chaotic trio vanish back onto the rink.

“That’s what happens when they team up,” Heeseung said with a smirk, leaning casually against the small doorframe.

A sudden presence made you glance to your left—Sunghoon, holding his gloves in one hand, his brow slightly raised as he watched the three teens scuffle on the ice. “What’s going on with those three?”

You shook your head with a soft laugh, waving it off. “Let the kids be kids, yeah?”

“Yeah,” came another voice from behind, deeper and teasing.

All three of you turned as Jake sauntered in, scarf loose around his neck, and eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Uncle Jake!” Sangwon squealed, breaking into a run across the floor. Jake didn’t miss a beat, scooping the boy up with a practiced ease.

“My favorite nephew,” Jake declared dramatically, pressing a loud kiss to Sangwon’s cheek, making him giggle.

“Hey, what about us?” Hanmin called out from the rink.

“Second and third favorite nephews,” Jake called back, earning a chorus of groans from the twins as Sooyun cackled at them.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked briefly to you, and his lips curled into the faintest of smiles—the kind he reserved only for these quiet, domestic moments.

“You shouldn’t be standing too long,” he murmured, stepping a little closer as his hand brushed lightly against your elbow.

You looked up, cheeks warming as you let him guide you back to the bleachers. “I’m fine. Don’t fuss.”

Sunghoon only huffed, his jaw tight as he stepped off the ice and onto the rubber mat. His hand didn’t leave yours as he carefully eased you down onto the bleacher seat.

“You’re not fine. You’re eight months pregnant and acting like you’re still twenty-one with no responsibilities.”

You groaned, throwing your head back slightly as you adjusted your dress over your belly. “You’re so dramatic. I wasn’t even standing for that long.”

Before Sunghoon could retort, Jay approached with his hands shoved in his pockets, his brows raised in amusement at the sight of his brooding friend fussing over you.

Behind him, Heeseung and Jake exchanged knowing smirks.

“Careful there, Sunghoon,” Heeseung called out, his voice laced with teasing. “Don’t anger the pregnant lady. She might swing first.”

Jake barked out a laugh, clapping Heeseung on the back. “Or worse, she’ll make you sleep on the couch.”

Sunghoon shot them both a sharp glare that could slice through glass.

“Do you two want an angry punch to your faces instead?” His voice was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that carried a quiet warning.

Jake raised both his hands in mock surrender, laughter still rumbling in his chest. “Relax. If it wasn’t for us, you wouldn’t have met (Y/N) in the first place. You’re welcome for literally changing your life.”

Heeseung leaned casually against the railing, grinning. “Yeah, you should be thanking us. Maybe even buying us dinner for setting the wheels in motion.”

Still gripping your hand, Sunghoon glanced down.

His thumb brushed against the massive diamond engagement ring glittering on your finger—the one perfectly paired with the equally dazzling wedding band. His lips curved faintly, just enough to make you catch it.

“Yeah…” he muttered, his voice soft but laced with that usual edge. “I should thank you assholes. You changed my life.”

You looked at him then, meeting his gaze as your own cheeks warmed under the intensity of it. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles.

You smiled, tilting your head. “What?”

Sunghoon shook his head slightly, but there was the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Nothing,” he murmured.

Then, louder, he turned to the men still loitering near the rink door. “Do you guys want to eat dinner at our place?”

Heeseung’s grin was immediate, bright and wolfish. “Sure, I’ll call Heedo and let him know he’s babysitting tonight.”

He was already pulling out his phone, scrolling like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

Jake smirked, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “Free food and I get to harass Sunghoon in his own house? Count me in.”

You chuckled softly, watching the easy banter as Sunghoon straightened up and called out, “Sooyun—come on, let’s go!”

From across the rink, Sooyun’s yelp echoed as Hanmin and Hyunmin grinned devilishly, tugging her between them like she was some kind of prize.

“Let go of me, you little brats!” she scolded, though her laughter betrayed how unbothered she really was.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your hand resting protectively over your belly as the trio skated off the ice toward you. Sooyun’s hair was slightly messy, her cheeks flushed pink from both embarrassment and exertion.

“Keep your nephews away from my daughter, Heeseung,” Sunghoon warned, his voice low but edged with amusement as he watched the scene unfold.

Heeseung didn’t even flinch. In fact, his grin grew wider as he pocketed his phone. “Why? At least you’ll know she’ll have good-looking kids when she marries one of them.”

You nearly choked on your own laugh as Sunghoon’s brows shot up. He turned slowly to Heeseung, his hand tightening slightly around yours.

“Heeseung,” he said flatly, “do you want me to throw you into the rink? Because I will.”

Jake burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, I’m staying for this drama.”

Sooyun finally managed to break free from the twins’ grasp, rushing to your side as Sangwon hugged her legs.

And as Sunghoon’s eyes found yours across the commotion, that quiet, tender smile of his made your heart swell—it felt like home.

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified @ateez-atiny380 @chemiru @eleftheriance

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tbaluver · 3 days ago

Text

DODGING HIS KISSES

featuring: phainon and mydei

genre: fluff + silly

a/n: hihi lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ this is just inspo i saw from tiktok hehe this might be a little ooc so sorry if it is! im still learning how to write more for them (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

── .✦ PHAINON:

There’s no way you could possibly do this more than once when you know how much Phainon loves to kiss you. The moment he leans in, eyes half-lidded, and lips just slightly parted, you turn your head at the last second.

For a second, he looks confused, then a little embarrassed. Still, he tries to play it cool. Second time the charm, right? Or at least, that’s what he thinks.

His face falls into the saddest little pout, like a puppy who just got told “no” to a sweet treat and doesn’t understand why. If he had floppy ears, they’d be drooping by now and his tail would have stopped wagging entirely.

“Is something wrong?” he asks quietly. “Does my breath smell bad?” His lips twitch downward even more and it’s hard to resist him for too long.

You lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek, then a soft one to his lips, a playful smile on your lips as you pull away. Instantly, he brightens. His invisible puppy ears perk back up and his tail starts wagging like crazy. He chases after your lips, once, twice, and a few more times for good measure, like he’s trying to make up for every second he lost.

── .✦MYDEI:

Poor baby is so confused.

He just got back home after hours of relentless training, his muscles aching. All he wanted was to collapse into your arms and melt into your warmth. But instead, it feels like he did something wrong to make you avoid him and he had no idea why.

Maybe he’s more tired than he thought. Maybe he hit his head during sparring and didn’t realize it. Or maybe he just reeked of the smell of battle. That would make more sense than you dodging him on purpose.

But then you avoid his kiss again.

He blinks in disbelief, eyebrows furrowing as he watches you continue with whatever you’re doing, like nothing is wrong. Slowly, he makes his way to your side and sits down, observing you. “Is there something wrong? Are you upset?”

A soft thud hits the floor as he slips off one of his gauntlets. With his calloused fingers, he reaches out for you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger, brushing your skin before cradling your cheek. You look back at him, trying to keep an innocent expression.

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him. “Are you-”

But before you can finish the question, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It’s gentle, warm, and it completely catches you off guard that your plan falls apart the moment you kiss him back. You can feel the way his body relaxes just a little.

“Everything is okay,” he murmurs, letting himself flop on top of you, resting his weight against you as you let his strong arms wrap around you loosely.

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crushmeeren · 3 days ago

Text

⋆ master list

⋆ cw ꒱ just fluff! but rin being a little shit is a warning all on its own.

Rin would admit he wants to marry you in a TikTok.

He’s not forgetful, he doesn’t have a slip of the tongue. Rin’s just nonchalant about it because it’s the easiest decision he’s ever made.

Atsumu’d begged him to make one. Literally got on his knees and pleaded. Something about having two professional volleyball players / long time friends being great for views and press for both teams.

Blah blah, Rin didn’t really listen.

It’s filmed at Onigiri Miya because Rin thought he might as well see Osamu too. Rin knows he’d be butthurt if he visited Atsumu only while in town. It’s after closingand they’re sat at the counter, Osamu on the employee side out of camera view, wiping things down.

“We’re gonna taste test my idiot brother’s new onigiri today,” Atsumu says to the camera, grinning as Osamu gives him the middle finger. “It’s got spicy tuna and —,”

“My wife loves spicy tuna.”

Atsumu looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Yer wife?”

Rin rolls his eyes and stares at Atsumu. “Yeah. My wife.”

“Ya don’t have a wife, Sunarin. Do ya need yer head checked?”

Rin punches Atsumu in the arm. Hard. “I will once she says yes, dumbass.”

The twins lock eyes before Atsumu shoots Rin a nasty glare. “Whatever,” he grumbles. “Don’t punch me so hard, jerk!”

“Oh? Self proclaimed world’s best setter can’t handle a little hit?”

Atsumu wants to punch the smug grin off Rin’s face.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Rin has the nerve to not even tell you about the conversation before the TikTok’s sent to you a million and five times. From friends, family, Atsumu — and it goes viral. EJP Raijin even reposts it.

A text waits for Rin one evening after practice.

from : wifey material 💍

“That was the worst proposal to ever exist. I’m not saying yes until you come up with something better, Rintarou.”

#suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna fluff #suna rintarou fluff #suna headcanons #suna rintaro x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #suna x you #hq x you #hq headcanons #sunarin #haikyuu suna #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #suna rintarou #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro x you

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harringtonfeels · 2 days ago

Text

sweet girl

6.6k | mechanic!Eddie Munson x coworker!Reader | Smut

Eddie's trying to rebuild his social life, with little success. When he finally has something to celebrate, he invites you and some guys from the shop out for drinks - his treat. When you're the only one who shows up at the bar, he finds himself seeing you in a new light.

anon asked: Eddie goes out one night and sees the funny kind but not attractive girl from work at a club. He sees her in a new light. NSFW idea

Notes: Reader is a little insecure. Soft dom!Eddie/needy sub!Reader. Gareth makes an appearance, but I (the author) am not very nice to him. Or his grandma.

Eddie's always been a little bit of a flirt. Nothing too crazy - he's always considered himself pretty good at reading the room - but sometimes just enough to get himself into trouble. Between that and his bad reputation, there's a reason his boss normally has the girl at the front desk handle all his transactions with customers.

Working at Kovach's took some getting used to at first. He's a social person, freak or not, and his coworkers… Well, they're outgoing in some ways, but they're not much like Eddie. Not nerdy, not big into his kind of music. And while he's been able to skate by with coworkers in the past by being charming and funny, the coworkers who've liked him the most are usually women. And, well, there aren't a lot of girls working at Kovach's Auto Repair. As a matter of fact, there's only one: you.

While Eddie knows his way around a car, he doesn't always know how to handle the sausage fest that is Kovach's. He's not an unmanly guy, but he's not exactly one of the boys, either. So more often than not, when Eddie's feeling social, he finds himself leaned against the front desk, teasing you about little things. How carefully you write when you total up parts and labor, the way you've actually got a preference for brands of copy paper.

Today's been a good day. Eddie's made a fair bit of cash from wrapping up a big repair - uninsured driver, hit a deer - and all that work has paid off. He's going out tonight to celebrate, and of course, you're invited.

"Me?" you ask, brow furrowing in disbelief as he plucks a cupcake out of the Tupperware dish beside you.

If Eddie notices your surprise, he doesn't mention it. "Yeah, duh," he says flatly. "You ever been to Crafter's?" It's a little brewery that opened up in the center of town. It's not the Ritz, but it's a little classier than The Hideaway. Over the last few years, Eddie drinks a lot less than he used to, so he prefers a quality drink when he does, instead of whatever glorified nail polish remover will get him drunk the fastest.

He's got no shame as he crams about two-thirds of the cupcake into his mouth. It's yellow cake and blue-dyed buttercream frosting. Eddie wouldn't just kill for the sweets you bring in on Fridays - he'd die for them. You gave up a long time ago on expecting Eddie to stick to one, so you've started bringing a little extra. For the whole crew, of course. Just in case.

You shake your head. "No, I've never been."

"Well, consider it a date," he says casually as he licks icing off his hand. "You, me, Gareth, and whatever other unlucky schmucks here don't already have plans for the night."

It doesn't go unnoticed by you that Eddie just assumes you don't have plans. Unfortunately, he's right, so it's hard to be mad. It's been a while since you've gone out anywhere, so you really can't blame him.

"Alright," you shrug.

Eddie throws a little side-eye your way. "'Alright'?"

You laugh at that. "What do you want me to say, Eddie? 'Oh, benevolent overlord, thank you for this blessing. I'd never be invited anywhere without you.'"

His grin is worth the teasing, and he throws a wink your way. "Now, that's more like it," he says, pointing in your direction. Then, he leans back in to snatch another cupcake, and you swat his hand away. He heads back into the shop with his hands up in surrender, wicked grin all but promising he'll be back to try again.

Surprising absolutely nobody, none of the guys from the shop come. Eddie's been trying to get to know his coworkers better, but it's been an uphill battle. Not everyone is keen to be seen associating with him in the first place. Plus, most of them have worked there since the shop opened. They're all somewhat older than Eddie and usually have wives to get home to or some sportsball event on TV.

But Eddie's been working hard to keep an open mind and an optimistic outlook. It's hard to do - harder than ever - but it's also more important than ever. Somewhere in the aftermath of all the shit that's gone down in Hawkins, he realized the only way he was ever going to have a life was to start acting like, one day, he might have one.

So he tries to let it roll right off his back, like a duck in water.

Gareth showed up, which is at least better than no one. And you should be here any minute now, assuming you keep your word. And he doesn't take you for a liar.

"What's this girl's name again?" Gareth asks, frowning at his cider. He doesn't love meeting new people and isn't very good at remembering them, either. He's already met you once, when he brought his car into the shop, but Eddie supposes maybe he wouldn't remember your name, either, if he'd only ever interacted with you once at the checkout counter.

It's not that there's anything wrong with you. It's just that he wouldn't exactly consider you memorable. You're punctual and diligent. You do a good job working the front desk, but Eddie's not sure what would even make a receptionist stand out in a place like Kovach's, or what would qualify one for employee of the month.

You're not what Eddie'd call a knockout, either. The guys at work don't make up excuses to come and lean against the counter all casual-like, just so they can lay eyes on you. They don't ask you out for dinner, or offer their "services" - the single employees or the customers. It's not like someone would take a look at you and run for the hills, but you're just… a regular person. Exactly the kind of girl Eddie would expect to see working the counter at Kovach's.

So no, you're not exactly memorable. But you are cool, in a sense. Your uncle runs the shop, so you're not afraid of making fun of the other mechanics with Eddie when you've got downtime. (What's he gonna do? Fire you?) And you're always willing to help Eddie squeak in last-minute orders for parts, even when you should tell him to wait until tomorrow. And the thing that makes you the coolest is that you look at Eddie like he's somebody, which is a lot better than he gets from anyone else at the shop, except for Kovach himself.

Eddie reminds Gareth of your name for the third time since he invited him to Crafter's in the first place. Says it nice and slow, then spells it for good measure with a mocking tune.

He never even sees you coming when you pull the barstool away from the high-top and climb onto it. One second, there was no trace of you, and now, here you are, in all your glory (or lack thereof).

"You spelled it wrong," you say by way of a greeting. You don't look directly at him, but you're not looking at Gareth, either. Instead, you lean slightly toward Eddie, bending over at the waist to place your purse on the ground between his seat and yours. Your hair brushes his arm, and he pulls back, trying to give you some space.

When you sit up straight, you flash Eddie a half-heartedly apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that." Then you look across the table. "You must be Gareth?" you ask.

Eddie blinks, realizing he's fumbled the intro already. "Oh, yeah." There's something about your arrival that's thrown Eddie off-kilter. It's probably just that he expected he'd see you walk through the door - that's part of why he chose this table in the first place.

Gareth, for his part, doesn't seem fazed at all. He just says "yep," as though having a bit of personality might actually kill him.

"No Greg?" you ask Eddie.

He shrugs. "They all said no, except for Michael, who said maybe, which means no."

Gareth whistles lowly at that and shakes his head, taking a big swig of his cider. Eddie wrinkles his nose in response. Gareth's never learned how to savor anything. He drinks to get drunk. Eddie used to, too; now, he doesn't remember what he enjoyed about it.

"Wow, Ed," Gareth drawls, "your social life is reaching new heights every day."

Eddie doesn't even dignify Gareth with a response. There's plenty he could make fun of Gareth for, but he knows this game well. Eddie's got the advantage of knowing both of his guests, and you and Gareth don't know each other at all. Leave it to Gareth to try and build a bridge by making Eddie the butt of the joke.

He doesn't mind, not really. It's probably better than Gareth ignoring you all night.

So instead of reacting to Gareth's stupid jab, Eddie looks at you intently. "Want anything to drink?"

You cock your head to the side and look at the glass he's got his hand wrapped around. "What are you drinking?" Your voice is soft; he can just hear you over the low thrum of guitar and voices of regulars.

Eddie's been experimenting with mixed drinks since he started coming to Crafter's, and he's challenged himself not to drink the same thing twice all summer. It started as a bid to make conversation with the bartender on duty during his first visit. Now it's turned into a collaborative quest to test the limits of what Bartender Nick can do with the supplies available to him. Eddie's had some real stinkers as a result - last week, it was some atrocity that had the consistency of egg drop soup - but this one's not bad at all.

"Coffee and Coke," he tells you, like that's a normal thing to be drinking.

You don't seem impressed. Even worse, from your expression, you're a little revolted. "Seriously?"

"Well, yeah. It's like an espresso martini but with Coke." You don't seem convinced. "Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it. I'll buy you one if you'll give it a chance."

"I think I'd rather have a drink menu."

Eddie sighs theatrically, but like a diligent host, he pushes his barstool back and stands. "Your loss," he says, waggling his eyebrows. "Food menu, too?"

"Yes," Gareth chimes in, looking bored as usual.

"Be nice," Eddie warns Gareth, signaling that he's keeping an eye on him before weaving through bodies and chairs to the bar. That's all he needs, is Gareth scaring you off before you can even settle in.

For better or worse, before Gareth even receives the appetizer he ordered, his mom calls the bar, asking for him, and he has to leave. Grandma had a fall, and his mom had to take her to the hospital but forgot all of Grandma's meds at home. Eddie asks if he's going to be okay, but Gareth doesn't let on like he's worried. He says it doesn't sound too serious, and despite how much Gareth pretends he doesn't care about anything, Eddie knows he's a Grandma's boy through and through. If it was a big deal, he'd be acting like it.

"Poor Grandma," you say with a contemplative frown after Gareth leaves.

Eddie'd never given a lot of thought to the prospect of getting older and what that must be like until '86. He never really thought he'd live to be old. Now that he's determined to do so, that kind of stuff weighs on his mind more than he'd like. He makes a mental note to take some flowers to Gareth's grandma tomorrow, after sleeping off whatever level of hangover he leaves Crafter's with.

As if like clockwork, one of the servers brings out the appetizer sampler. Eddie asks her to put Gareth's purchases on his tab. Gareth tried to insist on paying for himself earlier, but Grandma's unfortunate fall means that he isn't there to stop Eddie from covering the bill.

You and Eddie split Gareth's appetizer, and you chat a bit about you. While you're always friendly at work, you don't talk about yourselves much at all - just small talk and the like, and those awesome desserts you bring. You talk about how you moved back to Hawkins after college, that your family had lived here for a while when you were young, and then when you struggled to find a job after college, your uncle agreed to hire you. You tell him about your little shoebox apartment above the general store on Main Street.

He tells you he plays guitar, and that he and Gareth used to be in a metal band together, called Corroded Coffin. You talk about music quite a lot, comparing notes - the unexpected things you have in common, the funny differences in your tastes. Eddie's softened up a little in the last several years and has been trying to expand his musical horizons. He confesses that he's got a soft spot for Madonna.

It's when you laugh at his admission that something shifts in his mind. When you arrived, you sat between him and Gareth at the circular table, meaning you're directly to his left. You're sitting so close, he hasn't actually gotten a good look at you - although, he guesses he wasn't really trying. But when you laugh, he sees up close the way your eyelashes flutter, the way your smile touches your eyes. And your eyes - they're full of affection instead of judgment.

Eddie's seen you nearly five days a week for months now, and talked with you at least once each of those days, and yet, he's never really noticed you. Not the way he's noticing you now. He can't help but smile at the sound of your laugh, and against his will, his eyes follow the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. You feel impossibly close. He didn't even see it before, the way your shoulders are tilted in towards him, and the way he's also turned slightly on his barstool, leaving you only a few inches apart.

When you place your elbow on the table and support your cheek with your hand, he sucks in a breath and leans back, blinking. He's been drinking, but he's not drunk. Not drunk enough to cause the warmth in his belly and chest, or the muddled feeling in his mind.

"I'm gonna go grab another drink. D'you want another one?" he asks with a nod toward your empty glass.

"Oh," you say, perking up, "sure!"

"Alright, what do you want?"

You're already sliding off of your barstool behind him. "I'll come with you. I don't trust you with my drink." Eddie's brow furrows at that before you interrupt his train of thought with another laugh. "Not like that - I don't remember what's on the menu, and you clearly have bad judgment," you say, waving a hand at what used to be his drink.

Bartender Nick had called it a Monkey Gland, whatever that means. Eddie's not even sure what was in it, just that it was a lot in the flavor department.

Eddie lets you lead the way to the bar, and oh, man, that was a mistake. Now that he's more than a foot away from you, his curious eyes are quite busy, and that's not a good spot to be in when trying to keep up in a crowd.

You've done your hair, is the thing - not like you do for work, but something softer and more feminine. He noticed your makeup earlier, your striking eyes, but he failed to notice the hair. Or your dress, for that matter; it's a tight little thing that ends at your mid-thigh. It fits like it was made for you. He's never seen you out of uniform, or wearing anything but non-slip tennis shoes. Your strappy heels draw his attention, glinting gold in the overhead lights.

You look like you dressed up, is the thing. Yeah, your outfit is cute. Yeah, you're more relaxed tonight than you ever are at work - and more conversational. But you look like you tried. Do you try like this for all your social events? Did you dress up for Eddie?

Did you come to Crafter's with the intention of going home to a place you've never been? Or do you have an "afterparty" he's not been invited to attend?

By the time you reach the bar, he's sweating, and it's not just his hair. It's you.

"I thought you weren't having anything you've already had this summer," you tease as you climb back onto your barstool. You just got a refill of your usual, but Eddie's changed from some obscure cocktail to a piña colada.

"Maybe I've never had a piña colada before," Eddie says, raising his eyebrows at you.

"I don't believe you."

Eddie simply sips through his straw in response, pink lips wrapped nicely around the black plastic.

You're feeling warm from the alcohol, and making conversation with Eddie is as natural as anything. Eddie's always a little bit of a charmer at work, and sometimes you struggle not to blush, but this is different. His not just charming tonight - he's flirtatious. You wonder if he's like this with all of his friends. Although, you can't imagine he'd flirt well with Gareth.

After a little while if shooting the shit, Eddie's posture grows a little more stiff. He leans back on his barstool and rolls his shoulders. "Thank you for coming out tonight," he says, just loud enough for you to hear him over the music, but low enough that you have to lean in.

"Yeah, of course," you say with a smile, surprised at the gratitude. "I wouldn't have missed it." Although, it's just now occurring to you - none of the guys from work came, and Gareth had to leave early. If you hadn't come, Eddie'd be spending tonight at the bar all by himself. The thought reminds you of birthday parties from your past, the ones where everyone said they'd be there but nobody showed.

Eddie's so genuine and so lively, you can't imagine him sitting in a bar all by his lonesome, waiting for someone to come who never will. Maybe it's just your little crush talking, but Eddie is… He's friendly and witty and oh my God, he's even hotter with his hair down. Someone like Eddie - it's baffling to think he could ever be stood up, by friends or otherwise.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Heat rushes to your cheeks as soon as you say it, and Eddie's brown eyes widen a little. You didn't exactly mean to ask. It just came out as soon as the thought crossed your mind. But you don't retract the question.

Clearing his throat, he says, "No, I'm not seeing anyone. Why do you ask?"

You feel a little bold, although not quite assertive. You look down at the table as you say, "I was just curious if anyone else would be coming to meet up with us."

After a beat of silence, Eddie's fingertips graze your thigh, just above the knee. When you look up at him, his brown eyes are warm like caramel. "It's just us."

Eddie doesn't know how it happened. It's like his fingers moved of their own volition, but he could swear he feels a spark when his skin meets yours. Your eyes haven't left his, but you take a sip of your drink through the little black straw, and then he feels you press into his touch, ever so slightly.

Every time Eddie's ever talked to you, he's noticed how kind you are, and how funny. But he's never before noticed the exact shade of your eyes, or—Jesus Christ—the scent of your hair. It's coconut. The smell is intoxicating, and it leaves him wanting more. So much that when his chest brushed against your shoulder at the bar, the only thing he could think about was coconut. He opened his mouth to ask for a lemon drop and ended up ordering a piña colada instead.

"Do you—" Eddie cuts himself off abruptly. For a moment there, he was almost so lost in your eyes that he forgot himself. You're his coworker. Your uncle owns the company he works for. The first place that's really given him a chance. It's a terrible idea.

But he doesn't miss the way your jaw drops, lips parting just slightly. "Do I what?" you ask. Slowly, you lift your leg up and cross it over the other, leaning just a bit closer in your seat. And Eddie can see it. He can see the way you want him, too. It's in your eyes. It's in your touch as you lay a soft hand on his forearm. It's in the flutter of your lashes as you look up at him, like you're waiting for him to give you something. Something he'd love to give.

Earlier today, Eddie had only ever thought of you as a friendly coworker, a buddy, maybe a confidant of minor indiscretions. Tonight, he can feel the charge of the static between you, can almost see the desire rolling off of you in waves. He knows what it feels like because it's vibrating at the same frequency of his own.

Eddie's been keeping a slow pace for his drinks, slower than he thought he would. His intention tonight was, despite his usual attitude, to get absolutely plastered. But he's been so caught up in chatting with you that he's only had three drinks, and it's been two and a half hours. And he's not even finished the third.

You're on your second, and he doesn't know your tolerance, but your eyes aren't glassy and your movements aren't that languid, too-slow pace of someone who's beyond tipsy. No, you're both a little tipsy at worst.

Your thumb brushes over the mottled scarring of his bat tattoo, and his breath catches in his throat. Finally, against his better judgment, he asks, "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Eddie's presence in your apartment is almost unnerving, with just how aware you are of him. You haven't had a guy over since you moved into the place six months ago, so for it to be Eddie, the funny guy from work who's way out of your league, is mind-boggling.

There's an awkward density to the air. It's surreal, is the thing. He's hanging his leather jacket up at the front door beside your raincoat, and your eyes are zeroed in on your feet as you undo the straps of your heels. Eddie takes his time unlacing his combat boots beside you. If he's as nervous as you are, he doesn't let on.

His hand brushes against your hip as you stand, ready to support you if you were to stumble. When you look up at him, he pulls you in close, one hand resting at your waist, and the other delicately cupping your jaw. His touch is gentle, like he's afraid you might shatter, or worse, run away.

You don't miss the way his gaze flickers to your lips and his own part slightly with anticipation. He leans in just an inch or two before stopping himself, big, brown eyes looking into yours. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice a low murmur.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is the way you get out of this awkward feedback loop in your head, you think. The overthinking, the wondering what changed for him, why he suddenly wants this when he's never seemingly looked at you twice. This is how it ends - by you taking his cues. You've thought about touching Eddie close to a hundred times, at this point, and now that you've got the opportunity, you don't know how to close the deal.

So you nod quietly and follow his lead.

For all that Eddie's fingers are calloused from working on cars and playing guitar, his touch is gentle. He strokes the pad of his thumb over your cheek, his breath warm on your skin as he presses his lips to yours. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes close, and you try to relax into him, hands finding his waist. His lips are softer than you would have expected, and he kisses you like…

It doesn't feel like an easy score or a one night stand, really. He moves slowly and methodically, but not without urgency. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his lips find yours again quickly, and you inhale the scent of his cologne through your nose - bergamot and cinnamon. Your lips part slightly as his fingertips graze the soft skin behind your ear, and when they do, you feel his tongue brush gently against yours. It startles you a little, and you pull away, cheeks burning.

Eddie leans back to see you better. "You okay?"

Embarrassed, you nod and bite your lip. "Yeah, I'm fine. You just surprised me is all."

Cocking his head to the side, he asks, "Good surprise, or bad surprise?"

"Not bad."

His eyes search yours, and he cradles the back of your head with his hand. "You're sure you want to do this?" When you hesitate to respond, Eddie tips his head toward the couch behind you. "Why don't we go sit down and talk it out?"

As he leads you to the sofa, you complain, "I don't think we need to talk, really."

He shoots a look your way that says he begs to differ. "Honey, we're not getting anywhere if you can't talk to me about how you're feeling." When he sits, he turns his body to face you, one leg pulled up onto the couch and the other hanging off of it. Uncertainty all over your face, you mirror him, dress riding up your thighs.

Eddie politely pretends not to notice, instead taking your hand in his and leveling you with a look of genuine curiosity and a hint of concern. He hesitates to begin, not sure which route to take to steer the conversation in the right direction, but after a second, he finally just asks, "Are you attracted to me?"

Your cheeks burn hot at the question, but you nod. "Yeah, I am."

"Okay," he says, drawing out the second syllable. "Do you like me?"

Your brow furrows, like you're not sure why he would ask. "Of course I like you."

He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb and asks, "Okay, so what's going on? You seem nervous." After a beat, he says, "Is it because of Kovach?"

You wrinkle your nose at that. "Don't talk about him," you say quickly, like you're trying to put your uncle out of your mind as quickly as possible. "No, it's not that; it's just… are you actually, like, into me?" Eddie's taken aback by your question. You can tell from the way he blinks in response, so you continue. "You've never acted like you had any particular interest in me before, and then tonight, it's like something has changed, but—Do you actually want me, or do you just want someone?"

There it is, Eddie thinks, the big question.

He lets go of your hand and sits up a little straighter before asking, "Have you ever been somewhere before, like a neighborhood you drive through all the time, and thought it was a nice neighborhood but never thought too much about it?" When you make a face, he says, "Seriously, just humor me. Think about it."

Even though it's silly, you try to do as he asks. You imagine your drive to and from work. It's a short one. You follow Main Street, and then go out toward Maple, and then on to the edge of town. And between Maple Street and Kovach's, sure, there are some pretty nice houses, and some average ones, but overall, it's a decent neighborhood.

"Yeah, I guess so," you say hesitantly.

Eddie perks up a little at that. "Okay, so you're driving through this neighborhood that you go through every day, and part of what makes the neighborhood nice is all the individual houses. So you pass the first house, and it's decent, you know, you like the house alright. And you pass the second one, and it's pretty good, too. And you start thinking, okay, this must be an alright neighborhood. And then on down the street, there's, like, this beautiful house. It's got nice siding and brick, and the lawn is manicured really well, like the people who live there must really care about their house. It's got the white picket fence and everything. It's the American dream."

You laugh, a little awkwardly. "Eddie, I really don't understand what you're getting at here."

"You're the neighborhood," he says quickly, as though that makes perfect sense. "And it's like all the houses in the neighborhood are parts of you that I've seen before. But it's like, today, I saw this fucking beautiful house in the neighborhood, on a street I'd never gone down before, and all I could think about was how gorgeous that house is - and how much I like this neighborhood."

You make a face.

"Seriously," he says, leaning in a little closer. "I see you every day, and you know what? I like it when you bring cupcakes, and I like it when you make fun of the other guys and shitty, asshole customers with me, and the way you let me get away with putting in last-minute parts orders, and the way you get embarrassed when I catch you reading, and—"

He can see it in your eyes and the little crease between your furrowed eyebrows - he sees the way it's dawning on you now, but he says it anyway.

"I didn't realize how much I like those things, but tonight, when I got to see you really just be yourself instead of who you have to be at work - I loved that. And I love seeing you dressed like this, and acting a little more confident, but it's not just about the way you look. I feel like, for the first time, I'm really seeing who you are. And this isn't just a decent neighborhood to me anymore. I just realized tonight that this is a really nice neighborhood, a beautiful one, and I'd move there if one of the houses were up for sale. But before tonight, I just hadn't seen enough of the neighborhood to know."

Your voice is smaller, softer when you look up at him through your lashes. "Eddie…"

He licks his lips, brown eyes searching yours, and then he asks again, "Can I please kiss you?"

This time, you feel it - that electricity that binds you, the same spark that simmered in the current between you both at the bar. You don't bother answering him, just raise up onto your knees and close the gap between you. Your fingers slot themselves into Eddie's hair, that soft, curly hair you've been dying to touch for ages, and as your lips meet his, he pulls you in closer, standing to his feet. On paper, it looks like you're following his lead, but Eddie feels the insistence in your touch as your press your hands to his chest, guiding him backwards to the bed in the corner of the room.

When the backs of his legs connect with the mattress, you slide your hands up to the hem of his shirt and begin tugging it up his torso. Your lips part from his just long enough to pull the shirt over his head, and then you're back on him, pushing him down by the shoulders until he gets the memo to sit down at the foot of the bed.

A moan escapes you as your hands find his abdomen, palms pressed flat against the firm muscles you've only seen in glimpses at the shop. Eddie laughs at the needy sound that spills from your mouth, and he hooks one leg behind your knee, rolling over to pin you to the mattress. "Oh, honey," he coos, all sticky sweet sympathy. "You've been wanting this a long time, huh?"

If it was anyone else, you'd probably feel patronized, probably take offense. But you know Eddie, and instead of offending you, it only makes you want him more. Nodding emphatically, you tug him closer by the belt loops. "Think about you a lot," you confess, your breath catching at the end as he presses a soft, languid kiss to your neck, beneath your ear. Hitching your leg higher up his waist, you press your hips against his, searching for relief.

"Mm, do you?" His hands roam your body, caressing the outside of your thigh with one and hiking up the hem of your dress with the other. His smile is a little smug. "What do you think about?"

You don't think you could feel embarrassed right now if you tried. Your response spills out of you of it's own accord, on a breathy sigh, as he lowers the strap of your dress and kisses along your collarbone. "Think about your - mm, your fingers," you whimper. "Filling me up, getting me ready for you."

"Yeah?" he pulls you onto his lap, then. With his hand, he cups your heat through your panties. "These fingers?" he murmurs, stroking you through the thin fabric.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you brace yourself for his touch, hips squirming slightly to give him better leverage. You're on fire now, pulse thrumming hard and fast in your throat. "Eddie, please."

"Oh, honey," he says, looking into your glassy eyes, "you don't have to beg. I'll give it to you, I promise."

You can't help it - when he hooks his fingers into the side of your panties, pulls them aside and grazes his fingertips against your clit, you whine and dig your nails into his back. This isn't just sensitivity after a dry spell. You need his touch like you need to breathe. Now that you have it, it feels so surreal that it's painful.

"Let me take these off, sweet girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You do as he asks, and the maneuvering is a little awkward, but the anxiety is gone. When you settle back into his lap, he strokes the hair at your hairline and pulls you to his chest, letting you slump against his shoulder.

Eddie presses the pad of his thumb into your folds, and he listens to your sounds to help guide him. After just a couple of seconds, he finds your clit again - confirmed when you whimper and spread your thighs a little farther apart for him.

"That's it, baby," he coos, sweeping a broad circle around your clitoris before using his middle finger to trace a trail all the way down from your labia to your hole. Your walls clench at the sensation, and he must feel it because he hums soothingly when you do. Then, just as he presses one fingertip to your entrance, he asks, "D'you touch yourself like this?" You nod against his shoulder, shame and embarrassment completely absent from your mind. He dips his finger inside you, just to the first knuckle, before pulling out again. "You imagine it's me touching your pussy like this?"

He doesn't wait for your response before sinking his finger deep inside you, all the way down to the chunky, silver ring at his third knuckle. You cry out in response, thighs already shaking with anticipation. "Eddie," you whine, lifting your hips up to fuck yourself on his finger.

"You should have said something, baby," he says, syrupy sweet. "I'd have taken care of you a long time ago if I knew you needed me so bad."

Normally, his cockiness might be sexy, but right now, it's more frustrating than anything. You grit your teeth as he works another finger inside of you. The stretch is so delicious, you lose your train of thought for a moment, walls clenching tightly around him. It's made even more difficult to think when he resumes rubbing little circles into your clit with his thumb. For a few seconds, the only thing you can do is surrender to the pleasure and moan into his shoulder.

Just when you're starting to adjust, he curls his fingers forward, toward your pelvic bone, and you gasp at the sensation. He tries different angles, but it's only a matter of seconds before he finds that spot, the one that fills you with blinding, white-hot pleasure. Before long, you're chanting his name like it's a life-saving incantation, and you're barely able to get a grasp on what's happening before your climax hits, hard and fast and way too soon, and suddenly, you're cumming all over his fingers. When you cry out his name, your voice sounds ragged to your own ears, like it's coming from someone else entirely. Your hips buck against his hand, silently begging for both more and less at the same time.

He works you through your orgasm, tells you what a great job you've done, how beautiful you look while taking his fingers. Wrenching a sob from your throat with one hand, he uses the other to rub your back, soothing you with touch and praise.

When you finally finish, you push his hand away half-heartedly, clitoris too overstimulated to handle anymore of his ministrations. Eddie laughs and eases you down onto your back, then presses a soft kiss to your temple as you try and catch your breath.

He takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it, gentleman-like, as though he didn't just make you cum all over his lap merely seconds ago. Your brain is seemingly stuck in overdrive, thoughts incoherent.

When his hand grazes your thigh, you look over at him, where he lies beside you, and his expression is serious - the most serious you've ever seen it. "Can I touch you again?" he asks, and your mind races at the thought.

Of course he can touch you, you think, but you don't know if you can handle it. "I-I'm sensitive," you say, looking into his eyes for any hint of disappointment.

"Sensitive… here?" He taps a finger just to the side of your clitoris, and you nod, curling into him. When you do, he asks, "What if I don't touch you there? You think you could handle that?"

Headlights shine through the window above Main Street and ricochet off the walls, casting Eddie's face in just a glimpse of light. In that moment, you can see it highlighted all over his face, the desire smoldering in his big, brown eyes. And you know you'd give him anything he wanted, even if you felt like you were going half-insane with over-stimulation.

Swallowing thickly, you nod. "What do you wanna do?"

He walks his fingers across your arm and pulls you closer. His voice is low as he murmurs, "I wanna take my time with you… wanna see how pretty you look when you cum on my cock."

Normally, that kind of talk might make you feel embarrassed from it's crassness, but instead, it's the flattery that makes you bite back a smile. "I'm not pretty," you say. Your voice holds no conviction.

Eddie's fingers cup your jaw, tilting your chin up so you can't look away when he says, "You're beautiful to me."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut

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witchywithwhiskey · 23 hours ago

Text

a king and his queen

pairing: mafia boss!bucky barnes x mafia princess!female reader

summary: you're still acclimating to life as the wife of the bratva's white wolf, and when your husband buys you some lingerie, it becomes an unexpected tipping point in your relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), arranged marriage, reader demonstrates trauma responses and has anxiety from past familial verbal abuse (not explicitly shown, just implied), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, dry sex, possessive sex, mirror sex, creampie, bdsm dynamics (gentle dom Bucky Barnes, talk of punishments, consent checks/reassurances), choking, biting, roughness, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (moya zhena - my wife, moya koroleva - my queen, baby), aftercare, lots of feelings, some angst, some fluff, happy ending

word count: 6.3k

a/n: for week 7 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event, y'all voted for me to use the optional prompt of lingerie—and i'm quite happy with how this one turned out! it's a bit...darker and more different in some ways than most of my fics, but it was cathartic to write. there's more build-up to the sex in this fic because the dynamic between these two was so important to establish, but i enjoyed it, so i hope y'all do too! please make sure to read the warnings! enjoy ♡

prompt: “Put this on.” | [Blindfolds | Lingerie | Gag/Collars]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

“Put this on.”

The order pulled your attention from the mirror of your vanity, where you were putting the final touches on your jewelry for the evening. Your makeup was already done, all that was left was to get dressed.

And it seemed your new husband, the notorious head of the Russian mafia in New York City, the feared White Wolf—James “Bucky” Barnes—had opinions on what exactly you’d wear to your cousin’s birthday party.

You’d tensed at his sudden appearance in your bedroom and, immediately, you tried to parse his tone to determine whether he was angry with you—or frustrated, or irritated, or annoyed, or anything else that might mean you were in for trouble.

It was a habit you’d formed while growing up in your father’s household, where quickly figuring out a man’s tone could be the difference between escape and something much worse. The habit had become so ingrained, you hardly recognized yourself doing it anymore.

But like every other time Bucky had issued a command for you, you couldn’t quite read his tone.

Your husband’s voice when he spoke to you wasn’t overly warm, but it wasn’t cold either. He sounded like a man used to people doing what he said, so much so that he was almost…bored of it.

You didn’t know exactly what that meant, but you’d long ago learned that if a man in the mafia gave you an order, you followed it as fast as possible.

So while you were thinking all this through, you’d grabbed the luxurious paper bag your husband had held out to you and headed toward your walk-in closet. The dress you’d chosen for the party was already hanging up, ready for you to put on, but you’d wear whatever Bucky told you to wear.

It was your job, after all, to keep the peace between your family and Bucky’s Bratva. It was the whole point of your marriage to the White Wolf—and part of keeping that peace meant your husband would accompany you to parties hosted by your father, like the celebration that evening.

Scurrying inside the closet with the bag, you paused and marveled all over again at the sheer size of the room.

Like everything else in Bucky’s home, it was opulent and gorgeous, with clean white surfaces and dark brown wooden accents. There were multiple full-length mirrors and, alongside the racks and shelves holding your clothes and shoes, the space was big enough to fit a few ottomans, chairs and benches, all upholstered with the same sumptuous pink velvet.

Before you could turn and close the door, Bucky’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“Let me see how it looks before you put your dress on.”

You’d assumed the garment he’d given you was a dress, so his words sent a little tremble down your spine when you realized they meant something else was in the bag. Still, you gave your husband a quick nod over your shoulder and shut the door to your closet.

Despite the trepidation you felt, your curiosity was piqued, and you peered into the bag. Under layers of soft tissue paper, you discovered something silky, lacy and beautiful.

Heat filled your cheeks as you pulled out the expensive lingerie and held it carefully in your hands. The matching set was exquisite, and nicer than anything you’d owned in your entire life—which was saying something since you’d never wanted for anything.

Excited to wear something so beautiful, you put it on quickly. Once done, you had to stop and stare at yourself in one of the full-length mirrors.

The warm recessed lighting in the closet shone on your body, giving you a perfect view of everywhere the lingerie clung to your skin. The silk and lace hugged your curves lovingly, like the garment was tailor-made to your body, the color complementing your skin tone perfectly.

It suddenly occurred to you that your husband, the Bratva boss you’d been taught to fear, had hand-picked this lingerie for you. He must’ve even given the seamstress your measurements so that it fit you so well.

The thought of Bucky going to all that trouble and doing all that for you had warmth blooming in your core, a soft throbbing beginning between your thighs.

Your husband didn’t seem much like the mean, cruel man you’d expected when you married him. On your wedding night, when you’d consummated your marriage, Bucky had been patient, gentle even. Until he’d been unable to help himself, and then he’d fucked you like a man possessed.

But you’d enjoyed seeing the tightly controlled mafia man let loose. It had felt like you’d seen a side to him no one else ever had. And, even more, you’d enjoyed the way he’d made you unravel beneath him. He’d worked your body better than you’d ever thought possible, making you feel unspeakable pleasure.

In fact, in the few weeks since that night, you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your husband, about his handsome face and his skillful hands.

You had to keep reminding yourself that just because you knew him intimately, it didn’t mean you truly knew him. Or that you could trust that he was what he appeared to be—a kinder, gentler mafia boss than you’d ever known. But he kept surprising you.

After your wedding night, Bucky had gifted you your own suite of rooms within his sprawling mansion, and it was there that you slept, in your own space separate from him. Occasionally, he came to you in the darkest hours of the night, asking for your consent before fucking you just as good as that first time.

But he never fell asleep with you, which felt like a sign that he wanted nothing more than an alliance with your family and an infrequent bedmate.

Which meant that on the nights he didn’t come to you, you found yourself tossing and turning, forced to pleasure yourself while only the memories of your husband could get you to completion.

It occurred to you that you could go to him, but that seemed like too much of a risk. To ask your husband for anything meant trusting him with your honesty, and you’d never dare do that. Not when you still didn’t know for certain how he felt about you.

Much of your time in the weeks since your wedding to the White Wolf had been spent trying to puzzle out his feelings for you, all while you’d been keeping your own emotions buried deep in your heart. It felt too dangerous to admit, even to yourself, that you’d grown…fond of your husband.

But seeing the beautiful lingerie Bucky had chosen meticulously for you had an effect on the impenetrable walls around your heart. It almost felt like something inside you cracked open a tiny bit, and you found yourself rubbing idly at your chest, a warmth blooming beneath your sternum that scared you a little.

With a jolt of awareness, you realized you’d been lingering in your closet longer than you’d meant to, and you checked the time on your phone. Cursing to yourself, you realized you’d taken too long putting on the lingerie.

If you didn’t get dressed right away, you and Bucky would be late to the party, and that would not be tolerated by your father.

Forgetting the second order your husband gave you, you grabbed the dress you’d set aside for the party and shimmied into it, quickly zipping it up as much as you could as you stepped into a pair of matching high heels. Walking out of the closet, you were still fiddling with the zipper when you came to an abrupt halt at the look on Bucky’s face.

He was standing closer to the door of the closet than you’d expected, and his blue eyes were bright with an unreadable expression as they swept up your body. You skin warmed at the way he took in your calves and the shape of your thighs, then the way your legs disappeared beneath the hem of your dress.

“I gave you an instruction, moya zhena,” Bucky rumbled, in that same indecipherable tone he always seemed to use with you, though you detected something like curiosity in it. “Why did you not follow it?”

Your heart jumped up into your throat as you recognized your error; your first instinct was to cower away from your husband and beg for forgiveness. But when your eyes flitted frantically across his face and down to his shoulders, you were surprised to find he wasn’t angry.

Bucky was relaxed, his shoulders loose and sloped, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. His expression held no hint of fury at your disobedience, just a quiet interest as he waited for your answer.

You were so disarmed by Bucky’s reaction, you blurted out the truth.

“We’re going to be late,” you said, and despite your best efforts, you heard a slight waver in your tone.

Bucky’s eyes flashed, his gaze darting to your mouth for a moment before returning to yours. You couldn’t read his expression, which didn’t do anything to help the anxiety churning in your belly.

“My father doesn’t tolerate lateness.” As you spoke, you looked toward the door, and shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

You knew how your father would act if you and Bucky were late—you’d been on the receiving end of his verbal lashings and punishments enough times to know all too well. So you hoped your husband would take the hint and allow you to leave quickly.

A rumbling sound caught your attention, and your racing thoughts came to a halt as you glanced back at Bucky, who was looking decidedly more deadly, even though nothing in his posture had shifted.

He still looked calm and at ease, and something about it settled you, even as you picked up on his anger. Instinctively, you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“You no longer live under his command, moya koroleva,” Bucky said, his voice infinitesimally softer than you’d ever heard it. He prowled closer to you, his gait as slow and careful as a predator stalking some exceptionally skittish prey. “You are my wife, and he cannot touch you—he cannot punish you.”

Something in your belly swooped, warmth blooming between your thighs even as your knees trembled. Bucky’s voice held so much self-assuredness, and possessiveness, that you almost believed him. You almost believed you were free of your father’s rule.

Then Bucky smirked, the curve of his mouth as sharp as the blade of a knife. “That’s my job.”

Horror rushed through you at his words, since it suddenly occurred to you that you might’ve been wrong about your husband. You’d thought him different from your father, but if he was speaking of punishments—of punishing you—then perhaps they were more alike than you’d thought.

On instinct, you took a step back.

Bucky went still, this smirk slipping from his face. He was close enough to reach for you, but his hands remained in his pockets. The only movement was the slight tilting of his head as he studied you closely.

“Do you trust me, moya zhena?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You’d thought you might—one day—but in that moment, you didn’t think so. And for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to your husband and tell him you did. So what you settled on was, “‘No’ feels like the wrong answer.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with humor and the edges of his mouth flickered as if he wanted to smile but was restraining himself. He took another step toward you, this time moving even slower than he had before, as if trying not to scare you.

Then, he pulled a hand from his pocket, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached for you. You let his fingers catch your chin in a firm grip and hold you so that you could nothing but stare into his eyes.

Your husband had beautiful blue eyes, and a handsome face that was typically all sharp edges, though in that moment he seemed somehow gentler. Despite your anxiety, you softened slightly into his grip, something instinctual in your body deciding Bucky wasn’t a threat—at least for the moment.

“The truth is never the wrong answer,” he said, his thumb sweeping just below your lower lip. His eyes darkened as he watched the path it traced against your skin, and you could feel him getting distracted by your mouth.

But his words had you pressing your lips into a thin line. You couldn’t believe a mafia boss as feared as the Bratva’s White Wolf could be so naive as to think lies weren’t the currency of the world you both lived in, even within families—even within marriages.

“In my experience, it often is,” you said, choosing your words carefully so you didn’t disrespect your husband and add another infraction to your record for that night.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and he stared at you so intensely, you wanted to shift uncomfortably on your feet. But you knew your husband well enough to know he’d catch the movement and know what it meant. So you kept your expression blank and held yourself still. You’d had enough practice in your life to hide your reactions well.

Still, somehow you sensed that Bucky could read every thought as it passed through your head and every emotion that swept through your heart. It rattled you more than you cared to admit, even to yourself.

It was almost a relief when, after a moment of charged silence, Bucky spoke.

“How about this, an addendum to our wedding vows,” he said, his voice calculatingly thoughtful as he watched for your reaction.

He must’ve liked the way your eyes flicked to his, and must’ve seen the curiosity in your gaze, because he went on. “You may lie to anyone—to everyone else, if you so wish. But never to me.”

You blinked in surprise, trying to process his words, trying to root out their hidden meaning. There must be a trick or a trap, but you couldn’t find one. And Bucky kept talking before you could ask any questions that might help you discern his secret agenda.

“If you promise never to lie to me, I vow that I will never punish you for telling the truth.”

You were quiet for a long moment, absorbing Bucky’s words and looking for the trap in them. It took an embarrassingly long moment for you to realize what was right in front of you—it wasn’t a trick. He was asking you to trust him, and he was offering his trust in return.

Even as the thought occurred to you, though, you shoved it aside, believing it impossible. Bratva men like the White Wolf didn’t offer an equal exchange of trust, they ruled with an iron fist. In your life, you’d seen the fear men wielded, especially over the women in their lives.

There wasn’t much trust in the mafia. There was dominance and submission, fear and power. Loyalty was taken through the threat of violence, or the threat violence upon someone you cared about.

So, it was with a desire not to be punished that you agreed to Bucky’s offer.

“OK,” you said simply, meeting your husband’s gaze. When he raised his eyebrow and tilted his head, silently urging you on, you continued, “I promise never to lie to you, husband.”

Bucky nodded, accepting your answer, though his eyes looked stormy and conflicted. Although you’d given him what he’d asked for, he didn’t seem entirely pleased.

He stepped back, his hand dropping from your face, and you found you missed the warmth of his touch. You missed the spiciness of his cologne, and the way his presence had wrapped around you like a cloak of comfort.

Before you could examine those thoughts further, Bucky gripped your shoulder and deftly spun you around on your heels, his big hand falling to the small of your back. He propelled you gently, but firmly, into your walk-in closet, stopping you in front of one of the large ottomans in the center of the room.

It was plush and circular, with a full-length mirror on the wall on the opposite side of the room. In it, you could see the way you stood with your shoulders huddled, your body dwarfed by the broadness of your husband at your back.

“Do you care about this dress?” Bucky asked, his hands sliding up your shoulders until his thumbs rested against your spine where the zipper was still partially undone.

The feeling of his fingers on your bare skin sent tingles of pleasure skittering down your spine, and it took all your self-control not to shiver under the delightful weight of your husband’s hands.

“I—”

It occurred to you to lie, but when you caught Bucky’s eye in the mirror, you sensed he’d know somehow. And it seemed like such an easy thing to tell the truth about, that you didn’t want to risk angering him so soon.

“Yes, it’s one of my favorites.”

Bucky gave another nod, and his fingers squeezed your shoulders lightly, as if rewarding you for your honesty. Then he pulled down the zipper and peeled the dress off your body until it pooled on the plush carpet at your feet.

Instinctively, your arms lifted to cover yourself, forgetting that your husband had seen you naked on plenty enough occasions. But those had all been in your bed under much more forgiving lighting.

Bucky growled a quick, “Don’t,” and you jerked your arms back to your sides.

“Good girl.”

His gruff praise slid down your spine and settled heavily between your thighs, but you were too focused on watching what he was doing to question your reaction.

Bucky knelt down and picked up your dress with careful fingers, finding a hanger and hanging it back up before returning his attention to you.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice so low and rough it reminded you of the way he’d speak to you in bed, when he was buried inside you, urging your body to meet his own so that you could both find your pleasure.

Slightly distracted by the faint pulsing between your thighs, you turned to face your husband, your eyes finding his and watching him closely.

Bucky’s gave swept a slow perusal of your body, lingering on the way the lingerie he’d given you hugged your tits and cupped your mound, accentuating all your curves and swathing your body in luxurious, satiny lace. Your husband’s eyes seemed to darken the longer he looked at you, his pupils blowing wide.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice so impossibly gruff, it took you a moment to understand his question.

“It…it feels good,” you answered honestly, still getting used to telling your husband the truth, though it was getting easier. “It makes me feel…pretty.”

“Pretty—fuck that, you’re gorgeous, moya zhena,” Bucky rasped, dragging his eyes up to yours.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sheer intensity in your husband’s gaze.

“This is all I wanted,” he went on. “I wanted to see you like this, wearing the lingerie I bought for you, before we went to the party.”

He stepped closer and you swayed slightly on your feet, your body yearning for him like a flower longs for the sun.

“I wanted to have this memory of you in my mind when we went to the party and know I’m the only man who will ever see you like this, looking more beautiful than the moon and stars—looking like mine.”

You sucked in a sharp gasp, the sound loud in the quiet of the walk-in closet, which suddenly felt too small, even as Bucky felt too far away.

Heat flooded your core at your husband’s words, and the ravenous hunger beneath them. Perhaps because of the tenuous trust between you and Bucky, or because you couldn’t seem to help yourself around your husband, your body responded to his possessiveness with a hungry ache of its own.

“But you tried to deprive me of this vision of beauty,” Bucky continued, prowling toward you, making your heart skip a beat with excitement. “And that I can’t abide.”

When he reached for you, spinning you around again until you faced the mirror and he was holding you gently but firmly, whatever unease you’d felt that evening evaporated entirely. All you could feel was a need thrumming beneath your skin, one you were certain only he could sate.

“I’m not going to hurt you, moya zhena,” he said, holding your gaze unwaveringly in the mirror. He paused, waiting until you nodded your understanding before he went on. “But I am going to make sure you feel me all night—and never forget who you belong to.”

A beat passed, and it took you a long moment to realize Bucky was giving you a chance to escape whatever he planned to do to you. You surprised yourself when you didn’t take it. Instead you nodded, watching Bucky’s eyes darken in his reflection, the corners of his mouth curling into a pleased smirk.

With Bucky’s promise hanging heavy in the air between you, he guided you down onto the ottoman, his touch gentle and firm as he arranged you on your hands and knees. You heard him undo his zipper, and felt his knuckles brush against your ass as he pumped his cock to full hardness.

Despite everything that had happened that evening, you felt yourself warming for him. Your slit dampened for your husband as if your body knew it belonged to him. It was almost dizzying, the way your heart raced excitedly, and your mind struggled to keep up.

Behind you, Bucky hooked his finger in the gusset of your panties and pulled them aside, then pressed the tip of his bare cock to your tight entrance. You were starting to be ready for him, but you weren’t nearly wet enough to take him comfortably, and it suddenly hit you what your husband planned to do.

You tensed, and looked into the mirror, catching Bucky’s eye. You could see him cataloging the range of emotions as they flitted across your face—doubt, intrigue, hunger, need. He seemed to be reassured when he didn’t see any fear in your eyes.

“I said I wouldn’t hurt you, moya zhena,” he reminded you, his tone almost kind. You swallowed and nodded at his reflection. “But I didn’t say this wouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

He pushed his hips forward, his expression heated as he watched your face go slack at the feel of him. The head of your husband’s cock was blunt and unyielding as it breached your tight hole, and you felt every thick millimeter of his tip sinking into your pussy.

A gasp caught in your throat, your breath freezing in your lungs. Your body went still as every shred of your being focused on the feeling of your husband’s cock pushing inside you. You were a little wet for him, but not nearly enough to make penetration easy—but that was exactly the point.

Bucky didn’t rush it, and true to his word, he didn’t hurt you. Once the tip of his cock pressed into your pussy, he pulled out and pushed inside again, driving the air from your lungs and forcing you to breathe again.

You felt yourself relax infinitesimally at the first sparks of pleasure, and you were rewarded by your husband stroking his hand soothingly down your spine, urging you to soften even more.

“That’s it, moya zhena, let me in,” he rumbled above you.

You lifted your head, not knowing when it had dropped between your shoulders, so you could catch his eye in the mirror. He pinned you with his gaze just as surely as he’d pinned you with his hands.

“Just breathe and take it, baby, take your husband’s cock.”

Bucky’s words had a soft moan slipping free from your lips and you settled more deeply into your position on the ottoman, your shoulders lowering and your spine arching so your ass was presented to your husband. He rumbled a pleased sound in his throat and refocused on shoving the head of his cock into your pussy.

He repeated the movement over and over again, fucking you with the tip of his hard length as you gradually opened for him. His cock slid a little bit deeper with every thrust, and you felt every delicious inch of his thick shaft stretching you bit by bit, making your tight hole take him more and more as you grew wetter and wetter for him.

When he was halfway buried inside you, the pleasurable ache of his cock pushing inside you became too much and your arms gave out. Your upper body slumped to the plush velvet ottoman, your lips falling open in a helpless moan.

Above you, Bucky chuckled, his palm stroking down your spine again before it settled possessively on your hip. You felt your husband curl over your back, his other hand tipping your face toward the mirror so you could still watch him looming over you.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby, keep your eyes on me,” he rumbled encouragingly, rocking his hips so his cock pushed even deeper inside your pussy.

Your eyes widened as the delicious stinging stretch of him plunging further inside your heat. He felt so big, so impossibly thick, it shorted out something in your mind. All you could do was take him, feel him, submit to him.

“Fuck, you feel so tight like this—you’re taking my cock so well, moya zhena.”

A sudden sob of pleasure bubbled from your lips at Bucky’s praise, your heart feeling like it was cracking open to reveal its soft, tender inside. You didn’t understand what was happening to you as tears sprang to your eyes, but your husband seemingly did.

Bucky wrapped his arms securely around your body, cooing soothing noises in your ear as he stroked your sides and your arms and everywhere he could reach. All the while, he fucked deeper into you, making you feel every solid inch of him until you were nearly overwhelmed with it—with him.

When there was only an inch left to go of his cock pushing into your pussy, Bucky murmured in your ear, “Deep breath, baby.”

Obediently, you sucked in a deep lungful of air, and Bucky plunged inside you to the hilt.

The sound that wrenched free from your throat was part devastating pleasure, part overwhelming relief. It was as if a dam broke deep in your soul at the feeling of your husband’s cock finally fully seated inside you.

Tears streamed from your eyes, and small tremors wracked your body, but before you could determine whether you’d come just from Bucky’s cock entering you completely, he was tightening his arms and hauling you up from where you’d been slumped over.

One of your husband’s hands slid around your throat, pinning your shoulders to his chest, while the other lay possessively over your lower belly, holding your body impaled on his hard length.

The change in position had Bucky’s cock slipping a little out of your tight hole. He raised a knee up onto the ottoman, pulling you back into his lap and allowing gravity to help you sink down on his shaft until he was buried to the root once again.

Then, he stared at your reflection. The image of your bodies connected, the lingerie contrasting with your skin—his cock buried in your cunt. You could feel the prickling awareness of his gaze as it caressed your curves and worshipped every inch of you.

“You are a goddess, moya zhena,” Bucky rumbled in your ear, and you lifted heavy-lidded eyes to meet his in the mirror. You found an endless well of appreciation in your husband’s gaze that would have knocked you over if he wasn’t holding you up. “You are my queen, and the only orders you obey are mine, do you understand?”

You realized, suddenly and with startling clarity, that you’d been right all along. Bucky was truly nothing like what you’d thought or expected him to be. He wasn’t cruel. He didn’t want to gain your loyalty through fear.

He wanted your trust, but he wanted it freely given. He wanted to build you up, to lend you the power he had fought for, all in exchange for simply being his.

It was almost too much for your mind to process, but your body seemed to understand, and your lips parted, spilling the words you’d learned out of curiosity about your husband and his culture.

“Yes, moy korol,” you said, holding Bucky’s gaze in the mirror.

You watched your husband’s eyes darken at your words—“my king”—a rush of pride filling your belly when a pleased smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re learning Russian, moya zhena?” he asked, so much warmth filling his tone, he sounded nothing like the man who’d entered your bedroom earlier that evening.

“I thought it might be useful,” you dared to quip back, your voice breathless, a tentative smile on your face as you watched your husband’s reflection.

Bucky’s hand around your throat shifted, his fingertips pressing to your jaw and turning your head so he could look at you properly. He grinned down at you for a moment, affection sparkling in his bright eyes, before brushing a sweet kiss to your mouth.

It was the first time he’d kissed you that evening, and you sucked in a sharp breath of pleasure as the almost familiar taste of him burst on your lips.

“I’ll help you,” he murmured against your mouth, pressing his smile into your skin. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

You returned his smile, but before you could thank him, Bucky was pulling his hips back and driving his cock into your cunt with such a sharp slam, it had your tits bouncing and a gasp wrenching from your lips.

Both of you turned back to the mirror, watching as he did it again, making you feel every hard inch of his cock in your tight pussy. Bucky’s eyes blazed with heat as he watched your body shift and bounce in the reflection, your lips falling open on a helpless moan as you took every hard thrust.

“Fuck, moya zhena, you’re a divine vision sent from the gods to torment me,” Bucky growled, his fingers tightening around your throat as he fucked you, rumbling filthy words in your ear. “You’ve never looked more gorgeous than impaled on my cock, wearing the lingerie I bought for you—you’ve never looked more mine.”

“Bu-Bucky, oh god,” you cried, your eyes sliding closed from the pleasure of his cock spearing into you, dragging against every sensitive inch of your inner walls. He felt so big, so good, so torturously perfect inside you.

“Eyes open, baby,” Bucky commanded, biting your jaw in warning. Your eyes flew open and went straight to your husband’s face, watching the pleased smile curve his lips. “Keep those pretty eyes on me, I want to watch you come apart on my cock.”

Your gaze felt tethered to your husband’s, holding his eyes unwaveringly in the mirror as he pounded into you. Vaguely, you were aware of your face contorting with pleasure as Bucky rutted into your tight cunt, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his thick shaft inside you and the dark, feral hunger in his eyes.

It wasn’t long before Bucky’s rhythm turned harder, wilder, as he got close to his peak. Your husband’s hand slid down from your belly to find your clit, and he rubbed the delicate pearl until you were shaking and crying in his arms. Bucky’s hand tightened around your throat, choking you lightly and making your pussy pulse around his hard length.

“Come on my cock, moya koroleva, I want to feel your cunt milking me dry while I fill you with my seed,” Bucky growled, his voice gruff and nearly indiscernible. “You’re going to be dripping with my come all night at this party, feeling me between your thighs until I can get back into this pussy and pump you full again tonight.”

“Bucky!” you screamed your husband’s name as your release crashed over you, spurred by his words and his cock and his fingers on your clit. You shook wildly in his arms, your eyes nearly closing as pleasure overwhelmed you, but you managed to keep them open just enough to watch your husband lose himself in your body.

Bucky rutted into your cunt a few more times, shoving his cock deeper with every thrust, until he buried himself to the hilt. His hand squeezed your throat reflexively, and his teeth sank into your shoulder, biting down hard as he muffled a load roar against your skin.

You felt him pulse and throb in your pussy, your fluttering walls clenching around his hard length as if greedily milking the seed from his cock. The two of you coming together was a messy, beautiful thing, your sounds of pleasure filling the walk-in closet.

For a few minutes more, you writhed against each other, eking out every last ounce of pleasure from your releases as your bodies slowly calmed. Before you’d fully caught your breath, Bucky turned your face to his again so he could kiss you, and you sighed happily against your husband’s lips.

Something had shifted between the two of you—you knew it as surely as you knew you were married to the White Wolf. Bucky cared for you, he wanted you to trust him, and you wanted the same.

For the first time since you’d learned you were to be married to the head of the Bratva, you thought you might actually find some happiness with your husband. You hoped you might even find love with Bucky Barnes. It almost seemed too good to be true.

When you were both finally sated, Bucky eased his cock from your pussy as gently as possible. It still stung a little, your sensitive inner walls raw from the way he’d pushed inside you almost dry, but you welcomed the ache. You knew you’d feel your husband for the entire night, and it delighted you to no end.

“Did you hate your punishment, baby?” Bucky asked, his eyes searching your face as he helped you down from the ottoman, bearing your weight as your knees shook.

“No, moy korol,” you murmured, grabbing his hand and bringing it up to your lips. You kissed his palm, just beneath his wedding ring, and smiled serenely at him. “I like that I’ll be able to feel you all night,” you said, telling him the truth, just as you’d promised.

Bucky studied you for a moment, as if making sure you were being honest, and when he realized you were, his eyes darkened. He captured your mouth in a fierce kiss, hauling you against his chest and bending you backward with the ferocity of it, which you met with your own unfettered passion.

Once you finally parted, Bucky helped you back into your dress, and waited patiently as you fixed your makeup and your hair. He watched you with barely concealed heat in his gaze and a ghost of a smile on his lips, affection clear in every line of his face.

It settled something deep inside you to finally know how your husband felt about you, and when you were ready, you reached for him. Bucky caught your hand and tucked you into his side, holding you in such a way that you felt more safe and secure than you ever had before.

Then, you left for the party.

When you arrived, you knew you were extremely late, and some of the anxiety you’d felt earlier in the night resurfaced. You clung to Bucky’s arm as you watched your father storm over, the expression on his face so furious, it took all your self-control not to flinch.

The closer your father got, the more tightly you curled yourself around Bucky’s bicep, and your husband silently took note of your reaction. His hand covered one of yours where it was tucked into his elbow, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze that offered you strength.

“You’re late,” your father began as soon as he was close enough for his hissed words to be heard, but not overheard. Before he could continue, though, Bucky cut him off.

“Moy koroleva is never late,” he said in a voice so icy cold, it nearly sent a shiver down your spine. You’d never heard him speak to you like that, and you were glad for it, because that tone was blisteringly brutal. “We arrive precisely when we mean to.”

With that, Bucky gave your father a scathing look and swept you away into the party, getting you a drink before depositing you with some of your trusted friends and family. Then, he gave you some space to enjoy yourself, though you could always feel him hovering in your periphery.

It didn’t feel smothering, only comforting, and you were able to finally relax under your husband’s warm, watchful eye while you chatted with your loved ones.

You ended up enjoying the party, catching up with those you hadn’t seen in a while, and delighting in all the gossip you’d missed while settling into your husband’s home.

Occasionally throughout the evening, Bucky allowed you to tug him onto the dance floor. Though he dragged his feet a little, he seemed happy to have you in his arms for a little while.

When you arrived home late that night, Bucky unwrapped you like you were a gift from the gods, worshipping your body for hours with his mouth on your pussy. You were so ready when he finally slid his cock inside you, your pussy made obscene wet sounds as he buried himself to the hilt, both of you moaning at how good it felt.

Then, you enjoyed the rest of your night as husband and wife—as a king and his queen.

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