#For you and throwing away all caution and thoughts just to try to keep you from harm

[supershit-hits]

mysteries of our disguise revolve

clark kent (superman 2025) x f!reader

summary: you’re just the new intern at the daily planet—anxious, invisible in your books, and falling for the man who, disguised, saves the world between coffee breaks. he could catch the sky if it fell. but for some reason, he keeps choosing to catch you.

word count: 22.4k (i know it’s a lot but it’s worth it)

warnings/tags: +18 mdni, angst, banter, fluff !!!, clark has a savior complex, friends/coworkers to lovers, intern!reader, slow-burn office romance, lots of feelings and introspection, miscommunication, the reader’s sort of a sensitive and insecure gal at times, clark picks the reader up, mentions of reader's hair, both of them are very awkward at times, idiots in love (proceed with caution), declarations of love, p with plot, fingering (f receiving), handjob, oral (m and f receiving), whiny clark kent !!!, cum swallowing, p in v, missionary, happy ending.

a/n: first time writing for clark kent!!! to say i’m nervous would be the understatement of the century. i finally got to watch superman last week, and let me tell you: i’ve been obsessed with it <3 i walked out of the theater and pretty much ran home to start writing this fic. so yes, this one’s completely self-indulgent. i just got carried away by the feelings and couldn’t stop writing, hence the length lol. i really hope you enjoy this story. if you do, likes, reblogs and comments mean the world. and feel free to scream in the tags—i’ll be screaming too 🫂

Sometimes, you truly wished you didn’t have a brain.

It sounds ridiculous, worded like that. You know for a fact you’re not the first person to want a quiet mind, to dream of a day when you’re not held hostage by your own intrusive, spiraling thoughts. You take a look around and realize there are much bigger problems out there in the world.

Scratch that—right here, where every few days, some inexplicable, monstrous creature appears out of the blue and starts tearing through everything that gets in its way, like Metropolis is a giant city made of Legos.

And yet, you can’t help but drown in self-doubt. The worst part is how suddenly it all hits you. There’s no warning or mercy. One moment you’re fine—functioning, even laughing—and the next, something inside you flickers and dies. The illusion of confidence crumbles, and you're left looking for the broken pieces, wondering when you’ll finally figure out what’s wrong with you. 

If only there were a way to cut it out, the rot, and replace it with something clean. Something shining. Something better.

The day you’re accepted for an internship at the Daily Planet, you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and try to tell the girl in the fogged glass something that sounds like hope:

It’s going to be okay. You’re capable of this. Just show them your potential.

But the voice in your head isn’t convinced. It places an imaginary hand on your shoulder, deceptively gentle, until its fingers dig in, cold and burning all at once. It leans in, just behind your ear, and hisses the thought you’ve been trying to avoid: 

It’s only a matter of time before they realize they could’ve chosen someone better.

Just so much for a girl in her twenties.

You squint at the girl on Jimmy’s phone.

She’s beautiful. Blonde. The kind of effortlessly pretty that feels unfair. If you didn’t know her from these selfies, you would’ve thought she was some kind of model. Tall, blue-eyed, glowing with confidence. She even looks like the type of person who’d throw a tantrum if someone accidentally stepped on a cat’s tail.

Picking at your nails, your eyes flick from the screen to Jimmy. Then back again. Jimmy. Blonde girl. Jimmy. Blonde—

“She’s super pretty,” you say finally, handing the phone back to him over the desk divider.

He stands up with a smug little shrug, grinning as if he’s about to accept an award. ��What can I say? Ladies just seem to love me.”

At that moment, Lois passes by right on cue, bracing herself on your desk and leaning toward Jimmy with a certain look that usually comes before total verbal destruction. “I’m still trying to figure out why,” she mutters dryly. “Guess I know what my next article’s gonna be about.”

A giggle catches in your throat, too fast to stop, and you mask it with a fake cough.

Jimmy eyes you like you’ve betrayed his loyalty. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Proximity makes us allies.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t resist a good joke,” you mumble, lifting your hands in mock surrender, earning an exasperated sigh from him.

Lois high-fives you without missing a beat. “You can always change seats.”

With a scoff, he declares, “Traitors. Both of you.”

As he launches into a dramatic defense of his dating history, Lois unwraps a candy bar, taking a bite before giving voice to her thoughts. “Honestly, I don't know why Clark gets away with disappearing for an hour and a half during lunch. I miss one deadline, and I’ve got Perry breathing down my neck.”

“Ever heard of this revolutionary thing called… privacy?” Jimmy asks her, raising his eyebrows in her direction.

She rolls her eyes, gesturing with the candy bar. “If I find out he’s out there eating real food while the rest of us are surviving on vending machine snacks, I’m suing.”

You're about to jump in with an equally sarcastic remark when the elevator dings.

The doors quietly slide open, and there he is.

Clark Kent. Carrying a cardboard tray of four coffees, his tie slightly crooked and hair looking like the wind styled it for him on the way in. There's a coy tilt to his smile, like he knows he’s late but hopes this peace offering makes up for it.

“Hey,” he says warmly. “Thought we could all use a little caffeine. Fuel for the hardest part of the day.”

Lois lifts her chin. “Look who finally decided to rejoin society.”

Balancing the tray in one hand, he straightens his glasses. “I brought bribes.” He hands hers over first, the corner of his mouth quirking up. A second later, Jimmy’s follows, and he gives Clark a quick pat on the back.

Then, to your complete surprise, Clark holds one out to you. No matter how many times he does it, you still get excited by his thoughtfulness.

You blink owlishly. Your name's neatly written on one side of the cup with a permanent marker, just above your order: two creams, two sugars. He still remembers your order and has never gotten it wrong. You take it calmly, like it might vanish if you move too fast, struggling to fight the smile wanting to break free. “Thanks, Clark.”

He bows his head, scratching the back of his neck, and looks up to meet your pleased gaze, studying how your expression softens. “You know there's a legal limit to how many times you can say thank you in a day, right? Pretty sure you’ve already gone over it.”

No clever, witty comeback comes to mind, so you turn back to your monitor, hoping the screen hides the heat crawling up your neck. Still, you can’t help whispering a very soft, “Thank you,” just before Clark turns on his heel and walks away.

He pauses for a split second, long enough to glance over his shoulder. His eyes land on yours again briefly, like he’s trying to find a hidden answer in your features, and he gives the smallest nod, almost imperceptible, continuing toward his desk, the hem of his coat swaying with each step.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you chew on your bottom lip, twisting your ankles together beneath the desk to keep from fidgeting, hoping you’re playing it cool.

“Jeez,” a familiar voice mutters nearby. Jimmy’s shaking his head, arching a knowing brow. “You’re down bad.”

“Shut it.”

“I swear to God, if you’d just admit it—”

You lob a yellow highlighter at him, managing to hit him squarely on the shoulder with a satisfying thwack. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with a pointed finger. “Keep your voice down. There’s nothing to admit. I’m just happy I have something to sip while I work. That’s all.”

Spinning lazily in his chair, he folds his arms behind his head like a painting of a man at peace. “I’ve got to hand it to you—it’s adorable, watching you try to lie to me. I’ve been sitting across from you for what, a month now?”

A faint line appears between your brows, and you catch the highlighter as he tosses it back your way.

He grins. “I’ve grown familiar with all your faces, young lady. And that dreamy look? The puppy eyes? That little tight-lipped smile?” He props his chin on his hand, his voice descending to a murmur. “Yeah. Those aren’t for public consumption. That’s VIP treatment.”

Fighting Jimmy is pointless. He’s the kind of guy who never loses an argument—mostly because he talks over you until you forget what your point even was.

He just doesn’t get it. You can find someone attractive without liking them, right? It’s just a stupid crush. A stupid work crush, to be precise, which is significantly worse than a normal one, because now the object of your hopeless affection walks past your desk on a daily basis like it’s nothing.

At some point, you stop being sure if you're trying to convince Jimmy or yourself.

Your brain whirs back to your very first day at the Daily Planet. You remember being led around by a chatty woman from HR, who kept smiling at you with what appeared to be feigned sympathy. She pointed out the break room, the vending machine, and in the end brought you to your new, empty desk right across from a redheaded guy who immediately stood and extended a hand.

“James Olsen,” he commented. “Welcome to hell.”

Before you could respond, he waved Lois over from a few desks away. “Lois, come meet the new intern.”

You told them your name, attempting to seem casual while subtly folding your arms across your chest like a human shield. You didn’t mention you already knew who they were, or the fact that you’d read Lois’s columns like gospel. Some things were better kept to yourself.

Then, along came Perry White. The Perry White. It only took you one glance at the man to recognize him: the iconic gruff editor-in-chief with a permanent scowl and a cigar that looked surgically attached to his mouth. He stomped over, barely glancing your way.

“Where’s Kent?” he grumbled, words muffled by the cigar between his lips.

Lois and Jimmy exchanged a look. Silence. Apparently, no one felt like volunteering information.

Kent, as in Clark Kent. The name alone triggered something weird in your stomach. He was the guy who somehow landed exclusive interviews with Superman like it was no big deal, most of which you’d devoured in one sitting.

In the nick of time, as if he’d heard his name from afar, Clark entered through the elevator, brushing his fringe to the side with one hand. Slung over one of his shoulders was a worn satchel bag, and in the other, he carried a cardboard tray, loaded with steaming coffee cups. He spotted Perry and made his way over, towering over pretty much everyone in the immediate vicinity.

“I know, I’m late again. Sorry, Perry,” he apologized, already reaching into the tray. “Maybe a hot coffee will help start your day?”

Perry grunted, took a cup, and walked away without another word. Clark contemplated him as he got farther and farther away, and once he was gone, turned back to the rest of you with a quiet exhale. “Really glad I bought an extra one today.”

Only two cups of coffee remained. He handed Jimmy and Lois theirs, then scanned the tray, his brows snapping together. His gaze landed on you, standing just a little behind the group, hands clasped awkwardly in front of you. That was when it hit him.

“Oh, I’m—” he stammered, fixing his posture. “I didn’t know there would be someone new. I’m so sorry, I would’ve brought you something too.”

“This is the new intern,” Jimmy supplied casually, taking a trial sip of his drink. “Started today. Doesn’t bite, probably. Has a name and everything.”

You offered a nervous little smile, giving Clark your name.

Clark repeated it under his breath, as if he was trying to memorize it. His attention flicked back to the empty tray, later returning to you. “Next time, I’ll make sure to bring you one. What do you usually get?”

Shaking your head, you tried to wave it off. “No, really, it’s okay. You don’t have to—”

But Clark shook his own head right back, stubborn and visibly determined. “I insist.”

Jimmy leaned in, elbowing him. “No, for real—he insists.”

Lois smirked into her cup. “He's going to agonize over this all day.”

Clark’s ears reddened as he cast a glance at you again. “Just... let me know. So I get it right.”

Ultimately, you ended up telling him your order: two creams, two sugars. He nodded seriously, and repeated it: “Two creams, two sugars.”

“Better write it on your arm or something,” Jimmy interjected, sitting down on his chair. “In case it comes up in your next Superman interview.”

The next morning, you were late. Disastrously, embarrassingly late. Not just five-minutes-past-start-time late. More like why-even-bother-showing-up late.

You burst through the front doors of the Daily Planet like a fugitive fleeing a crime scene, lungs clawing for air, sweat clinging to your lower back and pooling around your temples. The last ten blocks had been a blur of dodged pedestrians and half-choked apologies, and every eye in the office felt like it had turned your way.

Avoiding eye contact, you slid into your seat. It was only your second day, and already you’d earned a reputation: the intern who can’t be punctual. What would be next? Forgetting your name? Accidentally setting the printer on fire? Calling Perry “dad”? You were so far inside your own head you barely registered the beverage sitting on your desk.

A lone paper coffee cup. You froze.

It was from the café around the corner, the same one Clark brought coffee from yesterday. An orange Post-it was stuck to the side, curling slightly at the corners, your name written just beneath it.

Hope you have a good time here. The handwriting was clean and tidy, with no signature, though you knew who had written it.

Your fingers brushed the cup tentatively, and the warmth seeped into your fingers, anchoring you in a moment that felt strangely tender. It was a small gesture, but it had found you when you were at your most unravelled, and somehow, that made it hit harder than it should have.

Glancing up, you noticed Clark was already seated at his desk, typing with ease. When your eyes met, he didn’t look away, just lifted a hand in a soft wave.

Before you could even process it, Jimmy bent over the partition, nodding at the cup. “Wow,” he uttered, pressing a hand to his chest. “On day two? Must be nice to be his favorite.”

“Excuse me?”

“Next thing you know, he’s bringing you lunch and rescheduling your dentist appointments.”

“It’s just coffee,” you retorted, but your hands didn’t loosen around the cup, clutching it like it contained the secret to world peace.

“Observe: the flustered intern in her natural habitat, attempting to rationalize a clear romantic gesture—”

“Don’t you have any photographs to take?”

His nose crinkled. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your tragic office romance off the record. For now.”

To shut him up, you took a long sip, and immediately burned your tongue. Of course. When you glanced over again, Clark was observing you with mild alarm, eyes wide, like he wasn’t sure if he should intervene. But then he returned to his screen, his shoulders just a little stiffer than before, and you looked back down at the cup. The note.

You weren’t saying that was when the crush started. But it sure didn’t help.

Fast forward to the present day, your fingers have been levitating over the keyboard for an embarrassing amount of time, the blinking cursor taunting you like it knows. You just hope nobody’s noticed the light leaving your eyes as you spiraled into a memory that felt much warmer than the air-conditioned newsroom.

You turn your head to the left for what you swear will be the last time today, though deep down, you know that’s a lie. A practiced one at this point. Clark is already typing, posture relaxed but focused, forearms braced against the desk. He’s moved his chair today, and the faint movement of the muscles beneath the back of his white shirt makes you blink hard, as if that might reset your brain.

“Perv,” Jimmy interrupts your thoughts in a sing-song voice, not even bothering to look up from his computer.

You jab the side of his ankle with your shoe.

He hisses, eyes squinting shut. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You don’t. What frightens you the most is that perhaps he has clocked you right. Straightening in your chair, you roll your shoulders back like you can shake it off. Crushes pass. This one will as well. Maybe by the time your internship’s ended.

Taking a sharp breath, you decide you need to get back to work. You can’t afford another mistake just because Clark Kent exists in the same room as you.

An email lands in your inbox. It’s one of many, the kind you handled almost without thinking twice. The task in it was far from difficult: skim the article, fix the typos, clean up the formatting, and make sure the version that goes online looked as polished as something with your name near it should. Routine. Safe.

At first, you don’t even flinch. You’re wearing headphones, the world on mute, until Jimmy taps your shoulder and motions for you to take them off. The moment you do, the noise rushes in. You register the low hum of tension in the room, and then comes the voice of one of your coworkers, shouting across the bullpen that an unedited version of an article had been published.

Silently, heads begin turning to find the culprit. And still, you don’t let yourself panic. Not until you hear the title.

Beneath the Streets, Above the Skies: The Creatures We Can’t Explain.

It’s yours.

Goddammit.

Your stomach flips as you scroll through the now-public piece on the Daily Planet’s website. It’s all there: the all-caps notes left by the writer mid-draft, barking out instructions to a future editor.

[FIX THIS. TOO WORDY.]

[DELETE — USE STAT FROM EARLIER DRAFT?]

[MAYBE CHOOSE A STRONGER QUOTE HERE.]

You’d sent the wrong version. Drafts mixed up, tabs blurred together, one careless attachment. And worst of all? You weren’t the one to catch it. By the time someone did, it had already been up long enough to embarrass the paper.

The article is eventually pulled, of course, but it had already been read by others.

A few people come to your rescue, trying to comfort you with those well-meaning phrases that sting more than they soothe.

It’s fine. Happens to the best of us.

Don’t beat yourself up over it.

It’s just one article.

Lois, in a moment of impossible generosity, offers to buy you an entire chocolate cake if it’ll get you to smile. She says it with a lopsided grin, trying to lighten the mood, but you can see it in her face, the silent sympathy. The confirmation that… yes, it had been bad.

What makes it worse is that it confirms what you already suspected about yourself: you’re not good at this. The little voice in your head, the one that is usually subdued by the clack of keyboards, is now screaming. You can hear going insane it in the spaces between your thoughts and heartbeats.

You had one job. You’ve been here for over a month, and you still managed to screw it up.

Panic blooms in slow, suffocating waves, rising behind your ribs and poisoning your bloodstream. You walk to Perry’s office on numb legs that barely feel like they are attached to the rest of your body. Your name had been called moments before. Knocking once, you step inside, your back flat against the cool surface of the door.

He doesn’t even look up right away. Just keeps reading something on his screen. “Something bothering that young brain of yours?” he asks without turning. “Because if you’re not going to be focused, I need to know. I don’t do hand-holding. This could’ve been a disaster.”

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re surprised he doesn’t pause to comment on it. When he finally decides to spare you a glance, it isn’t anger you’re met with. He looks tired, and even irritated, that he has to explain these things to you at all.

“Don’t be sloppy. I don’t like sloppy. Got it?”

Fervently nodding, you say, “Yes, sir.” You might grant him a smile, or perhaps something close enough to one, anyway. Then you leave, holding yourself together, and storm out of his office.

The newsroom is all windows and noise, impossible to disappear into, but taking the elevator isn’t a viable option at the moment. The stairwell, by contrast, is dim and forgotten, since no one uses it unless the elevators break down. That makes it a perfect place for you to hide.

You sit on the concrete steps and fold in on yourself, allowing yourself to cry. Sweaty palms pressed to your face, tugging at your hair like it might anchor you in your body. Silent sobs wrack your chest, and tears slip down your face, pooling at the edges of your mouth, making their way towards your chin and neck. Your knees draw to your chest, and you let yourself dissolve into shuddering breaths.

You aren’t just crying over the article, or the look Perry gave you, or the shame you saw in every pair of eyes that passed your desk.

You’re crying because at some point, without you even noticing, you’d let yourself believe that maybe—maybe—you were starting to belong here. That maybe you weren’t a complete fraud. It turns out it doesn’t take much to unravel those thoughts. Just one mistake. One article. One email you should’ve double-checked.

A couple of minutes pass, and you hear the door being opened and then shut. You’re too far gone by then: cheeks damp, fingers gripping your knees, shoulders drawn tight toward your ears. The sound of someone’s footsteps approaching you makes your stomach lurch, and instinctively, you swipe at your face, trying to clean yourself up with the heel of your palm as if that could erase the fact you’ve been crying.

You hear it. His voice.

“…Hey.”

Clark.

You rub your eyes, keeping your gaze fixed on a chipped bit of concrete near your foot, your throat too raw to answer.

There’s a pause. You don’t even hear him move, yet you feel him there, not close enough to crowd you, but not far enough either. He waits. It’s his thing, apparently.

Before you can stop yourself, you speak. “I’m fine,” you croak, too quickly. A reflex.

He doesn’t reply right away. A beat slides, and he mutters, “Didn’t ask.”

That earns a weak exhale from you. Not exactly laughter, but akin to it. You rest your forehead on your knees, and because you can’t help it, because it’s bubbling up and there’s nowhere else for it to go, you start talking. More like rambling, actually.

“I was tired, and I was trying to finish it fast, and I thought I’d already attached the right file, and—” You stop, inhaling sharply. “God, I’m pathetic.”

Clark still says nothing. You risk a glance in his direction and find him standing just a few steps down from you, one hand loosely resting on the railing.

You interpret his demeanor as an invitation to go on. “It’s so stupid. Everyone’s supposed to make mistakes. That’s what they say. But this doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels like confirmation. That I shouldn’t be here. That I’m playing pretend, and now everyone can see it.”

It’s only a matter of time before your voice cracks, and you suck in a breath like it might steady you, but it only makes your chest hurt.

Gently, without needing to say anything, he sits down beside you, leaving just enough space so you don’t feel boxed in. You feel the warmth radiating off his body even through the distance. A comforting kind of heat.

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” you croak. “It’s miserable.”

“It’s not.”

You shake your head, and the tears come back again for a second round, your whole frame shaking. More tears. You thought you were done.

That’s when you feel it. The hesitant pressure of his hand between your shoulder blades. He doesn’t move it, just lets it rest there, warm as you continue to cry your heart out. You’re pretty sure he must think you’ve gone mental. Once he notices you’re not backing away from his touch, he begins rubbing your skin in small, slow circles. No pressure. No expectation.

Eventually, after long minutes of trying to even your breath, you shift toward him on instinct, and he opens his arms, enveloping you. You fold into the space he makes for you, still trembling, trying to convince yourself this isn’t humiliating. His chest is solid against your cheek, and he smells like cologne and paper and something sweet you can’t quite place.

You don’t ask why he came. You believe you already have your answer. Lois probably saw you bolt. Maybe Jimmy sent him. Maybe he drew the short straw.

It turns out you say it out loud, because Clark speaks gently into your hair. “No one sent me.”

You choke on your own saliva.

“I just noticed you’d been gone for a while,” he adds. “That’s all.”

Pulling back a little, just enough to look at him in the eye, you find his expression to be unreadable in that Clark Kent way. “I didn’t even realize I was gone that long,” you admit.

He smiles, barely. “I know.”

A long silence hangs in the air between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with things unsaid.

Then he asks, almost like he already knows what you’ll respond next: “Why are you so hard on yourself?”

You laugh, though it comes out watery and bitter. “I don’t know how else to be.”

He watches you for a moment. The world outside the stairwell feels a thousand miles away.

“I think,” Clark begins carefully, “you hold yourself to this impossible standard. You think if you slip up, everyone will rub it in your face.” You stare at him, swallowing hard. “But no one’s waiting to punish you,” he explains. “They already like you. I already—” He stops himself mid-sentence. “You don’t have to earn that every second.”

His hand is still on your back. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to that, so you just sit there with him. With yourself, and with everything you’re carrying. The silence lingers, suspended in time, and you can’t help but sniff after all that crying. You’re certain your eyes must be far beyond puffy and red-rimmed, your face blotchy, and you don’t even want to think about what your mascara’s looking like right now.

“Was it—” You hesitate, keeping eye contact. “Was it a lot? That I hugged you?”

Clark’s brows bump together in a scowl. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” You gesture vaguely between your chests. “It was a full, like… torso-on-torso kind of hug. Which feels very much like a panic-hug. And I’ve only been working here a month, and you’re… you.”

His smile widens, carving those charming, endearing hollows into his cheeks. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but I do. You probably have, like, policies about emotionally unstable interns clinging to you.”

“If there’s a policy, I haven’t read it.”

“Figures. Of course, you read everything except the employee handbook.”

Playfully surrendering, he snorts. “Guilty.”

There’s a beat. He looks like he’s considering something as those blue eyes of his map your face.

“Want to hear something that’ll make you regret hugging me at all?”

You scratch your nose. “Sure?”

“What do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary?”

“…No.”

He grins, too pleased with himself. “A thesaurus.”

“Oh my God.”

“I warned you.”

“No, but—a thesaurus?”

“What do you mean? It’s a classic!”

“I should’ve hugged Perry instead. Or the janitor. Literally anyone else.”

“That hurts. I opened my arms to you.”

“I did the arm-opening,” you shoot back. “You were just conveniently located.”

He’s chuckling, but his expression softens again when he sees you swipe under your eyes. You try to smile. You try. And it almost works, until your voice comes out small again. “I just didn’t want to mess up. I wanted to be good at this.”

“You are. Messing up doesn’t make you less good. You’d never say that to another human being.”

You look at him. The way he says it makes you understand he believes it. You’re not used to that. Most people say things like that with ifs and buts tacked on. Clark doesn’t. He just lets the truth sit there between you. Pressing your lips together, you gape at your lap, and then back at him.

“…Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he echoes.

A pause.

“Wanna hear another one?”

“Clark, please—”

“What do you call fake spaghetti?”

“I don’t even want to think about that one.”

“An impasta.”

You groan louder, forehead tipping dramatically against his shoulder. “Just fire me already.”

Clark giggles, not moving an inch. “Can’t. I’m just the delivery guy.”

“Of terrible puns?”

“Of coffee and emotional support.”

You laugh, this time for real, short and soggy and kind of breathless. In this tiny stairwell, with your head spinning and your chest still aching, this had been exactly what you needed.

By the time you’re both standing again, your eyes feel like they’ve been rubbed back and forth with sandpaper. You wipe at your face with the sleeve of your cardigan, though Clark hands you a tissue without saying anything. You take it, thanking him while intending to fix your appearance in the reflection of his glasses.

“You always carry tissues with you?”

“A man needs to be prepared.”

He doesn’t rush you, although both of you know that eventually you have to go back. “Ready?” he asks gently.

You nod like a liar, returning to the office. Jimmy spots you the second the door to the stairwell opens. He stands near the copy machine, holding a mug shaped like the Daily Planet’s globe, and raises his eyebrows like he’s seeing something scandalous. Lois leans out of her cubicle and gives Clark a slow look, then swings her gaze to you.

“Well, well,” she murmurs, wrapping a loose strand of hair around her finger. “We thought you’d fled the country.”

Jimmy snorts into his coffee. “I must confess I’ve never tried stairwell therapy. Sounds very promising.”

Clark clears his throat, cheeks just slightly pink. “She was just upset. That’s all.” Inching toward you, he whispers into your ear, “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod, and this time, it’s not entirely a lie. Your chest twists a little: not from embarrassment, but from the warm way everyone seems to be looking at you. You sit back at your desk, and Jimmy passes you a couple of snacks wordlessly, winking at you.

Lois throws a scrunchie at your head, giving you a thumbs up. “Fix your face,” she says. “If you cry again, you’ll dehydrate and die. And I don’t have time to explain that to Perry.”

Your throat tightens again, but for entirely different reasons.

You like Lois.

You really, really do.

She’s sharp-tongued and sharp-minded, the kind of journalist who could scare a senator into answering a question they’ve been dodging for a decade. She doesn’t soften herself to fit the room. If anything, the room adjusts to her. You admire that. You admire her.

You trust her, too, in the weird way you trust people after you decided not to trust them at all.

Which is why it catches you off guard, the quiet pinch in your chest when you see her standing next to Clark, cackling. And him, tittering the way he does when he’s truly listening, the corners of his eyes crinkling just barely behind his glasses.

They look like puzzle pieces that have known each other forever.

In your defense, this was all supposed to be a harmless observation. You’re standing next to the copier, waiting for it to spit out your stack of edited pages.

All of a sudden, the copier beeps, and you jerk away.

“Hey.” Jimmy materializes out of nowhere behind you, nearly making you drop your stack. “You okay?“

You force a laugh, too high-pitched. “No, I was just…thinking. That Clark and Lois would make a good couple. Like, objectively. They’re very…compatible.”

Jimmy blinks.

Then blinks again.

Then tilts his head as if you’re announcing you’re moving to Mars. “What—why would you say that?”

You stare at him, and the weight of what you’d just admitted out loud hits you like a train.

“I’ve picked up this terrible habit of saying my thoughts out loud,” you half-whisper, burying your face in the warm papers you’ve just printed. “You didn’t need to know that.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Jimmy steps in front of you, looking way too interested. “Back up. You think Clark and Lois are compatible?”

The copier makes an unholy crunching noise, and you yank the paper tray open, because you don’t want to meet his demanding gaze. “I meant it like…as a neutral statement,” you lie, badly. “A purely objective, journalistic observation. A general public-interest…thing.”

“Like you’re a neutral third-party scientist, observing the wild mating rituals of the office?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re so not a neutral third party. That might be the worst save I’ve ever heard.”

“Give me a break.”

“No, seriously, this is interesting. Tell me more about this neutral thought process. Was it before or after you began looking at Clark like he personally invented gravity?”

“Drop it, Jimmy.”

Jimmy looms closer the copier, puffing out his chest, looking way too smug for someone who sometimes accidentally deletes half his own files. “Listen. I love Lois. Everyone loves Lois. But Clark and Lois? No way.”

You glanced at him. “What do you mean ‘no way’? They’re…they’re them.”

“You said it yourself. I’ve seen Clark, a grown man, blushing when someone compliments his tie. You think Lois has time for that?”

You don’t answer right away. Your gaze drifts back to Clark, who’s now scribbling into his notepad while Lois steals the last bite of his muffin, and you force yourself to avert your attention from that scene. What you believe to be the truth sits heavy in your stomach, even as you joke around.

Because here’s the thing: this isn’t Lois’s fault. You’d fight anyone who said a bad word about her—so why does it still sting? Why does some ugly voice in your head start listing every way you fall short in comparison? This profound ache that you feel isn’t about her, not really. It’s about you: about how you always seem to be two steps behind the version of yourself you’re supposed to be.

Comparison is a cruel game, especially when the other player doesn’t even know she’s on the board.

Jimmy nudges your arm, the teasing gone a little softer. “Hey. Don’t overthink it.”

You’re fiddling with an old bracelet that dangles from your wrist. “You’re only about thirty years too late.” Gathering your pages, holding them a little too tightly, you take a step back. “I should get back to work.” You choose that to be your response, given it’s easier than saying I don’t want to feel like this, or I wish I didn’t care, or I think I’m falling for him, and I don’t know how to stop.

And because the alternative is staying here and letting Jimmy be right.

Again.

They arrange the plan casually, almost in passing. Someone mentions something about finally clocking out, someone else brings up the bar a few blocks away from the building, and then Lois chimes in with, “We’re all going, no excuses,” unwilling to take no for an answer.

And somehow, that settles it.

The sun dips low as the office empties, everyone spilling into the street with sleeves rolled and voices louder than they’ve been all day. You walk a step behind Jimmy, who’s listing the bar’s drink specials like he’s memorized them for a play he forgot to audition for.

The night has that kind of electricity. The possibility of being something good. Memorable.

The bar’s noisy in the comforting way only post-work places could be: the hum of old songs, clinking glasses, the rise and fall of casual arguments about baseball, or film, or whether Perry White had once owned a parrot (Jimmy swears yes, Lois says no, and Clark just answers “I’m afraid I have no parrot knowledge”).

You don't mean to drink your first cocktail that fast. You just... forget to pace yourself, but it helps, giving you permission to just exist. Laugh at Jimmy’s impressions. Pretend you’re not glancing at Clark more than you should.

The group is gathered near a back booth when Clark slips away. You only notice because it’s like a light flicks off inside you. When you spot him through the bar window—outside, on the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear, fingers pushing through his hair—you follow without thinking.

You don’t hesitate, slipping through the crowd and nudging the door open, letting it swing closed behind you.

He half-turns at the sound, catching you in his peripheral. A tiny smile lifts the corner of his mouth. He raises a single finger as if to say: One sec. So you lean against the wall beside the door, letting the cool air cling to your skin, internally cursing yourself for not putting on your coat before going out.

“Okay, Ma. Yeah, I’ll give him a call tomorrow. No, I promise, it’s fine. Yeah. Yeah, love you too. Sleep tight,” he says into his phone, ending the call and tucking the device into the pocket of his black slacks. “Sorry. That was my mom. Sometimes she calls without checking the time first. She gets all excited.”

You smile, your mouth twitching. “That’s… adorable.”

He shrugs, glancing down at his feet, almost bashful. “She’s always worried I’m working too much.”

“Well, are you?”

His eyes find yours, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. At long last, he retorts, “Maybe.”

You study him—the way his posture seems to be at ease out here, how the line of his shoulders relaxes in the quiet. There’s something about him that always feels held back, as if he’s managing himself carefully, like he’s afraid of taking up too much space.

Which is funny, considering how much space he’s been occupying in your thoughts lately.

“Are you annoyed?” you ask.

His smile fades. “What?”

“You seemed… I don’t know. Off.”

“No,” he says, seemingly caught off guard. “Not annoyed.” You nod slowly, unsure if that’s a real answer or the kind people give when they don’t want to be asked twice. “I just needed some air. That’s all.”

You let that sit between you. Let the quiet stretch a little. The last thing you want is to pry, but there’s something you want to know. It seems that lately you always want to know more with him, even when you’re afraid of the answers you might receive.

Next thing you know, your brain, being the traitor it is, decides now would be the perfect time to blurt: “So, uh… are you and Lois a thing?” It comes out too fast and loud, way too sincere. You immediately want to grab the words midair and cram them back into your mouth.

Clark straightens so quickly it’s like someone snapped a rubber band on his arm, his jaw clenching. “What?” The pitch of his voice cracks up a little, like his vocal cords haven’t gotten the memo that he’s supposed to be cool and composed.

“You and Lois?” you repeat, trying to style it as harmless curiosity. You throw in a half-shrug that feels more like a full-body spasm. “I mean… it’s not a crazy question. She’s Lois Lane. Beautiful woman, insanely good hair. I’d date her.”

“She’d eat you alive.”

“Yeah, but it’d be an honor.”

“Lois and I are just friends. Really good friends. We’ve been through a lot together, but… it’s never been like that.”

Looking down, you nod in agreement, peering at your heels. Did they always have that much shine? You shift your weight, unsure where to put your hands. “Great,” you reply. “I wasn’t trying to make things weird. It’s just—people talk, you know? Office gossip. Background noise. Someone had to ask.”

Clark cocks his head to the side, his forehead creasing. “Someone?”

“Yeah. I was just the unfortunate soul selected by the people. Took one for the team.”

He smiles then. “The team.”

“Yeah. Julie from Sports. And, uh… Carl.”

“Caro?”

“Yeah,” you say, faking confidence. “He’s new. Big into Hawaiian shirts. You’d remember him if you’d seen him. That dude’s hilarious.”

“Right.” He huffs out another quiet laugh, gesturing vaguely toward the bar. “Wanna go back inside?”

You shake your head. “Actually... I think I’m heading home.”

“Oh. You sure?”

“Certainly. I’m just tired. It’s been a long week. Brain soup.”

“I get that,” he says, softer now. But he doesn’t move. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“Relax. I can get one myself. Last time I checked, I still owned a phone.”

He still doesn’t budge. “Or… I could walk you home.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I know.” He’s already turning toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll grab our stuff.”

And just like that, he disappears inside, the door swinging shut behind him with an almost faint thud.

The moment he’s gone, you let your head fall back against the bricks and close your eyes. It hadn’t been in your plans to ask about Lois. Actually, you hadn’t planned for any of this. You just saw him step outside and followed like gravity stopped being theoretical.

But sometimes, he looks at you like he sees something you don’t, which is the part that terrifies you.

The door creaks open behind you. You straighten quickly, trying to shake off whatever expression you were wearing. Clark has your bag slung over one shoulder and your coat draped carefully over his arm. He looks absurdly responsible.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” you say as he hands everything over to you.

“Too late,” he replies. “Chivalry wins again.”

You walk the first few blocks in companionable silence. The city has started to go quiet, and even though the night is soft, your brain isn’t.

Then, because the world is poetic when it’s inconvenient, your heel catches a crack in the pavement and you go down like a cursed fairytale. “Shit—damn it!”

“Whoa—got you,” Clark huffs, catching you just in time. His hands are at your waist, strong and certain, and you hate how easily your pulse betrays you.

You wince. “Ankle. Ow.”

He guides you down to sit on the front steps of a random building, pursing his lips. He crouches, eyes scanning your foot like he’s searching for something under the skin. “Probably just a twist. You should be alright.”

“How do you…?”

“What?”

“How do you know it’s not swelling?” you ask, scrutinizing him. “You barely looked. Didn’t even check it properly.”

“Just… a hunch, I mean—” His mouth opens, then closes, and then opens again with a whole new sentence. “Look, I didn’t hear anything snap, so... unless your bones are stealthy...?”

“That’s not exactly how ankles work.”

“I mean, you haven’t turned purple. That has to be a good sign.” He laughs, tight and awkward, and you snort despite yourself. His hand rakes through his hair. “Sorry. Just trying to be optimistic.”

“You sure you weren’t a paramedic in a past life?”

“Oh, no. I’d be terrible at that.”

Still, you watch him a second longer. He looks... nervous, like he’s afraid he said too much.

He kneels with his back to you. “Here. Get on.”

“Excuse me?”

“Piggyback. Let’s not make it a thing.”

“It’s already a thing. A humiliating one.”

“Let me reframe it: this is me being chivalrous, and you being temporarily horizontal.”

“That is not how that word works.” You sigh, dramatic. “Fine. Just… please, don’t drop me.”

As you climb onto his back, his hands reach back to catch the backs of your knees, and when his palms find skin—warm where your skirt’s ridden up slightly—it short-circuits something in your chest. It’s not even overtly intimate. It’s just… contact. Unflinching contact. You feel it like a current, a hot spark that rushes up your spine and settles somewhere inconvenient.

“Have I already mentioned this is embarrassing?” you mutter, resting your chin lightly against his shoulder.

“You say that like I’m not honored.”

“I’m a grown woman. You’re carrying me like a backpack.”

“You are basically a human backpack,” he quips back. “And kind of a noisy one.”

You smack his shoulder gently, making him laugh. You let your eyes drift closed for a second, his back is broad under your touch. You become aware of how safe it feels, how easy it is to trust him.

“Clark?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t even blink when I said I hurt my ankle. Like you already knew it wasn’t serious.”

He pauses. “I had a feeling.”

You lean back slightly to see his face, though the angle mostly gives you a view of his glasses and the top of his cheekbone. “You’re weird.”

Smirking, he glances sideways just enough for you to catch it. “Takes one to know one.”

You let it drop, at least out loud. But your brain doesn’t. It files this away with the other strange Clark Kent moments—the way he sometimes seems to flinch at distant sirens, or how you’d swear he once turned around because someone two desks over whispered his name.

By the time you reach your apartment, your ankle has started throbbing again, a dull ache radiating up your calf. Clark shifts slightly to let you down as you fumble for your keys.

You aren’t exactly drunk, but your head definitely feels funny. “Here we are,” he says, and you slid off his back and onto the ground like a sack of potatoes with a master’s degree.

“Thanks,” you mumble, trying to stand in a way that suggests grace and control. “You can, um. You can go be normal now.”

He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I was normal before.”

“That’s debatable.” You finally open the door, triumphant, but instead of going in, you linger in the doorway, facing him. “Thanks for the rescue. Again. I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t move, and neither do you. Your fingers tighten around the doorknob.

There’s an unexpected pull in your chest. The way his collar is rumpled. The way his hair curls behind his ears. The way the night had been soft, and the sidewalk felt warmer when he walked beside you, and—

An unbeatable desire to kiss him invades your whole being. You want to touch his jaw and feel the shape of his mouth and know what it would be like to exist under his hands. To be held by Clark Kent.

He finally steps back, appearing reluctant. “You might want to put some ice on it. Maybe take something for the pain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And give me a call if it gets worse.”

“Only if I want to be carried again.”

“Happy to oblige.”

And then—finally—he walks away. You close the door behind you, pressing your forehead to the wood, heart knocking hard against your ribs.

You’re beyond head over heels.

Another Monday at the Daily Planet. It’s 8:56am, and as the elevator doors open with a cruel little ding, you carefully step out, checking your surroundings.

Everything looks the same—the hum of all those computers, some colleague having a hard time with the copier, Perry barking out unintelligible orders in the distance—but you are not the same. Not since last Friday.

Your ankle’s still a little sore, you haven’t been sleeping well, and Clark Kent could be somewhere in this building, existing like a real person with real hands and a real mouth you definitely didn’t imagine kissing at least ten times this weekend.

You weave through desks, praying for invisibility, when—

“Morning, sunshine,” Jimmy sing-songs from his chair, already halfway through a bagel, a smile plastered on his face. “How’s the foot?”

“Clark told you,” you say flatly.

Jimmy gives you a look, his eyes going round with faux innocence. “Who, me? No! I just assumed you mysteriously developed a limp and Clark suddenly discovered how to piggyback people from years of quiet farm strength.”

“I cannot believe he told you.”

“Oh, come on. It’s adorable.” Jimmy leans back in his chair, using his feet to make it spin. “You? Carried through the city like a Victorian maiden? I wish I had footage. I’d set it to music.”

“I hate you.”

He stops spinning to point his bagel at you. “You say that, but I think you secretly love being the main character.”

“Do I look like someone who enjoys attention?”

“Not attention in general. Just his.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Mostly because he’s not wrong, and your face is already betraying you. Sliding into your chair, you pretend to focus on your monitor like it contains NASA launch codes.

Maybe if you don’t look up, you’ll avoid—

“Morning,” Clark says gently, materializing beside your desk. You look up, and there he is. Soft smile. Soft eyes. Probably soft everything.

You panic and blurt the most neutral, irrelevant thing your brain can conjure: “Did you see that viral video of the goose chasing the guy through Centennial Park?”

Clark blinks. “I haven’t.”

“Crazy stuff. Nature’s relentless.”

“...Okay.”

You clear your throat, willing yourself not to combust.

“Anyway,” Clark continues with his inquiry, “I just wanted to check in. How’s the ankle doing?”

“Fine! Yep. Great. I can do five jumping jacks. Not that I have, but I could.”

He raises his eyebrows, visibly amused. “That’s good to know.”

“Cool,” you reply, cringing on the inside. “Cool, cool, cool, cool.”

And then you both just stand there, marinating in awkward silence. Eventually, Clark raises a hand in greeting and excuses himself to his desk, not before placing your usual coffee next to your keyboard. You thank him without managing to meet his eyes.

Your fingers hover near the cup, though you don’t pick it up right away. The warmth radiates against your skin. You’re aware of everything—your pulse, your breath, the tight flutter in your chest.

You try to return to your work. Really, you do. It’s just that your thoughts don’t seem to line up in a straight line today, and somehow English doesn’t even feel like your mother tongue anymore.

Then Jimmy slides a folder across your desk. “Perry wants you to proofread this by noon. No pressure. Except all the pressure.”

You sigh, taking a sip of coffee and trying to remember how to be a functioning adult. You’ve got a job to do, feelings to repress, and exactly three hours until lunch.

Later that day, after a full shift spent second-guessing every adjective you typed and rereading all those drafts like they were confessionals, you finally make it home.

Shoes abandoned by the door. Work shirt flung somewhere in your hallway. The glow of your laptop waits on the coffee table, your latest half-thought article still open, the cursor blinking, mercifully patient.

You settle into the couch with a sigh and think: this, at least, is something.

And then—you notice it. A crucial absence.

Your charger.

Still plugged in beneath your desk at the Daily Planet like it’s mocking you. Of course. Of course the universe wants you to suffer. As you reach for your phone, ready to spiral, it buzzes in your hand.

Jimmy Olsen.

You answer blandly. “If this is about that goose video again—”

“Relax. It’s not.” He speaks as if he’s chewing something. “Although, side note, there’s a new edit where the goose honks to the beat of Eye of the Tiger and—anyway. That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Then what, Jimmy?” You drag a hand down your face, dreading every second of the call.

“You left your charger here—”

“Don’t even get me started on that.”

“—but I already gave it to Clark.”

Silence. Heavy, jagged silence.

“You what?”

“Gave it to Clark. Figured he could drop it off, since he already knows where you live.” He pauses, then adds, in the world’s most audible smirk: “Wink wink.”

“You didn’t actually wink just now, did you?”

“Oh, I did, physically. With both eyes.”

“Jimmy—”

“You’re welcome. He said he was heading that way anyway.”

The line clicks dead. You stare at your phone for a moment longer, and then, because there’s nothing else to do, you stand.

You wander to the balcony, scanning the street in search of a man you know very well. There’s no way you’re mentally or emotionally prepared for this. Murmuring something unspeakable, you dart to the bathroom mirror. It’s too late to fix anything. Nevertheless, you splash cold water on your face, wiping under your eyes and blinking at your reflection like that’ll make you look alive.

Three polite, measured taps on your door have you looking at the doorway with utter fear, and that’s when you consider faking your death.

In the end, you open the door. Clark’s wearing a big coat that makes his shoulders look broader than human decency allows, holding your charger like it’s something precious.

“Hey. Delivery service. Courtesy of Jimmy Olsen.”

You draw in a long breath. “Thank you. I—I’m sorry you had to do that. He really didn’t need to drag you into—”

He shakes his head before you get to say more. “It’s no trouble. I was happy to.”

You step back, thumb tapping the edge of the door. “Do you wanna come in for a minute? I mean, you don’t have to. Obviously. But if you want water or—tea? Bad tea. That’s all I’ve got.”

He smiles, stepping inside as if he were trying not to track in mud. “Water’s perfect. Thanks.”

You leave him in the living room while you hunt down a clean glass, and as you pour, you curse yourself for the mess of dirty dishes on the counter. Once you come back, he’s not moving. Just standing by the couch, staring. At your laptop.

“I didn’t mean to meddle in your stuff,” he says gently. “But… were you writing something?”

You make your way around the couch. “Oh. Yeah. No. It’s nothing.”

He sits after getting rid of his coat, seemingly not believing your words. “Can I ask what it’s about?”

Placing the glass on top of the table, you take a seat beside him, your knees folding under you, fingers worrying at the seam of your pants. “It’s kind of dumb.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s just—something I started on Saturday night. I don’t know. It’s not an article, really. Not for the paper. Just… thoughts. About Superman. Or not him exactly. More about what he means to people.”

He says nothing. So you keep going.

“I guess I’ve been thinking about why people need something to believe in. Like a… structure. A symbol. Something to hang all their hope on. And for some people, that’s Superman, even if he’s flawed. He gives people permission to believe the world isn’t doomed.”

You pause. “And Perry would throw it in the trash if he ever came across it,” you add, bitterly. “So. Doesn’t matter.”

Clark’s gdoesn’t tear his gaze away from you. “I’d like to read it.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you’re okay with it,” he says, nodding toward the laptop. “I’d really like to.”

Hesitating for a second longer, you eventually slide the laptop in his direction. He adjusts on the couch as he leans forward, careful with the device, treating it as something delicate.

“Brace yourself for excessive metaphors.”

“Oh, I love metaphors. The more excessive, the better.”

And so he begins to read.

You try not to stare. At him, at the screen, at anything. You focus on the ticking of a clock you didn’t even know had batteries, wondering if Clark will also think that what you wrote is too silly. Too emotional or abstract. Perhaps he'll want to know why you were writing about Superman in the first place.

There’s a sudden shift in his demeanor. It’s subtle, barely anything. His shoulders drop a fraction, and when you take in the full sight of him, he’s grinning, reading all the way through.

“This is good,” he says, still concentrated on the screen. “Really good.”

“You don’t have to say that just to be nice.”

He shakes his head once, firm. “No—I mean it. The structure’s clean. You build your argument gradually, but it doesn’t drag. Your transitions are solid. And your tone—” He glares at you now. “—it’s vulnerable without tipping into sentimentality. There’s conviction in it, but you don’t preach. It feels like a conversation.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “It’s not finished yet,” you manage eventually, voice tight. “I still have to go over the middle section. I think I wasn’t that clear once I got into the part about collective memory—”

“Even so. You’re onto something. If you let me, I’d love to help you get it in front of Perry.”

Your eyes bore into his, edging closer to where he’s located. He looks entirely sincere. A sharp pressure envelops your chest, and you want to thank him for his kindness, but what comes out instead is a hoarse: “Really?”

“Really. We could try and talk to him one of these days.”

Before you can stop yourself, you lean in and hug him.

You don’t even think about it—your body just does it, and then you’re flushed against him, arms around his neck, your face tucked against the warm fabric of his coat. He smells like paper and some brand of laundry detergent you don’t recognize.

He hugs you back, and it’s not one of those loose, polite things. His arm curves around you like he means it. You close your eyes, just for a second, just long enough to remember what it feels like to be held like that.

“I keep doing this,” you utter, voice hushed by how near he is. “Randomly hugging you.”

“I don’t mind it. Not at all.”

When you pull back, you’re still half in his space, breathing a little faster than usual. The relief is short-lived.

You ask for the antidote to the ache that keeps you up at night, something to quiet the want that only he seems to understand. “Can you please do it?”

“Do what?”

Does he want you to say it?

You stare at him, and something in your stomach dives. “Please, kiss me,” you plead, your voice barely rising above the hush of breath between you, and yet it seems to echo in the small apartment. Your cheeks feel burning hot, but you don’t, can’t, won’t look away. Not now. Not with him so close you’re convinced your skin might start fusing with his.

That seems to shake something in him. It might be the first time you’ve seen him truly stunned. His lips part slightly, eyes flicking from yours to your mouth, trying to make sense of the fact that this is real. That you want this from him.

One hand lifts reverently and settles along your jaw. The pads of his fingers cradle the hinge of it like you’re beyond fragile, afraid of pressing too hard. His thumb barely skims the corner of your mouth, and you perceive a jolt going down your spine.

His touch is featherlight, but his breathing is not. It’s affected, perhaps as much as yours. “You really want me to?”

You nod. Or try to. It comes out more like an eager lean into his palm, your body already answering before your mouth does. It’s been too long since you’ve been touched this way, like you mattered.

Your thighs press against his, knees brushing the outside of his, as if you were nearly straddling him. When your hands move instinctively to his chest, you see it: the first button of his shirt undone. The faint rise and fall beneath it.

You glance up, asking without words. He doesn’t back away, and you press your fingertips lightly there. His pale skin feels smooth to the touch, and his heartbeat flutters beneath your fingertips, stuttering out of rhythm.

He wants this as much as you do. The human body doesn’t lie. It can’t. It doesn’t pretend to want something it doesn’t crave.

“I do,” you insist, the words catching faintly at the back of your throat, transfixed in a whirlwind of emotion. “I need you to do it.”

A shallow breath leaves him. There’s a thin, glowing ring of blue circling his pupils, his gaze so dark it nearly swallows the light. His other hand slides around to the nape of your neck, achingly gentle.

Clark pulls you in, and his lips meet yours.

At first, it’s a series of tender collisions, just the press and lift of mouths, as if he’s testing the shape of you against him, trying to memorize it in pieces. One kiss. Another. And another. They don’t last long because they don’t need to.

It’s when you tilt your head and open your mouth to him that he gives in. That’s all it takes.

He deepens the kiss instantly, as if he’s been waiting for that signal all along. His mouth claims yours with an urgency that feels both new and inevitable. His lips are plush, cool with mint, probably the vague trace of chewing gum still clinging from earlier.

Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline, his glasses knocking into your nose once, twice. Your body shifts, and then you’re fully perched in his lap, thighs spread over his. His arms adjust around your waist, steadying you there, holding you like he can’t bear the idea of you leaving. One of his hands slides to your lower back, while the other, still at your neck, traces along your jaw, then behind your ear, fingers tangled in your hair.

Sighing into him, your breath gets caught in the cavern of his mouth. The world gets smaller, somehow quieter. Just the sound of his breath mixing with yours, the thud of your pulse in your ears, the heat pooling between you like a live wire.

And even through it, he never stops being gentle. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t push too hard, though his body trembles beneath you every time he elicits a new sound out of you.

At some point, your lungs scream for oxygen, having grown unaccustomed to the sheer indulgence of kissing for several uninterrupted minutes. You pull back only enough to press your forehead to his, gasping his name. You’re kissed raw, lit from the inside out, and the only thing anchoring you is the reassuring pressure of his arms, still wrapped around your frame.

Your lips linger over his, and when you open your eyes, you find his still closed. Neither of you speaks for a moment. His thumb traces a distracted path across your lower back.

Then:

“You should start forgetting your charger more often,” he murmurs, voice a little raspy.

That alone has you focusing on evening out the creases of his shirt with your palm, mostly to avoid combusting. “I swear it wasn’t on purpose.” His finger gently lifts your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. The quiet ache of tenderness in his eyes nearly does you in. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

The words you’ve been actively trying to cage in for months fall out of your mouth without permission, but you don’t regret them. “I like you.”

He gathers you tighter against his chest. “Well, I can’t say I’m not flattered,” he says, teasing, that crooked half-smile already returning. A laugh bubbles out of him—but it’s giddy, boyish. You cut him off by covering his mouth with your palm.

“Don’t make fun of me. I’m trying to have a moment here.”

He gently peels your hand away, lacing your fingers with his instead, and brings them to rest against his chest. “I’ve probably been dreaming about this since your first week at the office,” he admits.

You glance up and notice his glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose. Carefully, you push them back up with a fingertip. “I was always looking at you, you know,” you confess, quieter now. “Couldn’t help it.”

“You talk like I didn’t bring you coffee on your second day,” he teases, brushing his nose against yours. Leaning back just enough to take you in, his eyes sweep slowly across your face. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

The words melt straight into your spine, and before you can think better of it, you surge forward and kiss him again. He meets you without hesitation, and when you break away, you leave a trail of humid kisses across his cheeks, down the line of his jaw, until your mouth finds the curve of his neck.

“I think my kissing might be a little rusty,” you croak into his skin. “Could probably use some improvement.”

“You’re kidding? It was fantastic. What are you—oh.” A beat. Then: “Oh. Sure.” He’s grinning like an idiot now, draping an arm around your waist. “I mean, I can help you with that. Practice makes perfect.”

“How noble of you, Kent.”

Your first kiss (kisses, plural—you lost count around the third) marks a shift in the fabric of everything. You’d seen it coming, even gave yourself a pep talk in the mirror that morning.

But then Clark sets a coffee on your desk, just as he always does, and says, “Hope you have a really good day today,” and suddenly your pep talk is useless. You’re smiling like someone who knows something others don’t. Because you do.

Together, you find a rhythm. You don’t talk about what this is—yet—but something’s shifted. No overt PDA. Not even flirtation, not really. Just… little things. Things that no one else clocks. The way he passes you a folder with an unnecessary brush of fingers. The way he saves you a chair in meetings and pulls it subtly closer to his, so that your knees bump under the table.

It’s the kind of thing that would be completely invisible to anyone else, but to you, it’s everything. It’s a love letter made of glances and millimeters, what you replay at night before bed, giggling at your ceiling like a fool.

Weeks pass in a blur of late nights and whispered conversations in elevators, and work has never been this motivating. Even Perry has stopped looking at you like you’re one bad coffee spill away from being escorted out by security.

One of Clark’s articles makes the front page—again—and when Jimmy sees it, he promptly rolls up the newspaper and smacks Clark in the arm with it. “Alright, headline hero. At this point, you’re just showing off.”

Clark ducks his head with a laugh, caught mid-fumble with his bag, a coffee, and what looks like three different folders sliding out from under his arm. You want to help him, but instead you just stand at your desk, watching like an idiot, warm with the kind of affection that makes your hands feel too light.

Lois arrives like she’s been summoned by sarcasm. She chews the end of a pen and corners Clark against his desk, watching him try to stack his chaos. “You know, Kent, I find it fascinating. You always seem to be conveniently nearby when Superman’s handing out interviews like candy on Halloween.”

He doesn’t look up, adjusting his monitor as if that could save him. “What can I say? Maybe I’m his type. We haven’t kissed yet, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t try to be clever with me. What do you give him? Why does he only let you interview him?”

“Have you considered he just… likes my writing?”

“So now you’re accusing him of bad taste?”

Jimmy slides into frame, palms raised. “Okay, okay. Time’s up, guys.” He puts both hands on Lois’s shoulders with exaggerated care. “You, my friend, are tense. Breathe. Maybe try yoga. Or tequila.”

Blowing air through her cheeks, she finally peels away, muttering, “I just wish Superman would leave his favoritism aside.” Before heading to her desk, she gives Clark one final, mysterious look.

Jimmy drops into his own chair dramatically, putting his feet over his desk. “Well, at least I tried.”

The day presses on. When lunch rolls around, you’re still grinning. You spot Clark at his desk, half-eaten sandwich in one hand, the other scrolling through something on his monitor, glasses barely askew. You approach with your hands clasped behind your back, adopting a mock-serious tone.

“Mr. Kent.”

His eyes flick up, and he swallows a bite too quickly. “Oh. Hi. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You tilt your chin toward the newspaper near his bag. “Just wanted to congratulate you on the article.”

He lowers his voice until it’s almost inaudible, cheeks going faintly pink. “Thank you, baby. I would've hugged you the second I saw it, but, you know…”

“To celebrate… I was thinking dinner? I could make homemade pasta.”

“Gosh, I’d love that. Your place?”

“Yeah.”

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” he murmurs, gaze soft and so full of feelings it nearly unmoors you. “You look beautiful today.”

It hits you in the ribs, the way he says it. You offer him your fist. “Fist punch?”

His smile is half laughter, half reverence. He bumps your knuckles with his own, his fingers linger a beat longer than necessary.

As night folds in around your apartment, you’ve been stirring the sauce for the past twenty minutes, though it’s been done for at least ten. The smell of garlic and basil lingers in the air, the wine is uncorked, and the candles you lit—just two, nothing too obvious—are dripping lazy wax trails down their sides and onto the counter.

Your phone buzzes where it’s propped upright beside the sink.

Clark: Hey, I’m so sorry. Something came up. Can we rain check dinner? Promise I’ll make it up to you.

You just stand there, wooden spoon in hand. No call or explanation. Just the same vague apology he's given you three times now, each time with a different flavor of excuse. Each time with the same effect: you, left waiting with something you didn’t mean to take so personally.

There’s an answer teetering on the edge of your tongue. You even type, It’s alright! :-), with the smiley face and all, mostly to seem breezy. Effortless. But your thumb pauses, then backspaces slowly until the message disappears, and you leave him on read. Not as a form of punishment, but because you don’t know what else to reply.

You try to be patient. Try to be the kind of person who shrugs things off, who doesn’t take a rain check as anything more than bad timing. The problem’s that you’re not wired that way: you feel too much. You think too much.

Turns out, keeping your brain from imploding is the hardest part. You’ve even been practicing it lately, this thing of not jumping to the worst-case scenario. Telling yourself not everything is a sign, and that people get busy and have lives.

The thing’s that your brain has a voice of its own. A mean one, which sounds an awfully lot like yours.

Maybe he kissed you because he felt like he had to.

Maybe he doesn’t know how to say it, but he’s changed his mind.

Maybe he never wanted something serious, and you’re the only one building stories out of crumbs.

Dragging your feet back to the living room, you sit down in the nice pair of clothes you’d chosen for the occasion, and blink at the empty coffee table. As your body sinks into the couch cushions, the fatigue of disappointment sinks deeper than any full day at the Daily Planet. The TV throws shadows on the walls, some sitcom playing to an invisible audience.

And when your eyes finally close, you let sleep take the shape of mercy.

The pasta incident, when the spaghetti went cold and your heart even colder, wasn’t the last time he left you waiting.

Almost two weeks later, it plays out again.

The door clicks open an hour and a half past when he said he’d be here. You don’t greet him. Instead, you remain in the kitchen, back precisely angled away from the entrance, pretending to be focused on dinner even though it’s gone cold.

Clark’s footsteps are calculated, a careful shuffle across the living room carpet, testing the silence. He pauses just inside the kitchen's threshold. “Hey, honey,” he says, a little too bright, a little too loud, his greeting threading through the stillness. “Sorry I’m late. There was something I had to take care of.”

You crane your neck slowly. His hair is damp, curling at the edges, exactly as it does after sweating. His shirt is inside out, rumpled, the collar a crumpled mess. His cheeks are flushed, a deep, uneven red, and his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, as if he sprinted the last few blocks. He looks utterly disheveled.

You don’t ask where he’s been. Not yet. “Your shirt's backwards,” you retort instead, the words flat, neutral.

Startled, he bows his head, looking down and letting out a short, forced puff of air as he rubs the back of his neck. “My bad. I didn’t even notice.” His eyes, meeting yours, hold a flicker of surprise, quickly veiled.

“Yeah. You seem… in a rush.”

He doesn’t contradict you, just watches, completely tongue-tied, his posture subtly tightening. You drop your gaze back to the casserole dish—stuffed eggplants, roasted earlier in the day—and put it back into the oven, hoping it’ll survive the fifth reheat of the night.

Behind you, you feel him inch closer. A familiar warmth spreads across your back as his body presses gently against yours. His arms wrap around your waist, his hands resting lightly on your stomach, chin settling onto your shoulder while he brushes his lips against your cheek. “You’re quiet.”

You lift your shoulder in a half-shrug. “And you’re late.”

His hold around you tightens, rocking both your bodies back and forth before spinning you around to face him. His eyes, filled with longing, seek yours. “I missed you.”

If only that could be enough. You wish you could live off the sound of his voice and the weight of his hands on your body, letting his presence fill all the empty spaces, though you can’t help craving the one thing he won’t grant you: clarity.

Clark kisses you hungrily, a low, frustrated sound catching in his throat the moment you open to him, your tongue clashing with his. His cold hands glide up your back, slipping beneath your shirt to find bare skin, and you gasp as his fingers knead your lower back, the swift curve of your spine.

In one seamless motion, he lifts you onto the counter, and the kiss evolves into one heated and consuming, more of a desperate embrace. It's almost like he’s trying to make up for every second he’s missed, every moment of absence now erased by the force of his presence. Your fingers tangle in the damp hair at his nape, giving it a firm tug. That has him groaning against you, stepping further in between your knees, pressing flush against you.

His kisses deviate, trailing south, turning sloppy. "It’s been two months since our first kiss," he rasps against your throat, lips dragging over your damp skin, leaving open-mouthed kisses and a trail of heat.

For a moment, you let yourself vanish into him, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation, the promise of fleeting oblivion. You swallow hard, a whine bubbling up in your chest as his hips grind into yours with rhythmic pressure.

A sharp sizzle coming from the oven cuts through the haze.

You stiffen, hands finding his chest, pushing against him, breathless. "The eggplants."

He lets out a dazed breath, his forehead still resting against your clavicles before you manage to slide off the counter. You crack open the oven just in time, a cloud of smoke puffing out.

Plating the food, you meticulously avoid his gaze. The comfortable intimacy of moments before has been shattered. “You could’ve let me know you’d be arriving this late.”

“I told you—”

“I know,” you cut in. “Something came up.”

He exhales, planting hands on his hips. His body remains a few feet from you, a physical barrier building. “Okay. So you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Disappointed, then?”

“Clark, it’s not even about tonight.”

“Then what is it about?”

You hesitate, picking up both your plates. Then: “Where were you?” The silence that follows stretches too long, and he merely stands there, observing you “Right.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m not fighting. I’m just… tired.”

He takes a single step closer, his brow furrowed. “You don’t believe me.”

You glance at him, quietly. “Should I?”

That hits him like a slap. “I told you I liked you, that I care about you. About us. I’ve shown you that.”

“But then you vanish,” you say in rejoinder, voice trembling. “You show up looking like you’ve just escaped a fire. You don’t answer calls. You don’t explain anything. Don’t you think that drives me crazy?”

“I’ve been telling you—”

“Clark, it’s not about you saying it! It’s about me believing it. And you don’t exactly make that easy.”

“The real problem here is that you don’t trust me.”

“You think I want to be like this? You think I like doubting people when they’re kind to me? Well, I’m sorry,” you snap, the words coated in sarcasm, a desperate defense. “Would you like me to book a therapy session mid-dessert?”

“Maybe you should,” he agrees—and the moment he does, his shoulders slump, a quiet wave of regret washing over his face.

Biting your tongue, you carry your plates to the table, placing them down on the wooden surface. He stays in the kitchen, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer now. “I just— I don’t know how to do this when you already assume I’m going to leave.”

“I’m not assuming,” you say, barely a whisper, sitting down at the table. “I’m just preparing for what usually happens.”

“You’re staring at me like I’m about to vanish.”

You blink, wounded by his accuracy. “Because people do. They do that.”

“I’m not people!” he exclaims, suddenly louder, cracking with what you perceive as frustration. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white, though he remains rooted in place. "I’m me. And I’m standing right here, aren’t I?"

“For now. Who knows if something else will come up?”

Something cracks in him then. He exhales a sharp sound of utter defeat. His blue eyes dart around the kitchen, looking everywhere but at you, like he suddenly doesn’t know where to put his hands. With a jerky motion, he turns abruptly and moves to the couch, grabbing his bag, and after a quiet clink, he places the set of keys you gave him—your apartment keys— on the table.

He doesn't look back at them. Or at you. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath. “Okay.”

“Clark—” you start, a desperate plea forming in your throat.

“Thank you for the food,” he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s great.”

Then the door clicks again, and he’s gone.

The Daily Planet office, once a source of nervous excitement, now feels like the perfect stage for an excruciating play, where every creak of a chair, every muffled phone call, and every far-off laugh from the newsroom, feels amplified.

One day bleeds into the next. Two become three. Three into four. Time unspools in quiet, colorless strands, and you and Clark don’t speak.

You develop a radar for him. The way his broad shoulders appear in the periphery of your vision when he walks past your desk. The clean scent that lingers for a moment too long in the air after he’s been near. The rustle of his coat, the click of his shoes.

Each tiny signal sends a fresh jolt through you, a cocktail of longing, hurt, and a futile sense of hope that he might just look at you differently.

He never does. His gaze, when it lands anywhere near your orbit, can be described as nothing more than fleeting. His profile, when you cast him a quick glance, is unreadable, stony. He still places your usual coffee beside your monitor. The one you haven’t asked for. The one you don’t touch.

It’s the careful avoidance of two people who know too much about each other, and yet, not enough.

Jimmy, bless his usually boisterous heart, is the first to notice the shift. The absence of his jokes feels heavier than any of his previous teasing. He watches you some mornings when you walk in—does a quick, puzzled double take—then looks away with a frown you’re not supposed to catch.

Your new routine includes staying late at the newsroom. Not because you’re more productive, but because being alone in the office feels better than being alone in your apartment. You stare at the same document for hours while words blur and sentences unravel in front of you.

But when your mind finally stills, it drifts to the article. The one you wrote about Superman. The one Clark urged you to show Perry.

You’d written it during a different time. A better one. It had come from a place of awe, from a belief that Superman was more than a shiny cape and strength—that he was what Metropolis aspired to be: a symbol of better days, of striving, of hope.

Now, hope feels like a language you’ve forgotten how to speak.

Today, you don’t believe in hope. You believe in a man who held you like he meant it, once, and can’t meet your eyes now.

Nevertheless, you print the article, not really knowing why. Maybe because it’s the only thing in this building that still feels like it belongs to you.

Gathering the pages, you breathe in, hold it, let it out. Outside Perry’s office, you linger for a full minute before knocking.

His office is its usual chaos: tottering stacks of newspapers, coffee cups in varying states of decay, and the smell of old cigar smoke clinging to the walls like wallpaper.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he grunts. “What’ve you got?”

You step inside slowly, article in hand, your grip faltering slightly as you set it down on his desk. “I know this isn’t what I was assigned, but I’ve been… working on something for the past weeks.”

He squints at you. “You been using our electricity for your side projects?”

“No! I—I wrote it at home. I swear.”

He huffs, puts on his reading glasses, and begins scanning the first page. You try not to stare at him, but it’s impossible. Your eyes cling to every twitch in his jaw, every slight narrowing of his eyes.

His face gives away nothing, and you brace for the worst. That it’s too sentimental. Too soft. Too young.

Finally, he leans back, lifting his chin and pinning you with a piercing look. “Do you like it?”

You blink owlishly. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because I want to know.”

“It’s not up to me,” you deflect. “You’re the one who decides if it runs.”

“I know that. But you wouldn’t bring me something you didn’t believe in. So I’ll ask again: are you proud of it? Do you think it belongs in the columns of this paper?”

For a moment, your throat closes up. You hadn’t realized how deeply you’d buried your own opinion. You’d been so focused on disappearing, on not making noise, not taking up space—especially this week—that you forgot to consider what you thought of your own work.

Perry’s looking at you like he’s not going to breathe until you answer.

So you speak, nodding in agreement, and right after adding, “I believe people will find it comforting.”

“Then you know what comes next.”

Your confidence may not be at its best, neither is your hope, but this is enough. At least to keep writing, to walk back to your desk.

It’s enough to make it to tomorrow.

Sleep won’t come.

You’ve tried everything: writing until your hand cramped, scrolling endlessly, even lying on the floor like a starfish, begging the ceiling to knock you out. Meditation felt like self-punishment tonight. Silence only made the memories louder.

So you call him. Once, twice, but you’re met with nothing else than his voicemail. You don’t leave a message. What would you even say? Hi, I know you said you cared about me and then walked out of my apartment looking like you were breaking from the inside out, but I miss you and I can’t breathe right now, and can you please just—

You decide to hang up, tossing your phone onto the couch and flicking on the television. Static. Infomercials. Cartoons. Some old film from the 1940s.

And then—Lois Lane’s voice. The screen flickers to life, showing a live, chaotic feed. A shaky handheld shot from a rooftop shows a scene near Metropolis General Hospital. A glowing creature, a blur of silver and blue and fury, throws what looks like an empty city bus like it’s paper. A streetlamp explodes and sirens scream in the distance.

It all makes you wonder where Superman is.

He’s not flying in for a rescue, not beaming reassuring smiles, not waving at kids from the sky. He’s in the dirt, bloodied at the temple, gritting his teeth as he lifts a half-crushed ambulance off the street.

You sit up straight, your heart climbing to your throat.

Lois’s voice crackles through the footage: “—been a difficult few weeks for Metropolis’s hero. Fans online have pointed out the change in his demeanor: less smiling, more… focused. Almost withdrawn. We’ve reached out to the authorities—”

It’s physically impossible for you to hear the rest because you’re entranced watching him. He’s moving like someone who hasn’t slept in days. Fighting like he doesn’t care if he gets hurt.

You can’t look away.

The camera pans wildly as Superman lunges forward, slamming his shoulder into the creature’s ribs with a sound that resembles crumbling concrete. There’s a fresh gash across his cheekbone, his hair disheveled, not in the windswept, magazine-cover kind of way, but genuinely messy: flattened in places, curling in others, soaked with sweat.

For the first time, you’re not watching Superman. You’re watching someone else. Someone who looks like—

No. No, that would be insane. The idea is so preposterous, your mind rejects it, but the seed of recognition has been planted. It can't be. Not him.

Once again, Lois’s voice cuts through the footage, her tone sharper now, edged with that reporter’s concern she usually hides under cool professionalism.

“Superman was spotted fighting alone for nearly half an hour before backup arrived. And while officials say the Justice Gang is expected to contain the situation soon, many are asking the same question: what happens when Superman is no longer invincible? What happens when he burns out?”

Staring at the screen, you contemplate his eyes flickering up for a second—just a second—like he’s heard something above the noise. And they’re blue. The exact kind of blue that’s filled your mornings for the last three months.

Your breath stutters. The camera angle shifts. This time, it shows his jaw flexing as he takes another hit, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

You’ve seen that gesture. Too many times. “No,” you whisper out loud. “No, that’s not possible.”

You’re already moving, with your heart in your mouth. You don’t even know what you’re reaching for at first, until your hand brushes something at the back of the drawer beneath your TV. It’s a pair of old prescription glasses you never quite got used to, the ones you always said gave you headaches.

Holding them up, you hover them in front of the TV, and your world rearranges itself.

There he is.

Clark.

Clark, with that same square jaw, that same tilt of his mouth when he’s gritting through something.

Clark, who stammers when he’s nervous, who brings you coffee even when you won’t drink it.

Clark, whose shoulders you could rest your whole weight on—not only because he’s strong, but because he’s been carrying the sky for so long and somehow still made room for you.

Clark, who sat next to you on the stairwell that day when you felt like quitting.

Clark, whose kindness never felt performative, who looked at you like you were worth listening to even when you were barely making sense.

Clark, who vanishes into smoke and ash and headlines. Who leaves through the fire escape and returns hours later. Who smiled at you across the office like it meant something, and maybe it did, maybe it always did—but now you know the cost of that smile.

If you lower the glasses, he’s Superman again.

If you lift them… it’s the Clark you know.

They’re the same man. Two halves of a single truth.

“Oh my God,” you whisper again, this time not out of disbelief, but something much deeper. Something hollow and shattering.

Lois’s voice keeps going, but it’s background noise now, a murmur beneath the ringing in your ears.

You sit back on the couch, eyes locked on the screen, heart thudding like a trapped bird. Every memory starts to rearrange itself, clicking into a terrifying, undeniable pattern. His sudden disappearances. The uncanny way he knew you weren’t hurt that night at the bar. The tension in his voice each time he apologized for being late. The way he’d always kiss you like it was the last time he’d ever get to.

The truth has slipped through a crack you never saw until now, and there’s no unseeing it. He was lying to you, but not in a cruel way. He was just trying to protect you.

The monster finally goes down in a shuddering collapse of concrete and bone. The camera shakes violently, jolting as dust swallows the scene, and then steadies just in time to catch Superman—or Clark—landing hard on one knee.

Green Lantern, Mr Terrific and Hawkgirl all converge around him, bruised and dust-streaked, checking in on each other. But your eyes won’t leave his face. There’s a scratch across his brow along with many others. His mouth twitches into a faint smile as the crowd outside the hospital begins to clap, nodding at them. He doesn’t need to say anything, at least not right now.

For one suspended second, his gaze falls directly into the camera lens, and it’s not the kind of look meant for press or headlines or statues carved in his honor. It’s private, and heavy, and it feels like he’s looking straight into your apartment, straight through the screen.

Straight through you.

Lois’s voice snaps back into focus: “Metropolis, you can rest easy tonight. For now, Superman and the Justice League have subdued the threat.”

You press a hand to your mouth, the glow from the television casting his silhouette across your walls, larger than life, yet so impossibly familiar now it almost hurts to look.

He steps away from the others. Sirens flash red against his suit, casting ripples of color through the smoke. A few children break from the crowd, darting past yellow caution tape, their small arms wrapping around his legs in awe-struck gratitude. He kneels momentarily, accepting their hugs with the kind of gentleness that breaks you open.

You can’t hear what he says to them, but it softens their faces. One of them gives him a flower. Another just holds his hand.

Then, without fanfare, he lifts off the ground, launching himself into the sky. The wind kicks up rubble, camera crews duck, the picture shakes, and he vanishes into the sky like he was never really there.

Gone.

You stare at the empty space he left behind on the screen, breath snagged in your lungs.

“Where are you going?” you mumble, reaching for the screen. “Where are you—”

The muted clatter of ceramic on concrete interrupts your rambling.

Slowly, you turn your head to your balcony, afraid of what you’ll find. Out past your window, a potted lavender plant lies cracked and wilting. Clark’s standing there, just outside the glass. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled, wincing is he gestures to the shattered pot at his feet. “I didn’t calculate the landing right.”

Rooted to the floor, as if your feet have been sealed to the carpet, you stare at him through the glass as if he’s a hologram. A turbulent mixture of strange feelings clashes inside you, and you fight them back, stepping to the side as you open the window. His boots scuff against the floorboards, dragging slightly as he steps inside

At first, he can’t seem to bring himself to look at you directly. He paces around the living room, running his hands through his hair, sighing like someone who’s rehearsed this moment a thousand times and still doesn’t know where to begin.

“Clark—”

“This is why I disappear all the time,” he blurts, abruptly stopping in front of the television. “Why I cancel our plans. Why I show up late, or leave before I’m supposed to, or text you lame excuses like ‘Sorry, got held up’ when I’m halfway across the planet.”

It’s hard to make the connection. The leap between the man who fumbles with his tie and tells bad puns over takeout, and the mythological figure on screen who bends steel and outruns storms, whose every move seems broadcast across the globe.

They’re two versions of a whole you never imagined could overlap. And yet… it makes sense, somehow. Of course Clark would be Superman. A man so genuine, so generous, who expects for nothing and finds the way to see beauty in rusted scraps and broken things—who better to carry the weight of hope?

“I should’ve told you sooner. God, I meant to. I wanted to, I swear. I was going to, that night after I read your article. You were sitting there, talking about Superman like he was some kind of miracle and I just—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “It got too easy to pretend I could have both. Be with you. Protect you. Keep it all going without having to risk what we had.”

Interrupting him now would feel like an act of pure cruelty. You see the disoriented anguish in his gaze, the way his fists clench and unclench with each passing second, how desperately he seems to need to unburden himself.

You wonder what would’ve happened if, instead of crashing onto your balcony and shattering a pot in the process, he had simply returned to his own apartment. Would the love you hold for him feel so present in any other scenario?

“I know this is a lot to process, but I came to understand something about you.” His voice holds such certainty it frightens you, because lately it feels like everyone else can decipher what’s happening to you except for yourself. “You think you’re just this temporary thing, because you don’t see yourself the way I do. That’s why you’re always bracing for things to fall apart.”

You want to explain yourself, to give a reason for your not-at-all-desirable behavior, but you realize you can’t in this moment. Not when honesty radiates from him like heat.

In the blink of an eye, he’s holding your hands in his, his grip gentle yet firm, and he brings them to his lips to press a short, tender kiss to the back of them.

“I can’t seem to make sense of it. I’ve tried. But it’s been impossible for me to find a single reason why you should believe that about yourself.” You brush a tentative finger along his injured cheekbone, stopping just before you swipe dried blood, though he still offers a soft smile. His gaze is so profoundly tender you wonder if this is the first time you're truly contemplating the depth behind them.  “I’m in love with you. And if I could show you your reflection through my eyes for one day, you’d understand why you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I fall asleep.”

You never thought this type of experience could be granted to you. The belief that such moments were reserved for certain people feels now demystified. Perhaps no other moment in your life could’ve prepared you for this.

Of all the unrealistic scenarios you'd concocted over the years, mostly in your adolescence, when fantasies of a pure and overwhelming love did nothing but numb you, you never would’ve imagined someone would love you in this way, declaring their love for you so sincerely.

The need to get rid of the blood on his face gnaws at you, and you find yourself gently tugging him towards the kitchen, neither of you saying a word. You search for a clean dishcloth in some forgotten drawer, holding it under the faucet for a few seconds. Once it’s dampened, you press it softly against the bruised areas on his lip and cheek.

He tries not to move, placing both hands flat on the counter behind you, caging you with his whole frame. This scene reminds you of the last time you were both here, the day that marked two months of seeing each other.

A day to forget, actually, because it devolved into a complete disaster.

“I got used to living with this voice in my head that sabotages me. I don’t know when it started. Part of me thinks it’s always been there. Sometimes it’s quieter. Other times, it’s so loud I can’t think straight. But I’ve never been able to shut it up completely.”

You take a shaky breath, putting down the cloth once it’s no longer useful. Clark doesn’t pull away, nor does he move closer. He remains right where he is, poised, his entire being waiting for what you’ll say next.

“I never feel like I deserve the good stuff that happens to me. I wish I did. God, I do. Perry even said he’s publishing the article I wrote and I still have to convince myself he’s not just doing it out of pity—”

His eyebrows lift, and he can’t help but cut you off. Wait—really? He’s publishing it?” A broad, genuine smile blooms on his face, almost illuminating the dimness of your apartment.  “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you. I was planning on telling you, but—you know.” Your gaze drifts to the symbol on his suit, and you trace it with a tentative finger, the synthetic material feeling utterly strange under your touch. “The thing is I overthink everything. Always have. And I don’t know if you’ll think I’m crazy or exhausting or whatever, but I can’t control it. I wish I could. So every time you went away, when you started canceling plans or looking at me like you were somewhere else entirely, I got scared.”

So this is what it feels like to truly open your heart to another soul.

“I thought that voice was right, and that you were pulling away because you regretted it because you’d realized I wasn’t worth the trouble. And maybe you just didn’t know how to tell me, since we work together, and we share the same friends. Plus, things between us have been—” Once again, your words tangle, and you internally blame the raw emotionality of the moment.  “I can’t get away from myself, Clark. But other people? They can walk away. And I thought that’s what you were doing.

There’s a pause, and his advice seems to be: “Don’t trust your brain.”

“What do you mean—”

“Don’t believe everything it tells you. I mean it. If you need me to tell you I love you, I will. If you need me to tell you how beautiful and sweet you are, I’ll do that too, and happily. Because I want to help you. It’s not like I can spare you from those thoughts—believe me, I would’ve if there were a way. The least I can do is make you realize that voice in your head isn’t always right.”

Some things cannot be put into words, and you simply have to act in their name. You kiss him, your arms finding their way around his neck, pulling him as close as possible as you smile against his lips, trying not to generate any pressure where he’s hurt as you say, “Shit, I love you so much.”

It’s incredible how one can transition from immense sadness to something that must closely resemble the deepest tranquility ever known to humankind. He holds your face between his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks with such fondness it could make you sick. You don’t know how someone can look so happy and so overwhelmed at once. “Say that again.”

“I love you.”

“Again. Please.”

You kiss him between each word, letting them stretch longer and deeper until your mouths can’t bear to part. “I. Love. You.”

He tilts your face toward his, his hand cradling the back of your head as if he’s afraid you’ll float away. “Please tell me your brain’s not saying anything right now.”

“It’s been surprisingly quiet.”

“Then let’s keep it that way.”

You make a strangled noise as the kiss turns fierce, not knowing exactly where to put your hands. There’s so much you want to do, so much of him you want to touch and skin to trace with your fingers. That simmering desire had grown between you both, never quite breaking through the surface. Not because you didn’t one want it, but because you'd asked him to hold back.

Remember that tiny voice in your brain? The mean one? That one had told you several times that you had to wait a certain amount of time before sleeping with him. Because if you didn’t, if you got too close too soon, he might realize he wasn’t into you. Physically speaking. And you had done just that: waited.

But now, all patience shatters. There’s no room for cautious stretching of things anymore, not when the man you love, the one you’ve been pining for months, stands before you

He doesn’t get the hint when you kiss back or when your teeth nip at the skin of his throat, not until you take his hands, which are resting politely on your lower back, and push them lower, guiding them up to cup your ass through the layers of clothing.

You hear the way he breathes out, a grunt caught somewhere between surprise and shock, as you shift even closer and speak softly over his lips. “I want to do it. Tonight.”

“Are you sure? Because we could totally—”

“Clark, stop being such a gentleman.” You tug him toward the couch and fall back onto it, kicking your shoes off without grace or ceremony, your heart gallops with anticipation as you stretch out, swallowing hard.“I’d like you to touch me, then I’d like to return the favor, and then I want you to fuck me. In that specific order,” you admit. So as not to lose the habit, you whisper the word that never fails to soften his expression: “Please.”

You notice the impressive bulge straining at the front of his suit, and he nods his head in earnest, one of his large hands pushing your thighs open. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Electricity now runs through your veins, each part of you igniting under his hands as he touches you. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t rip your clothes off or fall into cliché. He wants to take his time with you, grazing the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder. As his hair slips through your fingers like silk, you clutch at him, sighing into his touch. Your eyes flutter open to ask him: “Does the suit stay on?”

“Well, that depends,” he replies, lifting his head and meeting your wanting gaze. “Does it—turn you on?”

A low fire spirals in the pit of your stomach, your chest heaving with a shaky inhale. “It’s certainly doing the job.”

“So first you write about Superman like a professional journalist…” he trails off, his palm smoothing his palm over your stomach to undo the button of your jeans with ease, lowering the zipper of your jeans millimeter by millimeter, “... and now you get wet for him?”

Wiggling your hips to help him peel off your pants more easily, you gape at the ceiling momentarily. “I’m sorry. Do my inappropriate thoughts bother him?”

“I actually believe he’d very pleased, to be fair,” he murmurs, settling on the couch beside you. His hand returns, slower this time, tracing over the cotton that clings to your heat. “You see, he’s a simple man. Safe to say he’d really like you.”

Clark teases his thumb to your clit through the cotton and your back arches from the couch. “Clark, I—”

“I’ll go slow.” He presses his lips against yours briefly, running the length of his nose along yours, your skin buzzing where it brushes his. “Do you trust me?” You nod, unable to speak, struggling to keep your eyes open. He presses against you again, this time with purpose. Slow, deliberate circles over your clit, his free hand curling around your waist to keep you steady as you writhe beneath him, holding you down to the earth. “Then relax. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t a virgin, but he’s making you feel like one. Or maybe something even more tender than that, like you’re being touched properly for the first time in your life. Every graze of his fingers sends heat crawling under your skin, his ministrations alone having you whimpering into his neck, tugging at his hair.

“Take them off,” you beg, your hips bucking up to meet him, chasing his hand every time he attempts to pull away, needing more. It’s more of an instinct at this point.

He doesn’t make you ask twice, your underwear being gone in a flash and ending up dangling from one foot. He parts your folds, and you see his eyes darken with unfiltered awe, staring for a beat longer than expected. “Jesus,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’re gorgeous

Clark spreads your slick across your swollen flesh, his long fingers reverent in their exploration, never faltering. When he circles your clit again, raw and bare now, you jolt, the pleasure pulsing bright and fast, like you’re going to blow up at any given moment.

He seems to enjoy watching you squirm, listening to the whimpers torn from your throat. “You’ve got no idea how hot you look right now,” he pants beside your ear, voice ragged and affected by the noises he keeps pulling out of you. His own hips grind lazily against your thigh, the pressure of his cock unmistakable, rock hard behind the fabric. “I want to see you come.”

“Just—keep doing whatever you’re doing,” you gasp, clinging to his arm and biting back a moan when he kisses you languidly. A new wave of warmth runs under your skin, and you swear you can feel your blood rushing south. “Clark, I’m—don’t you dare stop.”

Your words spur him on, and he tightens the circles, faster now, his other hand closing around your inner thigh for leverage. That ache in your belly sharpens to a desperate pressure, and your whole body looms into him as if drawn to gravity itself.

“Oh my God—Clark—” You grip his shoulder, nails scrapping against the harsh material of his suit. It’s too much and not enough, and every time he flicks just right, you’re launched impossibly higher. You’re a panting mess, legs starting to tremble as pleasure coils tight in your gut.

“Come on, you’re almost there,” he encourages you, kissing your sweaty forehead. “You’re doing so good. Let go, baby.”

You break. It starts at your core, deep and volcanic, spreading like a spark catching on dry leaves. Your thighs clamp around his hand, head thrown back as the orgasm ripples through you, crying out his name with a sound borderline raw and unrestrained. He doesn't stop until your hips stop jerking and your back settles against the couch again, twitching with aftershocks.

You’re left gasping, eyes blurry, vision haloed in white. “I—” you try to speak, but your voice fails, coming out broken. Instead, you let out a sigh. “Jesus.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then slowly works his way up to your mouth.  “I came as well. Mentally.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of you, and you swat at his face, covering your eyes with your forearm. You’re about to sit until you feel his breath ghost across your belly, shoving your shirt further up. You rake your hand through his fringe, brushing it back, hissing when his lips graze the patch of skin just above your clit. “Are you—”

“It’d be stupid not to take the opportunity.” He finds your legs and places them over his shoulders, effortlessly dragging your body to the edge of the couch, kneeling by the carpet and between your thighs, his large hands framing your hips.

Clark licks a broad stripe up your folds, collecting your arousal on his tongue, and you cry out, shoulders slumping forward from the overstimulation, still sensitive from your first orgasm. Yet he peers up at you with feigned innocence, kneading the flesh of your thighs. “I can stop if you want me to,” he says, a husky edge to his usual tone.

“Don’t want you to,” you purr, guiding his mouth to where you need him the most. “Make me feel good.”

Devotedly, devastatingly even, he takes your words to heart, lapping at your clit with careful, coaxing pressure, sometimes flicking with the pointed tip of his tongue, sometimes flattening it to trace languid strokes. He groans at the taste of you, sinking a finger into your heat and making you clench instinctively around the intrusion.

“It’s tight in here,” he ponders aloud, not sparing you a single glance, much more preoccupied with the way you’re squeezing him. “We’ll have to see if I’ll fit.”

You mean to laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob the moment he adds another finger to the equation, and you can hear every single squelching sound your cunt makes in response to his movements.

“God, it feels—” Your voice cracks as his lips seal over your clit again, drawing firm circles around it, the pacing of his digits inside you forcing you to alternate your attention. “So good, Clark. You’re being so good to me.”

It’s not that you’re just saying these things out of pocket. You’ve noticed he likes it, likes being praised. Not only in this context, where he has his head buried between your legs, but it usually happened whenever he did something right, and you would be there, praising him, telling him he’d done a great job.

His pupils would dilate a little, and he’d always shut you up with a kiss, but he can’t right now. He seems to be destined to hear and acknowledge your words, nearly rutting into the edge of the couch the more you say. His desperation sets something alight in you, and it only makes you want to explore that side of him even more.

“If you make me come again, I’ll suck your cock,” you mumble, dragging your nails lightly along his scalp. You don’t miss how his shoulders stiffen through the suit, and he pushes his face deeper into your core. “I can’t wait to have you in my mouth,” you add, smiling through the haze.

“What’s got you this chatty, huh?” He pumps his fingers deeper, faster, a relentless rhythm designed to shatter your composure. His teeth scrape along the inside of your right thigh, seemingly enjoying the noise that reverberates in your chest as he bites gently on it. “You have Superman right here with you and all you do is talk.”

Three of Clark’s fingers stretch you out and you can’t no longer think straight. Neither can you breathe, having utterly forgotten how consonants and vowels combine to form words.

This, it seems, is precisely what he intended: to have you reduced to a writhing, desperate mess that can’t stop mewling his name over and over. The questions, the teasing, all of it is obliterated by the rising tide of pure sensation as your world narrows to his touch and everything it means.

When you tell him you’re close, the ache coiling tight in your belly for the second time in the night, every nerve in your body lights up. He’s a man on a quest, who whimpers in unison with you the more your breath staggers.

He asks you to come on his tongue, because he wants to know exactly what it tastes like. Because he simply must. He’s been fantasizing about this, he confesses, about touching himself thinking of you, about how soft your skin looked in your work clothes, about—

Your orgasm tears through you, fast and overwhelming, and you cling to his shoulders, riding out the tremors. His fingers remain deep inside you, and he curves them to hit that sweet spot one last time before you tell him it’s too much. His hair is mussed where your fingers yanked it, his chin glistening with your essence, and you tug him closer to kiss him, tasting yourself in the aftermath.

Somehow, without even breaking the kiss, he manages to peel the suit from his body, letting it fall in a heap beside your shoes on the floor. All that’s left is the snug fabric of his underwear, and the sight of him nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

You trail a hand down his abdomen, fingertips brushing along the faint trail of hair beneath his navel until they meet the solid outline of his cock. You palm him softly through the fabric, feeling the twitch of need under your touch.

Now that he’s bare before you, no more slouchy coats hiding him away, you take in the rest of him. The defined lines of his chest, the softness at his waist, the tension coiled in his thighs. It takes everything in you not to outright stare, not to drool, although your mouth waters anyway.

By the time he’s lying back on the couch, you’ve taken his place, kneeling between his legs. He laces his fingers behind his head, muscles taut like he’s trying to anchor himself there, to stop his hips from jerking up on instinct.

You start slow, teasing. Your fingers wrap around his shaft, stroking him lazily as your lips press hot kisses to the tip. You circle your tongue around it, dipping into the slit just to hear what kind of sound you can pull from him.

He exhales like he’s in pain. Beautiful, tortured pain. You hesitate for a split second, uncertain—was that too much?

“Do it again,” he breathes, voice wrecked, his chest rising in uneven pulls of air. “Please… that—Jesus, that feels really good.”

And you want to please him. You want to give him everything, so you do it again.

The head disappears past your lips. He groans as you sink down a few inches, his hips tensing immediately, and you hum in satisfaction at the sharp hiss he lets slip. You take more of him, then a little bit more, until you’re jerking the rest of him off with your hand, saliva slicking your chin, your throat fluttering and eyes stinging every time he brushes the back of it.

Swallowing around him, your nails scratch the line of dark hair that leads below his navel. There’s nothing delicate about this. Not right now, not when he’s chanting your name like a prayer, not when you’re dizzy from the taste of him. His breathy moans echo in your ears, more intoxicating than anything else you’ve ever heard.

At some point, you glance up, and the eye contact nearly undoes you. Clark looks ruined, entirely entranced. His brow is furrowed tight, a deep crease between his eyes that might’ve read as frustration if you didn’t know better.

To some stranger, he might even appear to be angry. His jaw is clenched, lips parted as if he’s struggling to form coherent thoughts. His hips tremble under your palms, twitching like every nerve in his body is firing at once. He’s holding himself still with impossible effort, his thighs taut, hands clawed into the couch cushions to stop from thrusting up into your mouth.

“Perhaps—” His voice is hoarse, and he swallows hard. “Perhaps we should stop.”

You slow your pace but don’t let go.

“I don’t want to finish yet,” he groans, neck strained, his composure cracking under the tension. “Not this fast. I want to last. I want—” He cuts himself off with a hiss when you press a wet kiss to the flushed head again, pulling back the foreskin. “God, I just want more time with you like this.

You keep your hand wrapped around him, dragging your palm slow and tight from base to tip, letting your thumb swirl over the sensitive slit. His hips twitch again, betraying how close he really is.

“But can’t Superman come twice?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. He blinks, dazed, not fully registering the meaning of your words at first. You give him another firm stroke and watch his brows knit in pleasure. “It’s been a hard day.”

“Baby, I swear—”

“Didn’t you save an entire hospital tonight?” you whisper, leaning in to mouth at his hipbone. “Kept it from collapsing?”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Yeah, I—yes.”

“Then you deserve it.”

“But twice?”

“You heard it right. Once in my mouth, just like this, and then again inside me.”

Clark makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. His arms collapse from behind his head, hands flying to his face, shielding himself from how hard words just hit him.

“Oh my God,” he mumbles, palms pressed to his eyes. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” you inquire, jerking him a little faster now. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not—” he lies, breath catching when your lips part around his cock once again, still not getting used to the feeling. “I just—I’m so close.”

One of his hands finds your hair, smoothing it back from your face with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. He cups the back of your head as if he’s holding something sacred, brushing his thumb along your temple as his other hand clenches the couch cushion.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your movements, still stroking your hair. “You don’t—you don’t even know what you do to me. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your hand tightens around his base just a little, urging him closer to the edge. He grits his teeth, unable to hold on any longer.

“I’m sorry—be careful, I’m gonna—”

He empties his load into your mouth, hips stuttering in jerky thrusts. His entire body tenses beneath you, trembling as the pleasure crashes through him, head tipped back against the couch. Clark comes for what feels like ages, pulse after pulse of heavy release filling your mouth, and you take it all, letting the salty taste land on your tongue and flood your senses.

Shortly after, everything moves in a blur. Clark insists that the couch isn’t ideal for what’s about to happen. Something about angles, support, long-term consequences for your spine. You, naturally, insist you’re perfectly fine where you are.

In the end, the one with super strength settles the debate. Which is to say: he wins. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms and carries you to the bedroom like it’s the most obvious solution. The couch had been fine. Serviceable, even, but it was time for an upgrade.

Now, sprawled across your bed, you kiss beneath the warm press of blankets. Pre-cum smears over your stomach, leaking from him in needy dribbles as he hovers above you, holding his weight on his forearms, cradling your face between his hands.

His voice is low.  “Just to be clear. We’re not using a…?”

“Condom?”

He nods, cheeks flushed. “Yeah.”

“I told you you could come inside me.”

That stuns him into silence. “Are you sure? Want me to—go buy some?” he manages, faltering a little.

“Some?” you echo, amused. Your gaze dips down his body, landing on the leaking head of his cock, his hips twitching as if straining to stay still. “I’m on birth control,” you murmur.

He blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You can almost hear the gears in his head grinding, trying to decide whether or not you’re serious.

“I mean it. It wasn’t for sexual purposes in the beginning. I’ve been on the pill for years. But if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“What exactly makes you think I don’t want this?”

“Say that to your face. You’re looking at me like I just proposed a blood pact.”

Huffing a breath, he pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “So… we’re doing it. Like this.”

“Yes.”

“Bare.”

“Would you like to see my birth certificate?”

He lets out a strangled laugh, one hand sliding down to part you gently. His fingers glide through your folds, collecting your slick to lube himself up. Just as he’s about to wretch your entrance, he pauses, brows drawn tight. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready since we left the couch.”

“You can’t be joking when I’m this close to being inside you.”

“Clark,” you plead, lifting your hips. “Please, just—”

He pushes in.

At first, it’s just the tip. The stretch is instant, unavoidable, and you throw your head back, nearly knocking into the headboard.

“Easy,” he grits out. “Be careful.” His thighs tremble where they cage you in, and he slides in another inch, groaning through clenched teeth.

“Th-that’s—fuck—” Your mouth hangs agape briefly before you shut it again. You can’t even think, eyes landing on where your bodies meet, and his whole frame looks huge on top of you, the sight alone making you whimper. “Clark, please—”

“Wait.” He stills, tearing his gaze away from you, squeezing his eyes shut. “I need a second.”

“Want me to kiss you?”

He lifts his head slightly. “Are you the devil?”

You bite your lip, fingers digging into the muscles of his lower back. “What are you doing? Counting?”

“To a million.” He buries his face in your neck, forehead damp against your skin, feeding the rest of himself into you in shallow thrusts, and the final stretch burns as he bottoms out. “You’re impossible sometimes,” he growls against your skin, groaning as you clench around him. “Jesus, you’re still so tight. I don’t even—I don’t know how to move.”

A desperate sound slips from your lips when his mouth brushes behind your ear. His hand strokes up your thigh, bending you slightly beneath him, folding you open. “You’re so big.”

His arm trembles beside your head. A bead of sweat trails down his temple as you comb your fingers into his hair. “Don’t say that,” he pants.

“Why not?”

“Because—” he pulls back, just the head left inside, “—you’re playing with fire.” And then he slams his hips forward, hard, drawing a strangled cry from your throat. “I usually like how you always have something to say, but right now? I just want to fuck you. If that’s okay with you.”

It’s official: your long, unplanned celibacy ends here. Courtesy of Superman himself.

As if he’s learning you by heart, each thrust is measured and unhurried, his hips rolling into yours with a careful intent and setting their own tempo, savoring the way your bodies fit, the subtle give and take of your curves.

Your breath hitches when he finds it: that angle, that precise, exquisite spot inside you, and your legs instinctively tighten around his waist in response. A groan slips from him when your walls flutter around him in gratitude.

He starts to unravel. His body writhes against yours with an instinct he hadn’t dared show before now, his muscles working as he moves deeper, hungrier, shedding the last vestiges of his gentle restraint. You press your chest to his, fingers splayed across the flex of his back, memorizing the slope of his spine, the tremble in his arms as he struggles to hold himself back. Every sound he makes, every choked whimper, every whine he later tries to mask, you trap in your memory like precious treasure.

The moment he buries himself to the hilt, you swear you’re going to snap in half. The fullness is dizzying, and you cry out his name in a quiet plea. His lips graze your cheek, his hand smoothing your hair as he whispers something you can’t quite catch, lost in the roar of blood in your ears.

It’s not rushed at all. He’s learning you second by second, mapping your responses, and each time he shifts the angle or tilts your pelvis just so, it steals another moan from you. He knows now. Where to press, where to grind, where to thrust until your feet curl and your throat aches from trying to hold in the sounds.

“Clark,” you mewl, voice torn and trembling. A strand of his hair, dark and damp, sticks to the shell of your ear. He shifts to kiss you there and then stills, forehead resting against yours.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he chokes out, the words raw and fragile in comparison to your heated skin.

The confession pierces you with more precision than anything else tonight. Your body is still pulsing around him, hips still twitching and asking for more, but your heart stutters, aching with sudden clarity.

You don’t know if he means that night you stopped talking, the agonizing silence between you. If he means the days you went quiet and he watched from afar. You cradle his face in both hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones, forcing him to peer down at you. His pupils are blown, his mouth swollen from all the kissing, and you feel a pang in your chest because he’s never looked so vulnerably human.

“You didn’t. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His throat bobs, and pushes in again, quivering, a silent affirmation of your words.

It’s like something breaks open inside him. The last of his control gives way.

His thrusts get rougher, more insistent, his mouth finding yours mid-moan, and you kiss him through the frantic rhythm, through the way his hand slides between your sticky bodies to circle your clit, hoping to make you fall apart. He needs this—needs you to come around him, to feel you clench and call his name and prove to him you’re his. That you chose him. That you’re still here. That you're real.

You’re close. So close that the precipice looms. “Don’t stop,” you gasp, clawing at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto.

“I won’t. I won’t—” His groan catches in his throat, escaping as a raw whisper. “You feel so good. You’re perfect. Can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you.”

The pressure builds so fast it becomes borderline unbearable. Heat coils in your belly, every muscle taut as a bowstring, straining toward release.

“I—Clark—I—” Your body arches, back lifting off the bed.

“Come on,” he begs, short of breath, his hips grinding relentlessly. “Come for me. I want to feel you.”

And when it hits, it crashes. Your orgasm blindsides you, flashing behind your eyelids, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream, body trembling violently under him as incandescent pleasure tears through you like a searing current. Your walls spasm around him, squeezing, and he cries out a primal sound of absolute abandon before surging forward with a final thrust and spurting his release inside you.

It’s messy. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and glorious.

He collapses, half on top of you, still deeply buried, his body spamming in unison with yours. You’re both left shaking and sweating, but in the most magnificent way.

Clark plants a series of tender kisses to the valley between your breasts, the soft underside of your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “I didn’t know it could feel like this,” he murmurs, awe coloring every syllable.

You press your nose to his hairline, drawing in the scent of him. “Me neither,” you reply, contentment curling in your chest.

He simply stays there, wrapped around you, his weight a comforting anchor. The moment stretches and neither of you dares speak too loud for a while. It’s the kind of silence that means everything.

Eventually, he lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze. His lashes are damp, a quiet sigh leaving him, and with an almost reluctant pull, he finally shifts, easing himself out of you. The sudden emptiness is palpable, an ache that makes you want to reach for him again, but he’s already moving, surprisingly graceful as he rises. He glances around your bedroom, then towards the bathroom.

“Want me to get a towel?” he asks, gesturing vaguely between your legs. “A wet one, ideally.”

You blink, chest lifting with a giggle. “Oh, right. Yeah, bathroom cabinet, bottom shelf.” You watch him disappear, the absurdity of the moment deeply endearing. He emerges a moment later, a small hand towel clutched in his fist, already damp, and he kneels back between your legs, cleaning you.

The warm cloth against your skin sends a fresh shiver through you, but it’s his focused, unselfconscious tenderness that melts your insides. He looks up, an apologetic grimace on his face. “I just realized I don’t exactly have a change of clothes on me.”

You trace his jaw, the curve of his ear. “Well, I mean,” you muse, a playful smirk tugging at your lips, “we could always see how you look in my pajamas. I’m sure my oversized college sweatshirt would be… form-fitting.”

“I don't think you’re ready for that sight.” He pats your inner thigh, then rises, tossing it to the side. “Come on. Let’s get into bed.”

You slide under the blankets, the silk against your bare skin a welcoming sensation. He joins you immediately, the mattress dipping under his weight, and pulls you close, your bodies spooning, limbs tangling. His arm finds its way around your waist, his hand splayed flat against your stomach. Your fingers twine with his, and your leg hooks over his, pressing your hip to his.

There’s a moment in which you turn your head on the pillow, meeting his eyes in the dim light. He now lies on his side, facing you, one hand tucked beneath his head.

“I love you,” you say again, the words unbidden.

A smile spreads across his face, lighting up his tired eyes. He pulls you impossibly closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then looks down at you. “You know those people who use songs as their alarm?”

“What does that have to do with what I just said?”

“They say you should always choose a song you’ll never get tired of. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say those words.”

“That… was a weird route to get there.”

He kisses the tip of your nose, lingering on your lips shortly after. “I’m just saying. You could say it every day. Every hour. And I’d never get sick of it.” His thumb strokes your hand and you melt into him, every molecule of your being sighing in tranquility. “By the way,” he says, his tone sounding hesitant, “I told my parents about you.”

You pull back, just slightly, enough to stare up at him, your eyebrows shooting to your hairline. “Wait. What?”

“It was like a week ago.”

“We weren’t even speaking.”

He lets out a small, sheepish chuckle. “I know. But I still thought about you all the time. My mom scolded me through the phone for not telling you the truth sooner.” His nose crinkles, probably remembering the call. “They said they’d really like to meet you someday.”

“So, our first trip together is going to be… Kansas?”

“Smallville,” he corrects proudly. “What can I say? I’m a traditional guy.”

“Well, to be a ‘traditional guy,’ you haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend yet.”

“Oh. Right. I guess I—”

“Are you going to?”

“I—would you want to?”

You laugh, pulling him into a kiss. “You’re such a dork.”

When you break apart, he’s smiling—really smiling, the kind that lights up his whole face and carves deep dimples into his cheeks.

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes, Clark. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Okay. Good. Because I’m already very emotionally invested.”

At that moment, you snort into his chest. Sleep begins to pull at your limbs, heavy and soft, and your eyes flutter closed without resistance. His arms tucks your head beneath his chin, his breath steady against your hair, and for the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet. No anxious spirals. No fear of him vanishing now that you’ve let your guard down. Just stillness.

Maybe it’s true, what the wise ones say: you’re never too much in the hands of the right person.

Somehow, it feels even truer in his.

dividers by: @bbyg4rlhelps <3

[mrfoox]

Uh. One of my fave ship dynamics I always lean back onto is... Person 1 being so alone and untrusting towards everyone. Relying on no one but themselves for many years, possibly never known real love before.

Then person 2 comes crashing in their life. They are stuck with each other. Person 1 hates this at first and never let's their guard down. But person 2 is either so insistent or kind/loving (or both) towards them. In time that hate slowly transform into acceptance. And without understanding how or when person 2 has become person 1's most cherished person, despite never saying it outright but rather showing it through their actions

[miabebe]

Camp Seventeen: Chapter 2

Pairing - Afab!reader x ot13 (Soonyoung x reader x Minghao for this Ch)

Word count - 13K

Genre - Greek Demigod AU! We’ve got crack, smut, fluff , angst, hurt, comfort, all of it in this series, buckle up!

Previous chapter

Chapter summary - As you delve deeper into the world of the demigods, a party throws you spiraling down a road less taken. While it seems there's one member who may be able to help you with it, there's another you want to lend a hand to. And more.

A/n - I do have a taglist so comment on this post to be added! And if you enjoyed reading, please don't forget to leave feedback in the comments or tags - we've got lots of chapters to go and hearing thoughts really helps <3

Smut warnings - I'm trying this thing where I won't be adding any detailed warnings as of now now, I will be including them after 1 week instead! I'm trying to keep the suspense for those who are interested but I understand there might be some of you who are wary of reading certain things - I will be adding warnings for your sake in a week's time! (There are no trigger warnings for this fic though!)

(edited) - Sexual tension phew, fingering (f.receiving), male masturbation, oral (m.receiving), threesome, sub-ish Soonyoung, dom Minghao, slight mlm? (feeding her cum), couple of spanks, unprotected sex (plis refrain), they're kinda rough - she's struggling to breathe, Minghao is mean and a bit of a sadist, deepthroating, edging, marking, hickies, sloppy seconds, they both finish inside her, I think that's about it?

Today you slept with both the windows and the curtains closed. 

Not just Seungcheol's eagle, even the late morning sun couldn't wake you up, leading to you casually strolling into the dining hall, late in the day. As you walked in, still dressed in your pajamas, twelve heads turned towards you, following your every step. 

Seokmin turned towards Seungcheol who's gaze was fixed on his food, like it was adamant not to meet yours. Hesitating, the former cleared his throat, taking one for the team, questioning you instead.

“You uh….didn't come to train today.”

“Yes, I didn’t.” 

Walking in, you grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and sat as far away from Seungcheol as possible. If anyone noticed the hostility between the two of you, they didn't say anything. Seokmin looked at you like he was expecting to hear more - then he realised that was all you had for an answer. 

“Why didn't you…...” 

“I got wet in the rain last night.” You munched on your fruit. “Felt sick in the morning.” 

A part of you expected at least one of them to have the decency to ask you how you were doing now but all the boys simply exchanged looks. As you frowned at them confused, Joshua finally looked at you. “Demigods don't fall sick Y/n.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“We're half gods, so uh…. stuff like bacteria and viruses don't really have an effect against us.” 

Suddenly, at that point, the last 25 years of your life made a little more sense - you realised you hadn't ever fallen sick. You also realised that last weekend when you offered to watch a movie with Seungcheol because the two of you were alone in the house, he had declined, stating he had a cold and didn't want to pass it on. 

Of course he lied. All that man did was lie. 

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Of course we don't.”

“Is there a problem?” Minghao narrowed his eyes at you conspicuously. “Any particular reason you couldn't or didn't want to come?” 

Sighing, you shook your head. “It's just been hard getting used to things, I'm trying but-” 

“There's no room for but Y/n.” Seungcheol finally spoke, looking up. “Quest season is approaching and we cannot have a weak link on the team.” 

“Cheol.” Jeonghan cautioned, looking at him just a little sternly. “Enough.” 

Seungcheol stared back at Jeonghan like he wanted to retort but when the latter shook his head at him, he got up, throwing his plate into the sink a lot louder than anyone had expected. 

If Chan hadn’t muttered that the cab was ready to leave, you would have exploded - how dare he? He was the one who hinted at something more last night and he was the one who had left you in the middle of the storm so why was he behaving like this was your fault?? But before you could say anything, Seungcheol and the members going for morning shifts grabbed their things and set out for the day, unusually quietly. As Mingyu began to follow the crowd, you held him by his wrist, 

“Where are you going? You don’t have work today?” 

“Are you keeping tabs on me, newbie?” Mingyu bent down, smirking at you. “Can I consider you interested?” 

“Your schedules are on the white board genius.” You rolled your eyes, letting him go and pointing at it. “We need to talk.” 

Mingyu frowned, both confused and curious. 

“The house Gyu, my house. I have a final plan for it.” 

“Oh! Okay sure let’s go-” 

“Wait.” Joshua stood up shaking his head. “I don't know what's going on with you Y/n, but unlike Cheol, I cannot walk away from what I am responsible for in this camp. You're going to put that fruit down-” He pointed at the plum you just reached for. “-go shower, have a full breakfast and then you can sit with Mingyu and finalise whatever you have to.” 

“But Shua-” 

“No.” He said in a tone that you knew meant that this was not open for any more discussion as he turned towards the man who was stuffing his face with cereal. “And Kwon Soonyoung, why are your sheets still in the dryer?” 

Oh fuck. 

Soonyoung looked at you confused - you had completely forgotten about that.

“I uh couldn't carry them back in the rain last night.” He muttered, drinking the last of his milk straight from the bowl, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I'll take them now.” 

“Why did you need to wash your sheets in the middle of the night?” Hansol frowned at the man beside him sceptical and Soonyoung glanced at you but you were suddenly deeply interested in some random crack on the table surface. 

“I was bored and jerked off.” Soonyoung washed up his bowl, shaking the water off his hands. “It was a good one.”

Hansol groaned disgusted and you looked at Soonyoung scandalised as he shot you a cheeky wink before disappearing out of the hall. A part of you was kind of relieved - you were worried after last night, especially considering what he said as you were leaving. Perhaps you heard it wrong because Soonyoung seemed just as relaxed as ever, like nothing had changed. 

You were thankful for that - now things could go back to like they were before. 

Or could they? Because Jihoon was yet again looking at you like he knew everything

“This is your final plan?” 

“Yes.”

“Isn't this the first plan you had made?”

“Yes.”

“Y/n,” Mingyu groaned. “If you wanted to do this we could have finalised it days ago.” 

“I told you, I was confused about the whole bathroom situation.” You muttered, tracing mindless patterns over the floor plan. “Let's just make the residence alone. I'll adjust with the common showers.”

“We can still arrange to build a bathroom for you.” Joshua glanced at the papers. “Since we have to divert water pipes, it'll just take a little longer-” 

“No.” You gripped the pencil tight. “I don't want anything that takes a little longer. I want this house made as soon as possible so I can shift to my own space.” 

Your adamance was definitely new but neither boys commented on it. Instead Mingyu pulled out his phone and scrolled through clumsily.

“I need to place an order for the brick and cement and sure Chan has got a decently sized cab but it's going to take a couple of trips to bring the whole load.” He sighed, not looking up. “It's going to take a couple of weeks to get the house ready-”

“No, no no.” You shook your head. This couldn't be happening. “I need my own house as soon as possible, Mingyu….” You looked away rambling as both men frowned. “I'm in my final year, I've uh got projects and submissions to work on. The library isn't well lit enough to study all night and Seungcheol's house is too far from the charging station in the Great Hall, I can't keep making such long trips just to charge my laptop? What if it rains like last night again? What if all my stuff gets wet and-”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Mingyu set his phone down and tried to calm you down. “Though if those are your concerns, you can move into my house. I live close to the Great hall and I have a loft - you won’t have any issues there.”

Oh no. No no. You weren't about to fall from the frying pan into the fire. 

“No Mingyu, what I need is my own space, like every other member of the camp.” You sighed. “And I know it's a lot to ask but I hope we can be done with it fast.” 

“I really wish I could help Y/n.” He looked at you pitifully. “You’re an architect, you know the kind of time it takes to build a house. Maybe if you had opted for something simpler, like a wooden cabin-” 

“Can you build that faster?” 

“I mean we do live in the middle of a forest and I do have automations to cut trees-” 

“How long will a wooden cabin take?”

“A few days.” Mingyu rubbed his chin in thought. “Provided it doesn't rain or-” 

“Do it.”

Both men looked surprised. 

“You're sure?” Joshua spoke up this time. “Wooden homes tend to feel colder, it would also be harder to-”

“I'm sure.” You nodded, gathering the sheets. “I'll have to make a few amendments to the layout then you can start. Meanwhile, why don't you go ahead now with the….. wood gathering?”

Mingyu nodded, stuffing his phone into his pocket, resting his face on his interlocked hands. 

“What're you waiting for Mingyu?” 

“Now as in right now??”

“Yes right now.” You looked at him like it was obvious. “Please.” 

Joshua nodded, signalling Mingyu to leave and grumbling, the bigger man left, much to your relief. Just a few more days. You could handle a few more days with Seungcheol, right? 

“You cannot.” Joshua turned to you. “You cannot survive with a group of people if you don't communicate Y/n. Do you want to tell me what's going on?”

You let out a deep breath considering it for a minute but then shook your head. “It's not worth discussing. I'll deal with it on my own.”

“Well you better do it fast because,” Joshua pulled out a sheet from his bag and slid it across the table to you. “Things are about to get a lot more hectic.”

You were too scared to extend your hand and reach for that paper. Good god, what else was in store for you. 

“Seokmin and Minghao are already covering physical training for you but being a demigod is so much more than just combat - you need to learn about this world, about its people, about the laws that govern it.” He looked at you apologetically. “I've drafted a schedule where the members will cover these different areas with you. Of course you will have time for your own obligations but you will also have to strictly adhere to the rest…..” 

Joshua's words trailed off as your eyes landed on the timetable and the names scribbled on them.

You counted 12 names, all the members were scheduled to help you except- 

“Wonwoo.” You breathed out. “His name isn't….here?” 

“Yeah…” Joshua scratched the back of his head. “Wonwoo isn't really available for stuff like this, he's got other things to do….” 

Of course he did. He was a top secret government official, he did guard duty at night, he was working on your case too, you could understand that he was busy. 

But what you didn't understand was why he always ignored you. Even earlier when you popped into the showers forgetting that Wonwoo usually washed himself much after everyone, you had in fact, caught him butt naked. 

Any normal person would've covered himself up or at least responded to your small scream, quick turn and innumerable apologies but Wonwoo? He simply grabbed a towel, wrapped himself and walked straight past you into the locker rooms like you didn't even exist, the trademark scent of his perfume the only thing lingering behind. 

“Y/n where are you lost?” 

You shook your head. “I was just thinking about how the bath house would've been more efficient if the showers were attached to the locker room so we didn't have to walk so far in a towel to change.” 

Joshua looked at you like he didn't understand a word you were saying. Or why you were saying it. 

“It's just…. I'm just being an architect, don't bother.” You shook your head then the paper. “Thank you for this.”

“No worries.” He smiled sweetly, getting up, leaving you to your breakfast. “I see your first lesson is History of the Gods. Unfortunately I think Chan is busy with some delivery in the evening so, it'll be just you and Jihoon. I hope you'll attend the lesson earnestly.”

You nodded, giving him a hard smile. 

How were you supposed to last 2 hours with a man who read you like an open book? 

The darkness behind your closed eyelids was supposed to be comforting. That's why you were lounging in your chair, half asleep while waiting for Jihoon to show up. But somehow, it felt like you were being watched and sure enough when you opened your eyes, the face of your instructor of the day was inches away from you.

“Jesus Christ Jihoon…” You sat up scrambling, pulling yourself away from him. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You're tired.” He tucked his hands in his pockets walking back. “I was wondering if I should let you rest-” 

“I'm fine.” 

“-but it's strange considering you skipped training and slept all morning, yet you're incredibly sleep deprived.” Leaning back against the table he looked at you amused. “What might have happened last night that exhausted you so?” 

Words refused to leave your mouth considering you didn't know if he was teasing you or actually concerned. Given the last few days you assumed it was the former and ignored him as you began closing all the books you had strewn on the table before you. 

“I see you're doing pre reading.”

“Chan gave these to me before he left for work. He said I should read to understand better.” 

“Did you?” 

Of course you didn't. You were almost snoring away and Jihoon saw that, yet he asked the question like he wanted you to feel embarrassed about the answer. 

“I thought you were supposed to teach me.” You shut the last book and glared at him. “If you just expect me to just read off a book, I don’t see why you’re required here.” 

“Are you suggesting I leave my own class?” He raised his eyebrow amused. “I’m going to have to disappoint you but unlike some, I take what I’m told at camp seriously.” 

You glared at him like you were contemplating throwing the book straight at him and you almost did when he walked around the table, sat down on the chair and cocked his head at you. 

“For someone who is the daughter of Hestia, hospitality isn't really your trait is it?  

“How would I know, aren’t you supposed to be teaching me about this God stuff?” 

“I am.” He nodded, crossing his arms. “But it depends on how much the mortal world has already taught you.” 

“I’ve never really bothered myself with Greek mythology.” You rolled your eyes. “They’re just stories for bored children.” 

“Except they aren’t. They are your reality.” 

“Not by choice.” You mumbled. You did not wish to be an outcast in the only world you knew and thrown here. You did not wish for any of this. 

“Parentage is no one’s choice.” Jihoon sighed. “But to be a demigod is a gift. It’s a shame that you disregard your power.” 

“What power?” You scoffed. “I don’t have any….” Trailing off you gulped. 

That was a lie. 

“I am the Son of Apollo which means I was there at the Court of Delphi when the Oracle assigned you.” Jihoon reminded you of the fateful night.

The night when a couple of masked men had forcibly picked you from your dorm, throwing you into a large room of unknown people and a round crystal in the middle on an altar. No sooner than you took a scared, confused step forward it spoke - Daughter of Hestia, Camp Seventeen. 

“The Oracle only recognises those who have God's blood. So if you’re telling me you don’t have any powers and this is all a mistake, you must think I’m an idiot.” 

“If you’re so smart-” You narrowed your eyes at him. “-why don’t you do that mind reading thing you do and figure out what my powers are?”

“I can’t read minds Y/n,” Jihoon looked at you quizzically. “I’m not Athena’s progeny.” 

“Y-you can’t? But all these days…..” You blinked at him confused. “Oh my god, can Jeonghan??” 

He shook his head. “Neither can Jeonghan. Not all of Athena’s children are mind readers. I’ve only ever come across one in my life and if she wasn’t busy shuffling through everyone’s brain in the quest, perhaps she wouldn’t have been killed.” 

You opened your mouth and then shut it, unsure which of the hundred questions in your mind to ask first. 

“If you really must know, my father is the God of Medicine which makes me a natural healer.” He leaned back with a small smile. “I don’t read people’s minds but their bodies. I can tell when one is sick, or hungry….or even horny.” 

You gulped, feeling your heartbeat raise. Could he tell that too? 

“It goes without saying that a demigod's powers are associated with their parentage. So as the daughter of the Goddess of Hearth and Home, I’m assuming you have some sort of bond with fire.” 

Tightening your fists, you refused to meet his eye. 

It made sense why you never told anyone in the human world about your ability to create fire out of thin air but somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to tell anyone in the demi-world either. 

You had seen the powers the boys had - Seokmin was the son of Posiedon, God of the Sea, but he couldn’t create water, only bend it. And Mingyu? His father was the literal God of Fire and even he was only immune to flames. 

But you, birthing fire from thin air? Something told you that even in the world of demigods, the world where you belonged, you were a freak.

“Or maybe I’m an architect because of you know, the ‘home’ bit.” 

“I don’t think so. Your college preference is pretty much just a personal interest.” 

“Then I guess I don’t have any powers.” You shrugged. “Maybe the Oracle made a mistake.” 

“The Oracle isn’t human. It never makes mistakes.” 

“Then maybe my powers are too insignificant for us to care. I mean think about it - what can the daughter of such a goddess have to offer? I most definitely don’t have anything of value.” 

Jihoon stared at you like he had too many thoughts. 

“Do you know the life cycle of a demigod?” 

You shook your head confused about where he was going with this.

“Not everyone born half breed inherits powers and even if they do, it is dormant until puberty. At the ages of 16 to 18, demigods are at their highest energies which gives them an aura that makes them instantly identifiable - the stronger their abilities, the stronger the aura. After they are picked either by their parents or our scout force, they’re taken to the Oracle who puts them in camp where they will be best suited to train and learn to harness their powers. If a demigod isn’t placed in camp by 18, you best believe that they are dead.” 

“Huh?” You blinked. “Why is that?” 

“Because either the inability to handle their own powers will kill them or in rare cases, monsters.” 

“M-monsters?” 

“There’s always good and bad in the world. Where you have gods, you have monsters too.” Jihoon opened one of the books to a page filled with sketches of the most gruesome creatures you’d ever seen. “Most of our predecessors have already locked up many of these in the Underworld but there are still some out there, lurking around. If they sense an aura and you aren’t trained for combat, you don’t stand a chance.” 

“So you think because I’ve managed to survive the last seven years, on my own and untrained, I am powerful?” You frowned. “Did you consider the fact that perhaps my aura was so weak no one could detect me?” 

“I did. That was my first assumption till the Oracle.” He leaned onto the table. “Even Gods have to touch the orb for a reading but your mere presence lit her up Y/n. Your aura isn’t weak, it’s different and my guess is it has something to do with being Hestia's daughter.” 

You hummed, trying to make sense of things. “Well, did the same thing happen with her other children?” 

Jihoon shook his head. “We don’t know. Unfortunately for us, there are no other known children of Hestia - you are the first ever.” 

You stared at him, letting the weight of his words sink in. 

“I’m her only child?” 

Jihoon nodded slowly. 

If that were true, the whole of last week made no sense. Ever since you had discovered the temple, you had been trying to reach out to your mother every other hour. You assumed she might have been busy or probably had too many places to be to tend to you, but to learn that you were her only progeny and she still didn’t care hurt differently. 

Scoffing sadly you shook your head. “What kind of mother doesn’t care about her only child?” 

“One who is not proud of her momentary lapse of judgement.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Jihoon sighed. “Hestia is one of the three virgin goddesses, along with Artemis and Athena. She’s not supposed to have any offspring, much less one with a human. If anything, you are a walking talking symbol of her weakness.” 

“I am her child-” 

“In theory.” Jihoon emphasised. “But in reality, you’re merely a fragment of her.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Humans and Gods don’t mix Y/n. Hell, even humans and demigods can’t.” 

“I’m aware.” 

Jihoon took a pause before he narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Why and how are you aware of that?” 

“Irrelevant.” You brushed off. “But if what you’re saying is true, how can demigods even come to be?” 

“Because it’s not unlike even the Gods to succumb to lust. At any time they feel particularly attracted to a human they enchant their partners.” When you frowned like you didn’t understand, he sighed and continued. “Enchantment is what we call the process of gods…to crudely put it, possessing people. Taking over their bodies, controlling them.” 

Your jaw dropped. 

“You mean they possess one person to have sex with another???” 

“Well, sometimes it’s just sex but sometimes it is love. They stay on Earth for years together till the lesser gods aren’t able to handle things and they are forced to go back.” Jihoon got up, pacing around the room. “Demigods are born to two human parents who are completely unaware about what happened with them and what their child actually is.” 

“Wow” You breathed out dumbfounded. “You mean to say I have two parents in the Mortal world and one sitting in Olympus-” Jihoon nodded. “-and neither of them care about me?” 

Jihoon looked at you like you had given him more information than he asked for. 

“I can’t speak for your mortal parents but as far as Gods are concerned, they don’t really care about their half human children…… unless they are powerful.” He locked his arms behind his back. “Demigods train for years to become worthy of their parents' attention.” 

“So being a demigod isn’t really a gift after all.” 

Sighing, Jihoon sat down beside you. “You can’t allow yourself to be governed by emotions Y/n. You are the result of a God’s lack of resistance to impulses - those who sit in Olympus have their own flaws. If you run your whole life seeking their validation, you will keep running. They will keep you running.” 

“What do I do then?” You blinked at him lost. “I think I have more than one question I want to ask the woman because of whom my life is a mess. How do I get her to notice me?” 

“Play it smart. First, learn about our world and the things that shape it. Understand how Olympus works - what the God's weaknesses are, what ticks them off, what will bring them on your side.” He turned to you. “If you play your cards right, trust me, your mother will come looking for you in no time.”

Letting out a deep breath, you whispered hesitantly. “Will you teach me how?” 

Smiling in a way that made your stomach turn a lot differently than it used to for Jihoon before, he nodded. “I'd love to.” 

You didn’t even realise when your supposed two hour session with Jihoon dragged on till after the sun had set. 

By the end of it, you had a book full of notes stuffed in your backpack and a head full of information that your instructor had filled. As you stepped out of the library building, Jihoon offered to walk you back to Seungcheol’s house given it was nightfall and as much as you wanted to continue talking to him, you politely refused. You weren’t ready to face that man just yet but just as you began walking towards the Great Hall to grab a snack or two, your eyes fell on Jeonghan and Seungcheol whispering away near the trees. 

As you skidded to a stop in your path, they turned towards you, both surprised and relieved by your presence. When you noticed Jeonghan nudge Seungcheol making him take a step towards you, you immediately walked back, knocking into someone behind you, earning a shriek. 

“Watch it rookie.” Seungkwan muttered as you apologised under your breath. From the corner of your eye, you noticed a couple of the guys standing fully dressed like they were headed out to a party. 

“Y/n.” Seungcheol took another step, trying to get your attention again. “We need to talk-” 

“I can’t,” You walked over to the boys, placing yourself right in the middle of the group. “I’m going out tonight.” 

“Dressed like that?” Seungcheol raised his eyebrows, looking up to down at a really old t-shirt you had donned over a pair of worn out shorts. 

“Funny that a man who pairs socks with sandals is judging me about my outfit.” 

Behind you the boys snickered, glancing down at Seungcheol’s feet. 

“That’s not my point-” 

“Can you drop my bag in my room?” You looked over the leader’s shoulder at his sidekick. “Since you love roaming around that house anyways.” 

Jeonghan caught the bag you threw to him, sighing as he swung it over his shoulder. 

“Well, that would make a total of eight of us..…” Seokmin looked around, doing a headcount. “Dino’s car can take us all but it will be a bit congested-” 

“I can take my bike.” Mingyu offered, running his hands through his hair. “It’ll be more convenient for you guys and-” 

“Can I ride with you?” You turned to Mingyu, looking at him just a little pleadingly. 

Even though you were on the way to a party, you weren’t in the mood to be stuffed in a small car with a bunch of guys right now - all you wanted was some air and space away from Seungcheol. 

Shooting you a small smirk, Mingyu nodded, just in time for his mechanical bull to jog over, modifying into a slick bike the moment it neared him. As he got on, you followed him, gripping his shoulders as you clambered on. 

“Hold tight.” 

Wrapping your arms around his waist, you glanced at the two boys left behind - Seungcheol’s jaw was tight and Jeonghan looked mildly curious, eyes darting where your body pressed up against Mingyu’s back. You could tell the normally cocky Mingyu did seem slightly tense under your touch, perhaps because you were not wearing a bra and he could feel everything very clearly. 

“Shall we?” He muttered, turning on the engine. 

Sighing, you nodded, a part of you well aware that tonight was most definitely going to be a long night. 

“Let’s go.” 

“I’ve been to funerals better than this.” 

You muttered to Seokmin about fifteen minutes after reaching the house that the boys had brought you to for the night. Your expectation had been that of a frat party, one with pizzas and chips and dip and booze instead you were looking at a living room filled with pink balloons, rose gold streamers and french appetisers. 

“Wait till Soonyoung’s alcohol goes around.” Seokmin half giggled, grabbing a canape from the table. “Things always get so much fun after that.” 

You watched the man in question pulling out some bottles from his pockets, handing them over to some boys at the corner of the room. 

The moment Chan’s car had stopped at the location, all the boys had practically disappeared. Seungkwan headed over to a bunch of people Mingyu said were some of his very close friends. No sooner than he said that, he too disappeared as did Chan, Soonyoung and Mingao. The only ones who remained by your side were Seokmin and Joshua but just as you stepped into the house, a couple of girls pulled Joshua away, leaving you with your current company. 

“Why do I feel like something about Soonyoung’s alcohol is sketchy?” 

“Maybe because it’s an illegal blend?” Seokmin shrugged before realising what he had let slip. “You cannot tell anyone. Everyone in camp will kill him and Soonyoung will resurrect and kill me.” 

Laughing you shook your head, grabbing a cracker and topping it with brie, stomach rumbling due to the lack of dinner. 

“You don’t have to keep me company Seokmin.” You turned to the man who was sweet enough to stay by your side. “I don’t wanna ruin your night.” 

“It’s no big deal.” He muttered, putting himself between you and a drunk guy leaning over you to grab a drink from the table. “I know you don’t know anyone here-” 

“I’m not looking to socialise anyways.” You confessed, piling a bunch of stuff on your plate. “I’m just going to sit outside and grab a bite in, hopefully, some peace and quiet.” 

“Oh.” Seokmin looked a little upset, like he wanted to hang out with you but before you could tell him that you didn’t mind his company, Mingyu popped by out of nowhere, pulling his friend by the elbow and dragging him away excitedly. Chuckling, you got back to piling your plate. 

“You worked up an appetite.” 

You turned to see Soonyoung hovering behind you, hands tucked in his pocket. 

“Yeah….” You shoved a spoonful of cold but nevertheless tasty pasta salad into your mouth. “Apparently spending three hours learning about Greek gods can really drain you.” 

“Jihoon can be a bit intense with teaching.” Soonyoung laughed, nonchalantly wiping the cream at the edge of your lips with his thumb. “The trick is to remind him about his workout. He'll drop everything and run.” 

“Huh.” You laughed uncertainly before struggling to swallow your bite and turning to him. He stared at you stuffing your mouth with an expression you couldn’t quite read. 

“Soonyoung we…. “ You swallowed. “We didn't get to talk about last night.”

“Oh.” Soonyoung blinked. “What about it?”

About what he said. About if you heard it right. About if he meant it. 

“About if whatever happened was…. of any use with Mina?” You diverted like a coward.

“I uh haven't spoken to her yet.” Soonyoung confessed, scratching the back of his head. “Surprisingly I haven't returned any of her calls.”

“Why is that?” 

“I don't know.” He looked at you intently. “I don't feel like doing it.”

“Is there…” You whispered softly, wondering if you should even be asking this. If you were ready for his answer. “....something else you feel like doing?”

Soonyoung nodded, his tongue running across his lower lip, his eyes darting to your mouth. Just as it seemed like he leaned in, out of nowhere, the most beautiful girl you had ever seen, threw her arms around Soonyoung's neck, pulling his mouth to hers instead. 

“Hoshi.” She mumbled against his lips, pressing her body up against him not so subtly. 

You weren't sure why exactly you were continuing to watch the two people before you shoving their tongues into each other's mouth but perhaps that's how shock worked. Though you didn't have the intention of continuing anything at all with Soonyoung, something about being interrupted this way stung differently. 

By the time they had separated, you had chugged an entire can of beer, crushing the metal in your hand.

“And who might this be?” She looked at you, pushing her hair back. 

“She's the new member of camp seventeen Y/n,” He pointed between the two of you, “Y/n, this is Mina, my uh….”

“Girlfriend.” She smiled, with an unbelievably perfect set of teeth. “So the rumours are true. The infamous all-boys-celibate camp finally has a female presence. Tell me,” Her eyes glowed. “Have you gotten your eyes on any of them? Or even better,” She lowered her voice. “Have you gotten your hands on any of them already?”

You looked at Soonyoung, utterly uncomfortable. 

“Mina, you can’t ask such things-”

“Why not? It'll be between just us girls-” 

“Please.” He pulled her back. “Last I saw you, we broke up and now you just waltz back and-” 

“I know, I know. We never should have broken up in the first place. That whole fight was stupid.” She pouted, wrapping her arms around him tighter. “Forget about it Soonyoung-” 

“Forget about it?” His expression was of disbelief. “So you don't have anything to say to me?” 

She looked away, pretending like she was thinking before turning back to him with a smirk. “Yes, I do. I didn't wear any underwear today.” 

Inwardly groaning you stared at the design of the tile hoping the ground would just swallow you instead. You wanted to get the fuck out of here since this conversation was of no interest to you but moving was impossible with both their intertwined figures blocking the way. 

“Come on Soonyoung, it's been so long and I'm in the mood tonight. The bedrooms on the second floor won’t be free for long.” 

Soonyoung’s adam's apple shifted, his words stuck somewhere there as Mina held him by the wrist and began leading him away. As he was dragged off, you expected him to turn and shoot you a grateful look, instead, he looked at you wistfully. 

Your plan was simple - stuff your face with all the incredibly bougie food, catch some air in the patio away from all the noise and then leave with the boys whenever they were ready to go. Instead here you were, your plate somewhere unattended while you were gripping the edge of the sink, leaning over it, chest heaving as you stared into the mirror. 

Now you knew you weren’t supposed to be hogging the washroom for this long but you couldn’t bear to go out. One, you didn’t want to see Soonyoung and his girlfriend again - especially if she was going to be all over him like a leech because something about that sight made your stomach turn violently. And two, you were somehow, for no reason at all, incredibly wet.

Perhaps it was because suddenly, everyone in the party was quite literally all over each other, or because you were thinking about what happened in Soonyoung’s residence this time yesterday, or because you were just plain desperate to have something, anything inside you. 

Last night awakened something in you that you didn’t know existed and now nothing seemed to satiate the beast. Chiding yourself for being out here when you could have been in your own room, having your way with Soonyoung’s toy or your own fingers maybe, you gripped the sink tighter, feeling your heart rate rise unprompted. It was getting harder and harder to stay modest. 

The only thing that stopped you from putting your hand down your pants in a house full of sixty people on the other side of the door, was the knock on it. 

“What part of I am throwing up in here do you not- Oh!” You gasped, walking back as the door flung open and in stepped a slightly inebriated Chan. “What are you doing!?” 

“You won’t open the door….” He slurred. “It’s been so long, Seokmin was worried.” 

“How the hell did you open three locks….” You stared at the door as he slowly shut it behind him. 

“My father is the God of thieves. Are you really surprised that I can open any lock and any door?” 

“I guess not.” You muttered, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub. “But you didn’t need to, I was going to come out-” 

“You’ve been in here for over 20 minutes.” Chan crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “I thought you passed out or something.” 

“I wish.”

Passing out would be much better than whatever was going on between your legs. 

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying the party.” 

“I’m not. I’m just waiting for us to head back.” 

“Then why ask to tag along?” He raised his eyebrow. “Does it have anything to do with the hostility between you and Seungcheol?” 

“So you noticed.” 

“I think everyone did.” Chan chuckled. “Do you want to tell me why or should I guess?” 

“Shoot your shot.” 

Chan shrugged all knowingly, “He rejected you.” 

You looked up at the boy before you so fast, you nearly fell back thanks to the inertia. 

“W-what makes you think that?”

“Sons of Zeus and Daughters of Aphrodite have a natural tendency to attract the opposite sex.” He stated like it was obvious. “Seungcheol has women swooning over him like they're in some sort of trance. He doesn't really care for them because he knows it's a mere chemical attraction thanks to his dad. Instead he just ignores them or if things get unbearable, he breaks their hearts so they snap out of it.” 

You knew Chan had to be quite tipsy to so bluntly place you in the list of women Seungcheol had rejected. It wasn't like that was it? Yesterday in the rain, he had hinted his feelings for you, he almost kissed you but….. what about what you were feeling? Was this irresistible attraction you felt towards him nothing but chemical? 

Considering how you had been feeling since Mina wrapped herself all over Soonyoung…. You wouldn't have felt that if your heart was set out on Seungcheol right? 

Then again….. it was Seungcheol’s name that left your mouth as you orgasmed yesterday. 

Staring at the floor you shook your head slightly. You could not think about last night again, not with how soaked you already were at the moment. 

“Hey,” Chan inched closer, putting his finger under your chin, lifting your face to meet your eyes. He did not however notice the way you pressed your thighs together at his touch. His eyes skimmed over the features of your face, a slight amused smile forming on his face. “You’re flushed…. Did you have any of Soonyoung’s alcohol?” 

You shook your head but were unable to shake his fingers from your face. “His blend is not my drink of choice.” 

“Oh gods, please don’t tell me you had any beer.” 

“I think I had two cans…… or maybe four?” You frowned. “I can't remember but I'm not drunk! Beer barely makes me-” 

“Y/n,” Sighing, Chan finally let you go. “Party rule number one, you never drink alcohol at an Aphrodite rager.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because Aphrodite’s children are a bunch of troublemakers. Don’t let their gorgeous faces fool you.” He brushed the hair off your face. “You must think people like Joshua are the finest to walk the Earth, but don’t judge a man without knowing his stories.” 

Joshua? You frowned. How could he be anything but a sweetheart? Soonyoung’s girlfriend maybe was an obnoxious toad but not Joshua. He was flawless. 

“You might as well have drank Soonyoung’s disgusting blend.” Chan muttered. “Why do you think his alcohol sells so well at these parties?” 

“Because his annoyingly beautiful girlfriend is a daughter of Aphrodite?” 

“Yes, but also because only the insane drink the booze served at an Aphrodite party. She may be the goddess of Love but she’s also the goddess of Sex and more importantly, her children are addicted to it.” Chan looked at you just a little worried. “Those drinks are their special concoctions of aphrodisiacs.” 

“A-aphrodisiacs???” 

“Aphrodite, aphrodisiacs - not far off huh?” He shrugged. “I’m not sure if it hit you yet - do you feel anything?” 

“No….” You shook your head. 

The correct answer was hell yes. Everything going on with you suddenly made sense but you couldn't tell Chan that, not him. 

“Are you not feeling unnaturally hot?” He looked at you concerned as he sat down beside you, his body unwittingly brushing against yours. “Doesn't the tiniest bit of proximity rile you up?” 

You didn’t answer him. You didn't need him to know just how much even his presence was affecting you thanks to those stupid sex potions.

“I should tell you beforehand, when it hits, it’s going to be intense but the longer you resist it, the stronger it gets.” You turned to him, only just realising how close his face was to yours. “The only chance you have of getting out of it…. is to give in.” 

Gulping you stared at him. The boy who was always bright, laughing around and cracking jokes like he was an old man was looking at you with unusually darkened eyes, his thighs pressed against yours, your hand inches away from him. 

The only chance you have of getting it out is to give in.

“Chan do you think….” You gulped. “...you can guard the door for a while?”

Perhaps if it were anyone but Lee Chan you would have climbed them by now. Because he was right - the more you tried to control yourself, the more you felt yourself slipping. But not with Chan, definitely not with him. He was far too sweet and innocent to be dragged into whatever mess was going on with you. 

“I might uh need a few minutes alone here.” You mumbled. 

Chan blinked like he didn't understand but when you looked away, wiping the sweat trickling down your neck in a pretty cold room, he seemed like he got it. 

“Oh y-yeah sure.” He got up quickly, not looking at you. “I'll be right outside.”

And with that he scurried out, closing the door behind him. 

The moment he disappeared you smacked your head - you didn't particularly enjoy beer anyways, why did you have to drink it tonight? If you were being honest, it was because of Soonyoung and his irritatingly gorgeous girlfriend and their unnecessary antics right in front of you face- 

No. 

No no no. 

You couldn't be spiralling with these thoughts again. Chan said the longer you resisted, it was going to get worse so you were going to do whatever it took to get this feeling out of your system. 

As you unbuttoned your shorts, you got up and leaned against the sink to avoid seeing your face in the mirror, barely able to meet your own eyes given what you were about to do. Pushing your embarrassment aside considering the need of the hour, you slid your hand past the material of your underwear, fingers feeling exactly how drenched you were. 

“Fucking hell.” You muttered. How was it possible that you were this wet absolutely unprompted and for no reason at all? What the hell was in those concoctions?? 

You thought you could just get off with your own fingers but given how easily they were sliding past your hole there was no way you could do this on your own, especially not here. Annoyed, you pulled your hand out and turned, washing it under the running water, sighing at your reflection in the mirror. Chan was right, you were incredibly flushed, your pupils were blown and the sheen of sweat was very evident - oh it was definitely getting worse. 

Maybe you could go find Mingyu and convince him to give you a ride back to camp. If you could get your hands on Soonyoung’s toy again, you could help yourself out of this. That was perhaps the best thing to do right now. 

Adjusting your hair and your clothes, you gave yourself a determined nod and opened the door, expecting to see Chan but finding someone else entirely guarding the door.

“M-Minghao.” You stuttered as he looked over his shoulder, eyes finding you.

“Party rule number two, never trust Lee Chan to do anything in a party with alcohol.” 

You should have known - he might be your age but Chan was like an overexcited child. And did Minghao just say rule number two? Did that mean he was aware….

“You’re still very aroused.” He smirked as you felt your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I’m guessing whatever you were trying to do in there didn’t work out.” 

You groaned. “I can’t believe Chan told you-” 

“He didn’t.” Minghao shook his head amused. You watched as he ran his eyes from your face down. “He didn’t have to, it’s pretty evident.” 

“I just need to get home and I’ll be fine-” 

“I don’t think so.” He dropped his voice, his wide frame covering anyone from seeing you. “On the contrary, you might quite literally pounce on the first guy you see-” 

“You’re the first guy.” 

Minghao’s eyes darkened as he looked at you wordlessly. Strangely, you felt something shift inside you too - oh god he was right.

“How much longer-”

“There’s bedrooms upstairs you know-” 

”Are you guys done-”  

“No.” Minghao shook his head, silencing the voices behind him as he slid his bracelet off his wrist and hooked it to the door handle, eyes not leaving you even once. “Get in.” 

Surprisingly you obeyed, taking a step back, allowing him to enter as he closed the door behind him much to the disappointment of the many queueing outside. 

“Y/n,” How was his voice so much deeper suddenly? “This is the exact kind of trouble the Aphrodite children are looking for. They want the drama that comes from the inability to control oneself, you’re better than that.” 

“What do you want me to do?” You groaned. “Before you shoved me back in here, I was trying to leave and get back to camp so I can deal with it myself-” 

“The art of war lies in self control.” He slid his arms in his pockets, looking at you just like he did every morning on the training field. “As a demigod, you are at your best when you learn how to control yourself. People misunderstand how this aphrodisiac works - you don't have to give in, it does wear off after a point. Most just don't happen to be able to control themselves till then.”

“Wears off at what point because Minghao, it's been barely 20 minutes since I’ve had those drinks and I’m barely able to get a hold of myself.” 

“Which is precisely why leaving right now is a horrible idea - you don’t have a hold over yourself.” He let out a deep breath. “We can fix it. We can stay here for however long you need and you can let this pass. Consider it a lesson in your training.” 

“We’re training in the middle of a party?” 

“As warriors we’re always training.” He walked past you, sitting on the edge of the bathtub like you had been just a while ago, looking annoyingly relaxed. “Do you think I enjoy these all-pink, snooty french parties? I come here just for the drinks.” 

Your jaw dropped. “Y-you had the beer too?” 

Minghao nodded. 

“On purpose? After knowing what they do?” 

He nodded again.

“Why in the world would you do that?” 

“To practise self control.” He stated like it was obvious.

“By drugging yourself?” 

“A good warrior is one who doesn’t allow himself to be governed by any kind of emotion - lust is usually the hardest to control.” 

“So that concoction has no effect on you?” 

“It's starting to hit.” Minghao looked at you intently as your eyes flickered down to his pants, noticing the bulge. “But I'm not the kind to give in.” 

“Well I think I'm the kind to.” You muttered, throat going dry as you peeled your eyes away. Minghao didn't. “I don't know how to explain it.” You shut your eyes tight, embarrassed of the words leaving you but you knew he might be the only person who understood where you were at. “but I have this feeling like I'm being clawed on the inside, like if I don't have anything in me right this second, I might just lose my mind.”

“I get it.” Your eyes flew open to find him standing right in front of you, his face inches away. “I feel like I'm on the edge of my sanity too but you can fight it.” 

Gulping you looked at the way his lips moved, the vein of his neck stark as was his collarbone peeking from under his shirt. Before this, you hadn’t actually noticed just how handsome Minghao was. 

“l can't.” You whispered, running your eyes over his features. “Can…can you help me?” 

Leaning closer, his gaze hardened. You could see there were thoughts running in that head of his - the warrior was engaged in a battle with himself. 

“Minghao please.”

Grabbing your waist, he spun you around swiftly, trapping you between his hands and the sink, meeting your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. 

“Help you how?” 

You looked at how his mouth was right by your ear and his frame so wide behind you that he was engulfing you merely with his presence. On one hand there were his arms, veins running up them as he gripped the edge of the sink and on the other was the fact that if you just took one step back, you knew you would feel his length pressed against you - both of which were making things exponentially worse. 

“Tell me how you want me to help Y/n.” He muttered, his breath soft against your ear.

“I… you know how-” 

“I was helping. I was telling you what to do-”

“Can't you do something instead?” Knowing exactly what you were doing, you took a small step back, pressing your back against his chest and your ass against his length. “Didn't you say it hit you too?” 

You thought it was a fair enough proposition. Both of you had taken the drink so it was easy to put the blame on it for anything that might potentially happen.

“But I don't need any help.” He shook his head adamantly. “If I help you, what's in it for me?” 

“I'll owe you one.” You sighed. “Whenever, wherever, please Minghao….”

“Remember those words.” He whispered, his hand snaking around your waist to unbutton your shorts, fingers lingering over your skin. 

“W-wait.” You gasped. Though this was exactly what you were expecting when you asked for his help, as it blended into reality, you felt an uncertainty kick in. “W-what if someone opens the door-”

“A door that has the bracelet of Ares on it?” Minghao's reflection raised his eyes amused. “They'd be crazy to.” 

“b-but what if…. I'm too loud or something. Wouldn't we be in trouble?”

“Y/n.” His hand drew back just a little. “Are you sure you want me to….” 

“Yes.” You shut your eyes mortified that just the feeling of him withdrawing his touch was physically painful. “Yes please …” 

Almost instantly Minghao obeyed, his hand snaking past the material of your shorts, just the thin layer of your underwear keeping his fingers away from you. 

“Oh you poor thing, you're drenched.”

You nodded as his hand pushed aside your panties, running his digits along your folds, smearing your arousal everywhere, a fingertip prodding your hole ever so slightly. 

“I'm not sure two fingers are enough for you.” He muttered, groaning. “You really want a dick inside don't you?” 

“So bad.” You whispered back. “I wouldn't even mind two of them in me right now-” 

You felt your words die in your throat as Minghao chuckled, slipping his fingers into your wet hole. “Let's start with two of these first.” 

A soft moan left you as you agreed, hands gripping the edge tighter as his digits simply stayed inside you. 

“Look at you.” He muttered in your ear. “Open your eyes and look at yourself.” 

Hesitating you obeyed, catching sight of the two of you in the mirror as his free hand wrapped around your waist, holding you in place against him. Something about the way your small frame fit against his wider one was….nice. 

You wanted to ask him to move his fingers, to give you something but before you said it, he slowly began pumping his digits in and out, burying his face in the dip of your neck. As his mouth brushed your skin, you felt yourself tense around his fingers. 

“So tight. ” He mumbled. “Oh you'd be such a delight to fuck.” 

“Then fuck me.” You moaned as his fingers picked up speed. 

“Tempting.” His voice left him like a low growl as his teeth grazed your skin. “But I'm a man of principles.” 

“Are you sure?” Reaching for the hand on your waist, you led it up your torso under your shirt, guiding him to your tits.  

“No bra?” He half groaned, squeezing it. “What a doll.”

“Don't you want to fuck me?” Moaning you tried to push your ass further against his rock hard self. “Use me and we can both be free of this-” 

“Don't be greedy Y/n.” Contrary to his words, he let a third finger join his act. “Take what I'm giving you.” 

Feeling a lot more full now, you felt your jaw slacken and no words left as both his hands took turns to harshly pump and squeeze, his mouth along your shoulder and neck, leaving painful, stinging marks of red. 

“Faster.” You panted as his tongue ran along your skin to soothe the burn and fingers obeyed, stretching you out just right. Minghao could tell it wasn't enough and his thumb darted to your clit, having you keen in his arms. The moment he curled his fingers up, met your eyes in the reflection and whispered, “cum for me doll.”, all that was building inside you instantly snapped, your orgasm washing over you in waves. 

Thank god he held you up against him because as you pressed your legs, riding out your climax, they began trembling. When your sight became clear and you came around, Minghao slowly let you go but whatever fire was burning inside you was not satiated. 

Fucking hell. 

“You need more?” Minghao chuckled as he took a step back and you turned to him, eyes still hooded with lust. 

“Perhaps just another…” You ran your hand down his chest, unzipping his hoodie, revealing his black tank top. “Finish off the favour.” 

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “As your campmate I did help. But now as your trainer, I'm going to let you get over the rest on your own.” 

“Minghao….” You groaned. If he was going to leave you halfway, he might as well not have done anything. Now you were, in fact, much more turned that you didn't think his fingers could even do the job anymore…..you needed the whole package. 

But like he said, Minghao was a man of principles, he wouldn't give in…. unless you could tempt him enough? 

Humming you looked around. The four walls of this bathroom did not seem like the right place to try and entice him but thankfully, you remembered Soonyoung’s girlfriend mentioning the bedrooms upstairs. 

“Fine.” You agreed, adjusting your clothes and buttoning up while Minghao washed his hands. Perhaps if the two of you found yourself in the proximity of one of those rooms, you could get him to succumb.

As you pulled your hair into a ponytail, Minghao opened the door, holding it for you to leave first but being the girl you were, you wantonly brushed your hand against his erection, pretending your actions were innocent. He stared at you as you walked away from him, stopping only at the edge of the staircase to glance at him before heading up, hoping he was following. 

Pushing through the crowd of people making out and feeling each other up in a way that was far from decent, you glanced down the corridor, slightly surprised. The house didn’t seem so big from the outside but the corridor before you looked endless with dozens of rooms on either side. You walked past them, avoiding the ones with socks on the knobs, knocking on some to receive screams of ‘go away’ and ‘taken’ and opening some unanswered doors to sights you wished you never saw. Half disturbed and half amused you continued to try and find an empty room when the sound of a particular something made you stop your tracks, eyes widening. 

Your name. 

Your name sounding like a strangled moan, repeated over and over, getting breathless with each word.

Gulping, you slowly pushed the door next to you open, both terrified and curious about what you were going to see because a part of you recognised that voice - it was one you heard on camp all the time. 

Sure enough, before you was a large bed, Soonyoung sitting against the headboard, his pants pushed down his thighs and his dick in his fist, pumping it hard and fast. He didn’t seem to notice your presence, his eyes screwed shut as your name continued to spill from his mouth. Of course this wasn’t the first time you were seeing Soonyoung do this but something had most definitely changed since last time. 

When you took a step ahead, letting the door close behind you, the click of it shutting was what finally got his attention, his eyes flying open. Catching sight of you he immediately swore loudly, tucking his length back into his pants, face turning a lot more red than it already was. 

“God woman, how long have you-” 

“Long enough to hear whose name you were saying.” You looked at him guiltily. “Soonyoung, you have a girlfriend-” 

“Mina and I are not together.” He confessed, gulping.”She wanted to but for the first time ever I refused to….” 

“Why?” You whispered, terrified of the answer. Please, please, please. Kwon Soonyoung cannot be in love with you. 

“For the last ten years I thought no one could make me feel the way she did and that’s why the two of us belong with each other but….” He sighed. “I learnt that that’s not true.” 

You blinked at him as he looked at you softly. 

“And you know why it’s not true.” 

“Soonyoung we….” You walked in, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What happened between us was just a favour, one friend to another. How can there be something between us-” 

“I know.” He nodded. “I’m not saying I’m in love with you or something, I…. I myself don’t really know, all this is new to me too.” 

“But what you were doing,” You tried not to glance at his pants where his erection was still very much evident. “That seemed like-” 

“Y/n I’ve only ever been with one woman my whole life who gave me a boner before I turned her down for good.” He couldn’t look at you either. “What else could I really do…..” 

A part of you understood him. You too were incredibly wound for a while now and you knew what it was like to try and fight it - you too had succumbed. In fact you were still not fully rid of the feeling and Soonyoung was right before you, just as aroused. Yesterday could be justified as an ignorant act whose consequences were not expected but if you went through with this today, there was no coming back from it. It wouldn’t be right…..

.

.

.

But fuck it. 

“You didn’t finish, did you?” 

Soonyoung shook his head slowly

Sighing, you kicked off your shoes and climbed on the bed on all fours, crawling towards him as he held his breath. 

“This is yet another favour.” You clarified, more to yourself than him, “Just so you can understand if it's me you want to fuck or just anyone who's not your girlfriend.” 

W-what?” He stuttered as your hand found the waistband of his pants. “We're going to…?” 

“We don't have to if you don't want to-” 

“Yes.” He breathed out, nodding fast. “God yes I want to.” 

Smiling just a little, you pulled his pants down a bit, the way they were when you had entered. His erection sprung out, lying against his shirt, the tip pink and flushed. You were familiar with how it looked, but this was the most up close you had seen it and the first time you touched it as you wrapped your wrist around the base, earning a hiss from him. 

“How long have you been hard?” 

“Over 20 minutes.” He groaned. “Ever since we spoke at the table…. your ass looked fucking good when you bent over the table.” 

“Yeah?” You pumped his length slowly. “You're not too bad yourself. Your abs are hot.”

Almost immediately, without needing to be told, Soonyoung pulled his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it on the floor. 

“Good boy.” Tongue darting out, you licked the precum on his slit, looking up at his blown pupils. “You taste good too.” 

“Fuck y/n, I might just cum right now.” 

“In my mouth?” You cooed. “Not inside me?”

Groaning Soonyoung threw his head back. Honestly, you had no idea how these words were even leaving you - you owed it to both the aphrodisiac coursing through you and also how submissive Soonyoung seemed in your hands. So reactive, so easy to please. 

The moment you took his tip in your mouth, his hand gripped your ponytail, trying to push himself further in. Pulling back with a wet pop, you clicked your tongue. 

“Uh huh.” You shook your head. “If we do this we do this my way.” 

“Do whatever the fuck you want.” He panted, his thighs twitching. “I'm all yours.” 

Although you had some thoughts about that statement you didn't voice them. One because you really wanted to suck him off and two because you heard a voice you knew most definitely wasn't Soonyoung. 

“So this is how you choose to tempt me.” 

Before you Soonyoung froze, eyes looking past you at the door where Minghao was standing. You could tell the man before you was both shocked and embarrassed and wanted to cover himself up but you didn't move to give him room for that. 

“If you're worried about your modesty Kwon, you should know I don't give a fuck.” Minghao leaned back against the door. “I'm only interested in what Y/n has to offer.” 

Soonyoung looked at you confused as you smiled just a little. Oh you managed to crack him and it didn't even take much. 

“Tell him my offer is still open.” You ran your tongue from his base up. “If you’re okay with it too that is.” 

Soonyoung’s eyes widened, finally realising what was happening. You doubted that he wouldn't be okay with it - the man was quite literally falling apart in your hands. 

Sure enough, he slowly nodded.

“From only one woman ever to this overnight?” Minghao raised his eyebrow. “Your girlfriend must've put you up to a really strong dose of those sex potions.” 

“I didn't drink a-any beer.” Soonyoung muttered as you ran your eyes over his face. He was the same as you - pupils widened, face flushed, breath fast and shallow. 

Oh. 

“You're telling me that woman isn't capable of slipping in a little something to entice her boyfriend who won't crawl back to her like he always does?” Minghao chuckled. “Because I think so.”

Well wasn't this ideal, now you could justify everything that was happening - it was simply three people succumbing to the effects of an aphrodisiac - nothing personal, nothing beyond anything physical. Except deep down you knew it must mean something if despite being drugged Soonyoung rejected his girlfriend because of you and Minghao who was a man of impeccable self control was crumbling for you. 

Except he hadn't really yet. 

Deciding to leave the thoughts for another time, you slightly looked over your shoulder at the man who was leaning against the wall. 

“Only my mouth is busy, I have two more free holes you know.” 

You could tell that something about the energy in the room had shifted the moment you said that, like it was only a matter of time before Minghao joined. Sure enough, you heard the lock of the door click behind you and from the way Soonyoung gulped and his eyes followed his teammate, you could tell Minghao had neared. Wrapping your mouth around the older man's tip again, you hummed at the weight of his dick on your tongue. 

“F-fuck.” Soonyoung groaned under his breath. 

As the bed dipped behind you, you knew Minghao had climbed in, finally succumbing, finally giving in. . 

“Is that the best you got?” He chuckled with a deep voice, pushing your knees apart with his own and running his hand down along your back as Soonyoung stared at him wide eyed. “That won't be enough for me.”

You could feel your mouth practically water, drool leaking down the corner of your lips as you took Soonyoung further in your mouth, earning a pained hiss. Minghao though was still not satisfied as he bent over, one hand unbuttoning your shorts, his breath at the shell of your ear, whispering. 

“Take care of my friend and I'll take care of you.” You looked at Soonyoung to see his eyes flickering between the two of you. “The louder he moans, the harder you'll get it.” 

Most definitely motivated, you sunk Soonyoung’s length deeper into your mouth, his tip touching the back of your throat, a deep groan leaving the man as his hand gripped your hair again to hold you back. 

Minghao smacked it away with the shake of a head as he drew himself back, fingers hooking onto your waistband as he pulled down both your shorts and panties in one go, letting it pool at your bent knees.

You could feel your arousal drip down your legs given how incredibly wet you were. A part of you wanted to see Minghao's face but then you would have missed the sight of Soonyoung panting, looking down at you like the mere smell of you had awakened something wild in him. To make things a whole lot worse, Minghao ran his fingers up your slit, playing with your wetness before gathering it on his digit and holding it out to his friend. 

“Want a taste?” 

“Bold of you to assume this is my first time.” Soonyoung smirked as he sucked off Minghao's fingers and you grinned to yourself. Atta boy. 

Minghao chuckled as he pulled his fingers away, smearing the wetness on the cheek of your ass, landing a smack that sent a sharp sting, making you moan around Soonyoung. 

“Barely a week in camp and look at you.” He mimicked his actions on your other cheek, the impact jerking your forward, Soonyoung’s length slipping into your throat. “Good girl.” 

“So fucking good.” Soonyoung moaned. “That mouth is divine.”

“Not more than this.” Cupping the curve of your ass, Minghao dipped his finger into your quivering hole. You keened at the sensation, but didn't stop working on Soonyoung's dick - you knew if you gave Soonyoung what he needed, Minghao would give you what you wanted and god did you want to feel full of him. When you grinded against his hips, his hands left you and you finally heard the sound of Minghao's zipper despite the lewd noises leaving your mouth being much louder. 

“Fuck baby just like that.” Soonyoug groaned as you picked up the speed, making him feel more and more of your throat. 

You still couldn't tell what Minghao was doing, the absence of his touch testing your patience, your teeth accidentally grazing Soonyoung’s dick making him hiss in pain. 

Minghao chuckled, adjusting your body on each knee to pull out the clothes on your lower half and when he aligned himself behind you, you could tell he discarded his own too. His hands returned to your ass which you guessed was faint red, a colour that was exceedingly a part of Minghao's life, a colour he seemingly enjoyed. Although you did want him to rail you into tomorrow, you didn't mind if he took a moment to admire what he saw. 

As though he was lost in thought about the same, Minghao dragged his dick along your folds, his length bumping your clit and sending a jolt down your nerves, before he aligned himself.

“W-wait” Looking at his friend, Soonyoung let out a strangled cry. “She hasn't been prepped-”

“Oh Kwon.” You felt his tip pushing into your needy wet hole. “She's already ready for me.” 

And with that he buried himself to the hilt, the suddenness making you choke around Soonyoung’s length much to the latter's surprise and delight. Barely giving you the time to get a hold of yourself, Minghao began thrusting into you, the force pushing your mouth to take more of Soonyoung, your hands painfully gripping his thighs. The older man, who could have been a little more considerate, also began ramming his dick into your mouth, barely allowing you to breathe. 

You could feel yourself losing a grip on reality, one man fucking you onto another - you never thought you would ever find yourself in a situation like this but here you were, being wrecked on both ends by men who were strangers just a week ago but god did it feel good. 

Minghao bunched the material of your shirt, pushing it up along your spine, as you pulled yourself away from Soonyoung, desperate to get some air before you passed out. He groaned at the loss of your warm mouth but his expression turned fond as you looked up at him, drool running down your chin messily. Considering you looked absolutely fucked out, you didn't get why he was so enamoured as he tucked your hair behind your ear. 

“Shit I could watch you all day sweetie.” 

You wanted to say something back but your throat felt too sore and bruised so you settled on just giving him a sweet smile. Minghao watched the interaction between the two of you intently, his movements slowing down to deep, hard strokes. You could feel him so far in, reaching spots no one ever had before. Not even Cheol’s dildo model. 

“Do you need a breather?”

Soonyoung's concern laced voice was echoed by another one that sounded a lot more condescending.  

“Do you?”

Though you had barely gotten any air in you for so long and your eyes were threatening to roll back, you knew Minghao would only allow you to cum if Soonyoung did and man did the latter have the stamina of a bull. 

Shaking your head you spat in your hand and wrapped your fist around the base of his cock, stroking it. 

“I'm tired.” You muttered. “Fuck me Soonyoung.” 

Forgetting Minghao’s previous instructions to not use his hands, Soonyoung obeyed, gripping your hair again, guiding your mouth back to his cock. 

“Tap me twice if you want to stop.” 

Much to his surprise, you took him in at a whole new depth, making him throw his head back in pleasure as he held your head down, dick getting squeezed down your throat. At the same time the man behind you decided to pay attention to your clit, making you tremble at the combined sensation but there was nothing you could do - you were at the mercy of both men. 

As Soonyoung loosened his grip, allowing you draw back, you barely had the time to catch a breath before he was fucking his dick into your mouth, at the same speed Minghao was ravaging you from behind. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” Soonyoung groaned as his movements got sloppy and his grip tight. 

“Fuck I'm gonna come.” 

Oh fucking finally. 

But to your complete surprise, you felt Minghao's weight press against your back as he leaned over you, hips not stopping their abuse on your hole, whispering, 

“Enough.” 

Although you knew it was cruel, you immediately tapped Soonyoung’s thigh and the moment he let you go confused, you pulled away, looking at him guiltily as you got on all fours.

“That's my good girl.”

“Xu Mingao.” Soonyoung groaned as the other man drew back. “What the hell?!” 

Minghao simply chuckled. “You know how much I enjoy pain.”

“Sadist.” Soonyoung mumbled, trying to push himself to the edge again, pumping his length slick with your spit, hard and fast. 

“Oh no.” Minghao shook his head, continuing to fuck the living daylights out of you. “If you cum I'm not letting you get a taste of this.”

“That's for Y/n to tell.” 

“Tell him doll.” 

You didn't know how he expected you to answer as he rolled his hips against your ass, hitting all the spots.

“Tell him what you want.” 

“Don't you…” You moaned as Minghao tightened his grip on you painfully. “Don't you want to cum inside me?”

Muttering under his breath, Soonyoung looked at you with eyes filled with lust. You could tell he was leaning to kiss you, but suddenly Minghao's hand wrapped around your neck, drawing you away. 

Sitting on his ankles, he pulled you back till your thighs rested on him and stripped you of your shirt, baring your body to Soonyoung like a mannequin on display. 

“Didn't you say you could watch her all day?” He smirked at the older man, hand snaking around your waist. “Now watch.” 

You finally seem to understand where the shift in intentions was coming from as he began snapping his hips up into you. Though he wasn't hitting you as deep, his fingers found your clit again and was tightening that knot in you unbelievably fast, your body growing hot and tense. 

It was the sound of Soonyoung’s soft sigh that brought you attention back to him as he watched where Minghao disappeared into you with unwavering eyes, fully discarding his pants. When you let out another unholy moan, he looked up, not before his eyes lingered at your tits, his tongue running along his lower lip ravenously. At the sight of him and with Minghao hitting that spot once again, you finally convulsed around him, your orgasm hitting you with an intensity it never had before. Under your grip as tight as a vice, Minghao swore in your ear as he came too, ropes of his release painting your insides. 

It was only when his warmth hit your walls that you realised he had not worn a condom and you had not cared.

Before you could justify to yourself that Demigods probably didn't get STDs and it didn't matter, Minghao pulled himself out, depriving you of his girth to clamp around. With a swift movement that was all a blur to you, he manhandled you around till you felt your back aligning against Soonyoung’s chest, the latter spreading your legs apart, the mixed releases leaking out of you, onto his dick. 

“Just a little longer.” Minghao tilted your head up by the chin, face hovering over yours. “Be a doll will you?”

You nodded as Soonyoung slipped himself into you with a groan. 

“Fuck I don't think I'm going to last long enough anyways.” 

Considering you still hadn't even fully come down from your orgasm yet, Soonyoung's intrusion felt like an intense surge of pleasure shooting up your being. Overwhelmingly, in less than a thrust or two, you found yourself cumming again almost immediately, walls fluttering, tightening around him. 

Muttering a string of fucks, Soonyoung bit down on your shoulder, his hips moving erratically as he felt himself nearing his high. Cooing into his ear though his thrusts were starting to get painful given your sensitivity, you rolled your hips and with two sharp jerks, Soonyoung finally emptied his load straight into you, cumming copiously. 

As he softly held you against him, letting your breaths slowly become regular again, your vision finally cleared and you caught sight of a half naked Minghao before you, watching you snuggled in the arms of his friend. Your eyes ran down, finally catching sight of the dick that had been inside you, lips curling into a small smile. 

“Good?” 

He asked, scanning your features as he slid off the bed.

“So good.” You muttered, beckoning him with your hand. 

Narrowing his eyes confused, he walked around, picking up all the clothes tossed around before he neared you. Pulling him closer to the edge of the bed by the hand, you wrapped your hand around his dick, leaning over to take it in your mouth. As you licked it clean, tasting your mixed releases along his length, you watched his eyes darken. 

“Just wanted to be fair.” 

“You're not satiated are you?” He smirked amused as you slowly shook your head. “Careful doll, you won't be able to stay conscious through another round with us.” 

“I know..” You muttered, snuggling back into Soonyoung’s chest. “I’m tired. Wanna go back.” 

“Let's clean you and get you dressed first.” Soonyoung patted your head softly, unwilling to move as your eyes began fluttering shut. “Hao, open that third drawer under the sink, there's washcloths in there.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“This is my gir- ex girfriend's room.” Soonyoung muttered. 

That information seemed to surprise even Minghao who was usually quite unfazed. “You're crazy Kwon.” 

He voiced your thoughts as he disappeared into the bathroom, shaking his head. Within seconds he returned, handing a white towel to Soonyoung who slowly wiped you clean, trying not to brush any sensitive areas.

Just as he finished and his lips softly pressed against your temple asking you not to fall asleep, the sound of a knock resounded in the room, along with a voice.

“Anyone from Camp Seventeen here?” 

“Yes.” Minghao and Soonyoung replied at the same time.

“Someone is here looking for your team. Says it's code yellow.” 

You watched as the boys shared looks, panicked. Slowly pulling himself away from you, Soonyoung caught the clothes Minghao threw to him, the two of them moving quickly to dress themselves.Pulling your hair into a neat ponytail again and trying to ignore your aching body, you swung your legs off the bed.

“What’s going on?” 

“Get dressed.” Minghao handed you your clothes, looking tense. “When a team member calls a code, it means everyone needs to gather immediately.” 

 You nodded, half understanding as you began to dress yourself. “But what's code yellow?” 

Looking at your shivering self, Minghao threw you his hoodie, which you slipped on, letting it envelop you in its warmth. 

“Yellow is a moderate danger alert.” Soonyoung held the door open for you as Minghao stepped out. “It most likely means the camp is under attack.”

Oh fuck. 

Pushing through the crowd, you followed the boys downstairs, trying not to lose them in their hurry. Noticing you lagging behind thanks to the fact that you were struggling to walk, Soonyoung grabbed your hand, wrapping his hand around your wrist. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Seokmin and Joshua laughing away with a group of girls but before you could call them along, you were dragged away in the urgency of the boys you were with. As you reached the front door, coming to a halt right behind Minghao, your eyes fell on the familiar back of a man leaning against the frame. 

Oh no.

“Chief.” 

Seungcheol turned as both boys bowed, greeting him. 

You simply stared wordlessly, as the blonde man's eyes found you, flickering from the jacket you had donned, to Soonyoung's hand which was still holding yours. 

Behind him lightning cracked opened the sky and rain began pouring furiously. 

Chapter 3

a/n - please send me your thoughts - this series is waaaay out of my comfort zone, I need to know I'm not completely messing shit up and if I missed you in the taglist, please lmk! Also please be patient for chapter 3 - I have to temporarily shift focus to my other stories as well, I will be back here soon!

[revelboo]

hiii, I love you and have been brainrotting over your works for the past 20 hours 🫶

I just write the silly things that pop into my head, but I’m glad, and surprised, other folks enjoy them.

Skin and Bones Pt 3

Megatron x reader- playful

• Shrill and painful as a something drilling straight into his processor, Megatron winces as the sound finally cuts off. An alarm or..? No, of course not. There’s the human running full tilt from an open doorway, Soundwave’s cassettes in pursuit. As Ravage pounces near, the human screeches again in mock fear despite their grin.

• They’re… playing? How long has it been since he’s heard any Cybertronians cutting up? Having fun. He just stops, not sure what to make of it. Especially as Rumble catches the human around the waist to sling over a shoulder upside down. Prey caught, the cassettes finally notice him and go still. It takes the squirming human longer, but their grin fades when they realize the fun is over and spot him.

• And even thought they’re all grown, they react like sparklings caught doing something wrong- they all bolt, Rumble dropping the human in his haste.

• That jerk. You land mostly on your shoulder and back in an inelegant sprawl, staring upside down as Rumble runs like all of hell is right on his heels. Which might not be too far off, you decide as you roll to your knees and keep your head down. Because the Decepticon leader is staring at you with a frown so severe you want to hide and there’s nowhere to go.

• Venting heavily, he kneels down to offer you a single servo, his big hand hovering close as if he wants to pick you up, but isn’t sure. Cautiously, you grab onto that servo and allow him to gently pull you to your feet before letting go. And he just stares at that servo in silence. Probably wondering what all germs you just got on him, you guess. He certainly doesn’t look happy about it and your shoulders droop slightly.

• “Do you fear me?” He asks, not quite sure why when he knows the inevitable answer. Fear is the currency he’s learned best how to spend over the decades. It keeps his motley ranks mostly in line. He’d accepted a long time ago that it was better to be feared than loved. Safer, too.

• Head tipping back to stare up at the huge mech, it’s a surprise to realize that, no, you don’t exactly fear him. He’s had plenty of chances to hurt you and hasn’t. Oddly enough, Skywarp is much scarier. This one? The big, bad warlord? Honestly, he just seems too exhausted all the time to bother with being a threat. Though, come to think of it, you have seen the other side, too. Little glimpses of an ice cold, barely restrained violence in his tone when speaking with his subordinates. Apparently, you’re not worth the doom voice. “Should I?”

• Probably. He’s not sure if it’s naïveté or bravery when you meet his optics, seeming genuinely curious about his answer. “Why were they chasing you?” He asks instead.

• Nose wrinkling as he ignores your question, you shrug. You’re an adult, but yeah, it’s not like it really matters what the giant aliens think about you. You get bored. “Playing tag,” you admit. And losing badly at tag, because you’re so much slower than they are. His stare is still blank and you throw out your arms. “Someone’s it. They have to tag someone else to not be it. Being it is bad,” you ramble.

• More silence. You’re definitely being judged by an ancient, evil robot. Exasperation winning out over caution, you lunge over to swat his servo. Hard. “You’re it.” Glowing red optics slide from his servo to you and you still have no idea what he’s thinking. What you’re thinking? You really, really wish you hadn’t done that. “No tag backs,” you yelp, realizing his retaliation is likely to smear you on the floor.

• Instead he vents softly, rises and stalks away. For a second, one corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. You suppose evil warlords don’t play games. Probably ruins the whole evil appearance he has going. Heart racing, you start back toward Soundwave’s quarters, not at all surprised when Frenzy and the other cassettes are waiting around a corner safely out of range of retaliation to ambush you. And you’re it again.

Previous Next

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, graphic violence, injuries, blood, Guns, ❗reader does some very violent things in this one so read with caution❗ possible ooc,

Part 21: fireflies electric boogaloo

🔹🔹🔹

”Who the hell is Barnes?”

Well…. Shit. What do you even say to the caped freak? Ten years ago a mistake like that would've had you shot in the head by your handlers right in the field.

“…. Don't worry about it, just…just someone I used to know…long time ago.” it's not a lie, or at least it doesn't feel like one on your tongue. After all, Barnes and Bucky are two very different people, one of them you'd almost call trustworthy. The other one understands you and all your weak failures and filthy successes. no, Barnes is long in the past you've buried.

You hope Batman takes your word for it, there's too much going on at the moment, fire and chaos all over the street while you're both bleeding in an alleyway. But no, Batman scowls at you and tightens his grip on you like a cat pinning a bird, you can nearly feel the claws.

“Bullshit, who's Barnes and why's he hitting you.” you can feel the gripping texture on the palms of his gloves pressing into your skin through the overcoat Alfred gave you, it's like he's subconsciously squeezing the answer from you.

You blink at him and with a quick move you shove his hands off and take a few steps back. Fuck you need to think. “Back off, I'm married.”

The insinuation doesn't throw him off and he steps after you with a clear frown carved on what's visible of his face. “Answer me.”

He reaches towards you again, so without thinking you roughly smack his hand away. “and I said back. off.”

His head tilts down for a second, his lips thinning in a grimace. you swear you can feel the eye contact when he looks back up and widens his stance again.

“Do you intend to use that?”

You look down and freeze when you realize your squeezing the gun in your hand tightly, when did you pull it back out-

You shove it into the inner coat pocket with a tremor in your hands.

“no i-no!…. I'm not a murderer. Batman.”

the lie tastes like ash on your tongue.

“then why are you here?”

You can't say a damn word when he says that, why are you? Were you really trying to help Tim and Alfred by leaving them alone? Or were you looking for an excuse to hurt something…. Would you have shot Batman if the gun was in your hand when he jumped you?

“…the same reason you're here i suppose, someone's gotta do something in this fucking place.”

“you wanna tell me who Barnes is then? Or is he someone who's ‘doing something’ in the past you apparently don't remember.”

“mind your own business, my struggles are mine to deal wi-”

A shot just barely misses either of you, a bullet lodges in the brick wall beside you and showers you in crumbled bits of stone as you duck away and take cover behind a dumpster.

Batman's right beside you a second later, your shoulders rubbing together uncomfortably as he presses in close to you.

“God…. Where did these people even come from? I thought you would've monitored startup groups like them since you're apparently keeping tabs on everything in this shithole.”

He just grunts at you while peering around the edge of the dumpster, his hand slowly and quietly pulling one of his utility belt pouches open to pull out some kind of small metal objects, are those taser discs?

You don't get a chance to question him further before he dives and rolls over to another dumpster while a shots fired off at him, they were close to their target that time. You watch from your position as Batman presses up against the grimy wall of metal and carefully arranges the discs between his fingers, you peek around the corner of your own dumpster and watch as three figures start to cautiously comb down the alley, they're definitely all armed judging by the poses.

You jerk your arm up and hold it there until Batman glances in your direction again, you hold up three fingers and then make a gun shape with your hand while gesturing your head in their direction, he'd be stupid to not get it.

When he nods and shifts his position where he's crouching you decide to make things easier here, you slowly pick up a dented up and rusty trashcan lid and turn yourself around, ignoring the warning look Batman gives you to stand up and throw it like a frisbee as hard as you can, those lessons with Rogers really paid off.

The movement makes the three people jump and when they see something thrown at them they instinctively throw their hands up. Batman throws one of the discs at the lead man, it must be magnetic because the disc sticks to the man's gun and fires off an electrical charge, just as you suspected it's similar to Natalia's. Once the man stiffens up and tries to drops to the ground, Batman charges them all like a bull in an arena, it's kinda amusing to watch how quickly he knocks one out- your jaw aching at the same punch he delivers to the tall one of the trio- you know how badly that hurt.

You straighten up and lean against the wall as you watch, the third one swings his arm around to point his gun at Batman but he just gets kicked in the knuckles, with the steel toe boots too. You wince and rub your thumb up and down your own hand at the sight, not that you can really pity the fools after they shot at you.

the first one manages to stumble back to his feet so, without thinking you bend over to grab a brick, bouncing it in your hand a few times as you judge the weight of it like a kid playing with a baseball, the brick thuds loudly when it hits the back of the mans head.

batman whips around to stare at you once they’re all dropped, his lips curling into a frown once again as he briskly approaches you. “don't get involved in this anymore than you already have.”

you scowl at him and sidestep him to walk out of the alley, shoulder-checking him as you pass him. “what, you get to bench me after busting my face open? until this is over i’m doing what i need to to survive, just like you and your little followers.”

“you’re a civilian.” he murmurs lowly as he stalks after you, it’s like he’s looking for a reason to antagonize you.

you peek around the corner of the building quickly before strolling out onto the street. “are you military? last i knew you’re a vigilante, not a government entity.”

He doesn't reply, good. You're not looking to fight him. Down the street you can see the charred smoldering remains of the car, looking around there's no sign of the two you'd come with so you're taking that as a sign that they did the smart thing and got the hell out of this area.

The guilt of leaving them doesn't lessen.

“…what's your plan?” you call out just loud enough for the vigilante to hear, the crunching of boots behind you telling you he's still around.

“I was looking for stragglers when I….. Found you. I'm getting reports the attacks are focusing a few blocks down so that's where I'm going.”

You hum, damn you wish you had some gear…

“Sounds awful, are we going on foot?”

The rhythmic crunching behind you stops so you do too, batman's already staring at you when you glance over your shoulder at him. His weight shifts foot to foot, is he favoring a knee?

“…you're going to a secure area, preferably home or to a hospital…” he turns his head away quickly, clearly avoiding your reaction, the coward.

You can barely restrain the eye roll. “…that's not happening.”

You turn away from him again and start jogging down the sidewalk, stepping over broken glass and rammed-over street signs. This streets essentially deserted now, empty streets and smashed windows all around you. The patches of grass growing between the cracks in the concrete are blackened and burnt, the air smells even worse than usual, like smoke and gas on top of the faint smell of smog. It pisses you off all over again.

“(name), (name)!” Batman catches up to you and angrily grabs at your wrist to pull you to a stop, his body language angry as he steps in front of you. “Can you just listen to me? This isn't your fight.”

You're angry, what's his fucking issue with you? “it's mine as much as it's yours, hero. I don't need a cape to do something about terrorists.”

He let's out such a deep, disappointed sigh that it reminds you of Bruce scolding one of the many, many children.

“goddamn-(name), can you be reasonable for once today? You're running around with nothing but hopes and dreams to protect you! You don't so much as have a proper mask while you're breathing in all this ash and smoke, don't. Be. Stupid.”

He releases your wrist to pinch his mask as if rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation, he steps back from you to calm himself down, though your next reply does the opposite to him.

“stupid? You're the one wasting both our time arguing with me when I've got four people I'm hoping to find.” you cross your arms over your chest and try to step around him, you could be doing better things right now than fighting with caped weirdos.

He let's you move around him, but he quickly turns and stomps over to you to match your pace. “is Barnes one of them?”

You can feel your eye twitching.

“Oh my God, shut. Up. About Barnes. I'm talking about my husband's butler, three teenagers! Duke and Damian are probably scared at their school while you're wasting my time bitching me out!”

You're trying not to raise your voice, -key word is trying- but for some reason batman's determined to make your walk exhausting as possible and get in your way. Even as you move around abandoned cars and burning shopping carts full of flammable materials his vitriol towards you doesn't let up.

“Because you're going to get yourself almost killed again! You're throwing yourself into danger like you've got spare lives! How do you think those kids you mentioned feel every time you throw yourself in the fire for them?”

You don't know how to reply to that, you hate that he's got one over on you. It's your life to live now it's not, you stole someone's body after you threw yourself off vormir, it's not yours it's not yours it's not he doesn't get to guilt you when you do that enough yourself.

Your silence encourages Batman to continue, his tone taking a calmer edge, almost soft. “I'm not saying it's bad you want to be here, I know that driving anger better than anyone, trust me on that. Do you think your family, your husband enjoys seeing you suffer?”

You open your mouth to reply, and then a bottle of burning fuel is thrown at your feet.

“Shit!”

You jump backwards, stumbling over yourself but it's too late. For a second the gas is cold as it splashes up your calves, then the heat bites into you like a snare. you clear yourself of the burning area on twitching, burning feet then drop to the hard ground, the cotton of your pants turns to ash and rubs against bare raw skin as you roll, even as you put the flames out the gaseous chemicals spread over the reddened skin and seeps into your nerve endings, not even eight seconds of fire and it’s agonizing.

something grabs you and you nearly go for your gun in a blind panic, but then you realize it’s batman. he drags your body backwards by your underarms and pulls you behind a car beside a rusted chainlink fence. he kneels over you and looks at your legs closely, his gloved hands gently pull the burnt and frayed edge of your pant legs up to look at the damage. you hear multiple voices whooping joyously down the street so batman grunts and pulls something out of one of his belt pouches, dropping it in your lap before he stands up and jumps over the hood of the car, your head drops down to see a medkit in your lap.

you can take the hint, you need a second to….process, anyway.

you hear more glass breaking and grunting on the other side of the car but you ignore it, with shaking hands you crack the kit open and grab the bottle of pain meds and a bandage to cover the irritated skin, you’ll properly take care of it later.

you close the box back up and slowly pull yourself up by grabbing the car handle and rearview mirror, you’re so fucking tired at this point…

“grab the bystander!”

Your head snaps over when you hear that, there's a group not thirty feet from you, Batman and two others are in the middle of it swinging wildly at everything that moves, you recognize the girl in purple from the news clip you'd seen a while ago. The other one you don't know, they're petite statured, clad in all black with a yellow bar symbol on their chest marking them as one of batman's underlings. They seem to be having a conversation with the other girl judging by the looks they're throwing at one another. Split off from the main group, a man in a gas mask points at you to three, more nervous looking people in dark coats.

You can only just sigh as they hesitantly start to approach you, ducking down behind the car again and making yourself wait, your starting to really feel all your wounds by now but you don't have any choice but to continue with what you're doing. You're not becoming a hostage to these freaks.

The three jump around the car with weapons up and snarls in their faces to find….. You're not there.

they twist and turn in place looking around, fire-resistant boots scuff the hot pavement as they awkwardly share a look between each other, when one of them kneels at the edge of the car and peeks under it, you kick him square in the face hard before sliding back out on your stomach and hands.

As you come up on your feet one of them throws his arm up - gun in hand - so you grab his wrist and shove it up to point the barrel in the air while kicking your leg out at the other one, hitting him in the general kidney area. It's not good enough though.

You release the gunman's wrist and drive your fist into the bottom of his ribs once, twice, four times. Your knuckles ache in protest of the abuse but you grit your aching teeth through it and continue. you see something out of the corner of your eye swinging at you so you drop to the ground and donkey kick at the legs of the first man that you’d kicked, he stumbles and accidentally hits his companion before falling on his ass. it’d make you laugh if you weren’t so focused.

hopping back to your feet, you back away from the trio and pull the gun out of your inner coat pocket. how it hasn’t fallen out yet or gone off you don’t know. you need to do - something shifts behind you, oh goddamn it!

gas splashes at your feet and soaks into the thin bandages you’d hastily thrown on your calves, making you stumble at the searing pain shooting up your lower body and locking your joints up. god you wish the painkillers kicked in quicker….the man that’d pointed you out earlier stands behind you with an empty glass bottle, his green eyes look bored as he watches you fall on your ass, he adjusts the gas mask on his face and then slowly pulls out a zippo and starts flicking it. the threat is clear.

as soon as he steps closer to you, lifting his hand while making direct eye contact as the small flame dances in his hand…you throw your arm up and pull the trigger.

It's as if Gotham itself falls silent in the echo of the shot bouncing between the buildings, the vigilantes fighting in the background quiet down, the thugs behind you don't utter a word, even the fires around you feel little they're silencing themselves enough that you can hear the faint drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the warm pavement.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until the masked one stumbles backwards and presses a hand over his side in an attempt to staunch the wound, your breath coming out slowly just as everything gets loud again.

The group of three shake themselves out of whatever stupor they were in and come at you all at once so you have no choice but to get back up and fight. You're gonna need something better than ibuprofen after all this is through.

You immediately kick one between the legs and shove him backwards into the rusted fence, of barbed wire catching on his coat while he squeaks rather loudly and high pitched. It's kinda annoying how they don't seem to learn anything about jumping you hand to hand like this…you grab the other ones wrist and twist it behind his back, forcefully maneuvering him around to smack his head down on the hood of the car with a loud thud.

Where are the other two? Glancing around you spot them limping away, the gas mask clad one being dragged by the other. You intended to just leave them be, let them go and get that wound treated, but when you watch them start to open the gas tank of a car, start pouring fuel all over it and stuff rags inside the fuel tank…. Are they making a car bomb? Right next to the vigilantes that are now starting to zip tie the downed criminals, unaware of what's about to happen to this area?

You know what's coming next, you've seen this play out too many times on agents and civilians alike, you can't just sit here like this. Waiting to watch them blow themselves up while Gotham burns around you.

You pull the makeshift fabric mask back up over your busted lip and tighten it behind your head, the barbed wire strips are long enough…

It's clear the gas mask-clad one didn't expect you to come after him, nor did he expect you to get a running go at him and wrap your thighs around his neck, using your momentum to swing behind him and wrap the steel wire around his throat, metal digs into your hands and rips through the thin skin of your palms when you lean back as if to drape off his frame by your legs and let your weight do the rest.

He struggles obviously, clawing at your legs hard enough to bleed you out and thrashing like a bull on steroids. But you just lock your entire body up and hold on, even as he slams back into a crate, even as he rips the mask off in a desperate attempt to breathe, even as he drops to the ground and tries and fails to slam his elbows into you, his body running off animal instinct as the barbed wire slowly but surely cuts into his tenderest of flesh.

He gags and tries to rasp something out around his swollen tongue, you can tell by the way his jaw moves and his lips click, but you don't care to listen. Whether he pleads for mercy or curses you or bargains, makes no difference to you after the lives he's needlessly taken. The people he was about to burn to death. It's only fitting the murderer puts down a murderer.

However before he can take his final gasp, kick his final twitch, your hands are grabbed and forcibly pried open hard enough to break something and then you're pulled out from under and away from him.

Your first instinct was to bite the hand holding you.

“Ow-Jesus Christ on a cracker! I'm not one of them you frigging piranha!” A young feminine voice yelps out, dropping you roughly on the ground and waving their hand around dramatically.

“Don't give me rabies while I'm just trying to move you away from the fumes! Where did you learn to bite that hard, are you part pitbull? T-Rex?”

You turn yourself around to look up at the purple-clad one, a few strands of blonde hair escaped from under her hood as she bounces around and studies her hand like you just gave her a zombie virus.

“…. Sorry.” Is all you manage to mumble out, voice strained as the adrenaline starts to leave your system. Everything's starting to hit you at once, every bruise and bleeding scratch, the bone-deep ache in your skeleton, the burns and chemical burns, you're all too aware of yourself going into shock after all this time.

The girl says something but you don't quite pick up on it, your head feels heavy and just….. Odd. You hardly even react when batman's kneeling in front of you and snapping his fingers in front of your face…you don't even bother reading his lips before you slump forward and everything goes white.

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: I hope this wasn't too much, I get it if this chapters not to someone's taste. I hope y'all are having a wonderful day/night whatever you are and as always remember to take care of yourself! 💜💜💜

Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet @omnivirgo @shirp-collector-of-fixations @spidermanluvr444 @br33zy-blizzardz @lunarapple @findingjaxx @4rachn3 @buckturd @tsxukikami @paastaboi @duskeras @ibelyss @1abi @that-creepy-girl-000 @kaylaphantomhive @viilan

[cottonlemonade]

His Favorite Customer

word count: 1276 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Osamu x chubby!Reader

genre: angst ending in fluff

warnings: catcalling, spoilers

request: watching Goosebumps with some sweet’n’salty popcorn dressed as a traffic cone with Osamu || fluffy-angsty, Halloween Party with crush Osamu

Up until a few minutes ago you thought, the worst day of your life was when your now ex-boyfriend broke up with you in the middle of a supermarket. You still couldn‘t look at a can of peas without getting flashbacks. But when a car drove past you and splashed your costume which was already unfit for the cold to begin with, you were certain it couldn‘t get any worse than this. The friend who had invited you to the Halloween party left around the time you lost your last bit of sanity with some Dracula she just met, taking her car and thus your ride with her. When she called to apologize for leaving you behind, it was clear that you had become nothing but an afterthought, and even the promise of a free lunch the next day did nothing to lighten your mood or lessen the simmering feeling of abandonment. You shuddered in a cold breeze, goosebumps forming on your arms and legs. No taxi in sight and the street was filled with drunk partygoers howling and screaming - you just wanted to be home and wash this stupid night off you with the longest hottest shower known to man.

You ignored the notification about your dying battery and tapped around for the number of a taxi service or an Uber. But of course, just your luck, everyone you called was busy. If it wasn‘t so late and dark and cold and wet you might have considered walking. It wasn‘t too far away in the grand scheme of things - at least compared to other places like, say, China. But you stopped after only a couple of homeward steps. Being ever so helpful, your mom had recently sent you link after link to articles from various newspapers all warning people to not walk the streets alone after dark for a spike of crime during the costume season, finishing off the sinister spam with an obligatory kiss emoji. As you (very bravely) held back tears you scrolled through your contacts, trying to figure out which of them you wouldn‘t mind losing if you woke them up at 1 a.m. to pick you up from a random Halloween party somewhere in the outskirts of Kobe.

Halfway through the E‘s your phone finally shut down. Great.

You sniffled, slung your arms closer to your body for a bit of warmth, and started walking. Some convenience store might sell a charger or have a payphone at least, you told yourself.

Cars whooshed past, groups of friends staggered dangerously close to the road and the wetness from the earlier drive-by splash slowly seeped through the last layer of fabric. It truly couldn‘t get any worse. That was until a few minutes later when a handful of guys stumbled out of a bar in front of you, clearly very drunk. You braced yourself, holding tightly to the small purse you carried, and looked at the ground as you walked by them. Unfortunately, you weren‘t quite as invisible as you would have liked. You heard many sets of steps fall in behind you. Not wanting them to think you just assumed they meant any harm, you tried to steady your breathing but ever so slightly increased your pace. So did the steps behind you. You lengthened your stride again, making the men behind you laugh and call out, “What are you running from, little butterball?! There should be enough for all of us!“

Throwing caution to the wind you began to run, your eyes spotting the telltale sign of a convenience store like a shining beacon just up ahead. More laughter, wolf whistling, and something that sounded very much like someone running after you. Your heart pumped with adrenaline, your lungs were burning - when was the last time you ran anywhere but a short sprint to the bus? You couldn‘t keep this up for long, surely he would catch up with you any moment. You dared to look behind you but in your hurry couldn‘t spot the person following. Taking a deep breath you were ready to let out a scream when you bumped into something very solid.

Two strong hands steadied you by your shoulders and a familiar voice said, “Oh, sorry. - Hey, ya okay?“

You didn‘t care anymore and just held onto their puffy jacket, squeezing your eyes shut.

Whoever it was, put an arm around your shoulder and you heard him bark, “Keep walkin‘.“,

Ignoring the inappropriate comments that followed, you began to cry and a second arm came up to wrap around you.

“It‘s alright.“, he said calmly, “They‘re gone. Yer good.“

You sniffled again and looked up.

“O-samu?”, you hiccuped in between the syllables.

He looked around, then noticed your wet costume and pulled you into the warmth of the convenience store.

Once he ushered you to the seating area facing the shop window he shrugged off his jacket to put it around your shoulders. Then he excused himself for a moment and went to collect just about every hot food item the store had to offer from deliciously steaming ramen and sticky skewers to Chinese buns with different fillings, one savory, one sweet. His short absence allowed you to take deep breaths of his jacket collar. That warm, woody scent that had driven you crazy for months was just what you needed to calm down. The last couple of minutes already felt like they happened hours ago and you shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn’t been there. You turned around in your chair and watched him consider the beverage shelf by the door, until he eventually shrugged and grabbed an armful of various flavors. Seeing him balance everything to the cash register and dumping it on the already teetering mountain of food made you smile, then chuckle which helped release some of the nervous energy still pent up in your body. You pulled the puffy parka closer to you, thinking about the many many times you had hoped the handsome store owner would ask you out. Often enough he had reciprocated a flirty comment that slipped out from you, making you question whether he meant it or if he just considered that good service. You surely would have enough opportunity to overthink later but right now you were just so very glad someone you knew was there to help. As you ate, you explained the situation between fewer and fewer sobs.

“No problem.”, he said, pinching off a piece from the steamed red bean bun, “I’ll take ya home.”

“Thank you so so much. I owe you.”

“Don’t even think about it. Least I can do for my favorite customer.”, he grinned and took another piece of bun.

“Bet you say that to everyone.”, you mumbled, then quickly blew on the noodles to cover the comment.

“Can’t believe ya think that low of me.”, he joked and shook his head in pretend sadness.

You pushed the half eaten bun over to him, “Peace offering?”

“Well, if ya insist.” He happily took a large bite and you laughed.

The car ride to your place was pleasantly quiet. You took the opportunity to take a couple more inconspicuous whiffs of his jacket before finally handing it back to him when you got out.

“Thank you again so so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

“No worries.”, Osamu hesitated for a moment, then added, “I meant it, ya know. Yer my favorite. I hope yer coming by tomorrow so I can make ya forget those jerks. Food’s on the house, of course.”

Your cheeks began to hurt from so much smiling.

“I’d love that. See you tomorrow.”

art: @Zing14268125 on Twitter

a/n: a request for @pinkmildliner

Thank you so much for the congratulations and the request! I hope you enjoyed it!

for requests see here

[justaparsec94]

Company

Summary: You're put in charge of keeping an eye on Tech while he's recovering from his broken leg. The job turns out to be not at all what you were expecting.

Pairing: Tech x Reader

Word Count: 4,941

Author's Note: I've had this posted on my AO3 account for a while but I just had so much fun writing it that I thought I would share it here too!

***************

“I still like mantell mix the best,” Omega said thoughtfully as the two of you made your way through the busy streets of Ord Mantell back towards Cid’s. You each were carrying a bag of a somewhat unidentifiable treat you had picked up from one of the local vendors. The two of you, plus Wrecker when he wasn’t otherwise occupied, were on a mission to try all of the local snacks Ord Mantell had to offer and so far you had put a fairly large dent in the local offerings. 

“I agree,” You said with a nod as you swiftly sidestepped a few drunken men leaving a nearby bar, even with all of the other noise their voices cut through the evening obnoxiously. Out of habit, you put your hand on Omega’s shoulder, pulling her closer to your side protectively as you continued on your way,  “This is good, but it just doesn’t cut it.” 

“What do you think it is, exactly?” Omega asked, holding a piece up in front of her face, inspecting it. 

“That is a very good question,” You replied with a laugh. Perhaps the two of you should have been more careful about what you were eating but there was something fun about throwing all caution to the wind when it came to snacks. You just hoped it wasn’t something too horrible.

“Maybe we should get Tech to run an analysis on it,” Omega suggested as Cid’s came into view.

“Good idea,” You said with another laugh. Though your laugh was cut short by the sight that greeted the two of you. Simultaneously you pulled to a stop to watch the scene unfold. 

Echo and Wrecker were supporting, or perhaps dragging was a better word, a very disgruntled-looking Tech towards Cid’s as Hunter trailed along behind them. 

“This is completely unnecessary,” Tech said, sounding very much like an angry Tooka as his brothers pulled him along with them. He appeared to be doing his best to resist their movement but with only one good leg he wasn’t very successful against his two very strong brothers. 

You leaned closer to Omega and whispered to her, “Do you want to take a guess what this is about?” 

Omega seemed to ponder the scene for a moment before she opened her mouth to reply but whatever she had been about to say was cut off by Hunter speaking. 

“You need to rest, Tech,” Hunter replied drily, “That’s an order.” 

“Are we going on another mission?” Omega asked suddenly springing into action and closing the gap between herself and her brothers. 

“Yes, we-“ Hunter started but was cut off by Tech once more. 

“I am perfectly capable of flying the ship in this condition,” He protested. For most, a broken femur would have been debilitating, Tech, on the other hand, seemed to take it as a challenge. In the few days they had been back you had lost count of the number of times you had found him doing something he definitely should not have been doing with such a serious injury. Just that morning you had found him underneath the control panel of The Marauder tinkering away on something. How he had managed to get down to the floor when he could barely move his leg was still a mystery to you. 

Hunter shot him a look that clearly indicated that there was no negotiating, “Rest.”

“C’mon Tech, just take it easy for a bit,” Wrecker joined in, “We’ll be back in no time and you’ll be ready for the next one!”

Echo and Wrecker didn’t let him even start protesting and with a good-natured chuckle from Wrecker they disappeared through the door of Cid’s. Omega bounced after them as you approached Hunter. 

“You had to physically remove him from The Marauder?” Though it really wasn’t much of a question. Clearly, Tech had not been happy about the decision to leave him behind. 

“Stubborn di’kut,” Hunter grumbled but there was such fondness in his eyes that his words were meaningless. The two of you made your way into the bar, which as per usual was nearly empty except for Cid and the regulars. You watched as Wrecker and Echo hauled Tech towards the back, Cid following along behind grumbling darkly before you turned your attention back to the Sergeant beside you. 

“Where are we off to this time?” You asked as you popped the last of your mystery snack into your mouth.

Hunter instantly looked sheepish which made your brow furrow as you frowned at him. He lifted his hand to rub absently at the back of his neck, “Uh, actually, we were hoping you would stay behind this time around.”

“But I stayed behind last time!” You protested, you knew your voice was coming out whiny, but you didn’t care at the moment, “And you needed me!” You and Tech were the only two members of the squad with decent medical training and given that Tech had been the one who was injured it had truly been the one time you could have been helpful and yet you had been back on Ord Mantell, working in a back alley medical clinic that Cid had her grubby hands in. You didn’t necessarily enjoy working there, especially since it was profiting off of injured and ill people, but your time there was helping to pay off the considerable debt the batch had with Cid. 

“We’re just going on a simple supply drop-off. We shouldn’t be gone more than a few hours,” Hunter replied, still looking chastised at your annoyance. 

“Why me?” You asked, “I know I’m not the most skilled member of the squad but I can’t be that much of a dud.” 

Hunter shook his head, but you didn’t miss the small smirk that had settled on his lips, “It has nothing to do with that. You’re an excellent member of this team. It’s just, we need someone to keep an eye on Tech and he likes you so we thought you might have a better chance of getting him to listen to you.” 

You frowned, well, that was news to you. Sure, the two of you got along well when he wasn’t being so well, Tech-ish, but there had always been a tension that you had felt between the two of you. Since the day you had been assigned to them, you had felt as though he was always testing your abilities, as though you weren’t good enough for the squad and he was set on proving it. There always seemed to be something you could do better or something you didn’t know the answer to. It had always bothered you because deep down you desperately wanted his approval. Despite his tendency to be somewhat arrogant and overly pragmatic you truly liked him. He was so smart and charming in his own unique way. You liked his calm nature and dry wit. And when the topic wasn’t what you were doing incorrectly you enjoyed listening to him chat about whatever came into his mind, you found his facts interesting even when everyone else scoffed at him. You also couldn’t deny that you found him incredibly attractive but that was buried deep and likely a confession that would never see the light of day. It was clear that whatever you felt for him was one-sided. 

“I don’t think that’s true…” You replied to Hunter, the frown on your face deepening as you looked at him. 

“It is,” Hunter said with a nod, there was an indistinguishable look in his eyes that you didn’t like but it was gone nearly as quickly as it appeared, “You’ll keep an eye on him?” 

You sighed as you crossed your arms over your chest. Hunter chuckled softly at your look, “It appears I don’t have much of a choice… but I’ll try my best,” It was as much of a promise you could give when it came to Tech. You knew that you would likely find him doing something he shouldn’t be within an hour of the rest of the Batch departing. 

“Thank you,” Hunter said, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder just as Echo and Wrecker returned from the back room. Omega appeared at Hunter’s side a moment later, her face bright with excitement as she looked up at her brothers. 

“Where are we off to?” She asked as she rocked back and forth on her heels excitedly. 

“We’ll brief you on the way to the ship,” Hunter said. He gave you another nod before he turned towards the door, Omega hot on his heels as he left. 

"Good luck,” Echo said, giving your shoulder a supportive pat as he passed by. 

“Try not to kill him,” Wrecker added with a laugh before the two of them also made their way out of the bar. You sighed to yourself as you turned towards where they had hauled Tech off. You likely didn’t have much time before he started climbing through the rafters or something equally ridiculous so with another sigh you pulled your data pad from your bag and headed into the back room. 

Somewhat unexpectedly, Tech was sitting up on the makeshift bed that had been made for him in the back room with his back against the wall, datapad in hand. He didn’t even look up when you entered the room. You could still see the tension in his shoulders and the lines of his face even from where you were standing. He was clearly still upset about being left behind so you refrained from saying anything. You wandered over to the small stool at his bedside and sat yourself down. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Tech freeze, his head popped up and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face. 

After a moment you turned your head to meet his gaze. He looked confused. His brow furrowed beneath his goggles as he looked you over. 

“Was there something that you required?” he asked after another long moment of simply staring at you. 

You felt your face flush at his blunt words. You were fairly used to his ways and manner of expressing himself but every once and a while it still caught you off guard. Apparently, this was one of those times, “No, I just thought you might like some company…”  

“That is not necessary,” he stated matter of factly. Your previous slight embarrassment increased tenfold and your face positively burned. So much for Hunter’s assurance that he actually liked you. 

“Oh- uh, I guess I’ll go then…” you started awkwardly, standing back up from the stool. You weren’t sure why you thought he would actually enjoy your company and the fact that you had made your insides squirm uncomfortably. 

“I did not say you had to leave,” Tech said, stopping you in your tracks, “I do not wish you to feel obligated to spend time with me. I know Hunter likely put you up to this.”

Despite him being correct about Hunter you denied it, “I don’t feel obligated. I like spending time with you. It’s a lot better than spending time with those two bottom feeders out there, or worse, Cid.” 

You didn’t miss the small smirk that had suddenly appeared on his face or the way the tension in his body had disappeared, “Well I am glad that I at least rank above those three.” 

“I would say you probably make the top 10,” You teased as you eased yourself back onto the stool beside him. 

His smirk grew, “Probably?”

“It’s a fluid list,” You replied with a shrug before flashing a teasing smile at him.  

“And exactly how does one get to the top of the list?” He asked as he set his datapad down on his lap. His attention was now completely focused on you.  

“Oh that’s secret information,” You replied,  “I wouldn’t want to give anyone an unfair advantage."

Tech seemed to consider that for a moment, “That is understandable. I will accept that answer and my ranking as you see fit. And in any case, I do enjoy a challenge,” If it had been anyone other than Tech you would have actually thought his tone was downright flirtatious. But that couldn’t be right. This was Tech. He didn’t even like you… 

He gave you a look that you would almost consider shy before he turned his attention back to his data pad. You couldn’t stop the soft and nervous chuckle that escaped you as you mimicked his actions and pulled your data pad up, powering it on and opening up the most recent novel you had started reading. 

A comfortable silence settled around the two of you as you both focused on your datapads. Despite your initial annoyance at being left behind it was actually nice to have some downtime. Quiet was hard to come by in your squad. It didn’t take long for you to get fully invested in the somewhat cheesy romance novel you were reading and time began to slip. Every once in a while you would peek over at Tech but much to your surprise he seemed content to actually stay put and not cause you any headaches. 

After a while you noticed an ache beginning in your lower back, at first, it was ignorable but eventually, you started shifting uncomfortably on the stool. It had been fine at first but the longer you sat the more the lack of back support was beginning to bother you. You were just considering moving it so you could prop yourself up against the wall when Tech spoke up. 

“That stool does not have enough lumbar support,” he said without even looking at you. Clearly, he had noticed your fidgeting at some point though. 

“Yeah, I’m very aware of that,” you replied with a soft chuckle as you stood up. You felt Tech’s gaze on you as you did so. The screeching of the metal legs of the stool disturbed the relative silence of the room as you pushed it closer to the wall with your foot. It still wasn’t the best option but you hoped it would at least be a bit better. It wasn’t the worst place you’d ever sat, that was for sure. 

You were just about to sit when Tech’s voice interrupted you, “You may sit with me if you wish,” he said casually. He had returned his attention to his datapad so he missed the shocked expression you knew was on your face, “There is more than enough room and your back will be better supported.” 

It was something straight out of one of your daydreams, so much so that you couldn’t quite believe he had suggested it. Sure, you had been in closer proximity before but usually that was only out of necessity. Crowded beneath the ship doing repairs, a steadying hand during a mission, the occasional pat on the shoulder. But this felt very different. 

“A-alright,” you said, suddenly sounding shy even to your own ears before you climbed up onto the bed beside him. 

He had moved over slightly and there was enough room for the two of you to sit comfortably side by side in the bed but your legs were still touching as you settled, the heat of him burning through you. 

You knew your face was flushed and your heart had picked up its pace as you held up your datapad once more. You just hoped Tech hadn’t noticed the effect his proximity was having on you. 

“What are you reading?” Tech asked after a long moment. If you weren’t mistaken there was something that sounded like strain in his voice. 

“Oh,” you replied, a wave of embarrassment washing through you as you looked towards him but actively avoided his gaze, “It’s just a silly romance novel.” 

“It is not silly if you enjoy it,” Tech stated matter of factly, “What is it about?” 

Despite his assurance, you were hesitant to tell him, you didn’t want him to add this to his list of things that were deficient about you. 

He seemed to notice your hesitation, “Perhaps you can read me a passage so I may determine if I wish to pursue reading this novel when you have finished with it.”

“You read novels?” You asked in surprise. You hadn’t pegged him as the type to read anything that wasn’t purely academic or related to your missions. 

“Yes, despite what others may believe I do not spend all of my time reading scientific or technical journals. I find novels to be an interesting insight into the behaviors of sentient beings, even if most of them are rather outlandish and unrealistic at times,” Tech replied. 

You couldn’t help but smile softly at his answer, of course, he would read them for research purposes rather than just pure enjoyment. Though now that your initial question was answered you realized you had completely missed his true request. 

“You-you want me to read it to you?” You asked feeling suddenly awkward by the content of your book and his request. 

“Yes,” he said with a nod, “I require further analysis to determine if it would be worth my time.” 

“O-ok,” you agreed hesitantly before you picked up where you had left off. You weren’t sure how much of the plot he would pick up given that you were already more than halfway through but if anyone could pick it up it would be him. You read quietly, not wanting your voice to carry out into the hall where Cid or anyone else might hear but your voice was still loud enough that it seemed to reverberate around the small room. 

“He kissed her with a passion he didn’t even know he possessed. His one hand on the small of her back gently held her flush against him as the other reached up to cup her face…” You were suddenly very grateful that it wasn’t an overly raunchy part of the book as your voice cracked slightly as you read. You weren’t sure why you were so embarrassed, it wasn’t like you had written it, but the thought of even reading about kissing in Tech’s presence set your whole body aflame. 

Thankfully the book moved on with the plot with only minor swapping of spit. You had been reading for quite a while before you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye. Tech was fidgeting in his seat now. Enough that you paused your reading, lowering your datapad into your lap as you looked over at him. He seemed to be actively avoiding your gaze as he continued to squirm slightly. 

“Are you alright?” You asked, concern lacing your tone, “Is it your leg? I can’t get you more pain medication…” 

“No. My leg is fine,” he answered abruptly. His gaze flickered towards you momentarily before he looked away again. 

You suddenly noticed that the tips of his ears had grown red and a sudden thought dawned on you. Maybe he wasn’t as unaffected by the content of your novel as you might have thought, “Do you want me to move?” 

“No. That is not necessary,” he replied, just as abruptly as before. 

“Are you sure?” You asked hesitantly, though he had finally seemed to settle once more. His eyes finally met yours but he glanced away quickly, “You seem… uncomfortable.” 

“I am fine. Please continue,” he seemed to pause for a moment, as though he was considering what he was about to say next, “You have a very pleasing voice.” 

You felt your face flush bright red and your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You-you think my voice is pleasing?” 

“Among other things,” Tech replied, though he said it so softly that you wondered briefly if he’d actually meant to say it out loud. 

If you had thought your face had felt hot before it was nothing compared to how it felt now as you stared at the side of his face. He was looking around the room as though he hadn’t just dropped a major bomb of information on you.

“What-what do you mean?” You asked once it was clear he was not going to elaborate without prompting. 

Finally, he looked back over at you, though the expression on his face was as if you had just asked the most obvious question in the world, “You are very conventionally attractive. I have conducted my own research on this matter by comparing you to others of similar age, origin, and species and have found you possess more desirable physical and intellectual traits than average.” 

You felt as though you were going to burst into flame. He couldn’t possibly be admitting that he personally found you attractive, could he? Your heart was racing in your chest at the implication. Suddenly a different and somewhat unwelcome thought entered your head and your eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion as you looked at him, “How much pain medication have you been given?” 

Tech’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline in surprise, “A fair amount, but regardless, I am simply stating the facts. This is not a drug-induced confession.” 

You were quiet for a long moment, “I honestly thought you didn’t like me very much...” you admitted softly as your blood continued to race in your veins. 

Tech looked completely shocked by your admission, “Why in the galaxy would think that?” 

You shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by your honest thoughts, “I just often feel like you’re testing me to see if I actually belong with this squad and usually I feel like I come up short.” 

Tech looked honestly distressed by your words, his brown eyes were wide beneath his goggles, concern evident in the depths of them, “That- If I have ever made you feel unwelcome or uncomfortable please know that is not my intention. You are as much a part of this squad as any of my brothers, you’re one of us,” you noticed that suddenly the tips of his ears had turned red again and his gaze strayed from yours as he spoke, “I only test you because I know what you are capable of. I push you to be better because I want to ensure your safety. Perhaps my methods have been misguided though.” 

“Oh,” you replied lamely, unsure of what else to say but inside your heart was warming at his admission. It felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from your shoulders to find out that he actually didn’t dislike you. That his actions were out of concern not a lack of confidence in your abilities. 

The redness from his ears had traveled down to his neck as you looked up at him, his gaze seemed to be focused on everywhere other than you when he spoke again, “I - I care for you a great deal.” 

You’d always thought that heroines swooning in novels was a bit heavy-handed and unrealistic but suddenly you felt as if you could keel right over at his admission. Your heart was racing in your chest and your stomach fluttered as you watched him. He still was avoiding your eye contact and with a sudden surge of bravery you reached out to place your hand on top of his that was resting on his thigh closest to you. The skin-on-skin contact made you gasp at the electric sensation. 

“I care you for a great deal too,” you replied shyly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes as your cheeks burned. 

His gaze finally snapped back to you at your words. His beautiful brown eyes were molten as they traced the lines of your face, as though he was cataloging and committing it to memory. Knowing him, he probably was. 

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, then took a deep breath as though he was preparing himself for battle, "I would like to conduct an experiment,” His voice cracked slightly which was something you had never heard from him before. Tech was the definition of calm and collected, “If you are willing of course…” 

A puzzled expression overtook your face as you looked at him, your curiosity was nearly overwhelming. He looked nervous. 

“What did you have in mind?” You asked softly.  

“I wish to replicate your novel.” 

You honestly thought you might faint, your head felt as if it was about to drift off into the clouds. You briefly wondered if maybe you were the one who had taken too much pain medication. Or maybe that unidentifiable snack you had earlier was causing you to have hallucinations.

“You-you want to kiss me?” You finally managed to ask, your voice sounded as breathless as you felt. 

“Very much so,” Tech said with a nod, his expression was completely serious. 

“O-ok,” you managed to squeak which was all the encouragement he needed before he was angling himself towards you. His hand came up to gently cup your jaw and before you could even fully wrap your head around what was happening he was kissing you. Even in sitting, he was much taller than you and he had to duck his head to reach you. The angle was a bit awkward due to your side-by-side positions but that was quickly forgotten as he deepened the kiss. His lips were soft and gentle against your own at first but it didn’t take long before the kiss became more persistent as he drew you even closer. Your hand gripped the front of his shirt, anchoring you he gently nipped at your lower lip. Tech groaned softly, which was the greatest sound you had ever heard as you reciprocated, pressing yourself up into him as you devoured one another. You had never been kissed like this before. It was as if suddenly every nerve ending in your body had been woken up after years of being asleep. 

You felt as if you might combust at any moment and your head was spinning. But suddenly Tech pulled away from you. You were unable to stop the soft moan of disappointment that escaped you as he did so. You felt as if all of the air had been sucked from your lungs as you watched him with wide eyes. His own chest was heaving slightly as he gazed at you, his eyes still molten as they seemed to focus on your lips.

“Hmm, fascinating,” He said softly after a moment, once his breathing had seemed to return to normal.  

“What is?” You asked, suddenly feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. 

“Your lips are even softer than I hypothesized,” he said as he lifted his hand to cup your jaw once more, his thumb traced your cheek softly, sending shivers down your spine. 

“What other things have you hypothesized?” You asked, smiling up at him as your heart continued to pound in your chest. He was going to be the death of you. 

“I theorized that if I were to kiss you once I would then wish to never stop,” His voice was huskier than you had ever heard it before, “that theory has also been proven correct.” 

“Well, I think that is acceptable,” You replied with a teasing smile, looking up at him once more from beneath your lashes, “Kiss me again, Tech.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. 

You wanted desperately to get closer to him as he captured your lips with his own, but you knew that with his injured leg, your current position was the only one that wouldn’t cause him pain. Next time, you thought before you gasped in surprise as he parted your lips with his tongue. He moaned softly against you as his hand slid from your jaw to tangle in your hair. Kissing him was intoxicating. 

A sudden noise in the hall had you both jumping apart. You both watched the door, chests heaving. But there was no further sound and no one burst through the door to bust you like you had been expecting. You suddenly giggled at the ridiculousness of it all, the fact that you suddenly felt like a horny teenager who couldn’t get enough of him, and how you had gone so long thinking he didn’t care for you when in fact it had been the exact opposite. 

Tech’s cheeks were red when you looked back up at him but there was a wide smile on his face that warmed your heart. You didn’t think you had ever seen him smile like that before. This truly was a day of firsts. 

“Was my kissing sufficient?” He asked you earnestly which only made you giggle again. 

You grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers as you smiled up at him, “More than sufficient."

His face flushed further as he lifted your joint hands to place a soft kiss on your knuckles, “Thank you for keeping me company today.”

“Anytime,” You replied sincerely before you shifted, leaning back against the wall once more before you tilted your head to rest on his shoulder. Tech seemed to tense momentarily at your proximity before he completely relaxed, leaning further into you. He let your hands fall, still intertwined into his lap.  

This had not been what you had in mind when Hunter had made the request of you to keep an eye on Tech earlier. But you couldn’t help but think, as Tech’s head tilted to rest against your own as the two of you settled into comfortable silence once more, that this was far better than anything you could have imagined. 

[taffycandyqt]

hey so how badly do you think the rottmnt boys would be easily persuaded into things by their s/o? Who has self control and who throws caution to the wind for their s/o? Like their s/o is not manipulating or anything. Just like “No! I’m not joining”. “*genuine sad understanding doe eyes* If you’re sure, I wanted you to be the one to come with me though since I love you so much and I’d feel better with you there, but if you’re uncomfortable, it’s ok” if their boyfriend changes their mind, s/o is confused at the sudden change but look ecstatic? Or like they make their boyfriend angry and s/o is like “I did that? I’m sorry. I didn’t realise *genuine sad doe eyes. Makes it very hard to stay mad at*”?

Honestly, the rise boys are all so hungry for affection in their own ways. I feel like they are all pretty weak to their sweet little s/o. Also the one shots aren't exactly the best example of the headcannons but I was STRUGGLING so this is the best I got.

Weak in the Knees

Rise turtles (separately) x reader

How easily can you persuade them using your irresistible charm??

Warnings: Mentions of shooting as a hyperbole to emphasize a point. Not explicit. No deaths. Only in Donnies. Angst? ends happy so its fine

Established relationship

Fluff, crack

Donnie:

We all know Donnie is a sucker for praise.

You ask him to do something stupid or dangerous with you it will be a no.

You want him to step away from his work for a break? absolutely not.

You want him to accompany you to Witch town. ARE YOU CRAZY?

Buuuuuut. If you just so happen to have thrown out a couple compliments his way beforehand.

It will almost immediately be a yes or a "Sigh! I suppose!"

Let's be honest here too, there is a lot to compliment Donnie on.

You praise him for his work, a gift he gave you, helping you, or for literally anything he is already wrapped around your finger.

But if you praise him and then add a little kiss on the cheek or hand. Maybe a small hug?

He would literally let you shoot him if that's what you wanted.

Bro is so in love with you it's not even funny.

Not to say he doesn't draw the line somewhere. No bees. No spiders. And NO BEACH BALLS.

Oh and nothing that could phically harm you in any way.

He ain't about to let you get hurt on his watch.

It doesn't matter how many times you call him the most handsomest genius boy and kiss his nose, you are not diving off the empire state building for him to catch you mid air.

"Donnnnnnnniiieeeeeee!" you slumped towards him as you drew out his name. After you got to him you rested your head on his battle shell. Your hands were positioned on either side of your head laying flat on his shell as well.

"Yes my dear?" He chirped. He wasn't very good at initiating physical touch. Don't get me wrong, he tried, he just let his Donnie overthink get the best of him more often then not. So when you initiated, it was very welcome.

"I looooove youuu." You answered him, "your the sweetest boy I've ever met, did you know that?"

This got Donnie to set his tools down real quick. You always liked to compliment him at random times. At first he thought there was a reason behind it. You wanted something, you wanted to get away with something, you wanted him to forgive you, ect. But no matter how many times he conducted the experiment. No matter the duration of time it took. The results were always purely random. You did it simply because you wanted to tell him how much he meant to you.

And honestly, it was his favorite thing in the world. The only problem was that it would always catch him off guard. There was no consistency to your charming onslaught so it was always left as a surprise till the very last minute. His face burned red as he proceeded to just stare at his work, trying to look like he's trying to figure something out.

"I'm not sure. You say I'm a lot of things," he tried to keep his voice even as he spoke to you.

"Well it's true! Your the sweetest, smartest, and most perfect boyfriend ever and your my absolute favorite."

At this point Donnie was trying to hard not to happy stim. Not because he's not comfortable stimming around you, infact he does it all the time. The thing is, even after all this time he still wanted come off as a cool, emotionally unavailable bad boy. What he conveniently doesn't remember is that he's already willing done things that counter that image. You don't need to tell him that though.

"Thank you dear. You're quite lovely yourself," he told you. He folded his arms and sat stiffly trying to keep his stimming under control, eventually opting for some speedy finger tapping.

"Awwwwwww, thank you my love!!" you said as you finally lifted your head off his back to lean over and kiss his cheek.

This caused him to jerk in his chair and mess with the weight distribution resulting in him tipping and falling right on the floor. Instinctively he reached for the table in an attempt to break his fall. Unfortunately, he ended up grabbing his current project instead. As Donnie fell a component of his invention was ripped from it's position and landed on the floor beside him.

"Oh mi gosh! Are you okay?!" you rushed to Donnie's aid and helped him off the floor.

"I'm alright, thank you," he smiled at you softly and went to pick up his chair.

"I was just caught off guard is all," he told you, but as he bends down to grab the chair he noticed the crucial piece of his latest invention laying off to the side of it.

"GASP! Nonononono!" he picked up the piece and scrambled to his work desk to inspect the damage.

"Nooo!!" He wined in frustration. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index as he tried to calm himself down.

"Donnie? What's wrong?" You asked as you inched your way to his side.

"THIS!" he exclaimed shoving the broken piece in your direction before dropping his arm and turning away from his project to pace around the room.

"I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR WEEKS AND NOW I HAVE TO BACKTRACK AND REDO DAYS OF WORK! ALL BECAUSE YOU-" he stopped talking immediately when he say your face. He had originally turned to look back at you in order to emphasize his frustration. Seeing the look on your face though, made him instantly regret letting his frustration get the better of him.

"I- I'm sorry. I- didn't mean for that... I just wanted to... um..." you were on the verge of tears and couldn't think of anything to say that would fix the issue. So you just clasped your hands together and looked to the floor.

"I'm sorry," is what you eventually settled on.

"No! no, I'm sorry," Donnie told you as he approached and grabbed your shoulder while placing the other in his chest. He leaned his head down in an attempt to catch your eye as you kept your eyes locked on the ground.

"I shouldn't have yelled like that, and besides it wasn't your fault anyways. I was the one being careless in the first place." He eventually placed his and on your other shoulder and leaned down more, practically begging for you to look at him. When you did, your eyes were big and glossy with tears that streaked on your cheeks.

"I shouldn't have distracted you," your responded and you looked back to the floor.

"No, hey, your not a distraction," he told you in a gentle voice. He stood up straight and pulled you into a firm hug, burying his snout in your hair.

"Your the best thing that happened to me. Your never a distraction," he was really hoping this got through to you.

"Really?" You sniffed.

"Really really. Two reallys," he told you. With that you adjusted to wrap your arms around him and then lay you chin in his plastron.

"Do you think ice cream would make you feel better?" you asked.

"Me feel better?" he questioned. You were the hurt one, you were the one crying. Why were you concerned about his feelings?

"Even if you think it's not my fault, no doubt you're still upset with the amount of work you have to redo," you explained, "and ice cream always makes me feel better. So would ice cream make you feel better?"

He gave you a small laugh and traded the hug to hold your hand.

"Firstly, it's not your fault," he spoke matter-a-factly while waving his other hand around dramatically, "And secondly, ice cream sounds delightful."

So with that you both made your way to the kitchen. Donnie ended up not eating any ice cream at all and instead opted for flavorless juice. He was happy enough watching you eat your ice cream with a big smile plastered on your face.

Did he have a lot of work to redo? Yes. But as long as your there it might not feel as long. He might have to make a 'no flattery while one is working in the lab' rule though. For safety.

Leo:

Remember how Donnie had a line? Yeah, no Leo doesn't have that.

Due to this, and his already mischievous nature, you can already get him to do pretty much anything just by asking.

However he does have a responsible mood. If he's in that mood nothing will work.

you know what I mean. Like how he acts in the movie while their driving in the turtle tank?

like that, just without the internal and external issues clouding his judgment.

It's s not a bad mood, it's just not good for getting what you want.

Lucky for you he's not usually in that mood, and if he is it's usually not so bad that you can't bring I'm out of it.

That being said Leo, like the rest of his brothers, needs praise so badly that it's kinda sad.

Any praise will work but if you want him to do something absolutely idiotic to the point that even he thinks so? Your gonna need to make him feel ✨special✨

Your gonna need to pull out the my man, my champion, special man, and perfect baby.

Names like that, that make him feel like a million bucks.

If he's showing off to you, one compliment will butter that sucker up like you wouldn't believe.

He would literally do anything for you, it's not even funny, bro has no standards.

"Y/n! Hey! Hey! Y/n look! Look at this sick trick!" Leo called to you from atop their indoor skating ramp. You were on the floor below talking with April while Leo skated.

"Okay sweets I'm watching!" You call back to give him the go ahead.

With that Leo was off down the ramp. As he came up the other side and was propelled in the air he flipped the skateboard from beneath him and then landed perfectly on top as gravity pulled them back to the surface. When he came back up the other side Leo jumped off the board and looked down at you with a big grin on his face.

You and April clapped and he came down to meet you.

"What did you think??"

"I think that was awesome. Your my talented man for sure," you told him sweetly as you kissed him on the cheek. Leo blushed slightly at this before puffing his chest out and holding his skateboard all cool guy like at his hip. He used his other hand to point at himself with his thumb.

"Well not everyone can be as skilled as ah-THIS!" He boasted while punctuating his sentence with a dab.

"Okay, Mr. Talented," April teased, "If your done I'd like to tell you the reason I stopped by today."

"What?" Leo said with fake shock, "You visited for a different reason other than admiring my rad skills?"

"Impossible I know," she snarked to play along with him.

"So what's up April?" You asked.

"I was working my new job as a part time graveyard day guard and I saw this totally creepy and totally abandoned house right outside my post!"

"April if you're about to tell us you saw a ghost," Leo told her.

"No! But I DID want to find out if there COULD be ghosts in there."

"Why are you telling us this?" You ask.

"Because, I'm not gonna trespass on abandoned property by myself. That's just asking to be kidnapped," she answered while folding her arms.

"I don't know April, I better stay here and keep practicing my skating skillzz, right y/n?" Leo said.

"Well I think it sounds cool April! I'd be so down to go with you!"

"Heck yeah! Girls trip!"

You two high fived and right as you hands made contact Leo popped up in-between the both of you and clasped yours and April's hands together with his own.

"Though I suppose it would be unbecoming of me to not do my chivalrous duty to you both and tag along as a safety precaution."

April looked unimpressed at Leo's forced attempt to be cool in front of you whilst also begging for your attention. As you and April let your hands down Leo's went with them and you took his empty palm in yours shooting him a soft smile.

"So what time did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I was thinking like right now if y'all aren't busy," April told you.

"Sounds good to me, come on Leon!" You said as you dragged Leo to the Lair exit.

-

Apon getting to the building it was abundantly clear that it was very abandoned and very illegal to trespass. A rusted chain link fence surrounded the building with warning signs plastered all around it. Though, it was to dark to clearly read them without a flashlight.

"Uhh, guys?" Leo started, "Are you sure we should go in there? There are way too many signs around this place for them all to be just 'no trespassing' signs,"

"Do I hear someone who is scaaaaared?" Teased April. This prompted an offended gasp from Leo who put a hand to his chest.

"SCARED?! HA! I'll show you who's scared," he snarked at her before opening a portal to bypass the fence straight to the front door. He gestures for you and April to enter first. Before you followed April in you turned to Leo.

"Everything will be fine, and if something does go wrong I know you could bail us out," you smiled sweetly at him and then stepped into the portal. Leo straightened up and blushed, then sauntered confidently through the portal after you. It felt good to know you trusted him so much.

As all three of you stood at the front door you heard the sounds of the house creaking on the inside. The old wood constantly fighting to stay upright. April pushed open the door with a loud creak and shinned her light into the entry. It was dark and messy. A brownish carpet greeted you along with a broken sidebar cabinet. stairs leading up to the second floor were covered in dirt and old enough to be one big splinter. Next to the stairs was an entrance to a different room. There were also different rooms on either side of you as well. As you all shines your lights to get a better look you could see the dust particles littering the air.

"I'm gonna go investigate upstairs!" April told you before disappearing to the second floor. Leo had gravitates towards the right side entryway before turning to you and gesturing for you to follow him.

"I think this is the kitchen," he said, turning his head back. You filled him as you both inspected the room. You broke looked around and noticed some light scratching sounds coming from what you assumed to be the pantry. As you opened the door the smell of rotten food and crap hit your face and you immediately gagged. You plugged your nose with your hand and you used the other to direct the flashlight. You didn't look around for long though as you saw a small, fast moving figure rush past your foot. You let out a short yelp as you stumbled backwards and out of the pantry slamming the door shut.

In an instant Leo was by your side.

"What?! What happened?! Are you okay?!" he gave you a once over looking for any injuries you could have procured.

"Yes! Yes," you sighed out patting his shoulder, "I'm okay, just a... rat. Or something,"

"Okay. Umm, just stick close to me for now ok?" He asked you. He was clearly a little nervous, about what exactly though you couldn't say. He grabbed your hand as you both made your way out of the kitchen.

"You've been hearing those sounds too right?" He asks as he turns to you. You both stop under the archway separating the kitchen and the entryway.

"W- what sounds?" This was, admittedly, making you a little nervous yourself now.

"The scratching. Like something's in the walls," he said in a hushed voice as he squoze your hand. You didn't at first but as you sat and listened, sure enough. Scratching. Or... Scurrying? It wasn't consistent but it happened often enough.

"Yeah," you answered in the same muted tone.

"I think we should leave," Leo told you, "Whatever this houses issue is it's not gonna be ours. Let's grab April and VAMINOS."

Before you two could take more that a stepp up the stairs you hear a loud crash and the house starts to rumble. April begins to scream and you can hear her rushed footsteps against the floor and as you both try to find her you ended meeting her at the top of the stairs.

"RUUUUN!! GO GO GO!" she yelled at you. She pushed you both aside and grabbed Leo by his mask tails to pull him along. Before you two started running though, you see what April was running from. I giant hord of mutant silverfish. They took up the entire hallway from floor to ceiling and they did NOT look happy.

As Leo was being tugged along by April you were tugged by Leo who still hadn't let go of your hand. In trying to position his body to run forward easier and April still holding on to his mask tails, it ended up turning his mask on backwards and obscuring his view. As all three of you exited the house Leo tripped out the door on top of April causing you to fall on top of him.

"LEO PORTAL! PORTAL NOW!" April yelled at him.

"I CAN'T FIND MY SWORD!" he told her frantically trying to fix his mask so he could see.

"HERE TAKE IT!" you said handing it to him. The silver fish where almost in top of you by the time Leo took the sword in his hands. With a swift swing of his sword the portal was opened and all three of you stumbled through it closing right as the silverfish burst out the door.

All three of you lay on the ground between where the two skate ramps met, panting and trying to gather yourselves.

"Everyone okay?" April asked out of breath.

"Yeah," you breathed out.

"All good here," Leo puffed.

"Great..." April sat up sluggishly, "I'm gonna head out then, see ya."

And with that she stood up and left the lair. You both waved her off best you could from the ground. You both just laid there for a while catching your breaths.

"Let's never do that again," Leo said after a while.

"I don't know, I kinda had fun," you told him.

"You have got to be kidding me," he looked over at you unimpressed.

"Ya know... I saw this abandoned processing plant a couple days ago," you said turning your head to look back at him.

"Y/n. We almost died."

"And now we know to be prepared for hords of mutant silverfish," you looked at him, "Please?"

"Uuugggg. FINE. But not for a while, I need a break from whatever the heck today was," he told you.

"Sounds good to me!" You chirped and cuddled into his side.

"Yeah yeah," he playfully rolled his eyes and wrapped a lazy arm around you.

Mikey:

Oh he is just the sweetest little buttercup to you.<3

Surprisingly though, he also is the hardest to persuade.

I mean come on, doctor delicate touch loves you but he will be quick to tell you why a certain idea is....... not so great.

That being said if you get really sad about him saying no he will do everything in his power to make you happy.

He'll make your favorite food, watch your favorite movie, play your favorite game, whatever you want that isn't the first thing that you wanted.

Out of all brothers, Mikey is the one who need praise at the most normal amount.

You guys will probably have compliment competitions while cuddling.

So safe to say praise isn't going to get this dude to do stuff for you.

However, Mikey is able to see how his brothers feel like they can't fully express their feelings and wants them to feel safe enough to do so.

Frankly he wants everyone to feel comfortable enough around him to express their true thoughts and feelings.

So if you are the kind of person to emotionally shut down or pretend like everything is fine when it's not?

He will be a bit more willing to do stuff for you.

Again, there is a line. A straight cut no exceptions line.

Buuuuuut he might be willing to find a couple loop holes just so that his darling can feel better.

Piece of advice tho, don't push it. If he feels like you don't respect his boundaries that's gonna be a whole other issue.

"Hey Mikey!" you chirp as you enter his room, "What'ca up to?"

Mikey looked up at you from the floor, you could see the canvas in front of him and got increasingly excited to see what he was putting together.

"Oh just paintin', like one does," he tells you with a cheeky smile.

"Okaaaaay," you smile back, playing along, "What'ca paintin'?"

At this Mikey looked to his right and then his left, like he was scoping out the area for spies. Except it made less sense since it was his room. Then he looked back up at you and gestured for you to come join him with his hand.

You sat down on the floor and cozied up next to your boyfriend to which he revealed his masterpiece. It was a family portrait of Splinter and his brothers from when they were younger.

"We took this picture a couple years back," he handed you a small photo, "it was always dads favorite so I'm painting it for his birthday!"

"That's so sweet Mikey!"

He smiled and blushed at the compliment. You turned back to the painting. It was beautiful. It was the same picture but Mikey had taken some creative liberties with the colors. They were bright, vibrant, and harmonious. The painting felt like it was buzzing with energy because of it. It felt warm and inviting and at the same time unpredictable. The way the lines, colors, and textures went together, it almost made the painting feel alive, and it was hypnotizing.

"It looks like you've finished, right?" you ask, turning back to him.

"Almost!" He perks, "I just have to add a few finishing touches and it will be done!"

"Weeeeeeelllll," you said mischievously, "Since they're just finishing touches, maybe I could help."

One of the first things that people find out when they meet you is that you suck butt at art. When you met Mikey he tried SO HARD to teach you but no matter how hard you tried it just never clicked. You always saw it as a cute 'opposites attract' sort of thing honestly. The proficient artist and the one who couldn't draw a dot right it they tried. How romantic.

So when your little tease entered the space Mikey knew exactly what you were trying to do.

"Oh no no no my dear," he played along, "You see, I feel your artistic talents are needed else where."

"Else where?" you questioned with big doe eyes feigning innocence.

"Yes. Else where," he told you again, still with his playful expression.

"You mean," you picked up one of his used paint brushes, "HERE! you said as you lunged forward attempting to pin him down in order to paint his face. Attempting.

"NO NOT HERE!" he giggled trying to keep the paint brush from making contact with his face. He had been mostly successful but you still managed to land a couple good swipes.

You both continued to wrestle and giggle as time went on. At one point Mikey flipped you both so he was the one pinning you and reached for a paint brush of his own. You managed to wiggle free in the nick of time and this led to you both running around his room with paint brushes in hand. Every now and again one of you would corner the other, but the other would always manage to escape leading to the chase once again. At one point you realized that you might be able to catch Mikey off guard. You see, outside of cornering each other, all you guy have really done is chase the other and try catch them.

So in a moment of what you deemed to be 'brilliance' you took an abrupt stop and made a sharp turn on your heel to face him. However, that resulted in Mikey crashing right into you and you both falling straight to the floor.

"OH ME GOSH! Are you okay y/n?!" he scrambled to get off you quickly and inspect any possible damage to your person.

"Yeah, I'm okay, I think. Just landed on something hard," you told him as you picked yourself up.

When you looked back at him there was an expression on his face that could only be described as soul crushing horror. You were so confused, and concerned until you followed his line of sight and saw exactly what you landed on.

His painting.

His super sentimental and lovingly handcrafted painting meant as a GIFT FOR HIS FATHER. and now, there was a hole straight through it. Not a small one at that. Not to mention some of the paint was still wet and had gotten smeared and smushed at the impact. There was absolutely no salvaging this painting.

"Oh Mikey I am so sorry," you were horrified at what you had caused. Mikey didn't look at you, he didn't respond either. He walked towards to ruined canvas and slowly knelt down to pick it up.

"I- I didn't mean for this to happen Mikey I'm-" he cut you off.

"Can you please go? We'll talk later, I just need to be alone right now," still without looking at you. You were so heartbroken you had to hold in your tears.

"Okay," you told him in a shaky breath. You left the lair that night, and for the first time since you've known the guys, you left in a considerably worse mood then what you had when you got there.

The look on Mikey's face haunted you that night. You hate to think that you were the one to cause that pain. You were the one that hurt him. You wanted to make it up to him but you didn't know how. It's not like you could remake the painting for him. Heck you couldn't even paint!

You decided it would be best to stay away from the lair until Mikey invited you back. Fortunately for you, it only took about four days for that to happen. Unfortunately for however, it was through a very distressing text that read 'We should talk'. Eeeee 😬

Before you went you baked some cookies to hopefully help lighten the blow. You may not be able to... 'art'... BUT YOU COULD BAKE. When you met with Mikey it was in a secluded area of Todd's Puppy Land, or whatever its called.

"Hey y/n," he said giving you a weak smile and finally looking at you. He looked tired. Like he hadn't slept since you both last talked.

"Hey Mikey," you responded, "I uh. I brought cookies." You gave and awkward smile and his expression softened. He motioned for you to sit next to him on the bench. As you did you placed the cookies between you both as to give him some space.

He sighed, "I'm sorry y/n, I didn't mean-" you cut him off.

"YOUR SORRY?! WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO BE SORRY ABOUT?!" you were exasperated.

"Well I-"

"NO! I ruined your painting that took you forever to make that you made for your dads birthday! If anyone should be sorry it's me!"

"Thank you," he told you, "and I accept you apology, but it wasn't really your fault. It was an accident due to us both being reckless."

"But I started it!"

"And I didn't stop you, *sigh* listen. I didn't mean to scare you like I did. I just get very emotionally attached to my art so I was having a lot of feelings that day. I want to make it very clear that I don't want to break up with you and I'm not mad at you."

At this, you let out a sigh you didn't even know you were holding. When he looked back at you he was shocked. Your eyes were glassy with tears and your cheeks were red. You looked so sad. And so sorry. Oh, if he didn't already regret what he said to you that day he sure did now. How could he had asked you to leave?

"I still feel bad about it," you told him looking down at your hands. He moved the cookies behind him to close the gap between you both and pulled you into a hug.

"Hey, I get it. But if it makes you feel any better I was able to fix mistakes I made the first time and clean up areas I had previously messed up. On top of that I'm pretty close to being in the same spot with its progress that I was last time," he said, trying to console you. you pulled back to look at him.

"You mean you repainted it?"

"Well yeah. It's pops birthday gift, I had to," he smiled at you.

"Didn't that take you weeks to do?!"

"The first time yeah. But I kind couldn't sleep until I was back to were I was before sooo"

THATS WHY HE LOOKED SO TIRED! HE HASN'T SLEPT IN FOUR DAYS!

"Alright well someone's going to bed right now," you told him, picking up your cookies and dragging him by the wrist. He happily complied and followed you back to the lair. Not before thanking Todd for letting you guys use his space.

Overall, you both were just glad that everything was back to normal.

Raph:

Oh bb. He's so soft for you.

Bro will kiss the ground you walk on.

He's also the most responsible.

However most responsible does not mean least chaotic.

I mean the dude tries to lift a bus and ate a literal phone.

So honestly, I can see him being pretty open to a lot of stuff as long as your safety isn't jeopardized.

Notice how I said 'your safety'?

Yeah. Again, remember the bus incident? I refuse to believe that he wouldn't do something stupid for you as long as he's the only one with a possibility of getting hurt.

That being said, like Mikey he has a line. Unlike Mikey that line is drawn with chalk and is very easily swept away.

Now Raph does not like crossing this line. I mean who likes compromising their boundaries?

But he will do it.

Raph is very susceptible to peer pressure and if it's coming from you of all people? He'll do it.

He won't be happy about it after though.

Like he's happy your happy but he will being to feel like his feelings don't matter to you the same as yours matter to him.

So for the sake of this poor boy please don't press further if he said no the first time.

It makes him feel like a bad boyfriend. :(

You and Raph were cuddling on the couch watching Jupiter Jim movies. As per the usual when you both are bored and have nothing better to do. You were positioned on his lap knees pointing to the side so you could rest your head on his chest.

"Hey Raphy?" you said grabbing his attention.

"Yes?" he said looking down at you.

"You wanna crash a wedding?"

"What?!"

"Do you. Want to. Crash a wedding. ... With me."

"And why are we crashing a wedding?"

"Fun," you told him, "but also I'm bored."

He giggled at you. You were such a little cutie and he could never get over it.

"What would we be doing?"

"Oh ya know, dancing, eating the food, photo bombing. The ushe," you shoot him a cheeky smile.

"Okay, one question though," you nodded at him, "how are we gonna do that with... this whole situation," he told you gesturing to himself.

"Sweets, we're in New York. You put on a suit jacket and act like 'this whole situation' is normal, most people will chalk it up to eccentricity," you told him.

"You sure bout that?"

"I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life."

"Well I guess we have a wedding to prepare for," he said nuzzling his snout into your cheek.

"YESSSsssssssssss!!" you exclaimed.

---

After a quick social media search you found the perfect wedding to crash. You and Raphael dusted off your best wedding attire and set out on a mission to have a good time.

You guys had made it to the reception so you just walked in and pretended like you belonged there. Raph was obviously still a little worried about walking in full green skin and three fingered but you assured him it was fine. And you were kinda right. He definitely got weird looks but he tried his best to follow your advise and pretend like was nothing was wrong. So for a while now body bothered you guys.

"See? What did I tell you, no body even cares!" You smiled at him as you pulled him to the dance floor.

"Yeah, I guess," he told you a tad nervous. He smiled at you regardless and you're both began to dance.

It was a fun, up eat song so you and Raph jumped along in your own little world. Twisting, turning, and shimming to the beat, it felt like you both were walking on air.

After dancing for a couple of songs straight you guys decided to try some of the refreshments. You took some lemonade and the little cheesecake bits and found a vacant table. You both chatted about little things, telling jokes and having a good time.

Eventually someone from the party approached you. She was a skinny old woman. Not old enough to be grey haired and senile but just old enough that she had plenty of wrinkles.

"Excuse me, I don't believe we've met," she told you as she sat down her to you, "what are your names?"

"Oh, I'm y/n and this is Raph," you gestured to him and he gave a small wave.

"Well it's nice to meet you. I'm the brides aunt Tina."

"Well in that case, congrats! I'm sure your so happy for her!"

"I am, Oliver seems like such a a nice man. He treats Sara so well. On that note, who are you here for? The bride or the groom?"

Raph sweat dropped, he didn't like lying and it made him nervous that he might have to if you both wanted to stay.

"Oh we're not," you told her honestly. Raph was relieved for about half a second before he realized that now you guys might cause a whole other scene.

"I'm sorry, not what?"

"Here for either the bride or the groom. We don't know either of them, we were just bored and wanted to dance."

"Wh-," her face showed her absolute disbelief, "This is a family and friends even you can't just waltz in uninvited!"

"Well I mean. You can. We just did. Wether or not that's a respectful thing to do is an entirely different debate though."

Tina's face was starting to turn red.

"Well! I'm going to have to ask you both to leave!" she demanded raising her voice while she stood and pointed to the exit.

"Hey, what's going on Tia?" the bride asked putting a hand on her aunts sholder.

You leaned back in your chair resting your arm over the back of it while you took a swig of your water.

"These two hooligans weren't invited! They don't know anyone here!"

"Well that's hardly fair Tina, I thought we formed a connection over the last five minutes," you teased which prompted Raph to shoot you a disapproving look. Tina looked absolutely appalled by you attitude.

"What?" you questioned Raph with a giggle, "Come on this is kinda funny."

"Your making her upset!"

"Eh, she would have been upset anyways,"

"DONT IGNORE US GET OUT! SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE!" Tina was full on screaming now, which prompted Raph to shoot out of his chair. He apologized quickly and picked you up by your sides and ran you both out of the wedding.

"Awwwww I wanted to grab some more of those cheesecake bites before we dipped."

Raph shook his head and smiled.

"Your unbelievable."

[qingxin-dream]

“Whiskey”

summary | he likes this side of you. vulnerable. honest. eager to please. who is he to deny you in your time of need?

warnings | not proofread, profanity, possessive, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader, reader wears a skirt, lots of teasing, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, grinding/panty-fucking, degradation + praise, rough sex, a sprinkle of dacryphilia, creampie

genre | smut (happy valentine’s day❤️‍🔥)

word count | 2k

pairing | wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝓗umans are truly fascinating.

There’s this innate sense of wonder in those reflective violet eyes of his—one which begs to be satisfied. You can tell just by the way he looks at you with an imperceptible quiver of his soft lips that he may be debating on lashing you with another sarcastic remark.

You find yourself more enamored by the possibility the puppet might be persuaded to throw caution into the wind and finally give you that taste of him you’ve been so obviously craving. The slight aroma of whiskey piques his interest further.

After all, alcohol has a tendency to remove a human’s superficial barriers in expressing their true thoughts. Some even claim it to be an aphrodisiac.

Wanderer’s mouth curls up in amusement, enjoying the predicament you have presented before him.

Here you are, his precious little companion who guards her heart with awkward excuses and shy apologies, all tangled up with him against the wall. If you were a bit more sober, he’d delight in your typical reply—a small shriek of embarrassment followed by a deep, pink flush of your whole face.

This time, however, you are the one to plead for his touch.

“Scara… I mean, W-Wanderer,” you whine into his collarbone, beginning to grip his white robe just above his belt. You liked feeling the contours of his body, but not openly. No, you’ve tortured yourself with a game of accidental touches and fleeting brushes of skin. Every time it’s as if you get another piece of the puzzle to his silhouette, sparking your imagination as to what the full picture might look like.

“What? A little alcohol and you can barely call me by my name,” Wanderer muses in a low tone, his hand drifting to the dip of your waist where it perfectly slots into your form. His other hand is presently preoccupied, nearly pinned to the wall behind him and fingers lazily intertwined with yours. “I never cared for titles anyway, but… Master has a nice ring to it.”

“Dick,” you curse instinctively, rolling your eyes. Your displeased scoff trickles over his sensitive collarbone. Out of spite, you seriously consider sinking your teeth into his neck to leave a bruised mark on his pretty skin.

Archons, you don’t even recognize your own impulse anymore.

“Not yet,” he tuts, unable to resist the smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The hand on your waist slips away, taking his warmth with it. Wanderer leans in close enough so your noses are nearly touching, a newfound fire in his eyes. He waits a beat, his words drawn out in a slow, breathy whisper in an attempt to mask his own desperation. “I want you to cum all over my fingers first.”

The puppet’s eyes are trained on you like a predatory hawk, reveling in all the ways your body responds as he hooks his fingers on the hem of your underwear, yanking it down just below your skirt. Before you can protest, his long, slender fingers dipped into your needy hole, dragging your wet slick towards your clit to lubricate your folds for him.

Your knees practically buckle on the spot with a little cry of pleasure and surprise. Blissfully unaware, you whimper and try to lean in further to silently beg for some semblance of affection. Something to keep your mind from reeling like crazy. Even just a kiss will do. As much as you hate him for reading you like a book so often, you couldn’t be more turned on by his willingness to indulge you.

Merely the thought of his cock filling you to the brim has your hole fluttering with anticipation and he’s only touched you once.

“Mm, it’s so good,” you whimper with need, slowly bucking your hips in rhythm with his fingers circling your clit. When you have the strength to open your eyes again, Wanderer is marveling at your delectable expression. Within seconds, he captures your lips in a gentle kiss that burns like a candle—patiently but passionately.

A soft moan escapes you, swallowed eagerly by Wanderer’s tongue slipping into your mouth. He wants to hear it again, though the sound of his fingers in your pussy is a close second. He grunts with a bit of laughter as a particularly delicious thought crosses his mind. The puppet keeps rubbing your puffy clit at a steady pace, occasionally slipping two fingers barely at your entrance.

The instant his fingers teased your core, you melted into him, chasing after that sensation once more. “Oh my god… it’s so fucking hot. Please…”

“Please what, baby?” Wanderer coaxes you with a tender but playful undertone, feigning innocence to your question. He quiets you with a few more decadent kisses, maintaining that pressure-building pleasure concentrated on your clit.

You struggle to maintain what little composure you have left. You’re trying your damnedest to be good for him, but you can’t help the shaky whine purring deep in your throat. It takes you a moment to gather the courage to say it. “F-fuck me. Please.”

“Mhmm,” he moans freely and heavily onto your lips, nodding into another kiss with excitement. The puppet hears you. He knows you are beginning to feel a wave swelling in your lower stomach at his ministrations, ready to crest over in a magnificent release. “But what if I want you to cum all over your panties, hm? I want you to earn it first.”

Wanderer pumps the tips of his fingers into you just to bring you closer to the edge before quickly returning to your overly-sensitive nub. You can’t take it anymore, you’ll do anything to convince him otherwise. Biting your lower lip, you mewl, “Why don’t you cum in them instead? I-I just need to feel you…”

He chuckles lightheartedly at you, finding your desperate state to be cute. The glassy look in your eyes as if you could cry at any moment is the cherry on top. Perhaps he is feeling merciful today. You yelp with surprise when the puppet replaces his index and middle finger with the wet slap of his cock against your pink folds, grinding it between them.

“Fuck, yes,” sighing heavily, you relax against Wanderer, sucking in a breath with each thrust of his tip that reaches your entrance. You’ve completely surrendered to the intoxicating image of his cock pushing into your tight hole, cursing under your breath. All your needy moans are his for the taking, swirling his tongue against yours in a steamy exchange.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, it’s pathetic,” the puppet chuckles, but his words are hardly degrading. Rather, his low baritone is steeped with lust. Without warning, he removes your panties entirely to lift you by your hips, pressing your back flush to the wall and sheathing the leaking tip of his cock inside your warmth repeatedly. “Is this what you wanted? Huh?”

“A-ah!” your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape at your lover’s unexpected but very much welcome intrusion, looking down at how your pussy is taking him in by the inch. There’s already a ring of fluids beginning to gather around his tip. “Yes, mm, please… more. Fuck.”

A snicker resounds from his throat as he slowly sinks himself into you, watching with utter fascination as you struggle to adjust to his girth. Cooing sweet nothings into the shell of your ear, Wanderer shifts so that you’re pressed to the wall entirely by his pelvis. Your spongy walls flutter and throb around his thick length, spurring him to grab your face firmly by the jaw. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Look at you, so pretty for me. Kiss me.”

Little did you know that the sweet relief of his plush lips on yours was but a distraction. While you wrapped your arms around his neck, Wanderer slides his cock out to your wet entrance, fucking just the tip inside you. The moment you began to show signs of protest, he plunged deep into your pussy with an audible smack of skin. You let out a cracked yelp.

“What was that, baby?” he moans into your mouth teasingly, a hand squeezing lightly on your jugular. It was just enough to make you a little dizzy and drunk on his cock. That much was evident as the puppet pulls out for the umpteenth time to overstimulate your hole.

“I-I…” you stutter out breathlessly, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Your mind was empty. Only the tantalizing sensation of his cock dragging against your walls could make your world turn once more.

With a sinister giggle, Wanderer silences with you with another sloppy kiss. When he buries his cock into you abruptly this time, you babble incoherent nonsense about cumming. He takes advantage of it, thrusting his hips at a fast pace and practically fucking you into the wall.

“Yeah? You wanna cum? Fuck… you’re gripping me so tight,” his voice morphs into a hiss as he attempts to delay his own impending orgasm. Your head rolls back in ecstasy, on the brink of release as Wanderer drills your cunt wildly, ripping loud moans from your parched throat.

Just as you were hurtled toward the precipice of your orgasm, Wanderer lifted you off of his cock and the pressure in your stomach dissipated. The emptiness inside your walls was unbearable. Marching into the bedroom, he positions your ass up on the bed and immediately splits your pussy open with his throbbing cock again and again.

“Shit, shit, yes. I fucking love it. I love you so much,” you growl into a pillow raggedly, a dreamy, fucked-out look in your eyes as he pounds into you.

The puppet yanks the pillow out from underneath you, wrapping your hair around his fist so he can make sure you don’t dare stifle your praise and moans from him. “You fucking like that? Being my little cocksleeve, yeah? Lemme hear you say it, baby. Mine… all mine.”

You are completely dazed by Wanderer’s cock fucking you as if he wanted to make a permanent impression of his curve in your soft pussy. He was ready to pump you full of his cum. His fingers tighten on your hair slightly, and you’re reminded that you were given a command. “Mm, mhmm! Y-yours…”

“My what?” he presses further, mesmerized by the ripple of your skin every time he thrusts into you from behind. His hand smacks your ass as a warning.

“Y-your cocksleeve!” you blurt out with tears beginning to pool in the corners of your eyes. The overstimulation at this point is the perfect concoction of pain and pleasure, driving you to the edge. Your eyes start to roll back a little, succumbing to the hypnotic sensation of his veiny cock burying itself in your core.

Wanderer releases your hair, possessively planting his hands over your hips to deepen his thrusts. “And what do good cocksleeves do?”

“T-take… your cum… a-ah, fuck. That’s it. That’s it. I’m gonna cum!” you reply with the last remaining ounce of your willpower. Your entirely body tenses and spasms with pleasure as a litany of profanities and prayers spill from your lips. You’ve never had an orgasm as intense as this, you can’t control your own bodily response.

Wanderer immediately pulls you in, his muscular chest pressed to your back, cooing and shushing you gently as he succumbs to his own orgasm. You can vividly feel his cock pulsating inside your warmth, spurting hot, thick ropes of his seed across your gummy walls. “That’s okay, cum for me, baby. I love you so fucking much, yeah. Shhh…”

The room is filled with heavy breaths and the smell of sex. Your lover’s grip never falters. Instead, the puppet gently kisses the crook between your neck and shoulder.

“I’ll take care of you. I promise. You’re my good girl.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[youuuimeanmee]

ENDOO SHUT THE FUCK UPP

SO U MEAN TO TELL ME

THAT OUR FAN THEORIES

ARE CORRECT.

(endo-san, if you've planned this from the beginning, then a thousand applauds for you for sticking to this plot & foreshadowings for so long. If u were just throwing shit up & rely on fans' theories to see where you're going next, then great job for making it seem so seamless. wtf.)

I still don't buy the "Donovan is an alien" narrative completely; I still think he changed after he secretly volunteered to be a lobotomy experiment subject, to get the superpower he wants to reach a greater understanding in humanity.

Although, if Endo really wish to introduce a terrestial being into this series, then, does that mean Anya's telepathic ability is really born from the lab's experiment? Is she born from the sperm of an alien?? Alien DNA recombination?? Lolol. *edit: this is just me hoping that Anya's telepathic ability was developed in vitro, bc the idea of those mad scientists opening up Anya's skull & cutting up her brain whe she was a baby is just sick beyond belief & i cant accept that.*

I am so so glad to see Fiona in this chapter, trying to extract extra info from Desmond's staff! It really hammers down how incredible this valuable opportunity is for Westalis. Great job Endo-san, for not forgetting to include this 👍

Wait.

Wait a damn minute.

If what Melinda say is true, Donovan can read minds,

Then Donovan must've read Twillight's mind on their first meeting; his fake persona & and Operation Strix have already been busted.

Maybe this is not just a mere illustration inside Twillight's head, maybe this really IS Donovan's reaction when he find out about Operation Strix?? LMAO

Or maybe Donovan can only read minds to a certain extent –not fully like Anya, so maybe he can only get the gist of what people are thinking; so he doesn't know Operation Strix yet, but he knows that Twilight wants to extract some information from him.

(though I wanna add, even if Twillight is from the opposing country, I hope Twillight's sincerity to meet in the middle could reach Donovan too.)

I've known these theories for awhile, but could these be true afterall?? (We're already at this stage, but I still don't wanna assume fanons as canons.)

Then.

IF Damian —at the family dinner— was remembering Anya's confession that she can read minds, and he wished he could read what's on his father's mind too,

Does it mean Anya's telepathic ability is already busted by Donovan?

Is my theory from ch 106 correct afterall???

Oh wAIT.

FUCK I forgot if Donovan read Melinda's mind too, then he must've learned that Melinda has befriended Yor Forger. The mother of Anya Forger. The daughter of Loid Forger.

Combine that information from Melinda and information from Damian that Anya can read minds....

... does it mean Donovan has assumed that Twillight from Westalis is using his telepathic "daughter" as a spy in Eden Academy?

Funny thing is, Twilight himself has no idea about all this implication. He's a million steps away from Donovan.

HAHAHAHHAA

(lol how could I not read this from miles away)

Argh fuck, I'm really worried for Anya now.

This could very well escalate into the "war" of obtaining Anya as an asset. Maybe it'll still be light-hearted, like manipulating Damian's romantic feelings for Anya by inviting her to have dinner together, but still. At first, I thought Donovan might get Anya expelled from school because she's dangerous, but I figure she's just too valuable to be tossed away; it's better to keep her close while extracting info from her as much as he can. Or use her ability to the fullest.

At least Anya is now aware that Donovan has the same ability as her, so at least she can proceed with more caution now.

I hate seeing Anya being the only one aware of the whole situation & she struggles alone to keep it all together — like what she has done all this time. That's why I really want Anya to come clean with Twilight so he can at least get a picture of the whole situation he's facing right now, and protect her properly, but I know it'll massively shift the Forger dynamic we're used to. I have no idea how will Endo handle this development from now on.

Well, that's enough anxiety for tonight.

Stay safe Anya! 🙏🥺🥺🥺

[scruppofficial]

Just an idea that came to me at 4 AM but I actually kinda like it. Should I continue this?

—————

Harry pulls away from the kiss and Draco wastes no time in moving his lips down to brush along the brunette’s jaw, “Dray?” He asks, “How much longer do we have to keep this up?”

“Hmm?” Draco hums in question; his lips tickle against Harry’s skin.

He mouths down Harry’s neck - nipping, sucking and kissing as Harry stutters out, “this whole ~ah~ m-mortal e-enemies charade?” He huffs out a breath as Draco sucks and bites that sweet spot where his neck and shoulder meet. The other boy’s teeth scraping his skin followed by a hot tongue, soothing the sting. Harry’s heart flutters at the thought of seeing Draco’s mark on himself later.

“Ah~ Draco…” He groans, trying to elicit a response from the blonde.

“Shh…”

“But-“

“I said,” Draco pauses to nip the shell of Harry’s ear and Harry shivers, “hush,” and then Draco’s lips are on his again. Obviously unwilling to have any kind of conversation.

He wants to know Draco’s response, he swears he does, but when the man of your dreams is kissing you like his life depends on it while also sliding his hands up your body to hook into your tie… your mind kinda goes blank.

Realistically it’s toxic, it always has been with them, but Harry still wants it. MERLIN does he want it. Anything and everything Draco will give him, and at this moment? With the other boy’s hands now working to undo his cloak? He no longer cares.

Harry - throwing all caution to the wind - deepens the kiss and without breaking away, grabs the blonde’s thighs to hoist him up onto the desk. He slots himself in between Draco’s legs to press closer into his heat. This is all so wrong, but it feels so, so right.

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 10: College!Matt

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: College!Matt (✨)

Summary: On a cold night in his dorm room, Matt decides to try and warm you up. With his fingers.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), fingering, college!Matt, Foggy gets traumatized, use of "good girl"

Word Count: 1.7k

A/n: (I’m sorry for posting this a day late.) I’m obsessed with this guy's fingers, can you tell? Something about a rainy day with college!Matt while he takes care of Reader just... does something to me.

Read Me On AO3!

Rain falls over the grounds of Columbia University, pattering against the window of Matt’s dorm room. You’re tucked neatly under the big throw blanket you knitted for him last winter, but it’s his body truly keeping you warm as Toy Story plays on your old laptop.

You met him in your Criminal Law class one semester ago. Most of the time, he would come in, sit in the row before you, open his Braille textbook, and listen silently for the rest of the lecture. You were the only person he talked to, the only person he made an effort to pay attention to. At first, you thought he had merely taken pity on you, but the more time passed, the more you started to enjoy his presence. 

It was he who asked you to dinner first; he didn’t take you out to a fancy restaurant because, after all, you were both broke college students who couldn’t afford it, but he ordered pizza, and you spent most of the night curled up on a blanket under a sky full of stars as you painted a picture of the constellations for him. He told you about his father, the accident that blinded him, and why he chose to become a lawyer. He told you about his roommate, too, and how Foggy had become his best friend he wouldn’t trade for the world. You saw all of him that night. He was no longer just the mysterious nerd from your Criminal Law class, he was the man you were falling in love with. 

The silence between you is interrupted by a rumble of thunder. You inch closer to him, seeking comfort with your head on his chest. It is an utterly ugly fall night.

“You’re not watching the movie,” Matt observes. His fingers travel from the nape of your neck down your spine. “You okay?”

You hum. “I’m just cold.”

“Yeah? Want me to warm you up?”

A shiver runs down your spine.

“Hm?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I… I’d like that.” 

He makes you feel like a teenager. Like you’ve never really known what love is until he came along, and maybe you haven’t. 

Lightning strikes and streams into the room, illuminating his face in a white, hot glow. 

Matt rolls you under him. He’s warm against your skin. His fingers move carefully over your clothed stomach to your hip, pulling you just a little closer, and then, he kisses you. Slowly, carefully, almost hesitantly. He moves against you with utmost caution—he always does. 

He kisses you like you are a fragile porcelain doll, at first, at least. He waits for that hitch in your breath, the little jump of your heart that gives away how badly you need him before he allows himself to kiss you deeper. You taste like Chamomille tea and Chinese takeout, and a little like him.

His hand slides under the waistband of your shorts. He doesn’t dare pull the blanket away, doesn’t dare to undress you; he caresses you with the warmest of hands, kisses you with the warmest of lips, and the world just falls away.

Matt cups your pussy through your underwear. You gasp at the contact, gentle and tentative as ever. Just feeling you. 

“This okay?” he asks.

Your hand comes to rest over his. “Yes,” you breathe.

He traces a line over your clothed clit, over your folds. You shiver, but the cold has little to do with it. The room is so much hotter than it was a moment ago. The rain has disappeared into a haze of labored breathing and the steady beating of his heart against yours.

You look at him. You look into his eyes, the way he’s taking you in with every stroke of his fingers. He’s focused on you and you alone, your body a temple he needs to worship. If your skin didn’t resemble a block of ice he would get on his knees and feast on you until your legs were shaking around his head, but it’s too cold. You are too cold.

Your pulse jumps under his lips, trailing a path down your neck. “You smell good,” he whispers. 

“You feel good,” you whisper back.

A chuckle breaks from his chest. He moves the fabric of your panties aside and slowly but gradually runs a finger through your folds. 

Your hips jerk off the mattress toward his, feeling the rock-hard length of his cock pressing against your stomach. The moan gets stuck in your throat. You may be alone, but there is something incredibly intimate about being with someone who can hear and feel everything. 

“Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna hear you.”

He knows. He always knows. You can bury your face in his neck all you want; in the end, Matt always gets what he wants.

His middle finger travels from your aching entrance to your clit. The pleasure digs its nails into your belly, tying your nerves into a knot and setting fire to it—like a bomb waiting to explode.

You moan into his neck. 

“Good girl.” He circles the sensitive bundle of nerves. “So good.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair for something to hold on to. He circles, and he rubs, and he circles your clit some more. One finger turns to two. He cups your pussy, almost caressing it with how gently he’s driving you to the brink of insanity. How badly he wants to just sink into you and fuck you into the mattress until the old wood of his dorm bed breaks, but he’s content like this. Touching you, feeling you, making you come. 

He dips one digit into you. When you moan again, louder this time, he takes that as his cue to go ahead. 

Matt is only discovering you anew every time he touches you.

He sinks his finger deeper into you, feeling your walls clenching around him. “So wet,” he purrs. “Does that feel good?” Just as the words leave him, he curls his finger just so. He finds the spot that makes your toes curl with complete and utter ease; your entire body begins to buzz with electricity. 

“Fuck. Yes.” Your nails dig into his scalp. “Don’t stop. Please,” you beg.

Matt slides another finger into your tight cunt, relishing in the noises you’re making. He places his nose against your throat, against your pulse point. Your heart is beating so fast, and it’s all because of him. 

No other man has ever touched you like this.

No other man has ever made you feel like this.

And no other man has ever known you quite like he does. 

Sweat drips down your back under your thick wool sweater. Thunder and lightning take their turns shaking New York, but the only storm you can focus on is the one raging in your core. 

Matt thrusts his fingers in and out of you. He strokes your walls, strokes the fire in your belly. His thumb presses down on your clit. Right there. He plays you like an instrument.

“C’mon. You’re so close,” he says. He feels it in the way you clench around him, hears it in the way you’re thrashing and moaning and crying out for him, and he smells it. He smells it all over and inside of you.

The knot tightens. Your legs shut around his hand, though he doesn’t stop you. He wants you to get there—needs you to.

He kisses you. He kisses your neck, your collarbone, then back to your lips again. Tongues tangle and teeth clash. You are so close, indeed.

“Gonna come,” you confess. 

Matt smirks. “I know.” 

“Please, Matty.”

“I know, sweetie.” He finds that spot again, and again, and again. “Come for me. I’ve got you.”

You surrender yourself to the pleasure as the fire reaches its fever pitch, and the bomb explodes. His name is a faint cry on your lips in the empty darkness of his dorm. 

Matt works you through it, your toes curling and uncurling against the silk sheets underneath you. He listens to every last twitch of your muscles until finally, you slump and relax against him. 

“Hi.” Your eyes flutter open. He smiles. “Still cold?” he asks.

“I’m sweating,” you say.

He chuckles. “Yeah, you are.”

You meet his eyes. Your heart jumps another beat. And another.

“I love you, you know that?” He nudges your nose with his. “I love you.” 

You open your mouth to answer. You want to kiss him. You want to make love to him. You want to finish college and find a nice apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen, and one day maybe marry him. Because you love him, too. 

But you get none of that out. The words are there, but before you can utter those three words back to him, the door bursts open, and a very drunk Foggy stumbles into the room. 

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” he roars. “The prodigal son returns!”

Matt pulls the blanket up to your chin. “Foggy!” he snaps.

He was supposed to be out all night.

He stands in the doorway for a moment, a bottle of tequila in his hand, and he looks between you with a frown on his face.

“Okay, I feel like I’m interrupting something,” he realizes.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh while Matt’s cheeks have turned red enough to rival a field of tomatoes. 

“Oh!” Foggy’s eyes widen. “Am I interrupting sex?” 

“Dude!” Matt reaches for a pillow. “Get out!” And he tosses it in his direction. 

Much to your surprise, it lands directly in his face. 

“First of all, ow! Second of all, how? And third of all,” he says, “Use protection. I’m out.”

The door falls shut as fast as it opened. 

“Sex rocks!”

You can’t hold it in anymore; you start laughing, burying your face in his chest. His entire body is hot with embarrassment. It’s cute, in a way.

“Jesus,” he says. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head. “It’s fine. It’s… I love him.”

“You love him?” 

“And I love you,” you say, rolling over and on top of him. “I love you, Matt Murdock.”

He smirks. “That’s better.”

“Shut up.”

He giggles, but your lips cut him off. 

You love him, and you’d be damned if you didn’t make use of your alone time before Foggy comes back.

Again.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama@bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[sky-is-the-limit]

Part 2: explicit version of Captain Price and Commander Graves fighting for your affections, only this time they came to an agreement to please all parties involved, especially you.

Though with two possesive men lusting after you, it's unlikely for said agreement to last..

CW: NSFW content, Afab reader, explicit language, possessiveness, jealousy, angry sex, oral sex.

Part 1 here.

Song recommendation

Notes: I'm not a writer! These two make me absolutely insane.

Both of them being so entirely different from one another was what made it so difficult for you to direct your desire to solely one.

Price was your Captain, he knew you through and through, your feelings and thoughts were his top priority, his lust was accompanied by his heart and genuine infatuation.

Graves, on the other hand, was a wildfire. Burning everything in his way just to get his hands on you, no matter the consequences.

➳ Graves would be the first to come to you after the agreement, ignoring Price's request to talk to you first as to have a more discreet discussion. His eagerness wouldn't even let him explain things properly, only muttering a

"Fine, you want us both? You'll have us both." Before smashing his lips onto yours with such force that would make you hit your back against the wall. His hands would be everywhere, roaming from your thighs to your breasts like a starved man.

"My greedy, little slut. Let's see if you can take what you've been asking for." And so with one swift move, you'd find yourself chest pressed against the wall, his erection readily felt between the globes of your ass and through the thick layer of his jeans, making you quiver instinctively.

➳ Price would approach you with caution, explaining to you that you wouldn't have to do this. You wouldn't have to risk the strong bond the two of you have for this. His wariness would wash away the second he'd see the hickeys trailing from your pulse to your neckline. You'd have never seen such a shade of possessiveness colour someone's eyes so dark.

"He did this? Come here." He would pull you on his lap, straddling his muscular thighs as his hand would wrap around your throat, leaving sloppy kisses all over it.

"Remember that you are mine first, Y/N." The heat of Price's clothed cock would be getting even more intense, pressed against your throbbing core, leaking, rubbing insistently with every torturous roll of your hips against him, his tone ouzing of authority and dominance.

➳ Graves would throw snickered remarks at Price with every given chance, especially if your Captain would catch him coming out of your room at the temporary base.

"I don't think she'll be able to take more tonight, Price. I've tired her out enough."

➳ Price would try his hardest not to visit you after Graves, taking your wellbeing into account. That would last minutes until the realisation that you'd go to sleep with his scent all over you and he'd find himself knocking on your door late at night to cleanse that asshole out of your system.

➳ Graves' favourite position would be anything in front of a mirror. Cowgirl, doggystyle, you name it. It wouldn't take long for you to realise that this man gets off of degrading and corrupting you to the core.

What better way to do it than having you stare at your own reflection, mascara running down your face as he'd pound into you merciless, one hand wrapped around your neck and jaw to keep you from darting your gaze elsewhere and the other either fondling your breasts or your clit like a madman.

"What would your Captain say if he saw you like this, hm? If he saw me fucking you the way you deserve to be fucked. Bet he never gets to have you like this. Such a good little whore for me." His mouth would be pure filth against the shell of your ear, every word spitted out with a rough thrust and the promise of many red marks on your rear and thighs.

➳ Price's favourite position would be missionary, classic, and powerful, just like him. He'd wrap your legs around his torso in order to fuck into you as deep as he could, so you'd feel every inch of him filling you up as his hands would hold yours firmly against the mattress.

"Keep looking at me doll, fuck, you take me so well." His grunts and gravelly timbre would be enough to send you over the edge, his lips everywhere on your face.

He would bring your own fingers to your mouth to have you suck on them while maintaining eye contact before instructing you to rub your clit so he'd have the freedom of his hands to cup your breasts and massage your nipples, pinching them and fondling them to have you see stars.

"You're being so good for me. That's my girl." His intensity and desire to claim you would spar out of control towards the end, his arms would grab onto the headboard, banging it hard against the wall as to burry himself even deeper, his thrust picking up the pace to send you into a euphoric trance.

➳ If Graves felt jealousy taking over him whenever another man would be near you before, nothing would compare to the anger clouding his mind after getting to taste you. He would give his Shadows 'the talk'.

"Don't talk to her, I don't even want your fucking eyes lingering on her for more than a second." Having to share you with Price would be so torturing for his ego that would make him paranoid. Even your fellow 141 members would have the privilege of earning quite a few death stares for interacting with you. He wouldn't dare to voice it to them though.

➳ Price would feel his heart ache whenever he'd see you laugh with Graves. Sex was a natural need, an action that would end the second he'd walk out the door, but the thought of you developing feelings for the other man? That would push him over the edge.

"Back to your Shadows, Graves." The way he would speak to the arrogant Commander would make you think that he'd be about to commit murder and you'd be a liar if you were to say that you didn't like your Captain claiming you in such manner.

Of course Graves would ignore him, sending him a look of pure intent as he'd put a hand on your shoulder without breaking eye contact.

"Get back to your fucking team, Commander or I swear to God, I'll send you there face first." His body would conceal yours behind him, showing the other man where your place was before watching Graves roll his eyes and take a few steps back to take another look at you "I'll see you later, sweetheart."

He wouldn't see you though because when he'd try to enter your room later that night, the door would be locked and your obscene whimpers so vocal behind it like they were meant for anyone close by to hear.

"Say it. Tell me who you belong to, soldier." Price would let his title take over, his possessiveness leading you face down on the pillow, fingers firmly tangled with your hair before tugging your entire body upwards like you weighted nothing to press your back against his chest.

"I'm yours, Captain." He'd have you say it again, and again.

➳ Ah, Graves and his tremendous ego. How dare he leave marks on your soft skin? Only your Commander gets to do that. Of course he'd be under the impression that Price would never give it to you the way you wanted, his arrogance would be cut short the minute he saw handprints on your hips.

"My good mood is ruined now, Y/N. You have to make it up to me, don't you think?" He'd mutter the words with venom, undoing his belt with one hand and his gaze never leaving yours.

"On your knees. Now." His demeanour would be intimidating, cold like you were only meant to be used and solely by him. He'd use his belt to restraint your wrists behind your back as your knees hit the cold floor before sliding down what was concealing his erected length that was now only inches away from your mouth.

"Let's see how well you can use that mouth of yours." With your hands behind your back, your body would start to tremble as you'd try your best to fit every inch of naked skin in your mouth, tears coating your cheek to the sensation of him hitting the back of your throat.

"God, you look so pathetic like that, baby. So desperate to take all of me." He'd tug on your hair, his grip firm as to not let you slip him out of the warmth of your mouth, slowly fucking into it with his blue eyes piercing into yours.

➳ Price, on the other hand, would set you down on his wooden desk right in front of him, panties long forgotten on the floor as his grip would tighten on your thighs to keep them open. He would take a few seconds to take in the sight, your soaked cunt wetting up even more by the second, leading your slick to coat your folds so mouthwatering and all for him to taste.

"Use your words, doll. Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you." He wouldn't move an inch unless you'd describe to him exactly where you wanted him, hearing all those improper words coming out of your beautiful mouth would fuel his desire even more, lapping onto your clit the same way he'd kiss you, intensely, so you'd feel all the fire burning him alive for you.

"Don't hold back, love, let me hear every fucking sound." His long girthy fingers would fuck into you slowly, agonizing, matching the pace of his tongue flickering every inch of you and the way his beard would graze against your skin, would promise you feeling his touch for days afterwards.

➳ Graves would soon regret this proposition when he'd walk in the armory to find you on Price's lap, sliding up and down his cock torturously slow, your Captain's hands gripping on your hips to guide you on his length in a pace that would allow you to feel every inch of him inside.

The sight would pull him to walk further inside, making his presence clear by clearing his throat and leaning against the wall opposite of you.

"Don't mind me here, I'll take over once Captain here manages finish the job." His tone would be challenging, disrespectful towards the older man fucking into you so intimately. You'd think that Price would take you elsewhere to continue, but no. The second Graves' insulting tone would register in his brain, he'd go feral.

"Suit yourself, Commander." He'd spit out the other man's title like he was talking to a nobody, focusing on slamming your skin down on his length repeatedly as his lips would find occupation on your breasts, sucking the skin to leave purple shaded marks.

Your obscene moans filling the room with Price's name falling out of your lips like desperate calls for salvation would be enough indication that he was managing you just fine. Not to Graves, though, who would be fuming like a volcano about to erupt.

After you'd come down from the overwhelming high and ecstacy John put you through, Graves would walk over to you shamelessly. He'd help you to stand up from the cold bench to your feet, only to swiftly scoop you up so he'd wrap your legs around him and press you up against the nearest wall.

"Now watch here, Price. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two."

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝟓

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: You and Soldier Boy want to create a family and move on from everything, even the Vought, but you also know that he has to face Homelander one last time to keep his vow to Butcher. However, nothing turns out as you had hoped.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, memory loss, Soldier Boy gets hurt, reader gets hurt, language

Word Count: 6025

A/N: English is not my first language.

Soldier Boy promised to help you remember him, so you and him took your time in the room for some time more, and you thought twice about what to do next. The most powerful Supe would never lie to you about you having a relationship with him in the past; it would be absurd. He had no reason for lying to an ordinary person. Still, you were afraid he might use you to track Butcher and the others. Even so, you had to proceed with caution. 

You politely interrupted him to not ruin the mood by saying, “Don't get mad, but I still need to talk to Butcher first and ask him about... us and learn why he wouldn't tell me about you.”

His hands immediately left your face after you had said Butcher a hundred times, and you carried on speaking until he said something offensive: “I know you hate them, and it's them who betrayed you. At least that's what you're telling me, but I must listen to him as well. You have to realize that I'm confused and frightened, and he's the only person I can remember.”

He looked around the room, irritated that you remembered Butcher but not him, despite the fact that you shared a lot with him. You placed your hands on the hard, cold material on his chest, on the star symbol, to show him that you weren't too distant or that you weren't pushing him away from you straight away. You waited patiently for his response. Without a doubt, Ben was more significant and unique than Butcher and everyone else to him, and he tried not to get angry. 

With a cold voice and an irritated expression on his face, Soldier Boy remarked, “I can't believe you actually remember that pussy, but not me. I don't like how your brain works at that point.”

“I'm trying so hard to remember you, or at least a little something about you, but I'm just not successful. It's not that I forgot everything on purpose,” you whispered, feeling a little guilty about the idea that you might, your old self, actually love him if what he said was true. 

On the other hand, you had no feelings of love or affection for Soldier Boy. In reality, though, you were scared because he appeared to be unpredictable and cruel. Even if you lost all memory of him, wouldn't you still love him? When you were having memory loss, you had no idea how the brain functions, but that's what you felt at the time. 

Rapidly, “I know, I know,” Soldier Boy replied. “I'm not angry with you or putting blame on you. However, that son of a bitch needs to pay for what he did to you, including throwing your body against the table, hitting your head, and not telling you about me. He crossed the line.”

You added, “He must have a reason, and I really need to talk to him. I just need to hear it from him too,” feeling concerned at the way Soldier Boy discussed the past as though Butcher was the evil guy. Still, you didn't find anything you said to be slightly reasonable. Instead of keeping what happened to you a secret from you, he could have told you that both you and Soldier Boy had a past and given you the explanation you deserved. 

“Don't you trust me?” He was annoyed that you would continue to stand up for Butcher in the face of him. 

“To be honest, I don't trust you, but please don't get upset with me.” You whispered, “You know I have no memory about you, and I need you to understand me,” and he gave you a hurt look. You tried to smile at him and said, “But I think you'd already killed me the moment you found me in this room if I was a total stranger to you,” as guilt filled your heart. “That must mean something, right?”

With a surprised low laugh and a nod, Soldier Boy said, “You're a smartass, aren't you?”

Uncontrollably, his smile made you feel a little more at ease, and you exhaled a sigh of relief that he wasn't being aggressive anymore. 

“So, talking about trust issues,” he added, arching an eyebrow. “I guess you don't want to go back to them since there is a high possibility that I would follow you and find your precious pussy friends, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, not wanting to risk the lives of others or anything because Soldier Boy was too determined to kill them. “In this case, I think I better call Butcher and talk to him through the phone.”

He nodded, “Very well,” relieved that you were no longer so keen to return to the traitors. It was certainly because he had threatened to murder them, but which reason wasn't important at the time. When you were so confused and bewildered, he would never allow you to return to them. You were obviously brainwashed by Butcher. 

You looked around and said, “Okay, I'll call him, but you can get me out of here first?”  as he waited patiently for you to call them. “You know, there are other politicians and supes.”

“Yeah, it's better we get the fuck out of here now,” he said with irritation. “I hate discussing politics anyway. Personal matters should come first, right?” Soldier Boy said, giving you a wink and picking up the gun off the table and putting on his suit again.

You nodded to him and adjusted your jeans. You flushed under his focused gaze, remembering how he had torn off your panties simply to spill himself on moments before. It was as though his gaze were stripping you. As he found out about your memory loss and that you didn't require intimacy, you hoped he wouldn't try to touch you again. After all, you had given him what he desired from you—that is, protection from harm. Nothing more. 

As he observed you adjusting your t-shirt and hair while blushing, Soldier Boy added in a hard, serious voice, “By the way, we'll talk about your that hand job later.”

You simply looked at him with a flushed face, not answering him. 

“Let's just leave without paying any attention to this house. Stay cool.” He heard your heart race and raised an eyebrow as if to warn you, saying, “I'll be following you.”

One of the politicians commented, “Ah, he's finally back,” as he sipped his drink and waived his hand to Soldier Boy as you walked by his side during your exit from the room. 

“It's unfortunate that I have to leave now, gentleman. There is so much to do,” said Soldier Boy, putting a slight grin on his face and placing a small hand on your back. “Homelander will be available shortly, and he'll be the one to talk to you about details.”

You exhaled a relieved sigh, and politicians didn't even look at you as if you didn't exist. You would have assumed that they were already enjoying themselves without Soldier Boy because they were eating anything the waiters brought. 

“Homelander just told me that we would be talking to you too,” one of them remarked. “The public is still worried about you returning given what you did in New York. Things are difficult to restore, especially when it comes to trust.”

“Trust is overrated; it's simply built on perfect lies. Also, who the hell cares about the public? I thought you were more experienced and smarter than this. Through the media and a well-written dumb speech, it's simple to dominate their thoughts.” Soldier Boy spoke harshly, “You already know that they are unable to view the bigger picture properly in their own narrow worlds. What's important is to find who's responsible for planning assassination against the vice president, find those terrorists Butcher and his useless team, and prove that the CIA is behind all of the shit.”

“And,” Soldier Boy said in an authoritative tone as one of the politicians opened his mouth to speak. “It will be exposed that the CIA was responsible for my forty years of fucking torture in Russia. The public will discover the truth in this way, and they will once more support their one true supe. That's how we rescue our nation from the trash that's been dumped on it. Are we clear about this?”

After a brief glance around, you noticed that The Deep and Black Noir were eating and conversing as though they were starving. You thought about if it would be simple to shoot Noir without drawing notice, and you still had your gun with you. Well, you have to do this anyhow. It was likely that by keeping Soldier Boy a secret from you, Butcher had actually betrayed you. But it wasn't like you were prepared to abandon them and simply join Homelander and Soldier Boy on their own wicked team. Not fucking way.

You have to use the virus on a strong person quickly enough to start developing it. But first, you had to take care of your own issue. 

One of them said, “But..”

“No buts, no deals, no mercy,” Soldier Boy interrupted him right away. “Homelander will handle the majority of the problem on his own. With the exception of the CIA and their pawns, of course, neither Vought nor I want to see bloodshed, but it's best to bring things under control as soon as possible. Remember that President, Vought, and Homelander are trusted by the public. It's best if you give it your all. Consider this a recommendation or warning—I don't give a damn. However, be aware that the president will always back us. I mean, I'll be giving my best for my beloved nation, isn't that right?” Soldier Boy patted the politician's shoulder as he spoke, who was trying to get free of Soldier Boy's cruel and tight hold on him while clearing his throat nerveously.

“Yes, without a doubt, we are going to help you fix your public image. It is quite unfortunate that you are one of the victims of the CIA. It's simple to mislead the public about your intentions by the media,” remarked the other politician, who was casually sipping his whiskey and acting as though Soldier Boy hadn't just threatened them. “We are all in the same ship.”

Soldier Boy grinned broadly and added, “Vey good,” patting the politician's shoulder once more before he stepped back, clearly indicating he wasn't willing to spend time talking for hours. “I guess we are done here.”

Calling out to Black Noir and The Deep, Soldier Boy surveyed his surroundings. You stepped back and briefly locked eyes with Soldier Boy. When he saw that you were becoming anxious, his gaze softened, but he remained silent and did not move.

Squeezing Black Noir's shoulder firmly, Soldier Boy remarked, “The Deep and Black Noir, my old loyal friend from the Seven, will be discussing details.”

You were startled and alarmed when The Deep briefly locked eyes with you, but you ignored him and walked carefully toward the door, knowing that Soldier Boy was almost done with them. You were relieved that no one paid you any attention or questioned you. All of them showed interest in chatting with Soldier Boy.

“Are you okay?” whispered Soldier Boy as you waited for him outside, and you shivered when you felt his hand on your back.

You lied, “Yeah, sure,” and he instantly withdrew his hands.

It irritated him that you had become such a liar. “You must know that my Supe hearing can detect when you are lying to me,” he stated. You used to be different from this, and you always told him the truth about everything. particularly in regards to your current state of mind.

Even though you were the same person, it was difficult to accept that you had changed somewhat. But something has changed about you, and that's when Ben started to get upset. He had best to do anything needed to make you remember everything.

He shot you a cold look, and you said, “What will you do if I say, 'No, I'm not feeling good'?”

“At least I'd know you are being honest.”

With a quick smile, you said, “Well, remember that I don't even know you,” as if it didn't matter what you might have shared in the past.

Soldier Boy gave you a grumpy and unhappy look before gently pushing you to the car. After you left the supe-filled house, there was silence between you in the car.

Thinking about how he talked to the politicians, you felt uneasy and disturbed. You couldn't stop thinking about what kind of person you were and loved Soldier Boy if he was right about you being something months ago.

“What's happening in your head right now?” Soldier Boy finally asked you after giving you a look while you were driving. as if he were whispering.

This time, you said honestly, saying, “I was thinking about the way you talked to the politicians,” unwilling to ignore it and feeling a little more brave around him because he didn't appear to be a threat to you.

“And?”

You shifted in your seat, and you managed to ask, “Is it true that you are going to really team up with Homelander?” after giving it some thought.

Since he had a personal issue with Butcher and the others and was now filled with a desire for vengeance, you could try to understand him about them. However, it didn't seem proper to team up with the worst Supe alive and carry on doing out vile acts for evil people on behalf of evil people in positions of power. All it was was modern-day slavery.

“Are you having a problem with that?”

You shook in your seat at that moment, unable to speak for a long time due to the extreme coldness of his voice.

“Of course!” you replied, raising your voice slightly as if his question were the most ridiculous thing ever. Your former self could not possibly approve of the way he handled the Vought and Homelander crises. “What makes you even want to work with him? Even though he is biologically your son, he is still cruel and vile, just another Vought toy.”

“What do you expect me to do?” He raised his voice a bit as well, unhappy about how your voice sounded critical and icy toward him.

“Well, you don't have to allow people to take advantage of your strength simply because you hate Butcher and the others. If Butcher truly betrayed you like you told me, anyone could do so at any time; Homelander, politicians, and Vought included especially.”

“Even you?” he asked quietly, seemingly interested in finding out what you thought of him.

You were about to say yes, but you kept your mouth quiet out of fear for his reaction. Ben sighed, disturbed by your overly cautious and controlled acts next to him, as he realized that. It was as though you had truly vanished, as though he was speaking to someone else. He sensed then that even though you were with him at that same moment, by his side, he was still missing you. You were just with him physically. He realized then that he had to find you again and help you remember what you had. It nearly disturbed him to have that cautious, angry woman without memory by his side. He felt guilt filling his heart when he gave you an odd look. He had to be more understanding and soft toward you and not let his hatred for Butcher take over.

Soldier Boy simply said, “Things changed. You must choose a side no matter what time. Despite knowing that Homelander was actually my son, I had Butcher swear to murder Homelander. I was prepared to murder him until Butcher attacked me.”

You firmly stated, “He would never stop anyone from killing Homelander,” knowing full well that Butcher despised Homelander.

“It appears that you either don't recall everything about him or don't know everything about him. Do you even recall that Homelander's wife had a son?”

You exclaimed, “What?” in shock, thinking he was going to lie to you.

“Go ahead, give him a call, and ask about Ryan, his wife's son,” Soldier Boy added, flashing you a cunning smile.

“It seems like he didn't tell you.” Not surprised that Butcher was taking rather too long to tell you the truth about what actually took place, Soldier Boy asked with a slight smile. “And you still trust him, but not me.”

You kept calling Butcher every single time, and you said, “He's not answering my calls,” in a hurt voice. You had the option to call the others as well, but at that moment, all you wanted and needed was to talk to Butcher, and his lack of response was leading you to believe that Soldier Boy had been telling you the whole truth.

With a heavy heart, you placed your phone in your pocket and showed him how weak you were by holding yourself back from crying suddenly with your hands by your sides. When you were with Soldier Boy, you had no idea what kind of person he was, but you didn't want him to see you were that vulnerable, at least.

Butcher's betrayal was not quite as heavy as Kimiko's. When she knew you weren't even a Supe, why would she even leave you with Soldier Boy? If he had believed that you had deceived him as well, he might have hurt you. You believed that you had become friends with her. She must have known you for a very long period as well. The realization that she had been lying to you hit you even harder.

Confidently,  “Of course he won't answer,” remarked Soldier Boy. “He must be planning what to say to you and how to tell fresh lies to deceive you, leaving you even more confused.”

“He doesn't need to take any action in this case.” You said in a sour voice, “I don't think you're a good person at all after hearing you there and listening to the way you talked to those people.” You could not possibly just accept him collaborating with Homelander.

He gave you a tender glance and stated, “You love me,” without even trying to understand what you were trying to convey. “You, Butcher, and everyone else are aware of that. When you remember about us, we can have a proper conversation, alright?”

Ben was just bothered by the weight on his chest, which gave him the impression that you were a shapeshifter even if you weren't. Even though he was in love with you, he couldn't shake the unpleasant feeling that was eating him alive. It felt like he was trying reaching out to the real you that was hidden inside your body when he tried to speak with you. It was hard with your aloof,

nervous, and icy gaze. It was always easy to persuade him because of your understanding and kind tone, even when you two had previously had some disagreements. But now everything was different.

Saying with a sigh, “I don't know what kind of person I was before my memory loss, but I'm positive that I don't, and I can't be with you. I don't know if I'll be able to retrieve my memory, but if not, my feelings for you won't change. You are cruel.”

You were about to add something, but, “That's not what you really think of me,” he cut you off. “Let's simply spend the night somewhere tonight and talk to the greatest doctors who can help you tomorrow in the morning. We both need some rest. We'll get through this,” Soldier Boy assured you, quickly putting your hand in your lap and giving it a gentle squeeze to demonstrate his patience and sympathy.

With a strange expression on your face, you questioned, “What if I don't?” as your thumb lightly brushed across the surface of his hand. “What if I never remember anything about myself, you, or us despite all effort, even if the doctors and I do our best?”

“I gave you my promise,” he murmured, trying to show confidence and self-assurance as if there was no other option. “All you need is the best medical and psychological care possible. I'm everything you need. Not with Butcher's lies, nor any other person's. Me alone.”

You wanted to believe him at that vulnerable time, even though you could never be certain of the kind of person he genuinely was with you in the past. You wanted to think that he loved you more than anyone else. Looking at his powerful hands, which might have killed you in an instant, you held back your smile, seeing those hands were holding yours gently. You couldn't stop thinking about giving it a shot, but you didn't want to be too close or too far away from him. Given how simple it was for him to swap sides, he was obviously a cruel Supe, similar to Homelander, but perhaps you could change things.

“Since you were unfamiliar with me an hour earlier,” he added, changing the topic. “Why were you alone yourself on the third floor? You were there because Butcher assigned you another foolish and risky mission? Sending you there as if you were some prey?”

You lowered your gaze to the point where your hands touched and said, “You already know the answer,” as he looked at you.

“He's too fucking brilliant or too stupid to send you to me. I have to admit you had me distracted. If he had another plan in his stupid head by sending you to distract me, he is most likely successful.”

You said, “Butcher actually had no idea you were going to be there.”

“So you're saying I was lucky to find you, huh?” Soldier Boy winked at you and continued driving, barely checking at the road. You were afraid of him because of how careless he drove. He wouldn't die in a car crash, but you most certainly would. “I must confess that I was able to recognize your voice from the one noise you made up there. I suppose my supersensitive hearing was overly sensitive to you these days.”

He asked again, curious, when you failed to respond, “Why were you there? What would you do with that adorable little gun of yours that's still attached to your adorable pants?”

You instantly replied, straightening your t-shirt and widening your eyes. “Nothing!”

“Don't get excited; you can keep that useless gun with you, baby, if it will make you feel better,” he remarked simply, becoming annoyed when you immediately withdrew your hands from him.

“It's just a gun, nothing more.”

You attempted to sound calm and collected, but you were sweating and your heart was racing, so he could know you were lying to him again. Surprisingly, though, he remained silent and didn't make you tell him the details—for which you were grateful.

“Okay, keep that tiny, adorable toy if it makes you feel more secure. For the record, I can defend you more effectively than anyone, but I must warn you that hiring a Supe to keep you safe from criminals is incredibly pricey.”

This time, when he smirked and spoke to you in a lighthearted way, you couldn't stop giggling.

You laughed in response to his amusement, saying, “I need to think about this.”

“By the way, why in the world did you give me a hand job there while you really didn't even know who I was?”

Attempting to act cool, you crossed your arms over your chest when Soldier Boy brought up the intimate subject between you, drawing your hands to yourself and making a flushed face. This time, his tone was a little more stern and cold instead of playful.

“You made an attempt to take me there. It appeared to be an escape route.” You defended yourself. You were certain that your face blushed crimson.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed in annoyance. “Of course I wouldn't force myself on you if you simply said 'no' and explained your situation to me.”

“How on earth could I be knowledgeable about that? I was frightened when a supe tried to take me on a table since you seemed so determined to take anything you wanted there.” You raised your voice to try to win him over. You weren't even brave enough to act reasonably there.

“What if someone else was attempting to... and it wasn't me? Fuck. I'd rather not even think about it. Now that you are sitting in your seat without your underwear, look what happened. I must admit, though, that I really enjoyed your little handiwork.”

Soldier Boy must have seen your heart racing uncontrollably again, because he said these things to either make you feel shy or excited.

You asked abruptly, hoping to annoy him with a hint of harshness mixed with curiosity, “And how on earth you couldn't tell I was lying if your supe hearing is too sensitive when I said I missed you too, because I was definitely lying?”

He added in a sour voice, “I was too fucking horny to focus if your heart beat was racing because of excitement or lying, sweetheart,” dismissing the fact that you had lied to him about missing him and ignoring the burise on his pride. “Who knows? Maybe both.”

You felt guilty as you noticed the lighthearted tone in his voice fade into a sort of sorrowful glimpse. He was aware that you were going through memory loss and that you weren't truly missing him or anything. It wasn't your fault, of course, but since he was your former personality's boyfriend and not your own, you wanted to cheer him up right now even if you didn't know how. It was hard to believe that you were the same real person as before, but you had the impression that your memories of him were more important to him than you were.

You whispered to him, observing his expression. “But if I were the same person as I was months before, I'm certain I would miss you. Of course, that is, if we were a real thing.”

When Soldier Boy saw that you were trying your hardest to cheer him up, he lit up with you a tiny smile to let you know he appreciated it. Your genuine behavior, sensitivity, and compassion were still present, at least.

He said, “It's okay,” with such firmness that you remained silent until you got there. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

You were unaware that he had been holding your hand the entire time.

When you realized that they had decided to stay in the house that Butcher had brought you to a few days prior, you asked in a hushed voice, “Why?” in shock. It was the home you most likely spent several months living in.

You knew that Butcher had told you to leave when he found out Soldier Boy was free since Soldier Boy had also must have lived in this house for a while.

“I promised to help you to recover.” He whispered, “We have to start somewhere,” and quietly closed the door while urging you inside. “This seems like a good place to start. It is too full with memories for us.”

You said, “Butcher told us to leave this home as soon as he knew you were free,” obviously not wanting to reveal too much.

“I thought so,” Soldier Boy agreed, unable to stop thinking about Butcher's cunning ways and how he did everything in his power to keep you away from him, and he angrily remarked, “He balls are not big enough to confront me.” You could never be taken from him. No fucking way.

You inquired, “Do we have good memories in here?” not knowing if he would be completely honest with you.

“Both good and bad. It took us a while to really start a relationship,” Ben said, remembering the unpleasant moments when he was being mean to you, and you found it simple to tell him how you felt, but he wasn't as ready as you were to do so. “Good memories were also there, though. In the last three or two months, we managed to work it out. It wasn't like we were toxic or something. Mostly.”

You only mumbled, “Hmm,” as you tried to imagine your relationship in your thoughts.

You followed upstairs without saying anything more, feeling the need to return to the room where you were assured it wasn't important. You wondered if your feelings would change if you spent time with Soldier Boy this time.

With a sigh of relief, Ben followed you there and watched you go to the room where he had spent months. He experienced discomfort and agony at the same time since you could remember the room where he stayed even though you were completely unaware of it.

Even if you forgot about him and everything you had, a piece of your love was still there, clinging to him and refusing to let go. Your body had its own thoughts about him.

“What did you choose this room?” As you closed the door behind you, Soldier Boy asked softly, hoping you would recall one small detail about him.

The emptiness and silence in the room created the same heavy sensation that was tearing at your spirit and couldn't even be named. It was a heavy feeling that filled your heart with aching thoughts. You knew it was important even if you weren't sure if it was the nothingness or the silence that affected you that hard.

“I found myself in this room when Butcher brought me from the hospital to this house.” You mumbled, “I don't even know why,” unable to contain your own sadness.

“And?” Soldier Boy asked, forcing himself to suppress a proud smile at your remarks.

“I'm not sure why, but I had a very depressing, possibly saddened feeling that I can't quite describe. All I can recall is that that evening, I cried all as I fell to sleep.”

Ben kept coming toward you, hugging you tightly from behind and kissing the back of your head firmly, all with a heavy heart. Your hands brushed his rough ones on your lower abdomen, but you avoided pushing him since you believed that being near to him would help your brain function. Nothing compared to how close and intense it was.

Saying in a rough, whispery voice, “This is the room I've been in for months,” he said. “You actually spent a lot of time in this room with me; we had many wonderful moments together. Your body must have a memory of its own.”

“I really tried hard, but...” you began to defend yourself, not sure for what, but he interrupted you right away with understanding.

“I know, I know.”

With a shy glance, you were able to save yourself from Soldier Boy just after you had a moment of silence. You clearly needed rest after such a difficult and stressful day.

You said, hoping to change the conversation and find out what his intentions were about tonight: “Will we stay the night here? I should mention that you have nothing to wear. The entire wardrobe appears to have been emptied. But I'll search Kimiko's room for something for myself.”

“Yes, we definitely will. Also, that's not a big deal,” he muttered as he hurriedly began to remove the cloth covering his chest and place it on the table.

Thoughts raced through your head as you held your breath for a moment. It appeared that a discussion regarding the best course of action was required.

With the knowledge that Soldier Boy was determined about sleeping by your side, you changed your clothes after finding clean underwear in Kimiko's room. God, you thought he might try to fuck you again after you had given him a handjob two hours earlier. This time, you believed that handwork would not be sufficient. You needed to speak with him in a serious tone.

You had no idea how your sex life with him would be, and you didn't think he would force you or anything, but he was still a supe, your so-called ex-lover or whatever. The situation was simply awkward. You had to let him know that you were different now. When you walked into the room, he was examining every inch of you while wearing a sly smirk.

With a trembling voice, you stated, “Well, I guess I need to be clear about something.” You really tried to sound tough and confident. It was becoming difficult to maintain your composure, though, under his playful gaze as he removed his jeans and boots. “I must tell you that I don't want any sexual stuff because, as you know, I can't recall a single thing about us. Until I regain my memories, you are, at the very least, a complete stranger to me.”

Ben grunted in exhaustion as he lay on the bed, rolling his eyes and holding back a smile in response to your explanation. You watched him nervously, waiting for an answer.

“Actually, I had no intention to,” he remarked honestly. “Of course, I still love you and want to give you a good fuck very much, we both need that, but you know, you kind of feel like a different person now. I suppose we need to go through this quickly so you will remember us. When things get back to normal in our relationship, that's when I'll give you a big, deep fuck, so you better heal quickly.”

His lighthearted remarks about how you were like someone else to him didn't make you feel better—in fact, they kind of broke your heart—but at least he was serious about staying away from you, which was good. What you shared in the room hours ago was already too much.

You turned your back on him and felt his naked upper body moving closer to yours instantly, but you remained motionless. You simply awaited his next action.

Once more, the hands of Soldier Boy stroked your lower abdomen, drawing you even closer to him and pressing your back against his bare and warm chest. You felt his power on your back. Uncontrollably, your hand contacted his rough one to see whether he would react to you and to feel something toward him. Although they were warm, rough, and understanding, surprisingly, his hands were not forceful.

He mumbled to your ear, wanting you to make yourself remember what you had. “We used to spend most of our time here, lying like this for months, for many nights,” he said.

Your hands lingered on his hands and said nothing, and he went on, “I miss you so much.” His tone was achingly sharp.

The way he'd said it, with his firm voice as though he was talking to someone else, was supposed to make you feel better, but it didn't. You wondered if he would still love and care for you, even if you felt like a stranger to him and you couldn't remember anything about him. With that kind of personality, wouldn't he love you? He had loved and missed the other side of you that he had been missing.

There was no more space between you two as he held you near to him; your back felt the warmth of his bare, powerful and warm chest, but you were agonizingly too distant to stay close and way too cold.

Next Chapter

⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆

A/N: Comments are very much appreciated. They keep me going. ^.^

Taglist: @smexydilflover @deebris @coolrobloxkid28 @endrfairy @libby99hb @raynamorono23 @cwutesygrl @ladysparkles78 @seokjinluvbot      @deangirl96 @whendiditendalthoughenjoyment @mostlymarvelgirl @dilfsandmartinis @deans-spinster-witch    @mayafatimakhan @riah1606   @unleashthelion @cnmcgee @ahoytothestorm @hells-dragon @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anundyingfidelity @ladykitana90 @xmariakx @demodemo909 @placeboetkisi @sukunassfinger @startingstar

@peachhiz @yinmaggiorebass @ilovecooperhoward

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Kinktober Day 25: Edge Play- Legolas

Summary: Legolas is just so loud you can’t help but tease him

Word count: 1, 959

The smell of the warm soup and side of delicious cheese and fruit (generously given by the elves of Lothlorien) fill your senses as you take a seat by the warm fire.

“There you are, Miss Y/N.” Samwise smiles warmly at you as he hands you a bowl of warm soup and a small plate of cheese and fruit.

“Thank you, Samwise.” You smile back as Legolas sat beside you with a warm smile of his own.

It was only about a week into the quest when both you and Legolas found comfort in each others arms, and other parts of your bodies. You both longed to give each other affection whenever you pleased, but this quest was so important that you had to find time whenever you could.

Your eyes quickly flicked to each other with a subtle smile, the others making their way to join you both. The subtle way Legolas shuffles towards you and his thigh touches yours makes your skin ignite. You’re both so desperate that any touch you’re able to get is filled with excitement and thrill.

It was only about 40 minutes of eating and talking with the rest of the fellowship before everyone started heading to sleep. A simple 40 minutes of sitting with friends, but with Legolas sitting so close to you and seeing his cheeky smile as he jokes with the others drives you wild. He looks over to you every now and then, those small glances making you want to throw caution to the wind and kiss him right there, but unfortunately you had to keep your composure.

Aragorn was on first watch, so the three of you sat there together in a comfortable silence while everyone drifted off to sleep around you. Though Legolas seemed to be handling the close contact with you well, inside he was driven just as mad as you.

Legolas looked between the fire, Aragorn and then you, trying to calm his racing thoughts of what he wanted you to do to him, of the sounds you make and the way you make his skin burn with need and desire. As he feels his pants tightening and his cock hardening he abruptly stands, making both you and Aragorn stare at him.

“I’m going to go scout ahead, just to be sure.” He quickly announces as he makes his way into the woods.

Both you and Aragorn follow his path in the woods, bewilderment etched into both of your faces.

“I’m gonna go follow him, see if he’s okay.” You announce to your worried friend as you make your way to follow Legolas.

Aragorn offers you a friendly smile as you follow the white hair of the handsome elf prince. His hair shined so brightly in the dark night that it seemed to guide your way toward him.

“Legolas!” You whisper shout at him once you’d both made it a little while into the woods. You were close enough that you could still see the glow of the fire but not so close to be heard talking.

He turns his whole body around to stare at you, his eyes filled with lust and need, yours looking very similar. Darting towards him, you push him against a tree as you kiss him hungrily. The kiss is full of passion and heat and you both fight to touch any inch of the other that you can. One of your desperate hands bunches the fabric of his tunic while the other pulls wildly at his enchanting hair. Legolas’ hands are just as desperate as they quickly alternate between grabbing at your hips, ass and breasts, too excited and desperate to make up his mind as to where he touches you.

You didn’t want to pull away from him for even a second, but the need for air seemed to win over your need to touch him. Pulling away you both hungrily stared into each others eye, as you both panted from the hungry way you had been devouring one another.

You stared up at him cheekily as the hand in his hair loosened and instead made its way to his beautiful elvish ear. Your pointer finger lightly traced from the pointed tip, all the way down to the delicate lobe. Watching his reaction intently had your core even more alight and your pussy beginning to clench around nothing.

With his eyes closed and his mouth in a perfect ‘o’ shape, you couldn’t help stare at the handsome prince in wonder.

“I’m so glad I found out about your sensitive ears, Legolas, you look so pretty like this.” You tease him as you rub small circles with your thumb and forefinger at the top of his pointed ear.

While your fingers teased his ear, your knee pressed in between his legs, rubbing against his now very hard cock, his quiet deep moan causing you to chuckle.

“All of this just from sitting beside me and kissing me for a few minutes?” You question his as your hand now replaces your knee, rubbing his impressive cock over his tight trousers.

The way you kneaded his cock made his head fly back against the tree and another desperate moan to escape him.

“Ye-yes, but if I were to feel you, I’m sure you’d have soaked through your undergarments by now.” He cheekily smirks down at you.

“Mmmhh, perhaps, but can you blame me?” You cheekily retort.

Legolas chuckled as he began to respond with another cheeky comment, but was abruptly interrupted with a bite to his neck, your fingers now digging into his ear and playing with it harshly. Knowing how loud he was going to be, your other hand quickly left the front of his trousers to cover his mouth.

“You are such a loud boy, little prince.” You smirk up at him, making him playfully roll his eyes at you.

“Come on, sit us on the ground, darling and I’ll make sure you feel good before Aragorn starts to get suspicious.”

Not needing anymore encouragement, Legolas surprises you by lifting you up by the back of your thighs, before lowering himself into a seated position at the base of the tree.

Once you’re both seated on the ground you begin to grind into him, your hand once again returning to his ever sensitive ear. Quickly your hand moves over his mouth once again, attempting to prevent any noise from escaping.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to let you finish tonight if you’re going to be this loud.” You jokingly laughed at him as your hands now came to rest beside you. Your teasing comment caused a pout to form on the cute princes face.

“I can be quiet.” He told you matter of factly, but you knew it wasn’t true.

“Okay, if you promise to be nice and quiet then I’ll make you finish, sweet prince, but you have to promise. We don’t want Aragorn walking in on our fun.” You smile up at him cheekily.

“I promise.” He spoke as he let out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

His slightly childish reaction making you give him a toothy smile as you began to return to his neck.

“Okay, sweet prince,” you began as you leaned into his ear “I hope you’re right.” You whisper softly into his ear, blowing cool air onto the sensitive part of the elf, lightly grinding into him as you did.

Legolas began to let out a moan before he quickly remembered his promise and bit into his bottom lip.

“Good boy.” You whispered to him with a devilish smile as you began to litter his neck with open mouth kisses.

While your mouth works to tease his neck, your hands begin to untie the laces of his trousers. Freeing his cock, you began to stroke his desperate member. Feeling you work him so perfectly, his head flys back and his eyes squeeze shut. Biting harder into his lip he lets out a deep moan of pleasure.

With one hand you worked his cock and with the other you played with his ear, stroking both of them purposefully as you stared at the enchanting looking elf. To have a being so perfect and beautiful at your mercy like this felt like a blessing, it almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do to him, almost.

Legolas’ moans became louder and by the intense way he was thrusting into your hand, you knew he was close.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” You ask him in a seductively breathy voice as you speed up your pace.

Legolas could only quickly nod his head in response, his eyes still squeezed shut as he tried hard to focus on being quiet. Despite the harsh way he was biting his lip (unfortunately blood now appearing on his glowing skin) he was still so loud.

Just as you could feel him about to release, you let go of both his ear and his cock. His eyes flew open at the way his pleasure was taken away from him.

“You were biting your lip hard enough to draw blood and yet you were still so loud, sweet prince. I can continue giving you pleasure but I won’t let you finish, I do not want to disrupt the others and have them ruin our fun.” You answered his unasked question, false worry laced in your voice.

Legolas’ head once again flys back onto the tree with closed eyes.

“You are so cruel to me.” He pitifully pouts at you in an over-exaggerated fashion.

“Is that what I am?” You chuckle at him, taking his cock in your hand once again, harshly rubbing his sensitive shaft as your other head presses over his mouth and pushing his head against the tree.

The way you’ve teased his sensitive ears and have denied his orgasm is driving him mad, but he believes you will finally give him release. He quickly approaches his orgasm again as his hips wildly buck into your hand. Truly he believes you’ll be kind and let him cum, but unfortunately you cruelly take your hand away from him once again. An annoyed groan leaves him as he looks to you again, with pleading eyes and a childish pout.

“I am desperate for you all day and all of this night and when you finally have me, you don’t allow me to finish. How could you be so cruel?”He whines into your neck, lightly kissing the skin.

“You are so loud, Legolas.” You laugh at him as your hand reaches into his hair, shoving his head backwards.

Smirking down at the pouting prince, your lips find their place by his ear once again.

“Wouldn’t want the rest of the fellowship to know how much of a desperate whore you are, would we, Legolas?” You ask him teasingly as you lick a strip up the length of his ear, causing him to shudder and moan as his eyes roll back.

Having your fun for the evening you stand from the princes lap as you begin to walk back to camp, a devilish smile on your lips. Legolas quickly scurries up from his spot on the floor, fumbling to tie his trousers once again.

“Wait, but you have not received release either.” Legolas looks into your eyes pleading once again as he turns you around by your bicep.

“Aawww, I know, darling, but unlike you, I can touch myself and no one will notice. I suppose no one but you that is, with your acute hearing.” You cheekily smirk at him again as you tap the top of each ear before turning to once again to return to camp, your desperate elf lover following closely behind.

[pavlovianfuckery]

throw me down the stairs but sexually

This is an 18+ space, if your blog is empty I will assume that you're either a bot or a minor and act accordingly.

A/N: Re-uploading all my fics after having a slight mental breakdown and deleting everything so this is kind of old, but bone apple tea and all that anyway

AO3

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Summary: Just indulging Dreams shitty little power fantasy so he'll feel better, because why not?

Pairing: Dream/F!Reader

Notes: Kind of rough sex, a dash of boot licking for my mental health, no use of y/n

Length: 1900~ words

When your usually gentle lover had brought the request to you, it had taken you by surprise. He was always so considerate, rarely asking anything for himself, and the nature of the request itself gave you pause. You had given up control to him before with no hesitation, but this would be different.

"This will not be gentle. This will not be tender. This will break you," he'd cautioned you, wanting you to be sure what you were agreeing to. The thought of refusing never crossed your mind, not really. You'd seen the cold fury he'd directed at those who had wronged him before, and you couldn't deny the illicit thrill it had brought you. The thought of even a sliver of that being directed at you, even as make-believe, made your stomach twist. His parting words echo in your mind even now.

"I do not wish to truly harm you," he had said, covering your hands with his. "Should you at any point need me to stop, simply call out the word "nightmare" and it will end, no questions asked."

But that was days ago. After he'd left you had paced your quarters, equal parts aroused and afraid. Not knowing when it would happen compounded the feeling until you felt like you were walking on eggshells, ever vigilant of an encounter that never seemed to come.

⁂

Sprawled across the throne irreverently you admire the huge windows, trying to distract yourself from your racing thoughts, doing your best not to fidget. 

"What exactly do you think you are doing?" 

Not hearing him come in you startle badly, nearly falling from your perch with an undignified yelp. 

"Christ! Don't sneak up on me like that!" You feel a bit silly, but won't let that deter you as you blink at him, feigning ignorance. "I'm allowed to sit, aren't I?"

"Get down from there or I will remove you," he warns, tone venomous as he glares down at you.

"Or what?" You cross your arms defiantly, chin high. "Not like you could do anything. This is just a dream, nothing here is real anyway."

Not deigning to respond, he simply clamps his hand across the back of your neck and gives it a warning squeeze.

"Move."

Glaring at him you do something potentially stupid and swing at him. Despite missing quite badly it goads him on, and before you know it he has you on the floor in an undignified heap at his feet. Squirming experimentally, you try to get up, but he doesn't let you. Instead, you feel the weight of his boot settle on your back, keeping you down as lust coils low in your belly.

"Does this feel real to you, little mortal?"

He hums thoughtfully, watching you wriggle and swear, adjusting his stance until his other boot is in front of your face.

"Maybe this is where you truly belong, at my feet." He nudges your cheek with the tip of his boot, smirking slightly as you flinch away. "You should put that foul mouth to better use."

You start struggling in earnest, indignant. "You can't be serious!"

"Do not doubt that I can make you do it, because I will."

The faint taste of boot polish is acrid in your mouth. Thankfully the task is a fairly short one even though he makes you do both of them, not letting you stop until the smooth leather is shining with saliva. He yanks you roughly to your knees by the back of the neck, with no regard for your comfort, making you splutter.

"I suppose that was a passable effort," he rasps, and despite the almost bored-sounding delivery, you can tell that he's enjoying watching you debase yourself.

Dragging you to your feet he pushes you up against the cold stone of the throne, your struggling no match for his sinewy strength, maneuvering you with ease until you're bent over the armrest. The sharp stab of arousal at the rough treatment almost makes you feel sick. He grinds up against you, his growing erection pressing into your backside.

"How about this, is this real enough for you?"

Not bothering to wait for a response he simply rucks your dress up, the fabric bunching around your waist. Not giving up that easily you fight against him until he simply twists one of your arms behind your back, making your shoulder twinge uncomfortably.

"You humans are all the same," he sneers, holding you down, "not one of you realizing how little you truly matter."

Straining against his grip your breaths echo in the empty hall as he grinds himself against you, nearly driving you onto the tips of your toes.

"Tell me, what purpose could you possibly serve, if not this?"

"Let me go!" Surprisingly he's actually got you working up a bit of a sweat now, and you don't bother holding back from yelling. After one last attempt of wrenching yourself free fails, you do the only thing you can think of.

The kick doesn't really connect, glancing off his leg, but it catches him off guard, making him loosen his grip just enough for you to wiggle loose. You bolt in the direction of the stairs, fully intending to make him chase you, but he manages to grab the hem of your dress, making you stumble and fall, pulling him down with you. Thankfully you only roll down a handful of steps, but it still knocks the breath out of you. Somehow he landed further down and you see your chance to get away, scrambling back towards the top ungracefully on your hands and knees.

Too slow. He grabs hold of your leg, hand around your ankle like a snare, unyielding. Satisfied that he's caught you he wastes no time crawling over you until you're trapped between him and the stairs. Caged by his arms, his coat covers you both like a shroud, its warmth almost oppressive. Your final attempt to get away is half-hearted at best and he simply presses you down with his whole body, making the marble dig into your ribs nearly to the point of bruising.

"Why do you fight me?" The softness of his lips against the side of your face is almost making you forget all about your little game as he pulls your now torn dress out of the way. "It will not save you."

Still struggling to catch your breath you don't hear him undo his fly, but you certainly feel it as he spreads your wetness around with the tip of his cock. He teases you mercilessly until you all but melt into him, angling your hips to try and get him inside you faster, but to no avail. He doesn't acknowledge your frustrated little whines until you think you might actually start crying. When he speaks, his breath is warm against your ear, his words making you tremble.

"Ask for it. Beg your king to make it hurt."

"Don't be gentle." It barely sounds like you, it's too quiet and the words hang in the air, dripping desperation, but you don't even care anymore.

"Please don't be gentle. I want to feel you even after I wake up."

You're not sure if that's what he wanted to hear, but it seems to be enough. He thrusts into you, making you howl incoherently as he bottoms out in one merciless stroke. It's raw and hot and so damn good, the sheer ruthlessness of it making your mind go fuzzy at the edges. Not letting you rest for even a moment, he trails his hand up your exposed neck before grabbing your chin firmly, forcing you to look right at the empty throne as he takes you.

"Never forget," his usually smooth voice is almost reduced to a snarl as he pushes into you again and again, "that you are beneath me."

His words might have hurt you at some other point in time, but by now you're too far gone. You try snaking a hand down to touch yourself as the sharp pleasure coils tighter inside of you, all it would take is just a tiny nudge...

And he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand back up and pinning it down at shoulder level, his grip like iron as you can't help but mewl in frustration.

"You think you deserve to come?" He slams into you so hard that black spots float across your vision, making you wince as pain briefly overrides pleasure, pulling you back from the brink.

"You will come like this or not at all," His tone leaves no room for bargaining as he drives into you, angling himself just so, leaving your walls fluttering around him as you teeter right on the edge. What eventually pushes you over is the brush of his lips against the side of your neck, tongue darting out to lap at the droplets of sweat there, tasting you.

The intensity of it leaves you mute, barely able to breathe, and you almost do buck him off of you this time without even meaning to. As you tighten around him it's his turn to moan, barely able to keep himself from spending right then and there, self-control hanging by the thinnest thread. He manages to hold back though, not letting you off easy, giving you what feels like only a few short moments of respite.

"Again."

You briefly panic. You can't, it's too much, there is just no way. But your entire world is reduced to the way he feels inside you, hitting every sweet spot with inhuman focus, possessing you utterly. It's almost painful and you can't get enough, if he could crawl under your fucking skin you'd let him, and oh. 

As violent and sudden as your last orgasm was this one is slow and dragged out. It feels like it might never end as he fucks you through it, his pace soon faltering as he pushes as deep as he can go, spilling into you with an almost broken sound.

When you finally catch your breath and manage to mostly stop shaking, he folds the dreamscape around you both until you're in his bed, the softness of it a welcome balm after the hard stone of the stairs. Cradling you in his arms like the most precious of treasures, he holds you to his chest, neither of you entirely sure what to say so you simply lay there together, breathing in each other. Eventually, uncertainty gets the better of you, breaking the silence.

"Was I...did I do alright?" Despite everything, you're unable to keep worry out of your voice. "I hope I didn't disappoint you."

"You did very well," He assures you, covering your face in the tenderest kisses, "This exercise has been...cathartic. You really are too good to me, my love." 

Brushing away the tears you hadn't even noticed falling, he goes on, "I can only hope that this has not made you doubt my feelings for you. After all, that was never my intention."

His words assuage any fears you might have had as exhaustion creeps in, making your eyelids droop. You burrow into his chest, needing to be closer to him in every way you can.

"Would you please just...hold me? Until I wake up?"

He does, letting you cling to him until morning arrives and you slip back into the waking world, to your own empty bed.

⁂

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

If you liked this spicy snack even a little, please consider supporting your local smut-slinger and hitting the reblog button on the way out, perhaps even drop a comment if you're feeling generous, it really helps with the motivation side of things a lot!