#and he got split into three parts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

screampied · 9 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 BIG BOOOYS!

☆ sum. it's cuffin’ seasooon, and now you’ve got a reasooon to get…stuffed? toji, sukuna, choso, geto, nanami, gojo.

warnings. fem! reader, BIG BOYSSSS like the sza skit song, unprotected, manhandling, dad bods (toji / nanami), size kinks, tf! sukuna, boxer! geto, spīt, full nelson, mating press, dp (sukuna), overstim, dirty talk, praise, marathons, p spanks, hair pulling, breedīng, this got kinda … long LOL sry.

an. will t*mblr let me post thisss …. ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO.

“honey,” nanami warmly purrs, his body weight hovering right over yours. you’re met with the most softhearted eyes, watching cloudy puffy pants leave his mouth. you’d just rode nanami for countless hours nonstop, and with ruffled blond strands sticking to his face, he looked oh so feral for you. your eyes rover down toward his abdomen - so plump ‘n round, and you felt yourself throb the more you gawked at the vertical strip of his blond happy trail that ran down his chest. “hah- you want me to . . fold you like a chair? that sounds kind of painful, no?”

“ken, ‘s okay,” you reassure him, a hand sensually rubbing down his cushiony soft-padded abs. nanami was as soft as an oversized teddy bear, and he was always gentle with you during intimacy. you moan, feeling his split reddish tip gently smear a sloppy slope down your sopping entrance before he pauses to let you finish speaking. “y.. you can be a little rough. i can take it.”

nanami combs a hand through his hair before a coy simper tug at both corners of his thin pink lips. “okay, if that’s what my pretty wife wants- then. .” and you let off a jittery whimper once you feel his big hands start to gingerly shove both of your knees to your chest. his touch was forevermore tender, and nanami hoarsely groans as he watches your limbs gradually extend back. “i’ll . . stretch you,” he grumbles, a sandy brow of his furrowing once he starts to align his leaky cockhead once more. you’re throbbing, salivating from the mouth once the pointed crowns of your knees meet against your bare squishy breasts. leaning in, nanami’s just a few sultry centimeters apart before he sensually licks near your bottom lip. “hold onto me, sweetheart. ‘s gonna get a bit . . bumpy.”

once you’re laid flat on your back, nanami’s tubby tummy hovers over your entire frame. murky huffs of air shoot past his lips once he grabs ahold of your wobbly ankles. you’d already had your pretty laced panties shoved to the side, and oh how soaked you were. “naughty girl,” he huskily grunts, casually starting to rub his wedding ring against your folds. slow. . romantic strokes were all you felt. it lasts for a long few seconds, and he’s just smearing the frigid cold band of the ring around your bawling cunt before he finally gets to the real thing.

nanami grabs ahold of your legs—softly shoving them further into your chest. they meet against your bouncy tits and you moan, feeling the plump head of his cock greet your slobbering cunt with wet, slimy kisses of its own. the noises . . they were so damn loud, and you were already throbbing the more he teased you from just his full-sized tip alone. “ngh, ‘ken. don’t tease me. f.. fuck me,” you whine, another moan leaving from your parted lips the second he’s fully enclosed between your legs. you’re met with his rounded tummy that’s sooo perfect ‘n plump, and nanami’s just inches apart from the button of your nose. time stands still once he finishes aligning his thick cock, unhurriedly inserting himself inside.

oh fuck-

those same two words that ripped out of your whiny larynx repeated past your lips right as he started to ease his way inside. it didn’t take him long to quickly bottom out—and you were folded up like a chair. “s- sooo gorgeous for me,” he lowly groans, blond brows crimping together in needy want. your brief tightness that only lasts for a good three seconds makes nanami suck his teeth. so … damn … good, once he bottoms out all the way, you then hear the bubbly resounding ‘pop!’ that alerted you both that he was fit reaaaal nice ‘n snug. “god, the things you do to me, sweetheart.”

nanami tended to ramble mid-fuck, just spouting a bunch of nonsense against the shell of your ear. with barred, bare hands, he’s making sure your legs stay at the folded position you’re at. his cock’s just so fat though, and your eyes were almost cartoonish—widening like saucers at the precise moment he curves his way through that exact pathway of your cunt that makes you squeal. nanami’s sculptured hips drill into you ferociously, and his body that pounded on top of you after each impactful stroke was just so soft. you’d never get over it—he was like an actual plushie teddy bear.

sluggish arms of yours wrap around him, filling his entire ear canal with your continuous whimpers before he groans. “kento, fuuuckk- fuck!” you’d moan, feeling the bed frailly dip from both pounds of jerking weight.

pap after pap after pap, nanami’s stuffing you full with each mouth-watering inch, and your pussy constantly decided to torture you with its dramatic spasms and fluttering. filled to the very hilt, nanami’s making sure your insides got every single part of him.

he’s groaning, trying his hardest not to crush you with his weight. every few seconds, he’d cup your face with two sweaty palms before slowing down with a timid cunt-drunk grin. whispering out a shaky, “hah- you okay, sweetheart? ‘m not crushin’ my sweet girl, am i?” he’d lovingly caress a thumb across your face, acting as if he wasn’t currently fucking you stupid.

“ ‘m okay,” you’d breathlessly croon out in a sweet throaty tune, almost as if your sweet moans were high notes. nanami was hitting you deep, and with a sloppy pivot of his hips, the angle got even deeper. you’re filling up the four paper-thin walls of the bedroom with your trilling whines, purely engulfed by his loud manly musk. your cunt’s already starting to soak with dewy globs of your juices, even dribbling down your folds and oh it’s comin’ . .

“ken, kentoo—oooh!”

nanami felt his dick twitch inside of you at your dragged-out moan of his name.. but - it wasn’t just a moan—it was a pretty, elongated orgasm that caught you by surprise. his blushing tip was messily kissing your pulsating g-spot, circling all around it while casually feeding your grippy, wet walls. you clung onto him tight with your arms and also your insides. before you knew it though, your high was slowly but surely creepin’ up on you.

“i know- i knowww,” he murmured out of breath, and you could feel him starting to slow down. nanami’s rickety hips were passionate. they were steady, and as you were creaming down his weighty shaft, he planted a kiss on your temple. “thaaat’s it, let go. ‘m right here, kento’s here. i’ll clean you right up, sweetheart.”

his words warmed their way into the key of your heart . . slowly traveling between your legs also to make you throb. you’re whimpering the same repeated chant of his name as your arms were now wrapped around his sweat-glossed waist. nanami chuckles into your neck, and he can feel your arms pull his plump body closer. “mhmm, touch my body all you want, honey,” and you moan, feeling him release the grip on your numb legs. nanami brings his wedding ring toward your teary cunt after he pulled out, giving it one more loving rub. “ ‘m all yours,” he kisses near your lips. “always.”

✩ ˛˚ . SUKUNA RYOMEN.

“keh, you make me laugh, woman,” sukuna grouses, slouching back against his notorious throne as you straddle him. eager ‘n all, you try to align yourself and he grabs your hips firmly with a smug scoff. “you can barely handle one, what makes you think you can handle both of me, hm?”

“ ‘kuna, don’t tease me,” you huff, and he hums once he sees the frustration marinating across your face. cute, sukuna knew you didn’t like being teased but he still enjoyed getting underneath your skin. after all, you were his favorite, and maybe just for tonight . . he’d oblige with your carnal desire to get double stuffed. sukuna folds two of hefty arms behind his broad neck, his other arms occupied by gripping your waist. oh, he looked so priggish. a wolffish grin remains plastered on his lips as he watches you wrap a hand around one of his cocks. they were fuckin’ big, both stacked on top of each other and you moan. “stop lookin’ at me like that.”

sukuna snickers. “heh. my apologies, little one. i’ll look away while you struggle, i guess,” and a fang pops underneath his sinister curled lips once your wet entrances start to slowly kiss against his tips. you’re weeping wet, and you moan with your other arm abruptly tossing around his broad shoulders. you felt your heart’s irregular beats pick up whilst you’re perfectly aligned with both of his thick twinned cocks. with a squelching ‘pop!’ the first one starts to delve inside of your cunt, driving its way past the loose ring of your dripping entrance. “fuuuck, atta girl.” sukuna gravelly grunts, his smugness starting to falter just a bit. as he’s bottoming out, his grip on your hips tighten more. your warmth catches him by surprise—but once you’re taking in his second cock, he smacks together his lips in awe. pink slit brows of his form together into a vexed arch once he growls.

“ ‘s fuckin’ big,” you moan, slightly turning your head to stare at your grinding perked ass. as a few seconds pass, you’re starting to writhe your ass against his lap. successfully, both fat cocks were filled inside each of your gummy orifices. the concise feeling of tightness makes you mewl, feeling sukuna’s overgrown nails gently dig into the plush flesh of your ass cheek. “god, so full ‘kuna, fuuuuck,” you continue to babble, and you already could feel your fluttering tummy starting to giggle with hoards of impatient butterflies. you can’t help but part your lips into a cute ‘o’, nearly drooling once he spanks your ass — his way of encouraging you to ride him faster.

sukuna’s big, and it’s not even about both of his lengthy dicks anymore. he’s a demon, an unruly one that could probably crush you if he wanted. but no . . he had a soft spot for you, an even more softer spot for your sweet, weak pussy. as he sits back against the creaking throne, you gulp, taking in just how big he is compared to you. bloody, ruddy eyes bore back into you as he started to break a cold sweat. “hng, good,” he groans, and you watch as his head gradually starts to fall back.

oh- you’ve got him whipped. once you started up your rocky pace, it was game over.

each towering cock plummets into both of your holes filthy, and the repeated dampened sloshes of your cunt resounded through the walls of his echoey domain. over and over and over. your rhythm starts to get more and more hectic as you progress—and you’re whimpering, continuously feeling one of his swollen tip’s french kiss near your pretty puckering rim. the other one’s messily making out with your g-spot, rudely thrashing its way against that same pulsating target like it was a dart aiming straight for the bullseye. “o- ohhh, fuck. ‘kuna, ‘m not gonna last, ohmygodddd.”

you’re just so full…too full- and before you knew it, you could already feeling your legs preparing to violently snap.

mewling out a sweet, exaggerated ‘oh!’, you end up spraying out a pretty streaming geyser right between your legs. your glossed lips quiver as your awaited high finally comes, whining as you try to continue to swerve your weak hips in gradual arcs. it felt so so good, being plugged full with each of his girthy cocks. fuck, it felt too good that you could almost taste your sudden overwhelming releases on your tastebuds. “fuck, fuuuck,” you whine out in tiny puffs of air, glancing back through fuzzy peripherals to stare back at your ass. honed, sharp fingernails bury into the fat of your bouncy flesh and sukuna snarls at the tasteful friction. “ ‘s good, ‘kuna, ngh!”

“h- heh,” the curse jibes, but even he’s starting to slow down. as your rhythm starts to finally come to a slowing stop, you sheathe your head near his broad chest. sukuna holds you close, quietly snickering at the size difference. you—a mere human, straddling him. it was almost laughable. “you humans are so weak . . so fragile,” he huskily groans, leaning in to pierce his fangs into your neck softly. as if marking his territory, sukuna then licks a stripe up your neck. you’re still stuffed to the very brim, and that’s when he makes you sit up straight. with a disapproving tsk, sukuna crosses all of his arms with a pout like he’s judging you. “cunt’s still too weak though.”

you’re just a babbling mess, the pit of your tummy was in knots as it's still taking in both thickset cursed lengths. from your quavery thighs, it’s a shimmering sap of your precious slick that slithers down between the sprawled crevices of your legs. it’s pretty - and sukuna can’t help but swipe a fat thumb down, getting a taste all for himself. “mhm,” he brings his finger up to his wry compressed lips, savoring your fresh flavor on his spiked tongue. you’re still trying to recollect breaths when the demon softly grabs your chin, boring his cold, scarlet eyes right into yours. “open.”

an overgrown black nail gives the corner of your lips a soft tap and compliantly, you pry open your mouth. sukuna leans in before . . spat! he spits right on the flatness of your pink tongue, hearing you lewdly moan in response. with your flapping lashes nearly blinding your entire view, you could spot that same wolfish grin from an early start to creep against his lips one final time.

“how filthy. my good girl,” and you moan yet again, feeling him press a hand against your tummy — a wee reminder of how stuffed you currently were. “let’s try that again. this time though, i’ll let you ride my stomach tongue, heh.”

✩ ˛˚ . TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“kinkiest shit i’ve ever heard you say, mama,” toji guffaws as his tense shoulders bounce up and down. you couldn’t help but notice the way toji was slowly growing a dad bod, especially after the two of you had another child. he’s still in good shape—and he continued to maintain his usual workouts but fuck, you’d always fawn over his cute round tummy. he’s like a bear, shaggy, chunky, and incredibly soft. every time he’d pound on top of you, his weight would gingerly press into you, rubbing back ‘n forth against your body and you’d just wrap your arms around him. “full nelson, eh? you sure this isn’t the baby fever talkin’ again?”

“tojiii,” you pout, and you watch as he groans the moment you’re aligning yourself on his maddened cream-covered tip. it’s fat - leaking from the top with buttery white droplets of pre. toji reclines back against the couch that sucks his heavy body in as his legs start to spread. once he gets comfy, he looks at you with a sly grin while zeroing his verdant eyes all over your body. “ ‘m sure, i want it,” and you playfully start to run a palm down his bushy hairy chest, stopping at his cute rounded tummy. “want you.”

toji lets out a smoky chortle before pinching a grip near your ass. “alriiight, babygirl. but ‘m not gonna go easy. better hold on tight.”

and oh- toji and full nelson was a deadly combo within itself.

saying he had you stuffed to the max was purely an understatement. one minute you’re on his lap and the next, he’s got you pressed up against his woolly chest with his burly arms pinned up underneath your legs. he’s fucking you silly, plummeting such thick inches inside of your hungry cunt that it makes you see stars. not just stars but the whole damn galaxy. “f- fuuuck, fuck!” you’d gasp, feeling your cunt eagerly twitch at his sudden elastic-like stretch.

toji was strong, and he had no problem lifting you. each time he did, you’d bounce back on his lap, getting stuffed with even more mighty inches of his dick. it’s so wide, he’s merrily caressing through your gummy inner walls before rudely smacking his flushed crownhead against your tender needy cervix. that spot right there makes you shriek, and you can hear toji’s husky laughter from behind the shell of your ear.

“heh- yeah, baby. let me fuckin’ hear ya, take this . . hah, dick like a champ—fuuuck,” and he groans, a single smack of your ass making him briefly bite the inside of his hollow cheek. it’s a lot of weight that’s jerking back against him from you, and toji’s heaving breaths start to get heavier the more your cunt swallows him in wholly..

his virility was unmatched, and toji gave your pretty pussy addictively mean slams until it was squelching out his name. all syllables of it too—

you were loud, especially between your legs which were always toji’s favorite part. “t- tojiii,” you’d whine out his name again, continuously feeling that same caving dip arises near the middle part of your tummy. he’s in so deep, and your back remains to rub against his furry-covered chest. toji’s plump belly was so soft behind you, and the saltiness that started to coat your buds from your incoming release was almost too much to bare. “harder, f- fuck me. ooh! that spot, that f- fuckin’ sp—”

“if i wanted to hear my wife speak i’d ask her talkative pussy instead,” toji grunts, and you let off a bleating whine the second your bare wet cunt’s met with a spank. slap! and the entire sound makes your folds twitch. you moaned, desperately wanting him to do it again. not just once or twice—hell, even thrice. you ached for more of toji’s touch, and he knew that. he knew his wife. you watch as his scarred lips form into a smile, and he spanks your pussy again. “mhm, kinky girl. that turns you on, yeah? ‘course it does. bet if i fuckin’ spat on it you’d go crazy too, hm?”

“tojiii-‘m-gonna-cum,” you whimper out in a quick single second, trying to talk over his rant. you were a bobble head toy, bouncin’ up and down his fat cock. his long girthy inches had you hungry - slobbering from the mouth like a dog for more as he filled you to the very fuckin’ brim. easily, toji’s invading all through your spongy cunt with his thick thighs resting underneath you. your nails cling to his skin like velcro with your mewling whines only pitching louder. “tojiiiii, gonna cu— fuuuck!”

“yeah, i know baby,” he grunts, feeling his balls starting to tighten. toji’s head throws back at the sharp slams of your hips. each time you fall back into his vast lap, his guttural voice drops even deeper. every time it does—you end up throbbing. a cute ‘lil pulse that he always pokes fun at you for. “heh- there’s that cute throb, she’s so fuckin’ needy,” and as your pussy’s squelches cry out even louder, toji growls. “fuck. gonna milk me, s- so good, ‘s that what y’er tryna do?” and you moan, feeling the pad of his thumb ghost down your throat. “want me ‘ta make you a pretty mommy again?”

a whiny, “y-yesss,” slurs out from your glossed lips, and toji snickers. of course. you wanted him to fill you all the way up like always. plug the top until your cunt was just flooded with his hot thick ropes of cum.

and that’s just what he does—toji lets out a gruff groan once he feels himself reaching his limit. with his hips nudging quicker, he grunts at the final punctuating thrust. “f- fuck, take it then. take it like a hah- good girl,” and toji’s plush body underneath you starts to rumble. finally, your legs collapse down from the position they were in once he’s starting to paint the pasty walls of your cunt his whitish color. it’s a lot, ribbons of slick cum that splatter its way throughout the layout of your mottled-covered entrance. “shit,” he swears against your neck, growing quiet to hear the sloppy sounds.

you start to ooze between your thighs, and you moan once toji lifts your leg once more. the bush that glues against his chest hair continued to tickle against your back before you whine. “mhn, atta fuckin’ girl,” he huffs, smearing a thumb down your cunt that’s spitting out any remnants of his gooey seed. it’s hot, drooling down the cracks of your folds that he ends up giving your pussy one more final spank.

“heh, best we start thinkin’ of names again then,” and he nips a soft bite near your ear. “mommy.”

✩ ˛˚ . SATORU GOJO.

he’s the strongest, which also means the strongest in bed.

and satoru’s favorite thing to do was to have you being fucked senseless with your legs gracefully thrown over your head. you’d tease him constantly, saying how since he’s ‘the strongest’, surely, he can’t be the strongest in bed too… right?

wrong,

because that smug ‘lil grin of yours gets wiped off your face almost instantly the second he’s pushing your cute, weak legs over your shoulders. oh- he’d show just how strong he could be, especially underneath the sheets. satoru had stamina for miles, rarely running out of gas and he’d easily steal orgasm after orgasm out of you. after a plethora of pliable positions, you now found yourself laid flat on your back with your legs pinned right behind your head.

“aw! c’mooon, sweets. wanna see how flexible my wife’s pussy can get,” he hoarsely coos, and his playful demeanor slowly vanishes. satoru’s now feral - and he was always feral with you. especially whenever he was stuffed inches deep inside of your sloppy bear-hugging cunt.

you whine, staring up at the white-haired man and he’s still got his blindfold on. it’s halfway on, sexily showing a bit of his right eye as he runs a hand through his tangled frosty strands. satoru’s favorite thing was to manhandle you, toss you around the room ‘n treat your body like a rag doll.

“ ‘toru, fuuuuck,” you’d sob out, the inner pit of your tummy letting off a deep exhale once he’s buried in. the head of his dick’s now thwacking near the hilt, and you’ll never forget the feeling of his long, bulky cock sneakily massaging its way toward your gummy cervix. it’s repetitive, and you’re chewing on your inaudible whimpers at each luscious stroke he gives you. he’s an animal, and each merciless pound makes you trill out his name over ‘n over until your poor, poor vocal chords strain. “don’t stop, p- please. fuck me, fuh— fuuuck.”

“awwwh, my pretty wifey’s so talkative today, especially her too,” he whispers, and you moan once he’s practically laid flat against your bare chest. satoru snakes a hand between your legs, rubbing messy circles against your leaking pussy. a sly grin creases at each corner of his lips as he rubs near your full abdomen. satoru groans, moving his hand toward the middle part of your tummy before softly pressing down - feeling a prodding ‘lil bulge that he knew all too well. “mhm, that’s all me, baby. alllll fuckin’ me.”

your cunt was indeed loud, each sloppy thrust of satoru’s hips whacking into you at full collision makes you gush.

you couldn’t help but soak a portion of his cock with masses of your syrupy slick and it makes him hum. how cute, satoru could even feel your dripping pussy fluttering around his length. he’s thick—and more importantly, he’s fuckin’ big.

satoru’s sweating, and as he continues to hold your legs up over your head, you spot the spasming veins bulging in his arms. beefy, is the perfect word to describe him. every muscle within him flexed whilst he was pounding into you rawly, making sure your greedy cunt always remembered exactly who it belonged to. “mhm, such a pretty girl. gushin’ all on me, think i oughta train thisss—” and he pauses, giving your soddened entrance a playful pat. “—pussy jus’ a bit more, hm? could be a ‘lil stronger, especially since y’r dealin’ with me, baby,” and as he’s talking, he starts to lick near your neck. “fuuuck, ooh i love that fuckin’ grip. nasty girl. mmm, make me just as messy as you, uh huh.”

“fuh— ‘m gonna cum!” you squeak, the intense throbbing between your legs only increases whilst he’s giving you his all with his ragged strokes. into. each hit was more and more ruthless, your head’s spinning, and the beats of your heart only got quicker. you were sure that your pretty glistening slick had his entire cock to the base covered by now. needless to say, you were drenched. satoru even leans upright to your face, snickering once he feels your hands try to pull his blindfold off. “sato—ruuu, cum, ‘m gonna cum.”

“yes, princess i heard you the first time,” he coos, his tone full of smug arrogance. oh, how you wanted to wipe that cocky smirk right off his naturally glossed lips. his appetizing thrusts against you were the definition of straight insanity, and as his hips kept championing at such speedy strokes, you squealed. riiiight there, the mushroomy crown of his cock scraped against the target of your cervix and you nearly go crazy. “ooooh, there it is. there—she—fuckin’ is,” and as his voice grits lower, pausing each stroke to enunciate his sloppy hits against your cunt, it’s almost like he’s talking down to you. but in this case—satoru’s talking down to your cunt, because it’s the only thing he’s staring at.

openly, he snatches his blindfold off and his sparkly eyelashes flap thrice once he makes loving eye contact with your weeping pussy.

“mm, give it to me then, pretty girl. make a fuckin’ mess on me,” and you moan once he pulls your legs up even higher over your head. bringing his sheeny-coated lips up to your ear, he whispers hoarsely, giving your drenched cunt a doubting squeeze. “i dare ya.”

✩ ˛˚ . CHOSO KAMO.

“that?” choso’s eyes widen, hearty irises glued to your phone. you’re showing him some one-minute-long video of a woman getting passionately hammered in what you told him was ‘mating press.’ choso wasn’t new to intimacy, and whenever you recommended new positions for him to try, he’d always get excited. maybe even a bit . . aroused. “o- oh,” and his voice lowly husks, watching at the deeply intimate angles. the woman lay underneath the man and his weight pressed all on her. he was giving her deep and thorough strokes, occasionally giving her sloppy hot kisses in between. choso could feel his heart race as he started to imagine himself doing that exact position to no one other than you.

and he did, because the moment he’s cutely staring at your exposed, nude body underneath him, he can’t help but moan. you’re so pretty, and as he’s feebly trying to align himself, he whimpers.

“mngh, b- baby, ‘s this okay?” and his darkened eyes flicker toward your face. he’s leisurely placing his weight on your body, bringing your legs up to go over his shoulders. glossy, pink lips of his quiver as he feels the weeping wetness of your pussy twitch and drench around his cock. “don’t wanna hah- hurt you, tell me if ‘m too heavy, ‘kay?”

“promise, ‘cho,” you softly coo, your voice as smooth as silk. indeed choso was a tad bit heavy, especially compared to you. he was around a staggering height that’s damn near over feet of six inches tall and he was just looking at you like he was ready to pounce. a needy pout stretches across the thin corners of his lips as he moans, watching openly as your cunt starts to swallow his stoutly pinkish tip. “mmh, that’s it, baby. nice ‘n slow- whenever you’re ready.”

your voice- choso got off from it alone. every sentence that came out of your mouth had him weak. as your legs remained hauled over his droopy shoulders, he’s slowly inserting his cock into your greedy walls. seconds past and it doesn’t take long before wanton whimpers slither their way past your lips. “f- fuck, ‘s fuckin’ warm for me,” choso shudders out a breath, the feeling of your gripping cunt hugging his length tightly sends him shivers. it’s an indescribable feeling that makes his sable-colored brows curl into an arch and within just a few simple thrusts, choso loses it.

within a few rigid beginning thrusts—he gradually starts to get the hang of it. pumpin’ his lanky cock in and out of you as labored breaths snatch from his lungs, he whines yet again. this time though, it’s far louder. you’ve got to cup his face whilst he’s pounding into you rigorously. nearly crushing you with his hefty weight, choso tries to hover a bit over your wet cunt, moaning for the grip as he’s casually rocking back ‘n forth into your warm, welcoming body.

“good boy, f- fuck me, choso- riiight there, mhm!” you’d whine, feeling your eyes starting to dramatically roll and flicker from just his sheer size alone. choso’s cock had such length that it expands allll through you, reading out every area of your cunt like a map. it knows the exact layout, all the secret crevices, and angles to locate and once he reaches there . . you’re fucked.

between you and choso—you honestly don’t even know who’s louder. the moment you call him a ‘good boy’, you can almost feel him melting in your hands like putty. choso’s bumpy hips start to accelerate quicker and you whine every time you feel one of his veins pulse down his cock. “f- fuck, think ‘m gonna hah- cum jus’ from lookin’ at you,” he cutely rambles, each thrust becoming more sloppy. his hips have such power that it makes the entire bed groan out whiny creaks of its own. “you’re so pretty baby, s- so pretty with your legs all over my shoulders like this- heh.”

choso’s fucking you with his pace never slowing, trying to remember how the guy in the video did it. slow and steady, deep but thorough strokes, massage the clit . . and as he’s stretching you out with the swollen head of his cock—you let off a soft shriek. ‘pop!’ and you felt his plump shaft slip out of you immediately.

choso’s pussy-drunken grin falters as he notices his dick fell out of you- but not only that, he’s cumming for real. .

it was so sudden, and as his entire body’s spasming above you, he whimpers whilst struggling to align his milky-covered tip back between the opening of your glistening folds. “f- fuck, ‘s no fair, came too early,” he whines, and you moan once he buries his face into the crook of your neck. he’s embarrassed. your legs were still raised in the air as he’s holding them both firmly, groaning against your skin. a fresh hot batter of oozing cum leaves out of choso’s blushing slit — splattering out lewdly on your puffed pussy folds. choso’s so frustrated that he even tries fucking his cum in between your flaps with the cutest unsatisfied scowl on his lips. “s- sorry, ‘m bein’ a little messy. ‘m sorry, sorry.”

“ ‘s okay, baby,” you let off a quiet moan, your body already starting to feel numb. already, you were starting to miss the gaping outline of his cock driving through your insides but he makes it up by smacking his tip against your cunt. with a wet ‘splash!’ choso ends up smearing his sweltering hot cum all over your entrance, panting the entirety of your twitching sex right his ivory-white color. as he leans in for a kiss, choso clumsily misses your mouth with his lips pressing on your chin instead.

it’s cute, and you had to guide his face with your own hands just to have him shove his tongue into your mouth. choso’s body weight was now starting to grind against you again—but by now, he was straight up jumping you. he wants more, and you could tell as he was moaning into your mouth, grunting from his drooling cock that was rubbing up and down between your pasty entrance.

still swapping cobwebs of spit as the both of you smashed lips on each other—choso’s continues to spank his aching cockhead against your cunt whilst his lips desperately crash against yours. it turns him on, a lot more than he thought- and choso thinks he may have just found out his new favorite kink.

you.

✩ ˛˚ . SUGURU GETO.

being in a relationship with a boxer had its perks.

suguru geto—he was known for his fights, but more importantly his flexible positions. you’d always tease him about it, pokin’ fun at how you wish he’d fold you like his opponents one time for once. but oh, you’re taken aback once he takes you up on that offer.

“nuh uh, don’t tap out now, baby. let’s see that cute form,” geto grunts, pressing a wet kiss near the inside of your neck. the two of you were in his private gym, specifically his private ring where he’d always train. today though, you were needy, teasing him at how you wanted him to be put in a chokehold like he did to his opponents. but, the moment he’s got you straddling his lap as you’re cockwarming him, you’re nothing but a wet babbling mess. you moan, letting off a breathy gasp once the top part of his boxing glove rubs against your sobbing cunt. you were soaked, making a mess on the mat and a soft gasp creeps out the back of your throat once he wraps a beefy arm around your throat.

safely, geto’s got you in a firm chokehold — the exact one you’d usually see him perform on his other opponents. embarrassingly enough, your cunt twitches almost instantly, and you were trying to grind your hips back into him. “hngh, suguru- fuuuck,” you purr out, letting off a weeping mewling whimper as you felt his fat pointed dick ream a path through your insides. the entire gym was quiet. the only sounds that could’ve been heard were the wet sloshing sounds of geto’s glove gently smacking against your sprawled open pussy. psh after pshh and it only gets louder as you squirm, your thighs parting.

he’s big, manhandling you like this while you’re in a mere chokehold. once you’re starting to sloppily bounce on his lap, you can hear him hiss from the enticing friction. the electric sting of both mounds of flesh slamming on each other ends up giving you both whiplash. “h- hah, fuck, good girl. ride it—move those hips, fuck me back- mmph,” he starts to groan, the weight of your ass getting more and more impactful. geto’s meaty thighs glue against yours and you moan, feeling the curve of his cock rummaging through your squashy insides.

he’s so thick, that his plump tip runs through your tremulous walls before it frantically jackhammers its way to your cervix. letting off a squalling ‘ah!’ of a squeak, your back ends up falling into his broad chest. geto’s sweaty, bare skin rubs off against your skin and he groans. the sly dark-haired boxer wore nothing but his thinly made everlast boxing shorts. “suguruuuu,” you cutely drag out his name, moaning at the way his beefy bicep still wrapped around your neck. you’re bouncin’ up and down repeatedly and it’s almost comical at how your eyes were bulging out of their holes. your tongue was fully lolled, and you’ve never felt more stuffed. hit after hit, by this point, you were sure geto’s cock was gonna give your pretty pussy a solid, fair K.O.

but oh, geto ends up fucking you round after round - literally. he went from having you ride him to him pounding you into his squishy, red mat. your face vigorously presses into the cushion as you’re moaning, desperately whining out his name while he’s ‘practicing’ his special techniques on your cunt. the entire scene was lewd, and as you continued to whine out pathetic cacophonies of, ‘suguruuu,’ — ‘riiight there,’ — or his personal favorite, ‘ooooh, hit it there baby!’ ‘s, he’d feel his dick twitch inside you every time.

your ass raises the second he grabs ahold of your hip, and he’s madly drilling into you raw. each sloppy stroke and twist of his hips makes your toes curl and the bittersweet taste of your saliva ends up trickling down the side of your mouth, landing face-first on the vermillion-colored boxing mat. “fuckin’ shiiit, ‘m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he huffs, resting his free hand on your arched spine. so pretty - the way your ass tries to thrust back into his sharp hips was oh-so-cute. your pussy only got more sloppy, and as he’s feeling his cock preparing to release itself, you could almost hear a whimper snarl out from his throat. “ah, tell me where, f- fuck. talk to me, pretty.”

“i- insiiiide,” you squeal out with short breaths, his cock merrily kneading through your walls. it’s almost filthy at how loud your cunt was. just drooling such molasses of sheeny slick on his length, making an even bigger mess between your legs and on the fighting mat too. as he’s giving you his final, victorious thrusts that make your mouth snap open — a fairly lewd K. O., geto grunts, losing the match with his opponent being nothing more than your sweet, slippery cunt.

instantaneously, wads of thin bubbly ropes mesh with your slick juices, a pretty white ring foamin’ around his base. your release slams into you like a semi-truck, and your eyes crossed almost instantly.

with his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he’s pouring in such slimy amounts that end up tearing straight down your pulsing bare slit. geto groans, hazed and all as his darkened eyes glance at how you were perfectly arched for him. this position was perfect for you in his eyes.

ass up — face down, “goddamn,” he grumbles through pearly gritted teeth and a slack jaw. mewing satisfied coos purr out of your spit-slicked lips as you feel him plugging you up to the brim, hearing the wet plops ‘n paps of his hot, sticky cum dripping onto the mat. you only imagined what it looked like, how much of a fuckin’ mess you were. “hah- aren’t you a champ,” he pants, and you moan once geto smacks your ass.

speedily, he now makes you flip over with a swift toss of a single brawny arm before picking you up. “mmhn, sweetheart. you did ‘s good for me,” and as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, geto gives you a chaste kiss. a few loose strands of hair stick against your forehead as his tongue curls its way inside of your hot mouth before he snickers, pulling away. “ah, there’s one more position i wanna try though.”

“w- what?” you heave, pouting the second his lips depart from yours.

geto re-aligns himself between your leaking cunt that’s still profusely spurting out clods of milky clumps of his cum before he lifts you just a bit higher against his chest. “hm, oh- i just fuck you while standing up,” and you moan, wrapping your arms around his broad neck. ravened, feral eyes meet yours one more time and geto lets off a husky grunt, his boxing glove sneaking between your legs. “you’re my big girl though, yeahh?”

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luveline · 15 days ago

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𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐋𝐚𝐩

Clark stays the night for the first time. fem, 3k. [explicit]

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

“Are you bringing the briefcase?”

“What’s your obsession with the case?” Clark asks.

You shrug, tipping your head back to give him a better view of your eyes, widened in a mock-doe ogling, like he’s the biggest, brightest thing in your universe. It’s not that far from the truth.

“I like the case,” you confide, bedroom eyes and a fresh coat of lipgloss waiting to be kissed off, ‘cos you know he’s too much of a gentleman to do anything about it. And because it’s nice, so nice, to see the way his face splits into a smile. He’s like sunshine bearing down on you.

“Then it’s coming with me. Go get your coat, Peitho.”

“Who’s that one?” you ask.

“The goddess of persuasion…” —he leans down to breathe your air, just for a bit— “…and seduction,” he finishes, kissing your nose quickly. “Get your coat. Let’s go.”

You collect your things into your bag and put on your coat. Clark presses a hand to the line of muscle between your shoulders, leading you out of the Daily Planet and toward the tram. You take it down to the station on your block, and Clark convinces you to double back for the greengrocers. Or, he grabs your hand and pulls you along, citing a deep need to find some snow mountain garlic. You make a boy risotto once and he thinks he calls the shots.

Your love story with Clark isn’t exactly convoluted. He made you coffee and brought you out in the sun to watch ducks in Centennial Park. You’d teased him with delicate outfits and long stretches, had occasionally brought him dinner. And it isn’t a long story, either. It’s been, what, three weeks? Nearly four? Too long to be this nervous, and yet. Clark squeezes your hand as your heart trips for the third time in as many minutes, caught on the sharp cut of his jaw and his messy curls. He doesn’t say anything as you weave between tight aisles looking for the specialty foods, but you get the sense that he knows you’re nervous.

“I can’t believe you remembered where I got the garlic,” you say conversationally.

“It’s rare, right? From the Himalayas.”

“Did I tell you that, too?”

“Your article, honey,” Clark says, his eyes tracking the jars of preserves and a row of open-basket offerings. “Single clove, golden… ah-ha!” He lets your hand fall to grab a paper bag and the tongs buried within. This basket has a plastic covering over the top that clicks and folds upward, releasing a heavy scent.

“Careful, Clark, it’s like, a billion dollars per pound.”

He shakes his head, unworried. “How much do you need for the risotto? Tell me when. And don’t short it.”

You decide not to short it —you’ll pay. But when you and Clark get to the counter, baggie of garlic, fresh oregano, ginger stems and tangerines dumped unceremoniously onto the counter by the cash register, he bats your hand away with the most aggression he’s ever shown you and offers the clerk his card.

“I don’t like mean Clark,” you murmur, squinting in the sun as Clark shepherds you back outside.

“No? You should get used to him.”

“Didn’t peg you for a bully, Kent.”

“I’m not.” He swings an arm over your shoulder, careful not to hit you with the groceries (what a loser!). “I could never bully you, you’re too nice. And who will make my dinner, if you’re upset?”

“So funny.”

“I know,” he says against your cheek. Your skin warms under a prim kiss. His lips part and the wet of his tongue doesn’t touch you, but you can feel it regardless, the humidity of his breath rolling over your skin.

“Off!” you demand.

He grins and takes back his arm. “Off,” he says, looking very much like he’d like to kiss you again. It’s awful how palpable the need is on his face. You ignore it as best as you can, too worried he’ll get you home and kiss you against the door, fumbling blindly for a bed he’s never seen.

He’s less desperate than you’re making out. In fact, if Clark wants to seduce you is anyone’s guess. He holds your hand down the street to your apartment building, laughs lightly when you tug him behind the staircase toward the back, and holds your handbag while you rummage for your keys without protest.

He places his case, your bag, and his shoes at the side table on the way in. You try to see your trimmings through his eyes, hand on his arm to balance as you pull off each of your shoes. You like the process of it, your fingers in his muscle, his eyes on your knee as you bring your foot up behind you, and your fingers as you slide them into the back of your shoe to tug it off. You like the sound they make as they topple to the floor, and the way you slip across the floor as Clark gathers you up for a hug right there in the door. His hair makes a sound as it falls around his face, Clark burying his nose in the side of your head. You hold his back. Feel for ridges. Find thick layers of fabric in the way.

“Wanted to do this all day,” he says.

If it weren’t so endearing to be wanted, you’d laugh. Clark doesn’t make you guess about his affections. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met, if only for his honesty. His earnestness.

You duck your head into the curve of his neck. “Smell nice,” you mumble.

“Are you tired?”

“No… You’re… putting the moves on me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” His laugh vibrates at your temple.

“Can you make me dinner?”

He pulls away from you to hold your face. “Yeah, I can make you dinner.”

The plan had been Clark would come over and you’d make dinner, considering your expertise. A chef’s column for the biggest news outlet in Metropolis doesn’t come easy. You’re good at what you do. And that risotto had been half the reason Clark fell in love with you, if he’s to be believed. (Though he doesn’t say love.) (The other half a thin, pale skirt.)

Clark is a quick study. Your cooking lessons have helped him some. It’s nice to see him in your kitchen, waving a wooden spoon at you as he talks, stripping out of his suit jacket and rolling up his perfect white sleeves.

He gets broth up his arms and on his tie. You stand in front of him with the heat of the stove kissing your side and carefully work the knot from his neck.

“Kiss?” he asks.

You use his tie to guide him down.

—

Clark brought his pajamas in the briefcase.

He made you garlic butter and pesto by hand, plated up your risotto with a kiss. He hoisted your legs into his lap when you’d started to falter during the movie and he’s rubbed them until you’d dozed, and now he’s in the shower, having taken his pajamas and his shower things with him. His shampoo had been macadamia and argan oil.

And his pyjama pants are blue.

He rolls into your room with wet hair slicked to his neck and roughly towel dried at the front, blocking the TV with his height, a pair of socks still held in his hands. “I put my clothes in the laundry. Is that okay?”

You’re hoping you hadn’t left your delicates at the top of the bin. “Yeah, of course it is. I’ll wash them before bed, they’ll be dry again before morning.”

He shrugs. “I brought slacks for tomorrow.”

“How much fits in that briefcase?”

“You’d be surprised. Move over?”

You shuffle to one side of the bed so Clark can sit down beside you. He seems large against your headboard. You trace the curve of his neck to a relaxed jaw. There’s no stubble there when you run over his skin with your fingers, but there’s a teeny-tiny spot of blood under his chin. You wipe at it until it comes off. “I’d kiss it, but I’m worried it’ll get infected.”

“Kiss me anyway,” he says, lifting his chin. His collar is tacky with water.

You lift yours in turn to reach, lips pressing with the utmost care to his chin as he wraps an arm behind you. You can’t see the cut, but you worry you’ll hurt him if you aren’t careful, and he feels your hesitation under his hand.

“It’s okay. You can’t hurt me,” he says, like this is normal to say, like it doesn’t have your heart cradling itself in the heat of your stomach.

You kiss him again, then his neck, the column of it solid beneath your lips. You wait there with your nose tip digging in, but he doesn’t say anything.

A small gasp floods from you as he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his arms, on top of his legs, long and lithe and dipping the mattress underneath him. Your face falls flat against his collar, warm to damp, startled but far from unhappy by his sudden show of strength. He closes his arms around you and hugs you. In a moment, his nose rubs itself against your cheek in a nuzzle. It’s animalistic only in the sense that it’s without thought, his nose rubbing into the same spot over and over again.

He doesn’t moan, but nearly. The sound he lets out is one of relief. Like you’d evaded him all day, and this is a victory.

“Is this the part where we start telling each other secrets?” he asks.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“I didn’t know how badly I needed this.”

You needle your arms behind his back to hold him, too.

“Do you…”

“What?” he asks.

“It will sound like I’m flirting, and I am a little, but it’s a genuine question, okay?”

“Alright,” he says. You can tell he’s not about to laugh at you, which is nice.

“Do you work out?”

He smiles against your cheek. “Some. In the morning, when I can. I lift weights.”

“I know that– I realise it’s a silly question. I don’t think people tend to look like you naturally.”

“Is this still part of the genuine question?”

“No, this is the flirting.”

“Oh, gotcha.” He knocks under your chin lightly.

You look up to let him kiss you.

He makes another wretched sound, like the beginning of a groan half-smothered by your mouth. Clark parts his lips, turning his head to the side, the taste of him pressed into your tongue as he breathes you in. It is incredibly foreign to be breathed in while you’re kissing, but Clark pulls at your back like he’s worried you’ll move away, feeling and breathing, sudden fingertips tumbling down your back.

“Where are you going?” he whines.

“You’re tickling me.”

“On accident. You really are Peitho, you know. She’s cunning and cruel when she wants to be.”

“Don’t pressure me.”

“Now that’s not funny, is it?” he asks, grinning as you lean down slowly.

“Let me feel your heart.”

You press your fingers to his pulse. He lets you count the beats, says, “That’s sixty seconds,” like he’d known you would struggle to time it with your fingers.

“I think you’re dead at a hundred.”

“What’s that mean, doc?” he murmurs.

You stroke his jaw with the flat of your nail. Not teasing —thinking.

“I think I need to shower, too,” you say. He knows why. His eyes go lax behind his glasses with fondness. “Okay?” you ask, tapping his glasses with your nail gently. “You can clean the smudges off of your glasses while I’m gone. How’d they get this dirty, that’s crazy.”

He rubs the small of your back with pressure. “I think it might’ve happened when I tried to get my face in your neck. And your ear. And, you know, your head.”

He sounds delightfully bashful. It begets another kiss.

You lose time in his lap. Really, you’d stay. But you need a minute in the shower to breathe through your nerves, and Clark is remarkably in touch with feelings, so he kisses you and sits up to encourage you away. “Go on. I’ll be here.”

“Don’t look through my stuff. Promise?”

“Sure,” he says, like a liar.

You come back some twenty minutes later in your nicest pointelle pyjamas, skin slicked with a tiny bit of body oil and lotion atop it that smells of figs, ‘cos it’s the only one Clark’s ever mentioned liking aloud. He doesn’t skimp on compliments and loves to tell you that you smell good, but the fig one, the first time he smelled it, stopped him cold side by side on a couch in the coffee shop by his apartment. “What is that?” he’d asked.

Your smug smile drops. “Clark,” you breathe.

He pulls your teddy bear by the back and makes him wave. “Hi, honey.”

“You found Charlie.”

“You were hiding him.”

“He was tastefully placed on my desk.” Where you’d hoped he wouldn’t be seen.

Clark pets Charlie’s downy head. “How could you hide him? He’s lovely. He told me–”

“Charlie didn’t tell you anything, he’s my teddy.”

“Since you were young?” he asks.

Charlie’s all worn around the armpits, the fur kissed anxiously from his cheeks. “I’ve always had him, yeah.”

“I think I’d be remiss not to tell you that you look beautiful,” he says, “and Charlie says the same.”

“Don’t talk through my teddy.”

He presses Charlie to his chest like he’s a baby.

“He loves you.”

It turns your heart. You’d been ready to lay back in his lap and have him kiss you dizzy, tucking curls behind his ear to whisper saccharinely into the shell of it, but you’re thinking now that you want to curl up with him and find that box of chocolates he’d given you last week (for looking oh so morose for all of five seconds, apparently) to share. Have him rub your arms as you pretend to watch a movie.

“Okay. Okay, come and hug me,” you say, leaning against your desk expectantly.

Clark is up in three seconds flat.

—

You wake with a start.

There’s a shape beside you in bed, turned toward you, so close to you that you struggle to see him beyond the dark curls of his hair against your flowered pillow case.

He has freckles on his shoulders. You hadn’t seen them last night in the dark, or even in the lamplight Clark begged for, just to see you, of course I want to see you, you’re beautiful like this, and they surprise you. There’s a handful of them across the hills of his shoulders. Barely any at all, but enough to kiss.

He feels your mouth and wakes up quicker than you’d wanted.

“Shit,” he says, grappling backwards for his glasses on the nightstand.

“Clark?”

“Sorry.” When he turns back to you, he’s wearing his glasses again. You frown.

“What’s wrong?”

Your stomach hurts. Like, hurts, the explanation loaded in one fell swoop. He slept with you and he didn’t mean to stay because he hadn’t ever meant to stay–

“No, sorry, nothing is wrong.” Clark clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wake up badly, sometimes.”

“Was it me?”

“No.” He smiles like you’re the sun, blinking sleep away lazily. His eyelids and mouth are both puffy with it. “No, of course it wasn’t you, come here. I slept well.”

You’re aware, then, of his missing shirt, the way your thigh slides between his as he pulls you tight to his chest.

Just like that.

You press your face to his shoulder, rather than let him see your expression. The night before comes back to you in a heated rush, every soft touch and softer kiss. You shudder under his tracing patterns.

“Can see you better like this,” Clark says, bringing his hand to your cheek to angle you in the sunshine.

You’re too tired to move, but you want to be kissed. Fortunately, your boyfriend is as generous as he is kind, and he promises to do all the hard work. “You can make yourself comfortable, honey,” he murmurs, turning you onto your back with an easy strength.

You cover your mouth with your hand.

Clark can see your smile regardless. “So pretty,” he says quietly, kissing your chest, glasses slipping down his nose as he cranes his neck further. “God, you’re perfect like this.”

“You didn’t kiss me good morning,” you murmur, mostly to tease him.

“I will.” His hand finds the pulp behind your knee. “I will. I promise.”

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you for reading!! this was two requests (here and here) put together thank you both<3

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #clark kent #clark kent fic #clark kent blurb #clark kent drabble #clark kent imagine #clark kent fanfic #clark kent fanfiction #superman x reader #superman #superman x you #superman blurb #superman drabble #superman fanfiction #superman fic

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stnexus · 12 days ago

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nsfw clark kent headcanons

soft dom!clark kent x fem!reader

(18+) MINORS DNI

content: size kink, manhandling, oral (fem receiving), fingering, cowgirl position, mentions spanking(?), orgasm(s), squirting mentioned

names used(?): baby, honey, angel

note: there’s absolutely more, but i may release a part two soon. saw the movie and left the theater with twenty significant others. i promise you, my horny ass cannot live in metropolis.

⤷ clark kent is very careful in bed

clark knows the extent of his own strength. a career built off of keeping people safe and fighting of any threat that put lives in danger have taught him quite a lot about himself. like the fact that the fragility of humans are nothing to take lightly, especially his beautiful significant other.

he takes his time stretching you out every time — readying you on his fingers and tongue like you’ll fall apart and disappear if he moves too fast. he won’t stop until you’re worked open, your essence clinging to his face. you’re slick running over his fingers.

you tend to cum at least three times before he even lets you set sights on his hardened length. constantly check in as he slides back and forth over your slit. the tip of his cock bumping into your clit.

⤷ he doesn’t like teasing you, but his foreplay can feel like he is if you’re really needy

the bed creaks under the weight of his knees placed further down as he adjusts himself lower. kisses landing on your naked body like he’s praising your entire being. you were sure you were ready fifteen minutes ago, but clark’s fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles as he places kisses everywhere he could reach. it was almost overwhelming, and you wanted to cry out in frustration. he wasn’t doing it on purpose,

“what’s wrong, baby?” clark questions as your moans fall into borderline whining.

“i want you…need more, please, clark…” you’d start to beg.

“no need to beg, honey. i didn’t mean to tease,” he starts, “what’s got you so worked up today, hm?”

⤷ clark does not like to spank you

instead of spanking, he feels most comfortable grabbing at the plushness of your skin. caressing you like he can’t believe you’re even in his presence. fingertips pressed into the warm skin of your thighs, or kneading at your tits. times that he does it outside of the bedroom make you gasp, felling his fingers grasp at your ass for a second as he lands a kiss on your cheek. saying something about how he’d missed you all day.

⤷ clark kent is a certified eater

while most would see stress relief in receiving oral, clark finds it in giving. he frequently finds himself knelt between your legs, your fingers finding a home weaved through his curls. he lands the most enduring kisses in your cunt like he’s placing a kiss again you’re lips. essentially meeting your clit with pursed lips before ever splitting you on his tongue. eventually your leg find their way over his broad shoulders as your hips move up to meet his tongue.

he’d make sure his nose bumps into your clit. happy to hear a whimper fall from your lips as a result. the taste of you on his tongue is like the most intoxicating liquor, one that can even bypass his genetic make and the yellow sun. the taste pushes groans past his lips, reverberating throughout your body.

⤷ his cock is incredibly thick

he often worries about breaking you but that is inevitable with the sheer weight and size of his cock. every time you find yourself being stretched out on his length it’s like a new experience, like the first time. no matter how much he works you through with foreplay, his cock always seems to bully your most sensitive spot upon entrance.

he can hear your heart pounding against your chest as you try to hold off and wait for him to cum too. but his stamina will always overthrow your own. you always find yourself unprepared for the wave of pleasure that takes over when you’re creaming around him. which makes him slip out a small laugh, his dimpled smile poking through for a brief moment. but he’ll coax you through it, sure to reassure you.

“it’s alright, angel. you don’t have to stop yourself...cum all you want.”

⤷ clark loves when you ride him

he gets to sit back and watch you. he’s got a thing for watching you. this way he knows for sure his strength is much less of an issue, though at times he fights him self from fucking up into you — knowing it would be easy to just tilt his hips upward and help bounce you up and down his length.

but he wants to to take control for a moment, watching as your face turns in pleasure. watching as you stop bouncing instead and begin to grind, your clit grinding against his dark hair happy trail as you start to ask for him to touch you. he never has to be asked twice.

⤷ he is commonly put into a trance when he catches sight of how well you take him

the place where you two connect is one of his happy places. he can see ringlets of your cream circling the base of his cock and clinging to the light hair growth near his base. it’s one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever seen. his eyes are transfixed on the way your pussy swallows how ever many inches you can take. clark tends to avoid looking down too early, he knows he’s liable to fill you with ropes of cum the minute his eyes are planted on your pretty cunt.

but you know the minute a defeat “oh fuck” slips past his lips, you’ll be leaking his cum in a matter of seconds.

⤷ he will fuck you in his suit after work

boxers and pants hanging loosely off his hips. his belt buckle slightly digs into your inner thigh. his tie is loose, his button up’s all messy as he has the end of the shirt tucked under his chin. eyes peering into your soul as he has you placed on the kitchen counter, sinking into your warmth over and over again. he’d thought about you all day at work, during attacks on the city, during his time at the fortress of solitude. only to come home after working for the daily planet and absolutely get his fill of you by filling you as much as you allow him to.

⤷ he loves to whisper praises to you while fucking

the entire time he’s intimate with you, it’s nonstop praises. about how beautiful you are, how soft you feel in his hands, how wet you are. compliments just keep coming, just as much as you’re cumming. but his compliments aren’t just normal, they’re whispered like it’s a secret between you two. his mouth is usually right next to your ear as he praises you and pulls you through multiple orgasms.

“when are you going to let go? huh? you want to let go for me, yeah? let go then, yeah you can do it, angel. make a mess. you know i love how messy you get, there you go. good fucking girl. you’re so gorgeous baby, so gorgeous.”

⤷ clark needs to be able to see your face

you’re face is like his own form of praise. seeing your expressions change as you feel your most important spots being bullied by his cock is like a compliment to him. no matter how slow he went, you’re spot always feel victim to him and it showed on your face.

his favorite facial expression that you make is this half lidded, glazed over look that signifies you’re impending orgasm. but like before, you always try to hold out for him. but he never likes to make you wait.

so he doesn’t stop, the stretch he provides burns a bit as he continues to strike at your most sensitive spot. he can see when your about to lose. your face twists into a pout almost. like you’ll cry cause you couldn’t wait. and he loves every second of it.

⤷ he loves watching you play with yourself

he’ll want you to sit on the comfort of with your bed or the couch as he sits somewhere else in the room. he watches your fingers rub tight circles over your sensitive nub, your eyes finding him and then squeezing shut. it's not about dominance. no. he likes to see you play with yourself, see how you handle things when he's away. he likes the image burned into his brain when he's away from you. smiling in the middle of combat when he thinks of it, and the sounds of your moans echoing throughout his memories. his name being called as he watches you push through your fluttering entrance with two of your fingers. the sound of your wetness squelching beautifully.

⤷ clark will eventually let you talk him into manhandling you

"all i'm saying is, you don't have to be so gentle. i promise i'm not that easy to break clark..." you pout.

and that's exactly how you end up in this situation. your sheets are soaked as clark pounds into you, one of his feet planted on the mattress, the other planted firmly on the hardwood floor. your hips lifted from the bed and face pressed onto the mattress. he rocks his hips into yours and had called for you to turn your head to the side in the need to continue to watch your face.

you look like you're floating, your body being pulled back by the hips, and you'd squirted at least twice. his grip was firm yet gentle. there are certain limits he will never pass. some out of safety but most out of sheer dislike. he will not choke you, but he will agree to moving you around to his liking. with no warning. praising you as you clench around him once again, saying his name like a mantra

"hm? you feel good, angel? 's this what you wanted?" he'll ask as he starts becoming comfortable. but he makes sure that no matter what the circumstances, if something feels wrong you need to tell him. he wouldn't know how to live with himself if he hurts you.

#clark kent headcanons #clark kent smut #clark kent x reader #x black!reader #superman x reader #superman smut #clark kent #smut #x reader #fanfic

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hyoer · 2 months ago

Text

Project: Get Over Bob (2)

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now its up to you to carry on Project Get Over Bob.

warnings. Mentions of suicide (vagueish), mentions of child abuse and forms of non-physical self-harm, mentions of drugs :( Bob just struggling a lot with life but reader and the team are there to make it better even if it’s just a bit. Lots of angst and no comfort… Yet. Also, a bit of kissing. I may have made reader english unintentionally :) expansion of readers relationship with the team!! The Void and a little?bit of the Sentry make an appearance.

word count. 6.5k

Notes at the end of this chapter

part 1.

part 3.

Phase: Bob?

Robert Reynolds grew up like a dog, held taught at the neck, beaten into submission for the hell of it. He'd spent 29 years running from the cage he grew up in.

From backwater towns to unkind cities, across borders and oceans, he was always searching for his next high.

And every time he found it and crashed, he crashed harder.

All of his misfortune had led him to Kuala Lumpur. What better place, he thought, for cheap meth and good food?

Not that he could afford either once he landed. His so-called "working holiday" quickly devolved into sleepless nights and cheap motel rooms.

The lab was a nightmare, and the splitting of his mind it hurt, it hurt so much. But none of that pain could compare to the guilt.

The sickening knowledge that he'd hurt people.

That he'd become the thing he feared.

His father had always told him: Violence is in your blood. One day, you'll understand it's not cruelty—it’s survival. Bob had spent his life trying to prove him wrong, only to fail.

Waking up in the vault was terrifying. But that fear was eclipsed by the feeling of something stronger, the opportunity of a real life.

A final chance.

He regarded it as the single most important moment of his life. Sure, getting the sentry serum was life-changing. But he’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping what he had now.

And you were there the day it all started.

You weren’t a child assassin like Yelena, or a phasing shadow like Ava, or a walking weapon like Alexei, Bucky, or Walker. But you moved with purpose. Precision. That quiet intensity set you apart. You weren’t the strongest in the vault. But took twice as many hits as you dealt and got up three times as fast.

Now, in the tower, most of Bob’s nights were spent with you. He’d perch himself on your sofa, fingers picking at the frayed threads along the armrest, eyes blurred but never closed. You’d talk about everything. The strange weather patterns, Alexei’s obsession with marketing, the new taco shop opening downstairs—mundane things, your voice soft and steady, trying to anchor him.

The room always felt smaller when you were there. Your presence was a warmth that filled every corner, something he could almost reach out and hold if he wasn’t so afraid of breaking it somehow.

But even you couldn’t keep the thoughts out.

The silence between your words gave them space. The darkness of the room fed them. And the safety you offered made them bolder.

“I wish I’d died in Sarasota.” he said one night.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with a fear he hadn’t expect.

“Hey—no, no. Please don’t say that, Robert.” you moved closer “Please just- just look at me.”

Your hand cupped his face, fingertips grazing the edge of his jaw, soft and trembling.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was a safe feeling touch, he’d always wanted that.

You always gave it to him.

“Look, I won’t tell you that you can’t feel like this, it wouldn’t be right for me to say that. But you’ve been working so hard to unpack your issues and work at them, please, please just give yourself the credit you deserve.”

He blinked up at you, fighting the urge to look away.

“Most people go their whole lives never even trying to unpack their pain,” you continued, voice low but unwavering. “But you—you’re facing it. That’s brave.”

And for a moment.

The void inside him seemed to shrink that bit smaller.

Being at the tower felt freer than the life of a nomad he’d adopted for the past 7 years. There were still plenty of rules, curfews, schedules and therapy sessions—but the structure gave him purpose. It kept his mind and body active.

Every morning, Yelena would bang on his door like a madman.

“Make sure you grab your coffee ~” she’d call through the door, already bounding halfway down the hall by the time he’d have opened his eyes.

There, he’d find you with your back turned, shuffling through the music on your phone, tapping your foot lightly to the beat. He’d reach over and grab two cups for you both before heading out for a run in Central Park with Yelena, well, he’d be attempting to run, but that was besides the point.

He’d run beside Lena, wheezing through half-finished stories about old jobs or nights he barely remembered. She’d hit back with tales from the Red Room. They were always darker, sometimes sad, but she was a master of comedy so he’d be barking out laughs between gasps for air the whole way.

Once she was finished torturing him he’d head back to the tower to meet Ava in the lab.

She was helping him work toward his GED—something he’d started years ago, then abandoned when life got too loud. Now, with all the time and resources in the world, he thought it would be a good time to start again.

Ava was the best teacher he could ask for.

She never rolled her eyes when he forgot how to do something, never laughed when he misread something aloud.

Her teaching was patient and kind.

She wasn’t much of a talker, which was a given with her solitary upbringing, but that was fine with him. They’d spend time in comfortable silence, with Bob occasionally breaking it to ask a question. Both of them used to the quiet, neither of them quite understood what normal looked like but their quiet friendship fulfilled them both.

After finishing up with his work, Bucky would usually steal him away for sparring.

“You keep dropping your guard.” he’d grunt, tossing Bob onto the mat for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

“I don’t have a guard.” Bob would mutter, staring up at the ceiling begging someone, anyone for a break.

He hated physical exercise.

The sentry serum had made Bob invincible and while he didn’t feel any pain, his frustration was with his lack of ability.

His strength was absolute, his body impenetrable, but, he wanted to be able to move around with the same grace and stealth that the others did.

Bucky pushed him harder than anyone else.

But it never felt cruel.

It was focused and encouraging.

Like he was his older brother who believed in him enough to never go easy.

You’d sometimes be there too, just out of sight in the adjacent room. You’d be reviewing mission footage or deep in a debrief.

Bob liked it better when you weren’t watching. Not because he didn’t want you there, he just preferred to keep his exploits or lack thereof between the senator and himself instead.

Dinner was one of the best parts of his day.

Sitting at the dinner table didn’t involve endless lectures or threats of harm. Alexei and John would always be the first ones at the table, seated across from him like some sort of strange uncle-nephew trio. They weren’t constantly at each others throats but when they were it was way more entertaining for him.

John always had a dumb joke ready but Alexei managed to always have a weirder one. Half the time, they would argue about whether Kramer vs Kramer was a Christmas movie or if John had browned the butter well enough for the banana bread.

“Why do you even eat potatoes like this?” Alexei would say, stabbing one with his fork “It is so dry, no soul.”

“You’re literally Russian dude?!!” John would shoot back his voice raising an octave.

“Russia has great food, you know my father-”

Bob was definitely not listening to the rest of that. But he would smile and finish his meal with a warmth in his heart and that’s all that mattered.

You and Bob would take your daily walks after dinner.

The city was quieter at night.

Well, New York never really was, but it was quieter in the way Bob liked. Just a low rumble of traffic in the distance and the occasional click of footsteps as you both aimlessly wandered.

Bob chuckled at your retelling of your siblings meeting Ava for the first time. His smile lingered even after you’d finished talking, it was a strange one. It felt like he was half-sincere and half-lost in thought. His steps slowed and he turned to you, “You’re one of my best friends, y’know, just thought I’d tell you.” said more like a question than a statement.

You smiled. “That’s why you’ve been looking constipated this entire walk?”

He huffed a laugh, but his face still has a serious look “I mean it. It’s not just because we have to live together or mission stuff. You’re always there for me even when I’ve been hard to be around.”

“Bob, you’ve never been hard to be around, ever.”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed and eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

“I guess I-I just keep thinking” voice low “That I’m this ticking time bomb. Like the more time you guys spend with me, the quicker I’ll blow up a fuse and hurt you all.”

You were quiet for a second. Then you said, “You ever think that maybe we don’t need protecting from you? That having you around is so good that we’d be willing to keep the Void at bay forever? I would go through hundreds of rooms for you Robert, every damn day if I had to, I’m sure the others would too.”

You didn’t say anything else, and he stared at you for a moment before sputtering out that it was late and you both should head back. He really hoped you hadn’t noticed how red his ears were.

Bob thought that maybe you liked him the way he liked you.

But he decided to push silly thoughts like that away. You would have said that to everyone.

It wasn’t that Bob himself didn’t like you; he just felt as though pursuing you would be another Malaysia. He would somehow grip your light so tightly that it would burn only you, leaving him at the centre of yet another massacre. And Bob was far too kind, he cared for you far too much to doom you to a life of walking on eggshells.

He would get over you. And he knew just what to have to start his journey.

A sweet treat.

Bob didn’t plan on finding the bookstore.

He was walking to find a new dessert place, the serum left him with a serious sweet tooth.

Bob liked walking on Main Street. Sure, there was always a major risk of him literally destroying everyone in the city if the transdimensional being in him escaped but, the feeling off blending in and being normal was worth the risk.

He walked for another ten minutes before he saw it.

The bookstore that you were always raving about. You had begged the whole team to come with you, rambling on about the idea of a book club in preparation for the new Christopher Nolan film, but your pleading had been interrupted by Mel informing them all they had press to finish up.

He decided he’d go in and find you something, that should cheer you up.

Bob wandered into the store, trailing his fingers along the many books, stopping only when he'd collected too much dust for his nose to handle. It reminded him of a place he’d hidden out in once, years ago.

Different city.

Different Bob.

“You looking for anything specific?” came a voice.

He turned and saw her.

A short woman with long loose waves nestled into a bun, a pencil sticking out of her pocket and reading glasses hanging around her neck. She looked at him cheekily and something about the intensity of her gaze flustered him.

“I’m-I’m not really sure, I’m looking for a friend but I have no idea what she would want.” he replied honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

She smiled, “Those are the best kinds of searches.”

Their first conversation was short. She’d recommended some kind of fantasy novel.

He’d bought it and you were so happy that you spent the next two weeks singing Bob's praises to anyone and everyone.

That included Lily.

Bob came back the next week to pick something else out. And the week after that.

And each time, Lily was there with a new recommendation. With questions about what he liked, how he was doing, how you were doing.

Sometimes they talked for a minute.

Sometimes ten.

Bob never told her who he really was, nothing about the Thunderbolts stuff, though he was sure she knew.

Just said his name was Bob and that he was working on “getting his life together”.

She never pried. Never asked why his hands sometimes shook, or why his eyes would occasionally glow. She always spoke to him gently and laughed at his shitty attempts at jokes in a way that made him feel like maybe he was just a guy in a bookstore.

Someone normal.

One day, he decided to be brave, “You ever uh free for a coffee?” he'd asked, the words almost catching in his throat.

“As in to drink it? Or are you asking me out?” she looked surprised.

Shit, she looked like she was freaked out, he almost backed off right then, but he decided to push through. He nodded “Yeah yeah uh the second one.”

She studied his face - not judgmental, just thoughtful - “Okay, yeah sure, but be warned I’m coming in hot off the back of an awful relationship. Like the guy was Loki levels of out of his mind, I may go crawling back.” she joked.

Bob smiled.

“Here. Take my number.”

Once outside with her number tucked safely into his breast pocket, he took a moment to take in a breath.

He thought about you for a second, your smile, your voice and he felt guilty, but you didn’t like him. It was ok for him to move on and he was sure you’d support him putting himself out there.

Right?

Phase 3

Phase 3 was not feeling as easy as you’d predicted it would be.

Not thinking of Bob was difficult. He engulfed your every thought, every second of the day seemed to stretch out further than you thought possible when you worked on any task that didn’t include Bob.

Even sleep didn’t offer a break.

In your dream, Bob appeared doe-eyed, curls falling over his face and his skin glowing. Your hands were roaming his body and his breath was hot against the shell of your ear. He was calm and collected, his movements slow as he cradled you tightly to his chest.

His head turned to you, his lips inching closer to your face and then all at once pressed against yours. His head angled to the right to swipe his tongue against your bottom lip, the action causing you to gasp and heat to bloom in your chest.

As your hands began to reach for his face, they fell through, jolting you awake. Your bed cushioning your movements didn’t stop your face from hitting the side of the bed frame.

You’d never made out with anyone before, so how the hell did the kiss feel so real.

“What the hell?”

Huffing you drag yourself to the bathroom, you find Bucky there brushing his teeth. You say nothing to greet him and the strangeness of your silence isn’t lost on him.

He offers a smile as he makes his way out of your shared space, he’ll bother you later once he brings back a red velvet from the store near his and Steve’s old place in Brooklyn.

Remind yourself to get an electric toothbrush, this one is struggling to withstand the force of your anger as you scrape each tooth with all of your strength.

You were doing so well to not fall back into thinking of Bob.

So why did this dream have to screw everything up?

By the time you’re done damaging your enamel it’s time for another hellish sparring session with John.

Good Lord, you were not in the mood.

You unwillingly tread down to the gym, smelling the clinical bleach mats before you round the corner.

The gym always smelled like sweat, chemical cleaner, and testosterone — basically John's cologne. You pushed the door open hard, making it slam against the frame making John jump from the noise and trip over the weight in front of him. Wait did that weight say 2000kg holy shit-

“What crawled up your ass?” he barked, startled but recovering quickly.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d get a bit of payback. You ready?” He smirked.

The mat is thick beneath your bare feet, cold and spongy. Walker stands a few feet away, stretching out his legs, the muscles in his arms rolling under his shirt. For someone so impossibly strong he sure was wirey looking.

Captain America, my ass. You reminded yourself he had limits — he had to.

You both began circling each other, and a quick step to each side had you both falling into a familiar rhythm.

“You know he came by asking for you, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything.” you swing your fist, miming a punch, daring him to act.

Walker was always too trigger happy for his own good.

He would always bite.

“Y’know its pretty obvious to everyone include Bob that you’re distancing yourself from just him,” he said, launching at you with flurry of jabs. You dodged most, but he caught your shoulder and stomach hard.

Jesus that hurt, you deserved an extra matcha latte for lunch as a reward.

“Yeah? Well, he’s the one glued to his girlfriend’s side every hour of the day.” you step back with your arms up “I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing “If you don’t like him, then why would it—”

“Oh my God, John,” you cut him off, voice tight “Everyone knows. I know Bob knows I like him. I don’t understand what people want from me! I’ve been kind. I talk to her, I talk to him. I haven’t said anything mean or snarky, I’m not making a scene. If they’re in the room, I don’t disappear... I’m trying.”

Your breathing was heavy and you could feel the pressure rising behind your eyes. You weren't prone to emotional outbursts and John felt like he’d provoked you without reason.

“What else am I supposed to do?” you whispered.

John looked like he was going to say something — probably a joke, probably one of his usual offhand lines to break the tension.

But he didn’t.

“I see him with her and it really hurts.” your arms dropped and you began to take the next few of his punches half-heartedly. You weren’t fighting back anymore.

Just standing there, letting the blows land and getting back up like clockwork.

“I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry”

You turn away, walking over to the wall pressing your forehead gently against the cool panelling. It’s the only thing that you could think to do to ground you. John comes up behind you, placing his hand on the top of your back, patting it like he would do to his son when he was helping him drift off to sleep.

John spoke, his tone gentler than usual.

“How do you always eat my hits like that?” he asks “You sure you’re not a mutant or something?”

You half-laughed, half-sighed, “If I was, I wouldn’t be a B-grade superhero like Variety said.”

He snorted behind you “And you believe the opinion of the magazine that made me ride my shield like a horse?”

You both laugh. John stands there with you until you calm down.

He tells you to clean up and head back upstairs, he says he doesn’t need you so stressed out so close to you guys’ next mission.

As you make your way up to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle you pass the library, freezing when you see two familiar figures sitting side by side on the floor.

Their arms are fitted so tightly next to one another, they look like their melting into each other. Lily reaches out and nudges a stray curl back behind Bob’s ear.

You feel sick.

Bob’s cheeks flush a little, and he gives her a sheepish grin and you make the mistake of scuffing your slippers across the floor in an attempt to walk away. They both look at you wide eyed, like they’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Hey guys” your voice gentle “Looks like a tornado flew through here, what you up to?” you’re hoping the fake texan twang is enough for them to not see the obvious awkwardness on your face.

Bob giggles and she explains their plan to find the ultimate saag paneer recipe, both finishing the others thoughts and animatedly nudging each other when they think the other ones wrong.

You decide that the scene is too intimate and too domestic and you need to run away.

Bidding them goodbye with a wide smile you all but run past the kitchen to go to your room and stew in your jealousy.

While Lily continues to argue the importance of the four forms of taste Bob swallows hard, his gaze distracted and brows slowly knotting together.

Something seriously doesn’t make sense with you.

You sit with your knees up on your bed, the soft glow from your bedside lamp casts shadows across the room. You make shapes with your hands and play with the shadows, your headphones are playing something by Lorde that makes you feel worse somehow.

That’s a first.

The door to the bathroom slowly cracks open, Ava’s brown curls visible as she inches her way in as quietly as possible.

“I’m awake y’know.” you grin at her, she was so cute when she was trying to be sneaky.

She guffaws “Yeah I k-knew.”

You stare at her accusingly with your brow raised.

“Ok so I thought you were asleep, so what? You can tell me off later once you tell me why you flooded your room on purpose.”

“I plead the fifth.” your expression completely deadpan.

“We’re both English! That doesn’t work.” she laughs out, not angrily but with the same tone a mother would with her child.

“Technically-“

She stops you “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the flying boy that you’ve been pining over?”

“That’s a low blow c’mon.” your pout is unintentional, you love Ava but you do not need to think about him even more after the day you’ve had, it would ruin the plan even more than it already had.

“Can we just drop the topic of Bob and just hang out? Since you’ve already snuck your way into my room”, she stills for a moment and without warning jumps onto your bed and grabs your waist. With her head in your lap you begin to thread your fingers through her scalp.

She mumbles something, half of her mouth buried in the plush fabric of your pyjamas. You’re sure it’s something about the way you keep the room way too cold for comfort.

This is nice you think.

Maybe you don’t need just Bob after all.

Phase 4

Never mind maybe you do.

Bob seems to struggle less and less with the concept of never seeing you around, he fills his time with Lily and her life. You think he seems to fit in fine with her spin classes and zoo dates. Not that there’s anything wrong with exercise and animals.

It isn’t your life, Bob isn’t your boyfriend and he would never want to be.

Ouch.

Maybe you really were on the cusp of really becoming invisible to him.

Just like you wanted?

Whatever, you didn’t have time to think about Project Get Over Bob anyway, Valentina had scheduled a gala to honour the ‘ex- Avengers’ as she called them. None of you were happy with the phrasing and you were sure Sam would talk you, Buck, and Joaqins ear off when you met up later tonight.

Your dress had been fitted a month or two before and Mel had scheduled a glam team for everyone so you go through the first half of the day abnormally relaxed.

You, Yelena, John and Alexei make your way downstairs first. You hear someone mumble about there not being enough space for everyone in the car but the air is so cold and bitter they’re lucky your ears haven’t frozen off by the time you’re off to the venue.

Once there, you struggle to get the train of your dress to stop sticking to the bottom of your heel, you curse loud enough for Alexei to notice and carry you out like a doll.

“Your dress ok my little firecracker?”

“Yeah thanks Lexei. You guys go ahead, I wanna go to the bathroom before heading in”

He nods and turns around, walking towards the others and wrapping his arms around them, binding them to himself as he rushes them in.

As you finally look up at the scene in front of you, your breath stutters.

The building in front of you was immense.

The lights perched about the balcony and grounds are blinding, and you grip the train of your dress in an attempt to calm your nerves. You focus on the sound of constant chatter and the feeling of the pebbled walkway under your heels.

Before your time with the team, you’d worked as a paralegal with the Govenor of New York. It was thankless but looked great on your Linkedin. You hadn’t figured out how to write Avenger in the current jobs section without seeming like an idiot yet. Galas were a common part of your job so you weren’t worried about having to network.

No what you were nervous about was keeping your cool around Bob. You’re sure that seeing him in a suit would kill you.

Now, back from the bathroom you feel a lot lighter and not just physically.

“You’re looking very foxy tonight lady.” without hesitation you reach out behind you to hit Joaqin.

“Why’d you say the same thing to me at every event dumbass.” the man gives you a bone crushing hug and another pair of arms snake around you while he squeezes.

“Buck been training you too hard or something? You look tired.” Sam and Joaqin really were tied at the hip recently, maybe Bob’s comment about them reminding him of Tina and Tina was right.

Wait, get yourself together, no more Bob!

You talk to the both of them for around twenty minutes before you're all ushered into the main room. You move effortlessly between the hoards of investors, senators and random people that you really don’t know, spitting out jokes and making conversation that the others on your team definitely don’t understand. You forget they didn't have to go full corporate for their previous day jobs.

God bless your internship at EY.

As you make your way over to the buffet, a voice calls out your name, you turn and see your friend Finley. He’d worked on a campaign with you a few years back.

You missed being less busy, even the stress of a political campaign was quieter than the constant press and training that had taken over your life. His sudden appearance was a welcome distraction.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back to take you in “Avenger, huh? Still can’t believe you went from filing out my paperwork to fighting eldritch horrors.”

“Hey it’s not my fault you were so bad at your job.”

You both laughed and decided to find a nook to reminise about your awful pay and long nights together.

Your conversation was cut short when your phone buzzed in your clutch. A quick glance at the screen showed Bob was calling you.

You swipe the notification without a second thought.

You tell youself to remember the plan.

But you feel it suddenly, like someone is burning the side of your head with a lighter. What the hell?

When you look to your left, you see him.

Bob stands a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

His suit is black, tailored so precisely it looks painted onto him. The jacket hugs the top of his shoulders so deliciously, when he moves the fabric pulls just enough to remind you that he actually does have muscles and it isn't just rainbows/kittens under there. His shirt was crisp white, the contrast against his tan skin made your throat dry.

But it’s his face that really leaves you breathless.

His heavy brow bone, sharp and prominent, is even more pronounced under the chandelier lights. Shadows pooled in the hollows of his brow, making his already intense features twice as alluring. And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Wait he looks really pissed.

His usually kind blue eyes looked unsettling, flashing wisps of black and gold. Did Bob always look like he was wearing eyeshadow or was it just today?

His gaze flicks from your face to your phone, then back.

He’d seen you ignore the call.

For a second, you brace waiting for him to say something, to call you out right there and then. But instead, Bob just… turns away but not before you see something raw flicker across his face, you just cant figure out what.

You text him a few times, a flurry of messages explaining you were in the middle of something important and were going to call him back, you promise.

Bob just replies with a thumbs up and tells you not to worry about it.

That somehow makes you feel worse than if he'd told you off.

The rest of the evening is fine, you have fun stuffing your face with courgette tarts but are worried about what to do when you get home. You’re leaving for Ulaanbaatar tomorrow morning and really don’t want to leave on a bad note.

The team was beat by the time the night was over, you all piled into your cabs and single-filed your way up to your rooms.

You’re two steps into yours when Bob lightly pushes his way in before the door closes.

“Hey”

His voice soft.

You turn, and there he is, still in that damn suit, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Was he trying to make you pass out on purpose? His eyes are tired, not angry. It makes you feel guilty, you’d have prefered him to be angry.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he states.

Not an accusation.

Just a fact.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy. The mission prep—”

“Don’t.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t do that. Not with me.”

You want to look away, but his gaze is so strong it feels like the room is falling away and all you can see is him.

“You haven’t hung out with me in weeks.” he says “You stopped eating breakfast with me, you did a U-turn in the hallway when you saw me last week and I know that you hate pottery so whats going on?” a pause, he looks nervous “Did I do something?”

Your chest aches “No. It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. How could you explain? That every time you saw him with Lily, laughing at some joke you weren’t part of, it felt like he was ripping your heart out with his bare hands. That you were supposed to be over him, but you weren’t, and it was eating you alive?

Before you can force out another lie, Bob’s breath hitches. He can see the cogs turning in your head, attempting to lie to him again.

Wait, was the air in the room becoming thicker or was it the stress of the situation settling into your body?

His hands clenches. His pupils dilate—too wide, too gold.

Gold? Shit.

“Bob—” You step forward, but he staggers back, not wanting to touch you, bracing himself against the wall. His knuckles turning white where they grip the plaster, cracks begin to form under his palm.

That was not good.

“I don’t understand what the fuck your problem is! You go f-from telling me you aren’t avoiding me and that we’re such great friends to complete silence. I just, I don’t know what I did to make you upset with me.” his voice tapers off as he lowers his hands from the wall, the anger and frustration leaving his body only to be replaced with the sinking feeling of dread that maybe you really didn’t care for him.

“Hey, sweetheart I think we should both just calm down I’ll-“

“NO, no I won’t, I refuse to be ignored. We’ve devoted ourselves to you, don’t you see that!!” his voice is hoarse and it sounds as if all three of them, Void, Sentry and, Bob are shouting at you.

His body begins shaking and before you can even think you and Bob are completely gripped by the inky black tendrils of the Void.

The Void swallows you whole.

You land on your knees in a familiar place.

“No, no, not here, not again” you whine.

Maria Hill stands to your left, frozen in time.

You missed her, you missed her more than anything.

But you refused to live through it again, you worked so hard to come to terms with that day and it was a low blow for him to show you the room that you’d already worked so hard to leave a year before.

The scene changes and she’s there, right in front of you, bleeding out on the concrete.

Again.

And again.

“You like pulling cheap shots every time you force me to come here?” you scoff, sure the place scares you, but you calm yourself when you remember that Bob is stronger than whatever torture the Void is willing to put you through.

He’ll be here, you know he will.

“It worked on you last time, what’s the harm with trying twice?” a static-like voice whispers out from behind you.

The dark figure steps out in front of you, gripping your arm so tightly you can feel your muscle and bone press grind together. Despite the pain, you can feel him.

Feel Bob.

His presence calms you enough to stop struggling with the vice like force on your body.

You reach out, holding his face. The action angers him. You can’t see him but feel his features curl into a snarl.

“You think that a pathetic fucking human being like you can touch me or calm him? You think he dreams of you or thinks of you even a fraction of the amount you do.” his grip tightens even futher.

“Even the team, they think you’re dead weight, they tolerate you. Nothing more”

Suddenly Bob appears and he’s not alone.

He’s got an arm around Lily, whispering something in her ear and kissing her so deeply it feels innapropriate to observe.

You try to look away but his hand, Bob’s hand, grips your jaw leaving you unable to turn your head.

The Void purrs, his tone amused "He pities you and wants your attention because he’s bored, once he has her do you think he’ll care? He’s too kind to tell you to fuck off"

The Void senses your sudden hurt and latches on.

Digging deeper, he flashes every humiliating memory of yours—failed training sessions, missions where you froze and fucked up, anything that would make you hurt. "You’re a placeholder," he hisses, "a charity case. And the worst part? You know it."

The shame burns so deep you can’t breathe, can’t think, and as you begin to find your voice to tell him that you didn’t care and he’d had misjudged your reaction, the Void delivers a final blow.

His face flickers to resemble Bob "You really thought I could ever want you?" It’s so cruel and something within you is so caught off guard at the sight of Bob that you believe him.

The Void’s glee is palpable.

And then a voice cuts through the dark.

“Enough”

Bob.

Your Bob.

He stands at the edge of the nightmare, his eyes are blown open and wild, his hands clenched like he’s holding up the weight of the world

The midnight world suddenly splinters.

You wake up and the room is shaking, no wait, the room isnt shaking its you.

Bob’s crouched in front of you, his face concerned and he cradles your head in his arms “I didn’t—I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your pain and fear is so strong you feel like you could collapse. You want to run away and scream, call out to everyone to take you away and lock you up somewhere that it couldn’t find you.

But you don’t dwell on those feelings, you know Bob, he must be devestated that he pulled you into the Void.

Your tone is soft as you push youself up “Hey, hey look at me. It wasn’t your fault, how were you supposed to know the big guy would come out so quickly.”

“But I let him hurt you-”

You stop him “Don’t, don’t say anything. Look we need to take you to the med bay now j-just don’t say anything please, just don’t.”

Bob stares at you—hurt, guilty, devastated—but he doesn’t protest.

You both hobble down to the med bay in silence and you cant help but wonder if he remembered what you both had been speaking about before or your hidden shame.

You really hope he hadn’t.

You’d called Yelena down on your way, telling her the other guy had come out to play for a bit and Bob was shaken up. She’d raced down as quickly as she could to relieve you of your babysitting duty.

Outside of the med bay, you speak to her in hushed tones while balancing the entire weight of your body on her, exhaustion setting in.

“You ok?” she strokes your hair as you tremble.

“Yeah I just, I need sleep.” she doesn’t press you for answers and you’re grateful. One small kiss to her head and you decide you’re ready to leave.

You glance back at Bob through the door, he’s already looking at you, pensive. You smile reassuringly and can visibly see his shoulders slump down in relief.

You leave but not after throwing another gummy smile and a thumbs up at the man.

The morning comes too soon, you’re still upset from the events of the night, but that doesn’t mean you can just shirk your responsibilities.

You’re packed and out the door before the sun fully rises, meeting John and Alexei downstairs. They don’t ask why your hands won’t stop shaking or why your eyes are so bloodshot.

As the engines hum to life, you glance back at the Tower one last time.

Project Get Over Bob was a complete bust.

Hey guys, hope that this chapter has you guy’s as excited as I am to continue on to the final part of this fic! Sorry for not adding a taglist to this fic but there were a lot of replies and I didn’t think I could get through them!

If you have any tips for fic writing pls follow me I’m always looking to improve.

I hope the writing style isn’t too different, I’m still trying to find my style and footing when it comes to this stuff!

The next chapter will be filled with plenty of comfort and maybe something a bit cheekier if you catch my drift!

#bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds angst #robert reynolds #thunderbolts #bob x reader #yelena belova #bucky barnes #ava starr #john walker #alexei shostakov #marvel x reader #sentry x reader #void x reader

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chiya-eltanin · 1 month ago

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hm. dont usually put my own two cents for theories but somethings been kind of annoying me recently so yeah. ralsei thoughts.

i really dont like the idea that ralsei is a specific object. especially not with newer stuff from chapters 3 and 4.

For starters, most people that try to figure out what ralsei is in the real world are basing it off of this appearance

however, I feel like there's plenty of evidence to point to this not being his real form, right? People have already pointed out that his original shadowed form isn't fully consistent. It's possibly the most obvious when you compare his singing animations in both forms. His hat form makes what was later 'revealed' to be his ears look more like hair?,

Ears don't really split the same way that hair does, and theres other examples of hatsei having this kind of spikyness to his 'ears' that hatless ralsei doesnt have.

even the fangamer plush makes his ears spiky!!

its a pretty major part of how hatsei looks, and its certainly been talked about before. And then comes chapter 3+4. And we have plenty of evidence that ralsei is a shapeshifter, and I have seen literally nobody talk about it????? huh?????

Oh, and the hat casting a shadow on him makes no fucking sense because he goes onto wear SEVERAL hats in chapter 3 and he's normal????

also I know its like. A funny bit, but HE TURNS INTO A HORSE

WHY THE FUCK WOULD KRIS'S HEADBAND TURN INTO A HORSE???? WHY WOULD A GREEN CRAYON TURN INTO A HORSE???? WHY CAN HE DO THIS????? THIS ISNT A COSTUME THATS NOT HOW THEY WORK????? WHERE WOULD HIS BODY GO.

not to mention that changing shapes was literally his ability in the legend of tenna game???? he plays it off like 'oh every character has abilities i can turn into a box' but he can also turn into a dog? since ralsei was the only one who read the manual it very well could be an ability given to him since the real Ralsei is also a shapeshifter.

It would also explain why ralsei draws himself in his hat form

thats closer to what his natural form is. Dont have any screenshots on hand right now, but he's got two lines in chapter four (if you leave him lying on the ground for too long, and right before they find the first fountain) about how much longer he can 'keep this body for' that make it very obvious that he's only using a form that looks cuter to appeal to us. Him being a shapeshifter would also explain things like

His face being a deliberately made abstraction would also make this interaction make a lot more sense. Pre chapter three, I assumed Ralsei based his face on Asriel to either try appealing to Kris or as fanservice for the player/red soul, however, now that we've slowly started learning more about Ralsei, it's beginning to seem more like Ralsei just wants to have a face and more distinct appearance, like the lightners do. However, because of how dark worlds work, he can only base it off of what already exists, with that already existing 'model' being Asriel, although with modifications to make himself cuter— pink horns and eyes, and his usual glasses. It's why Kris is always quick to point out differences between them, and why Ralsei is embarrassed at being told that they look similar, he didn't have a choice other than be based off something that already exists.

Alright, so Ralsei is a shapeshifter. He still has to have some equivalent in the Light World though, since that's how Dark Worlds work. He was literally about to tell Susie what he was before getting interrupted, and Toby Fox is deliberately dancing around the topic.

However, I think the answer is actually pretty obvious. Ralsei is a being of 'pure darkness', which is why he can exist in any Dark World, unlike Lancer and Rouxls, who need to be objects that 'belong' in their respective worlds. His form is made up by the original dark fountain, and he describes himself as a 'Prince of the Dark'. Characters in the Dark World know about what happens to and around their real world equivalents, but Ralsei in particular seems to be especially aware of all of Susie and Kris's actions and movements. He doesn't need to be brought in by Kris like Lancer and Rouxls do, and he always appears in the Dark World a few moments after Susie and Kris do, while somehow almost always having pretty intimate knowledge of how the world came to be. Ralsei is also the most adamant on being depended on by Lightners, even more than people like Tenna. He talks about how a Darkners role is to be used by Lightners and to make them happy, and his character development in Chapter 3 especially goes into how he wants to be needed and how he's afraid he's slowly developing his own personality, and why he believes darkners shouldn't do that.

So, taking all of that into account, I feel like the most obvious answer for what Ralsei is is a shadow.

He's a literal prince of the dark. It explains why he can shapeshift, since shadows can be made to look like anything— I'm specifically thinking of things like shadow puppets, and why when he gets knocked out he seems to literally disappear, returning to the shadows. A shadow is also the most dependant on light, shadows literally cannot exist without light, or they'll just be darkness. It even explains his empty room.

His insistence that his only role is to help the Lightners, the way that people can never find anything notable about him (asking swatch for specials his suggestion for Ralsei is based purely on how he dresses and Queen literally forgets to get him a cage), and his ability to be in any dark world (since there's literally nowhere without shadows) all seem to point towards Ralsei being a shadow.

Ralsei being a shadow also means he's literally with you in the dark, could probably straight up not exist if the world was plunged into darkness, and also makes him a weaker version of a titan (explaining the 'prince' title. not quite king, but noble nontheless).

#deltarune #deltarune theory #deltarune spoilers #ralsei #ralsei deltarune

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kiyoomiee · 5 months ago

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part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s been in the training room for hours now. Sweat trickled all over his body as his arms never stopped swinging.

“Sukuna, you’ve been here for more than an hour now. That punching bag will break any moment.” Toji voiced out as he walked in.

“What’s wrong with you?” He tried to ask Sukuna.

“She’s mad at me. Been ignoring me for two days now.” Sukuna dropped his arms and sulked. Fucking hell, he misses you so much.

“Ah that pretty doll? Couldn’t imagine her staying mad that long with your annoying ass.”

“She’s my pretty doll. Don’t call her that.” Sukuna grumbled at Toji but the man ignored him.

“What’d you do?”

“Her medical director was being a misogynistic ass, so I punched him on her behalf.” Sukuna smirked, remembering how gratifying it was to punch the bastard in the face.

“Heh, would’ve done the same if I was there. But didn’t it occur to you that she might not want you to fight her battles for her?”

“Why wouldn’t she? I could send that man in a hospital without even breaking a sweat.”

“That’s exactly why asshole. Besides, you’ve seen how she handles herself in her own field. So go apologize instead of breaking our goddamn equipment.”

boxer!sukuna who corners you in your office so you can’t avoid him anymore. Locking the door close and closing the blinds so nobody could interfere. He went looking for you right after finishing his shower.

“We need to talk.”

“Not here Sukuna, I’m working. And I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You can see where this was going, tears already threatened to fall in the corners of your eyes.

“No. We need to talk right now, or else I’ll go crazy-“

“You’re going crazy? You haven’t talked to me in two days Sukuna. Now you’ll stroll in here and break up with me?”

“Break up?“ What the hell?

“Can’t handle the emotional part of the relationship? I should’ve known since you’re-“

“Since I’m what?” His voice was loud and angry. It was the first time he got mad at you.

“How could I even dare to break up with you when you’re constantly in my mind? When I’m trying my best just so you could notice me? When I’d surrender at your feet if you’d only say the word? I’ve pursued you for months and waited for you to see me. Even with countless rejections, I would’ve continued to wait for the rest of my life as long as there’s no ring on your finger yet. God, my infatuation even turned into obsession.” He sounds dejected as he chuckled to himself in pity.

“Now you’re saying I’m here to break up with you? No baby, I’m here to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness. Because I’ll lose my goddamn mind if I don’t have your attention on me even in a split second. Why can’t you see it? I’m so fucking in love with you that the thought of leaving wouldn’t even cross my mind.” He continued on and sighed in agony.

“Y-You’re what?” You were stunned. It was the first time he said that three lettered word.

“I love you so fucking much. So please, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I shouldn’t have interfered because I know you could stand up for yourself. But I can’t say I regret punching that motherfucker in the face.”

“I know you won’t, ‘kuna.”

“Fuck, don’t cry baby. I’m sorry I was an asshole.” He got on his knees and wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. You leaned into the warmth of his touch.

“Yeah but thanks to your little stunt, that man was fired and I won’t have to deal with his misogynistic comments anymore.” You just finished talking to the higher ups and the HR a while ago, they assured you that they’ll handle the case and that your medical director will be terminated immediately.

“I’m sorry too Sukuna, for avoiding and ignoring you. I should’ve reached out to you sooner.”

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve reached out. It won’t happen again baby, I promise.”

“Ryo.” You called him and caressed his face.

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.” His brain stopped functioning when he heard you say that.

“A-Are you sure? I’m not pressuring you just because I said it earlier-“ Ears turning red, he was now flustered and asked just to make sure he heard it correctly.

“I love you Ryomen Sukuna, I’m very sure.” You expressed lovingly, together with a quick peck on his lips.

“You sure know how to make me crazy for you, sweetheart.”

#boxer!sukuna #jjk #jjk au #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x reader #non curse au #sukuna x reader

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reidrum · 17 days ago

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countertops | c.k.

A/N: superman (2025) brainrot has consumed me so here is this. i love that silly nerd

summary: in which the kitchen counter is used for eating

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fem!reader, prn no plot, munch!clark, fingering, praise kink, clark is down bad

wc: 1.3k *smacks the back* this baby only has smut

Clark breathes his entire body into you as his hands roam the spanse of your back, holding you steady against him while his lips take solace in every crevice of your face. He’s placed you on the kitchen counter—his favorite place to keep you to compensate for your differed heights, but also because it keeps you in one place. You could move if you wanted to, he’d let you instantly. But he knows you won’t, not when he drinks you in like a fine wine and handles you with the care of a glass necked bottle.

Your moans and breathless whines only spur him on to press against your body, rolling his hips in a dire effort to become one with yours. The length of him presses and goes in a single brush, with your own hips trailing desperately after to meet again.

“Clark,” you breathe, “need more.”

“Yeah? What more?” he mumbles, lips marking a path down your neck.”

“You know what.”

“Hm, gonna have to be more specific about that, honey.”

You whine, “Don’t be a little shit.”

He nips at your shoulder as you let out a yelp, “Such dirty language, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, I’d like to kiss you with this mouth. But I’d like your mouth to do other things. Amongst that.

“Very bold,” he teases, “didn’t know three months would make you this demanding.”

“Lotta things you don’t know about me, Kent.”

“Not yet, but I will.” he kisses you soundly on the lips, letting himself linger to you for as long as he can. Which arguably, is a long time, but for as long as he can really means for as long as you can. “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

“Clark,”

“What? Communication is good, you can’t get all shy on me now. I have heat ray vision, I can’t read minds.”

You mumble something incoherent into his neck, you hope there’s some superpower of his that can pick up on it.

“What was that?”

Darn.

“I said, I want you to…” you trail off.

He sucks hard on a particular spot, “To…?”

You moan loudly, “Jesus, will you go down on me? Please?”

A shit eating grin splits his stupid face, you can feel every line against your skin. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it darling?”

You don’t get a chance to speak your witty comeback when you feel his fingers trace over the center outline of your trousers, silencing any and all thoughts that aren’t Clark Kent. He applies more pressure as he trails a heavy finger up and down your core.

A languish moan leaves you, “Clark, please.”

“Shh, i got ya,” he coos, “just relax.”

He deftly undoes your buttons and effortlessly lifts you with one hand while he helps you tug both your trousers and panties down. His lips find yours again and your hands snake around his shoulders to pull him even closer to you. Your fingers tangle in his hair and knot in the strands, pulling upwards in that way that you know really riles him up for you. Evidenced by immediately after said action as he detaches from the kiss and abruptly drags you to the ledge of the kitchen counter, only anchored to it by your ass that Clark is so sad he can’t handfully grab.

Sloppy kisses trail down your neck and into your chest, making no efforts to stop anywhere but his intended destination. Clark’s large hands hold your hips down to the counter as he finally sinks to his knees before you, looking up between your parted legs with a face so wrecked you hope he puts himself out of misery soon for his sake. And yours.

His height even at his kneeled position puts him at the perfect angle at eye level with where he needs to be. Clark has always been grateful for his gifts, entirely more so for his heightened olfactory senses that allow him the divinity to indulge in the scent of you and how that much closer to the Gods he feels on his knees before you like a devoted follower.

And like a devoted follower, he will go wherever the divine tells him he is destined for. And right now, that is between your legs.

Clark leans in slowly, never breaking eye contact with you as he approaches your core. His tongue flattens against you in one swift and intentional movement, the warmth of it all flooding your senses and making your eyes roll back into your head.

“Fuck,” you whine.

His tongue licks a long stripe from bottom to top slowly, letting it circle around the bundle of nerves practically begging for his attention. He doesn’t speed up—only practiced, achingly teasing, strokes that have you seeing stars.

You tangle your fingers in his hair again, in hopes it’ll spur him on enough to move faster. But Clark is a patient man, a tempted one for sure by the way his hands grip down on the top of your ass where he’s holding you, but patient nonetheless.

He dips his tongue between your folds and travels down to your opening, prodding inside and then moving back up to your clit. Clark repeats that set of actions for too long of a time to count, long enough to send you into delirium, long enough to know that you would slide off the counter like jello at any moment if he were to let go, and long enough to have you teetering on the edge of bliss torturously.

You’re not sure when he decides to finally take mercy on you, but he speeds up his ministrations and graciously inserts a finger to your core. Two for good measure.

You tighten your grip on his head, “Clark, oh my god.”

He moans shamelessly into your core, like he’s enjoying this more for his own sake than yours—he is, in case there was any room for doubt. He drinks you in like a thirsted man who just discovered an oasis, his fingers rhythmically moving in and out of you. You clench down on his fingers hard when they hit a sensitive spot within you, his name rolling off your tongue in sacred mantras.

Clark releases from you momentarily, his fingers never stopping their pace. “Close, baby?”

And god, you wish you had some sort of photographic memory or way to immortalize this moment forever. Because the vision of Clark Kent on his knees for you—looking devastatingly wrecked at how even a second away from you is wounding him, covered in you—is one you truly wish you could keep for the rest of your life.

“Y—Yeah, I’m close.” you whimper.

He dives back into you with a mission, stopping at nothing to get you there. You writhe in his arms and he exerts little to no effort at holding you steady as he continues his attack (lovingly) on you. His fingers speed up ever so slightly, curling upwards to hit that spot in you that brings you right to the brink.

“Come for me, honey.” he mumbles into your cunt, burying his face in you as much as he possibly can.

Your peak hits you all at once, loud and crashing into every atom of your being and immediately ceasing into complete bliss and quiet as Clark gently works you through your high. His fingers finally slow their pace and he continues lapping at you until the overstimulation gets to you and you forcibly push his head away.

Clark sits on the floor while you’re still up on the counter, legs slightly bent while he rests an elbow on one knee. The other arm comes up and drags across his glistening mouth, effectively wiping away all traces of you onto his dress shirt sleeve.

You pant heavily, “Jesus,”

“What?”

“You’re really hot.” you blurt out, blame the post orgasmic endorphins for your lack of filter.

He smiles like an idiot, “Yeah? How hot?”

You hop off the counter and land straddling his lap, “I can show you?”

He rises to his feet and picks you up on the way up, “I think that’s a good idea.”

#clark kent x reader #superman #clark kent x you #clark kent smut #clark kent #clark kent imagine #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x female reader #superman x reader #superman x you #superman x y/n #superman smut #superman 2025 #superman movie

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bejeweledinterludes · 4 months ago

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touch starved.

OR dean winchester needs a damn hug! specifically from me, so of course i wrote about it! pretty much based off of my own headcanon that i wrote because this dean is canon— TO ME!

my masterlist

read part 2 here!

「 pairing 」 : touch starved ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 6.1 k (would y’all believe me when i say this started out as a drabble… faith be normal over dean winchester challenge level: IMPOSSIBLE!)

「 content / warnings 」 : late seasons soft!dean, vulnerability to da max, emotions, emotions, EMOTIONS. no smut (for once!), starts off kinda sad BUT HAS A HAPPY(ISH) ENDING I SWEAR! PLEASE PLEASE DON’T KILL ME

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

AFTER CENTURIES IT’S FINALLY DONE! just saying once again thank you all so very much for 400 (+87 ?!?!?) followers! this fic is my gift to you! can’t believe over 400 of you want to see my bullshit (and unabashed horniness) on the daily but i love and appreciate every single one of ya! shoutout to my lovely mooties as well!

looking for new work from me? check out @bejeweledinterludes2, my new writing account!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

dean winchester knew he had something called a touch problem.

and he didn’t know exactly when it started, but after years and years of the only touch he received being hits, punches, the cold feel of steel from a knife or the heat from the barrel of a gun—he craved something gentle.

he needed it.

and goddamn, he was getting desperate.

at first, he usually just sought it out with one-night stands. whether it be holding their hand during it, or sticking around for longer just to lay in bed with whoever the fuck he’d met that night— that kept him at bay. that’s how he got the touch he needed.

but then he got greedy.

it had been a particularly rough hunt. you, dean, and sam were lucky to get out alive. you’d pulled into a town that had a vamp nest terrorizing its inhabitants, and when you saw the familiar hot faces of the winchester brothers at the only decent bar in a 30-mile radius, you’d decided to work together— as you’d all done a million times before.

but still, it was rough. you three each took a floor of the abandoned farmhouse— you on the highest, dean in the middle, and sam on the ground floor. you clambered down the stairs after you had finished clearing your floor, only to be met with two snarling vampires— which you quickly ganked with a schwing of your machete.

after verifying that no threats were coming your way, you started looking for dean— and the panic that flooded through your chest when you saw him crumpled over on the floor in one of the rooms almost made you freeze.

almost.

years of experience and split-second decisions snapped you out of it, immediately falling to your knees by dean’s side, turning him over on his back.

your hands were gentle but swift as you quickly flipped out the sides of his jacket, making sure there were no large gashes or wounds— and the sigh with the feeling of pure relief you let out when you realized he was just knocked out was a little more intense than you had expected it to be.

and you told yourself that was definitely normal.

right?

right.

“dean,” your hand had gone to the side of dean’s face, the other remaining on his shoulder as you shook it gently, trying not to startle him completely as you masked your worry. “come on ya lug, rise ‘n shine.”

despite your efforts, dean still woke with a start— but you caught his arm with the hand not on his face before he could do anything.

“hey— hey,” your voice was quieter, softer. because despite being one bad mother when you were hunting, your soft side came out frequently when it was needed, without fear of judgment and with absolutely no shame. it was one of the things dean wished he could do as seamlessly as you. “it’s jus’ me, alright? come on—”

you then proceeded to stand all six feet and some change of dean up with you, keeping a hand on his back and shoulders and giving him another once over when he stood over you again.

“you all good?” you murmur quietly, your hands resting on the sides of dean’s arms as you stood back, your eyes continuing to rake over him for a moment before looking up at his face— and the expression you were met with wasn’t anger, or even frustration from being knocked out.

no.

dean looked almost… sad.

you’d never been exactly ‘close’ with dean. of course you considered him a friend— for years now, but in all honesty, even that was a stretch sometimes, too. because he was a very closed off and mistrusting person.

but hell, you respected that. especially in this line of work. he did talk to you once in a while, though— on those lulls during a hunt or a case, or when he dropped some crazy lore about himself or his childhood, then going right back to his usual behaviors afterwards.

that being said, you knew dean better than he thought you did— because he didn’t have to say much for you to know what he was going through. despite what he thought, his emotions were always kinda just… written on his face.

but now, back to the farmhouse. back to the look dean had on his face right now. it was a look you saw only after he had consumed enough alcohol to kill a baby elephant, which is why it threw you off and made your usual easygoing attitude with him falter.

“dean,” you voice had gotten quieter, even softer, “w—” but before you could say or even do anything else, sam called from the floor below that it was all clear, snapping dean out of it, his expression hardening again.

in the days coming after, you didn’t ask dean to explain himself, or push about what had happened that night. you knew if he wanted to, he’d come to you about it— maybe not right away, but when he was ready.

little did you know how soon that would be.

you’d been living in the bunker for probably only a couple months at this point after the apocalypse world had opened up, and a bunch of hunters were living in the bunker too— but less than a week later after the vamp nest, both sam and dean embarked on solo hunts, sam in maine, dean in nevada. both brothers had warned you not to ‘burn the joint down’.

come on. like you would ever do that— on accident. besides, you had the bunker all to yourself.

which was fun—

for all of five minutes.

now, almost six days after sam and dean had left, you’re sitting in the library, surrounded by a scattered array of books, papers, and weapons alike on the tables in front of you— another late night of research and catching up on lore.

because there was always lore to catch up on.

you’d been lost in the words in front of you when you heard the unmistakable noise of the bunker’s door creaking open. you stiffened slightly, instincts on alert, lifting your gaze from where you were standing— but relaxed and went back to scanning the page when you realized it was just dean.

because here’s the thing: over the years, you’ve realized that it’s not a good idea to talk to dean after he’s fresh off a hunt— and especially knowing that he’s probably just drove almost or even over 24 hours straight to come home?

yeah. no way were you about to be running up to dean as he trudged down the stairs, doting on him. to your knowledge, he hated touching people, especially other people touching him.

besides, usually after a hunt, dean would just go to his room, the infirmary, or immediately hit the showers— and not look once in your direction while he did it, much less talk to you.

it hurt, but you understood that the reason he does it wasn’t exactly anything you were doing wrong— it was just what dean did.

but tonight was different.

dean was on his way to his bedroom (or actually, maybe the infirmary might be better so he could patch himself up)—

but then he saw you.

you were still stood at one of the tables, eyes scanning through books of lore you dug up from the bookshelves, illuminated by the golden lamps lining the wooden tables. god, you were pretty. even though you weren’t looking at him, he didn’t blame you. he wasn’t exactly the most cheerful after a hunt.

especially this one.

and because of that, dean’s feet were moving before he could even think twice about what he was doing.

you’d glanced up from the book you’d been completely engulfed in— and was a little surprised to find dean looking right back at you as he walked up the few steps to the library.

you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could even register what was happening, dean had already made it to you— and without warning, wrapped you in a tight embrace, slamming against you and holding you like you were the only thing that would keep him upright.

your eyes widen slightly at the feeling of dean’s arms around you before you could register the fact that he’d even crossed the threshold of the bunker— a little ‘oof’ sound escapes you completely involuntarily.

“hey,” dean let out a shaky breath against some strands of your hair and shoulder, his voice slightly raspy with…was that relief?

despite how caught off-guard you were, you don’t reject dean’s unexpected hug, though. you let your body adjust to him and your arms wrap around him too, returning the gesture right back. the faint smell of baby’s exhaust, something earthy along with the familiar scent of dean fills your lungs as your fingers ever so slightly grasp onto the back of his jacket, keeping him against you.

the muscles in dean’s shoulders relax the second your arms gently wrap around him. and oh god, he just really missed you—

“hi,” your voice is just as quiet when you greet dean in return, chin resting on his own shoulder. “how did it—”

you’re trying to ask how his hunt went, but before you finish, dean’s pulling you closer to him and squeezing the words from you. his hands slip more around your waist to hold you against him tighter, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. he just wants to feel you. you’re so warm, so soft— and goddamn, you smelled good, too. you always did. it was a little infuriating, actually.

dean knows he should probably let go, or at least respond, but he can’t find it in himself to let go yet— so instead he just holds onto you tighter. he still doesn’t respond to your unsaid question, simply standing there, holding onto you like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.

you assumed something had happened on his hunt for dean to be acting this way— but you don’t press or force him to tell you what. you just wanted to be there for him right now.

“oh,” is what you end up softly replying with a little nod of your head against dean when he simply doesn’t answer your unfinished question. but you don’t let him go. hell no. you just pat your hand on the back of one of his shoulders, tightening your own grip on him in return. “sorry, de.”

and dean lets out a slow breath of… was that relief at your voice, at the nickname you’d had for him since the second (or was it third) hunt you’d ever worked on together? who the hell knows. he’s just so thankful you’re here, you’re hugging him, not pushing him away, you’re holding him— that you’re so close.

“no, it’s okay,” dean’s unusually soft voice, barely above a whisper, cuts through the silence.

“it— it was rough, that’s all," he mutters after a even longer while, his words tinged with a mixture of fatigue and… something else that you can't quite place.

you and dean were so close and pressed together with your combined tight grips— so much so that you swore you could almost feel his heartbeat. but it wasn’t uncomfortable. and it didn’t feel awkward. it never seemed to be with him. besides, by his (few) words, you could tell he needed this a lot more than he was letting on.

in all honesty, you were just glad dean was finally letting himself seek comfort for once in his goddamn life—

in you.

“yeah, i get it,” is what you reply with, just nodding against dean’s shoulder while tightening your own grip on him. without really thinking about it, you start to gently run one of your hands up and down his back while still wrapped up in him, palm and fingers trailing on the material of his jacket. “just glad you’re back.”

you can feel dean’s breath hitch at your touch— and for a moment, you hesitate your motions of your hand tracing along his jacket, but his grip on you unconsciously tightened, like he was clinging to you. so you continue doing it after that.

“yeah,” he murmurs, a faint huff of something like a laugh escaping him. “me too.”

and for a long while, dean just stands there wrapped up in you, his face still buried in your hair and part of your shoulder as he lets himself lean into that touch, absorbing its comfort. he grips onto the back of your shirt— and he could feel the tension start to melt away, the warmth mixed with the scent of you filling his senses and working magic on him.

dean stays quiet for several more moments, his face still buried deep in your shoulder, as if he was trying to hide himself from the outside world. his grip on you doesn’t loosen as he stands there, his body against yours. every breath he takes is deep, steady— like he’s grounding himself in this moment with you.

his words break the silence as a whisper against you after a while, the vulnerability clear in his low voice, his words almost like a confession.

“i… missed you.”

a small exhale you didn’t know you were holding releases when dean says that— and your hand falters. dean winchester, king of bottling up feelings and keeping them to himself just said he missed you. this was completely different than how he usually acted around you, but you didn’t mind.

“i missed you, too,” your own voice also quiet when you respond. it was only a few words, but you had understood what dean meant— in more ways than most would. which is why you don’t even attempt to tease him about it, replying with something between a sigh and a laugh at the realization. “like, a lot.”

dean’s grip tightens even further at your response, as if your words had a more profound impact on him than you could've ever imagined. he pulls you closer against him, the hardness of his body against yours should’ve been more uncomfortable, but it wasn’t.

there’s a moment of silence as dean just holds you, face still hidden, his chest rising and falling right against yours. each breath he takes is deeper, almost shaky, and for a moment, you can feel the slightest tremble in his grip.

his voice are soft, vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen from him. like he almost didn’t believe you.

“really?”

and you don’t falter your own grip for one second, despite the fact that this was completely out of character for him. you return the action, tightening your arms around dean before resuming running your hand up and down his back.

“yeah, really,” you nod against dean to confirm, letting out a soft exhale into his jacket. “i dunno, it was just… quiet here without you guys. always is.”

your words seem to soothe him— almost as much as your touch, your hug does. despite being strong both physically and mentally, dean seems to need this— and he doesn’t even really know why. he relaxes even more at your words, his body slumping against yours. it’s almost like he’s seeking every bit of comfort and warmth he can get from this— from you.

dean lets out a small, soft scoff, tinged with weary amusement. “yeah, i bet it was,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your . “must’a been like a vacation for you, huh?” there's a note of sarcasm there, like he’s trying to mask the intensity of the moment with something familiar— like he always did.

and you could have played along with dean’s attempt at lightheartedness— but honestly, you were too tired to make that effort right now. so you just shake your head a little against dean, voice much quieter than before.

“first day was nice,” you admit to dean, hands grasping the back of his jacket to keep him close to you before you close your eyes. “the rest were just…”

there’s a beat of silence as you trail off, and dean’s grip on you— if possible, tightens even further at your unfinished sentence, as if he was hanging on your every word, waiting for what you were going to say.

he lets out a small, soft breath, warm against your hair. “just... what?” he asks, his voice just as low as yours. there’s a hint of subtle unease at what you were going to say.

your arms don’t loosen when you feel dean’s grip grow just that much tighter— but you weren’t about to complain. you don’t answer right away, because the rest of your sentence was almost too embarrassing to admit.

but then again, you remind yourself: this was dean who you were talking to. he didn’t judge you for a lot of things you had once assumed he would judge you for. so you just huff out a quiet laugh into his shoulder that wasn’t really one at all— containing no humor and mostly self-deprecation.

“lonely.”

your admission hangs there between you both. it’s a simple word, but it hits dean harder than any blow he’s ever taken in a fight. because you get it. there’s a hitch in his breathing— the kind that gives away more than mere words ever could. he goes still for a moment, just letting your confession sink in, the quiet of the bunker feeling even more pronounced in that moment.

“yeah,” dean finally breaks the silence with a soft exhale against you, pulling you even tighter against him. “me, too.”

you relax a little after dean says that. it meant more than he knew. you weren’t sure how to explain it, but it felt like you and him… kind of supported each other, in a way. like the burdens you both carried separately, your own issues that you had, they seemed to be less overwhelming whenever you were even near each other. even if you and him didn’t actually know each other’s burdens.

there’s always been an understanding between you, a silent knowledge that sometimes words didn’t need to be said for the other to know what that person is thinking.

the atmosphere in the room feels different now, the silence less heavy than it was before, but the intensity and weight of the moment still weighs heavily in the air between you. it must be an interesting sight from the outside looking in— a six-foot hunter clinging onto you like you were the last thing on earth. but you didn’t mind. hell, it was comfortable.

dean’s grip on you remains just as tight— almost like he’s afraid to let go, afraid that you’ll slip away like some dream he only has once in a great while. he takes a deep breath, chest rising against you as he inhales, then exhales slowly. before he’d realized it, his fingers absentmindedly fiddle with a strand of your hair.

this level of closeness between you two was unfamiliar. of course, you’d hugged each other before and spent numerous times in close proximity—whether it be in the backseat of the impala when sam had to drive that one time or when you had to hide in a not-so-big broom closet from a wraith.

but this... this was different.

and you knew the uncomfortableness of seeking comfort better than most— but somehow, you never had an issue when you were the one who was comforting others. but still, this was new territory. you certainly hadn’t expected dean to hug you for this long tonight. truth was, you didn’t really didn’t want to let go. but you couldn’t say that to him. that would be too weird.

the library is silent, only the soft tick-tock of the old clock on the wall filling the air. there’s a vulnerability, an understanding greater than words in this moment that neither of you are used to— but strangely enough, it's also the most comfortable you’ve both felt in a long time.

and then, dean breaks the silence again— his voice so low, so quiet, that you almost miss it.

“don’t wanna let go.”

your gaze softens when dean says that— but you don’t loosen your grip on him. you weren’t sure exactly why he was so adamant on not letting go, or why he’d been hugging you like you’d almost died. but you don’t ask questions.

besides, dean’s been more vulnerable with you tonight than i’d ever seen or heard in all the years you’d known him. and when he admitted that? you knew you had to be there for him, in whatever way he wanted. so when you reply back, your words are just as quiet as his.

“well, you don’t have to.”

the words feel like a weight being lifted off dean’s shoulders. he clings to you even tighter, burying his face even deeper into your shoulder, like he was ashamed. he doesn’t say anything for a moment— instead, just taking deep breaths. because he’s struggling to keep his emotions intact.

finally, he mumbles into you again, his words muffled by your shirt.

“you promise?”

“yeah,” you echo back quietly, nodding your head against dean’s buried into you. “promise. we can stay like this as long as you want to.”

there’s no malice hidden in your words, or any hint of teasing— because it was nothing but the truth. you’d stay with dean for as long as he wanted you to. and you bury your face a little more into him when he does the same to your shoulder.

there’s another long moment of silence as dean holds onto you, his face still buried in your shoulder. normally, he’d be making some smartass comment by now, acting like his usual self— but he can't seem to find the words. or the energy.

dean huffs softly against your shoulder after a moment— the closest thing to one of his usual snarky remarks. but there’s a hint of hesitation in his voice when he speaks.

“what if i wanted to… all night?”

you’d half been expecting dean to brush off your words with a joke or at least something, but the tone of hesitation told you that he was being anything but that. you hesitate, but ultimately lift your head off of his shoulder— you don’t pull away fully, though.

and dean’s body visibly tenses when you pause and pull away slightly to look at him, and he’s almost immediately on the defensive— but relaxes a little when you don’t go far.

your gaze silently searches dean’s as you scrunch your eyebrows slightly. you knew that what he’d just asked you for was… different. and you didn’t have to ask him for clarification. you knew what he meant, why he was so hesitant. because this wasn’t going to be just hugging him anymore.

this would be all night.

and there’s a vulnerable look in his eyes when he lets his guard down just enough as you let your gaze linger on him. dean almost looks like a wounded dog right now, the exhaustion, the weariness making him drop his typical persona in favor of honesty— maybe even desperation, just this once.

from that look on dean’s face, he was not kidding about what he asked. the expression he had was one you hadn’t seen this intensely in a long time. you knew he wasn’t one to just ask something like this, either. not unless he needed it.

the thought of being so close to dean all night makes you a little nervous, but not as much to outright say no. so keeping his gaze, your voice is just as quiet as his was when you nod, breaking the silence of the library once again.

“then i’d say ‘get your pj’s on’.”

the way dean’s body relaxes in relief at your words is almost overwhelming. he’s still staring right into your eyes, the vulnerability almost raw. he manages to nod, searching your gaze. he’d been expecting a boatload of teasing with a side of humiliation— but he’d been proved wrong.

“yeah?” he almost whispers as he holds your gaze, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to read your mind. like he’s unable to determine if this is real. if you’re real.

“yeah,” you nod in return, a pang of warmth hitting you again as you look at dean right back. you’re both still standing so close together— and the air felt different, thicker when you take another breath. “s’long as you don’t kick me.”

dean appreciated the break in seriousness, more than you would ever know. something resembling a smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“no promises,” he murmurs back, something softer in his gaze as his eyes continue to rake over your face. “but i’ll try.”

“good,” you nod a little again, your own smile tugging on your face as your hands almost absentmindedly trail on dean’s arms— and his eyes literally almost flutter shut at the contact. “and you’re comin’ to my room. and you’re showering.”

dean raises an eyebrow and tries to ignore the warmth that stirred in his chest when you said that all authoritative-like— he swallows before he talks again.

“yes, ma’am.”

. • . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . 𖤐

dean knocked on your door before he entered your room not twenty minutes later— don’t ask him, but he showered faster than he ever did in his entire life. he wasn’t too keen on the why.

your head perked up from your pillows when you heard the knock, already under your blankets and— well, let’s be honest here: waiting for him you’d even already moved to the left side of your bed, so dean would have a spot.

a stupid, small part of you had doubts that dean would actually ultimately show up, but it was a little embarrassing how much relief you felt when you call out a soft “yeah”, signaling him to come in.

dean stepped into your room, the only light being from your barley-lit desk lamp. it doubled as a night light, so you didn’t trip over yourself after a midnight snack break.

dean might as well have been in heaven. or something pretty damn close.

of course, he’s been in your room before— but this felt much different than all the other times. because he was going to be sleeping here tonight.

everything felt heightened, more intense— but as dean shut your door, he also had an almost overwhelming sense of comfort. of home. like this is where he was supposed to be this entire time. he pushed those recurring thoughts and feelings he always felt when he was around you, but without first reminding himself that you had agreed to do this. the thought alone was almost enough to make dean’s heart do that thing it always did whenever he was around you.

he’d been lost in his own thoughts, barely even registering the fact that he’d made it to the edge of your bed. your bed. not his, not some old, dingy motel’s. it almost made him chicken out. until—

“as much as i’d like to see you stand there all night, i think you should probably lay down.”

there it was. your incomparable capability to snap dean out of his head, back to reality. he didn’t know how you did it— and to be honest, you didn’t really know, either. but you always could, even giving sam a run for his money.

dean doesn’t hesitate again. you’d already peeled back your covers for him, so he just lifted them up and got under them. like he belonged. as if he’d done so a million times before.

your bed, your sheets, your pillows— it was warm. and it smelled like you, tenfold. an equal blend of your fabric softener that only you used because dean said the teddy bear on the bottle looked at him weird and your shampoo that was way too expensive and you had to go to a separate store for.

dean knew you smelled good, that was no debate— but this was like he was wrapped in it. like he’d been earlier when he hugged you. and so close to how he’d always wanted to be wrapped up in you. yet he knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

besides, when was the last time dean winchester got what he wanted?

the answer?

right now.

your eyes hadn’t left dean’s figure when he finally lays down next to you, both now facing each other— it was strange actually seeing him in your bed after years of restless nights wishing he was.

and you could smell him, too— the faint scent of the soap you’d gotten him for his birthday, along with the tea tree shampoo sam kept hidden in the back medicine cabinet (but not well enough, apparently). you decided right then and there that the pillow dean’s head was currently resting on was the one you were going to sleep on after tonight, just so you could smell him after he was gone.

“how you wanna do this?”

dean’s uncharacteristically soft voice broke your thoughts, and you met his eyes when he spoke. his expression looked softer, too— almost hesitant. like he was uncertain. it was a look you rarely ever saw on his face. to see it now, in this way, was bittersweet. then it clicked.

he was nervous.

“however you want to,” is what you reply with, voice just as quiet as his. you reminded yourself that dean had asked for this. in your mind, it was only fair that he get a say. “whatever you need.”

whatever you need. well, dean needed to kiss you silly if it was the last thing he did, but not tonight. not here. he wouldn’t be able to take it if you rejected him in that way.

but he had to take some sort of risk right now. he couldn’t deny himself of it— of you any longer.

so before dean can talk himself out of it, he wraps an arm around you, closing the remaining distance— and to your surprise, he buries his head right into your chest, nuzzling against your shirt.

your breath hitches, and you hope to god that he didn’t hear that. but you don’t reject him. you just wrap your own arms around him, accepting him and his touch just as you had done earlier in the library.

dean would’ve made some joke about basically burrowing his face into your boobs. he didn’t really mean to— but his eyes had fluttered shut already, because you letting him, and you were warm, and you smelled good, and you were so soft.

he’d always loved that about you. from a distance, of course. it didn’t matter how many hardships you’d gone through; you were soft in every sense of the word, both physically and emotionally. and once when he’d taken a shower in your bathroom since sam was hogging the main one in the bunker, the whole damn place smelled like you. he found himself wanting to drown in it.

and hell. he wouldn’t even complain.

your free hand went into his hair at some point, and it took everything in him not to let out a noise. dean sighed a little into your shirt, his breath warm on your chest— he finally let himself relax. go slack.

and he was so grateful that you didn’t tease him, or point out the fact that all six feet and one inch of him was in your grasp and snuggling into you like some damn koala. like a little kid who had a bad dream. but then again, his life felt like a never-ending bad dream most of the time.

you were his one exception to that.

not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

you weren’t sure how long you both stayed like that, wrapped up in each other before dean breaks the warm blanket of silence— it could’ve been hours or seconds. but his voice is so low, so soft, you almost didn’t hear it.

“thanks.”

the word was spoken against you, dean still remaining unmoving. he didn’t necessarily think himself as weak at the moment, even though he thought he should— and he dared not to say it out loud, knowing that you’d immediately shoot his insecurities down.

but dean was finally letting himself get comfort. warmth.

something he’d had for a fleeting moment, then lost. something he had deemed too precious for a man as ragged and as sinful as him a long time ago. he didn’t deserve this. you.

he’d never be one to just take something like this, to ask this of you, without any regard for how you felt. but you showed— all you ever showed to him was the love he thought he’d never receive. the love he’d given so much away, but it never got returned back to him.

because you made him feel like he actually meant something. like he was the hero people he’d saved described him as. like he wasn’t some piece on a chessboard, a punchline in someone’s story, a puppet on a string, or a cog in some eternal machine.

truth was? the big secret?

you made him feel normal. human.

it was almost overwhelming, how safe, comfortable he felt right now. the last time he felt this safe, he’d been a child. the last time he felt this comfortable in himself— damn. it was before hell.

when it was just monsters of the week, the only big goal being finding his dad. staying at bobby’s. you had visited that summer. he can still remember your laugh echoing off of the wallpaper and the piles of books. it was before demons.

and the only angel he saw daily was you.

it was in the way the light shone in through the stained glass of one of bobby’s kitchen windows and hit your face, you making him coffee without being asked. when you smiled at him just because.

you treated him like a real friend. like family. like an equal.

sometimes, when everything in his head was too loud, dean missed it. when the only thought of lucifer he had was when he saw the cartoon on the bottle of the devil’s hot sauce at that barbeque place in texas. when everyone he loved and cared about was still alive. when the world wasn’t ending. when you kissed his cheek after not seeing him for a while.

you still did that last one, though.

“anytime, de.”

dean had flinched a little, but didn’t open his eyes after you replied—he had been too lost in the comfort. in you. he could die right now instead of sleeping, and honestly? it’d be a good way to go out. he’d prefer it over going down swinging any day, he decided.

dean got most of what he wanted tonight. maybe someday he’d get it all. but for now, he’d just dream of it, like he always did.

the only difference?

he was actually in your arms this time.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you have one ( 1 ) more new message from the author ! ↓

i know i said it already, but i need to hold this man so so so BADDDDD 💔💔💔 he deserves everything and more like that’s my shayla ☹️ my baby my world my everything (he’s a murderer and monsters fear him)

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bittersweetfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

#faith’s works . . . @bejeweledinterludes!#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester fanfiction #dean supernatural #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader

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vitaminyu · 2 days ago

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 ⟢

Sunghoon is a full-time fuckboy with a habit of never staying until the morning. You’re not into casual. Not into games. Not into the way he looks at you like you’re next. And yet, something about him sticks. Something behind the smirk, the flirting, the pretty face. You swore you'd never fall for a guy like him.

But then again…never say never.

✴︎ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: fuckboy!sunghoon x hook-up culture hater!reader

fluff, slow-ish burn but not really tbh, trust issues, sunghoon is a b-boy, reader likes photography and hates hook-ups, soft smut, weak in the knees, he looks at you like you’re worth everything, sensual intimacy... I am bad at this

✴︎ 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: themes of hookup culture, emotional vulnerability, light angst, reader struggles with trust/intimacy, smut (minors dni)

10.8k words

You’re sitting on a kitchen counter, legs swinging, drink in hand, detached from the mess of bodies around you. The music’s too loud, the lights too low, and the air smells like cheap beer and desperation.

Small town house parties are always the same.

Predictable. Repetitive. Pathetic.

You’re not drunk, not even tipsy. Just observant. Detached. Watching the night unravel around you. Trying to pass time until your friend’s done pretending this place has something new to offer.

Then you notice him.

Park. Fucking. Sunghoon.

The local fuckboy with a reputation thicker than the scent of cologne trailing behind him. He’s all lazy smirks and sinful stares, the kind of boy who knows he’s wanted, and acts like the world owes him something for it.

Girls notice him. Of course they do. Their eyes flick to him like moths to an expensive flame.

His hair’s a little too perfect, that jacket too clean for a night like this. He makes eye contact with three of the girls on his way across the room. All of them smile. None of them hold his attention.

Until he sees you.

You sit on the counter like it’s the only place in the room that isn’t spinning. Not drinking to blur the night. Not trying to be seen. Just… occupying space.

You’re wearing black. Always black. Not because you’re trying to be edgy, but because it doesn’t stain, and it makes people assume you’re colder than you are. Which helps. People leave you alone when they can’t quite figure out if you’re worth the effort.

Your lip gloss is half-faded, and you’ve reapplied it twice with the tiny mirror in your phone, only because you like the way it catches the light when you talk. You’ve got that look in your eyes — one part bored, one part dangerous. Not in a loud way. Not in a “who’s that girl?” kind of way. More like background static. A presence.

And Sunghoon is intrigued by that.

You’ve already said no to two guys. One of them slurred something about your legs, and the other asked if you were “waiting for someone.” You told him you were waiting for the earth to split open and swallow this whole place.

You weren’t joking.

Sunghoon looks at you like you’ve interrupted something inside him. Like he wasn’t planning to notice you, and now he can’t stop. He lingers near the edge of the kitchen for a moment, half-listening to whatever some girl’s saying, before peeling away like her voice just turned to a quiet hum.

He walks like someone who never rushes. Someone who knows the room bends for him whether he tries or not.

And now he’s right in front of you.

“Well, don’t you look comfortable,” he says, voice full of honey-laced mischief. “You always sit up there?” he asks, head tilted like he’s genuinely curious.

You sip your drink. “Only when I don’t feel like talking to people.”

He grins at that. “Too bad. I’m Sunghoon.”

You raise a brow. “I know who you are.”

“And yet,” he says smoothly, “you’re not impressed.”

“Not even a little.”

He leans in, mouth closer now, like he’s used to his smile doing half the work for him. “Then tell me what would impress you.”

You set your drink down and tilt your head, smiling sweetly. Almost sympathetically.

“If you’re talking to me just to get your dick sucked,” you say, “you should look somewhere else.”

His smirk falters for a beat, like he wasn’t expecting you to cut to the chase. You let the silence hang, watching the flicker of ego rearrange behind his eyes.

“There’s plenty of girls here who’d gladly drop to their knees for you,” you add, swinging one leg slowly back and forth. “You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Sunghoon recovers fast, smile curving back into place like he enjoys the challenge.

“What if I want you on your knees?”

You don’t flinch. Don’t laugh. You just lean forward until your mouth is barely an inch from his ear. Your breath brushes his skin, and you swear you feel him tense.

“You’d have to deserve it first.”

Then you pull back, like you didn’t just light a fire in him and hop off the counter, boots hitting the floor with a satisfying thud, and walk past him without a second glance. Just as your best friend rounds the corner from the hallway, fresh from the bathroom, eyes searching the crowd for you.

But he follows and you feel his presence before you hear his voice.

“Wait—” Sunghoon calls out, weaving through people until he’s at your side again. “Hey, at least give me your number.”

You glance up at him, a smirk tugging at your mouth despite yourself. Life is a little too boring for you these days, maybe toying with him a bit could make things more interesting. His expression is less cocky now. More curious. Like he doesn’t quite know what the hell just happened, but he wants to.

To put it simply, he isn’t used to rejection.

You hand him your phone wordlessly. He types something in, presses ‘call’ so you’ll have his too, and gives it back with a grin that’s more genuine than you expected.

As you slide it into your back pocket and continue walking, your very drunk best friend nudges you with her elbow, brow raised.

“Who was that?” she asks.

You don’t look back.

“No one,” you say. “For now.”

Sunghoon watches the swing of your hair vanish between strangers and basslines, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he didn’t get what he wanted. At least not right away.

Which is… irritating.

Because he didn’t come here to get rejected.

He came to this party for the usual: a warm body, a messy kiss, something quick and meaningless to pass the time. That’s the game. That’s what people like him do.

Approach. Flirt. Fuck. Never speak again.

But then there was you.

Sitting on the bar like a dare. Eyes glazed with disinterest. Lip gloss smudged. You didn’t look at him like he was something you wanted. And that should’ve been enough to make him walk away. He should’ve let it go. Find someone easier. Someone already halfway in love with the idea of him.

But no. You gave him nothing, and now he wants everything.

You weren’t supposed to say no. You weren’t supposed to smile like you saw straight through him. You weren’t supposed to hand him your number and then walk away uninterested, like it didn’t cost you a single breath.

Now he’s standing there with your number in his phone, your voice still in his ear, and all he can think about is how you didn’t laugh when he said he wanted you on your knees. You just leaned in and whispered something that flipped the entire room on its head.

You’d have to deserve it first.

Fuck.

He wishes he could just fuck you and forget it. Quick and easy. Something physical to burn through and leave behind. But you’re not that kind of flame.

You’re the slow kind.

The kind that leaves marks.

And the worst part? He likes it.

There’s a challenge in you he didn’t expect. A power in the way you don’t try to be wanted. You’re not throwing glances. You’re not performing. You’re just there, sharp and solid and untouchable.

And now you’re stuck in his head.

So he does something he’s never had to do before: he texts you first.

You take your time getting ready.

Not because you’re nervous. Not because you care. But because if you’re going to waste your night on a fuckboy, you might as well look like the kind of girl a fuckboy loses sleep over.

Your room’s quiet, save for the occasional buzz of your phone…another text from Sunghoon, probably. He’s sent three since this morning. One said, “still on for tonight?” The second was a TikTok he clearly thought was funny enough to share (it wasn’t). The latest? A picture of his car parked in your driveway with the caption: “I’m outside. Try not to fall in love or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you gave yourself a headache. You know exactly what this is.

Park Sunghoon isn’t subtle. He didn’t text you because he wants to “get to know you.” He’s not suddenly into conversation or complicated girls who don’t melt at his smile and laugh at his jokes. He texted because you didn’t play the game. Because you made it clear he’d have to try if he wants you moaning his name.

And men love a challenge, don’t they?

Especially if their ego is on the line.

That’s what makes this fun. He’s trying so hard for a mere one-night stand. And you? You haven’t even started properly toying with him.

You’re not going on this date because you’re interested. You’re going because you’re bored. Because toying with a man like Sunghoon, who’s used to girls bending over backwards for a one-word text and a half-hearted grin, sounds like a fun way to spend your Friday.

Let him think he’s winning, just long enough to keep him coming back. And when he’s invested enough to stop pretending it’s all casual, you’ll remind him that you never planned on giving him anything at all.

This is going to be fun.

By the time you open the door, you’re in your boots, jacket slung over one shoulder, keys in hand, and zero intention of pretending you’re excited. He stands up from leaning against his car like he’s in some teen drama, all smirks and practiced charm.

“Well, don't you look beautiful,” he says and hands you a bouquet of lilies.

You give him a once-over. “Thanks, the flowers are pretty.”

He chuckles. “Figured it was the bare minimum.”

“How rare. A man aware of what that means.”

He opens the passenger door for you, and you slide in without a word. The flowers sit in your lap, an unexpected prop in whatever performance he’s trying to put on tonight. You don’t hate it. But you don’t fall for it either.

The car smells like a cologne sample someone rubbed on a credit card bill. Clean, expensive, trying too hard. He gets in on the driver’s side. Glances at you, then at the road.

“You didn’t text back.”

“Didn't feel like it.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re not like other girls, huh?”

You blink once. Then scoff, full-bodied and shameless, turning your head to stare at him like he’s just insulted your entire bloodline.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

He laughs, genuinely this time, even if a little nervous at your outburst. “Right. Okay. Got it.”

The drive is quiet for a moment, save for the playlist he queued up. Something chill. Something he probably played for every other girl he thought he had to vibe with.

“You know,” he says eventually, “you never told me your name.”

“Didn’t think you needed it. You seemed more interested in what I’d look like in your backseat.” You shrug as the car pulls into the parking lot of some half-decent diner. Neon signs. Flickering lights. A place people go when they’re too tired to cook or too young to care about ambiance. He parks, cuts the engine, and looks over.

He sputters. “That’s not…okay, fair.”

You smile to yourself. This is already better than expected.

He steps out first, rushes to your side, and opens your door like he’s got something to prove. You raise an eyebrow as you get out. “Chivalry?” you murmur. “Cute.”

Inside, the diner hums with low conversation and clinking silverware. The waitress barely glances up as she hands you menus and leads you to a booth tucked in the back. There's dim lighting, cracked leather seats, and just enough privacy to pretend this is something more than it is.

Sunghoon slides into the seat across from you, stretches his legs like he owns the space between you, and rests his elbow on the edge of the table.

“You really don’t want to be here, do you?”

You look up from the menu. “Not particularly.”

He huffs out a laugh, leans back. “Then why’d you come?”

You tap a manicured nail against the tabletop. “I was bored.”

“Boredom,” he repeats. “Harsh.”

“Honest.” You don’t soften the blow. You don’t apologize.

He flips the menu shut. “Alright then, honesty for honesty. You caught my attention that night. Like actually caught it. That doesn’t happen.”

You raise a brow. “How tragic for you.”

“Okay, damn.” He laughs. “You’re not gonna let me have one sincere moment?”

“Maybe. If it’s a good one.”

You sip your drink when it arrives. He does too. There’s a pause between you, not awkward, just heavy with whatever this is turning into.

And then, because you feel like it, you lean back in your seat and finally say it. Low and slow. Like giving him your name is an offering, not a courtesy.

“It’s Y/N.”

His eyes flicker. “Y/N,” he repeats, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “Pretty.”

You hold his gaze. “Don’t ruin it.”

He smiles. But it’s not that cocky grin from the party. It’s quieter. More real. The kind of smile someone gives when they don’t know they’re doing it. And for just a moment, you feel it. That flicker in your chest. That tiny, traitorous skip in your pulse. You crush it immediately.

The plates hit the table with a muted clink. Greasy diner food. Something deep-fried. Something Sunghoon didn’t even look at the name of before ordering. You’re too busy watching the way the window beside you stains his skin in washed-out blue and buzzing pink, like a painting someone left out in the rain.

He picks up a fry. Spins it between his fingers like he's stalling.

"So," he says after a beat, “you don’t do small talk.”

“Only with people I’m trying to impress.” You say as you pop a cherry into your mouth from your drink. It crunches between your teeth.

“Alright. No small talk. Big talk, then.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing slowly.

“Big talk?”

“Yeah. Like… the kind that changes the mood, for better or worse.”

You snort softly. “Was there a mood?”

“Not yet,” he says, mouth twitching. “But I’m working on it.”

There’s a small pause. He breaks first.

“I dance,” he says, eyes still on the table. “Breakdancing, mostly. I’m in a crew. We battle.”

That catches you off guard. You glance at him. “Like… actual dance battles?”

“Yeah,” he nods, like this is the part where most people either tune out or mock him. “Underground stuff. There’s a warehouse in Hongdae that we use to host dance battles occasionally. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”

You take another sip of your drink. Let the silence stretch before answering.

“That’s kind of sick.”

He meets your gaze, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nod. “You don’t seem like the type to care about anything enough to practice it.”

That earns you a laugh, a real one. Soft. Eyes crinkling. “Okay, harsh. But fair,” he says, grinning, but then he sobers a little. “I’ve got a younger sister. She’s eight. I show her videos from the battles. She thinks I’m famous or something, it's super cute.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t expected softness from him. Not this kind. Not this early.

“What’s her name?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Yeji,” he says, voice quieter now. “She paints flowers on my sneakers when I’m not looking.”

You smile. And this time, it’s not calculated.

There’s a lull. Not awkward. Just… gentle. Like a breeze passing through the booth. The sound of silverware, of soft pop songs from the speakers above, of the world going on without noticing that something strange and delicate is blooming between two strangers under neon lights.

He nods at you, finally.

“Your turn.”

You raise a brow. “For what?”

“Big talk.”

You hesitate. Then wipe your hands on a napkin and lean back into the cracked leather.

“I’m starting college after summer ends,” you say. “Communications major. Media and stuff.”

He nods. “You excited?”

You stare at him. Then softly answer, “I’m terrified.”

He doesn't smile at that. Doesn’t laugh. Just let it sit there like he knows how heavy it is to admit something like that out loud. “Good,” he says eventually. “Means you give a shit.”

“I also do photography,” you say suddenly, like it slipped out by accident.

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

You nod, eyes tracing the condensation sliding down your glass. “Started when I was fifteen. Took my mom’s old camera one day and never really put it down.”

“What do you shoot?”

You hesitate. Then answer like it’s a secret. “People. Usually strangers and their movement. Or hands. I like hands… they tell you everything,” you say. “Nervous tics. Calluses. Scars.”

He nods, quiet for once. “That’s cool. I get that, actually.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You get the hand thing?”

“I mean… I get watching movement. Reading people without them noticing. It's kind of the same with dancing,” he says, scratching the back of his neck like he’s just now realizing it. “When I’m battling, I don’t just move, I watch. How someone shifts their weight. How they breathe before a drop. Trying to predict their moves. It’s all there, even in their hands.”

You blink, a little surprised. Not by what he said, but by the fact that he said it at all. That he said it like it meant something. A small silence curls between you, not awkward, just heavy with mutual understanding.

He gestures toward your drink with a flick of his fingers. “So do you just carry your camera everywhere like a spy? Or are you gonna show me one of these mysterious hand photos?”

You smirk. “It’s in my bag.”

You reach down and pull it out; it's nothing too fancy, just a camera that’s clearly lived a life. Paint on the strap. A sticker half-peeled off the bottom. Dings, dents, charms.

He whistles low, impressed. “This thing’s got stories.”

“So do the people in it,” you say. Then, without warning, you lift the camera and snap a picture of him mid-sip, his eyes wide with surprise, a little drip of water sliding down his chin.

“Hey!” he coughs, setting his glass down. “Rude,” he laughs, then points a dramatic finger at you. “I've got a crazy good idea, next battle you’re coming with me. I want you to photograph me spinning on my head, looking like a tornado.”

You arch a brow. “Big words for someone who just got caught mid-sip looking like a confused turtle.”

“I have layers,” he says, grinning. “Besides, I think it'd be cool. You… behind the lens. The crowd in motion. My crew on the dance floor. Just thinking about it makes me excited.”

You pause. Not because you don’t want to go. But because, somehow, in the middle of teasing and you trying to act nonchalant… that felt real. Like an invitation that meant something.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down at your camera. “That could be nice.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice quieter now. “You ever show your photos to anyone?” You shrug at that. “Sometimes. Online, mostly. But not really the ones that matter.”

His brow furrows. “Why not?”

“Because those are the ones that feel like me,” you say, barely above a whisper. “And people don’t always know what to do with that.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then he finally breaks the silence, “I’d get it. If you ever wanted to show me.”

You glance up, caught off-guard again. He’s not smirking this time. No teasing. Just looking at you like you’re not some game to figure out, but something already worth knowing. Is this all a scheme of his to get you naked? It doesn't feel like it is.

And you hate that your heart stumbles for it.

So you lift the camera again and snap another photo, catching him with his chin resting in one hand, eyes soft and steady.

“What now?” he asks.

You smile, just a little. “That one’s for me.”

The drive back is quiet in that way late-night rides sometimes are—comfortable, laced with half-thoughts and glances that last too long. The radio hums with something lo-fi and low-effort, the kind of music meant to fill the space without asking too many questions. City lights blur past in streaks, all neon pinks and golds, casting moving shadows across the interior of the car. Sunghoon drums his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. You pretend not to notice when he glances at you during red lights.

“So,” he says eventually, voice breaking the silence like it’s a bubble. “Was I... tolerable company tonight?”

You stretch in your seat, turning toward the window with a deliberately long sigh. “You didn’t talk with your mouth full. Or take a selfie mid-meal. So yeah, I’ve survived worse.”

He chuckles, low and genuine. “Wow. High praise.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you murmur. “That thing’s already struggling for space.”

He gives you a mock-wounded look before returning his focus to the road, a lopsided smile still tugging at his lips. Outside, the city starts to thin. Fewer cars. Quieter streets. The kind of quiet that almost feels private. And then there it is, your street, familiar and dim under the yellow haze of tired streetlamps.

He pulls into your driveway like he’s done it before. Like it’s already a routine. The engine cuts, leaving only the clicking of the cooling hood and your shallow breaths in the stillness. Neither of you moves for a second.

“Do I get a rating? Like out of ten?” he starts again, voice softer now.

You pretend to think. “Five. But I added points for the lilies.”

“Five?” he echoes, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “This is the worst review I’ve ever received.”

“You’ll survive.” You reach for the door handle. He beats you to it.

You watch, vaguely amused, as he jogs around the car and opens your door like this is prom night. You step out slowly, eyes still on him, one brow raised.

“Chivalry again?” you ask, dry.

He shrugs, hands in his pockets again. “Get used to it.”

The walk to your front step is a few feet, but feels longer with the weight of unsaid things trailing behind you. You reach the door, keys already in hand, but he lingers, half a step closer than necessary. He’s looking at you the way people do when they’re working up to something. You can feel it before he says anything. The almost electric silence of someone about to act on a maybe.

“So…” he starts, leaning in just slightly, his lips getting dangerously close to yours. Not cocky this time. Not performative. Just… hopeful. Curious. You let him get close, just enough to think he might get away with it. And then you tilt your head at the last second, barely dodging his lips, and instead whisper near his ear, voice velvet-smooth:

“Good night, Sunghoon.”

You step back before he can recover, watching the flicker of surprise flash across his face. His lips part slightly, brows lifting just a touch. He laughs. It’s not loud, but it’s full-bodied. Like he wasn’t expecting it, but he’s not mad about it either.

“I should’ve known,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really aren’t gonna make this easy, are you?” You smile, faint and dangerous. “What would be the fun in that?”

“You like messing with me.” He watches you for a beat, eyes trailing from your mouth to your gaze like he’s trying to memorize something he shouldn’t want this badly.

You turn the key in the lock, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“You're figuring that out just now?”

A pause. His smirk deepens, sharp at the corners but softer underneath.

“See you at the dance battle then?”

You nod once, pulling the door open just enough to slip inside. “You better win,” you say, not even looking back. “I’ll be watching.” And then the door clicks shut, leaving him on your porch, hands in his pockets, smirking at the wood grain like he’s just been played and loved every second of it.

The smell hits first: concrete, sweat, smoke, and adrenaline. The floor’s already alive when you get there. There’s no “door.” Just a guy on the stairs who eyes your camera and gives you a nod when you flash the printed flyer. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. The music’s already doing enough of the talking.

The battle’s set in a cavernous underground parking garage, fluorescent lights flickering overhead like they’re on their last breath. Concrete walls are sprayed with layers of graffiti – colorful tags, sprawling murals, sharp symbols screaming of a thousand nights like this one. Every inch hums with grit and possibility, like the whole place is waiting to catch someone mid-air.

Inside, the crowd’s tight, hungry. Hoodies and snapbacks. Pretty girls in cargos and gold hoops. Crews clustered like wolfpacks around the taped-off cypher, all waiting for blood. The floor space is roughly duct-taped off, even though everyone knows the rules: no pushing in, no touching, and if you enter the circle, you better have something to show off.

Music pulses through the space, old-school breakbeats with heavy bass that thumps in your chest and seeps into your bones. The DJ’s scratching keeps everything tight, carving breaks sharp enough to slice through the tension.

A speaker thuds out a beat hard enough to shake your spine, and the crowd roars as two b-boys launch into a footwork exchange. Quick, sharp, controlled chaos. 6-steps, elbow freezes, and windmills turning to flares. One misstep and the circle eats you alive.

You stay on the edges, camera in hand. You’re not here to dance.

You’re here to watch him.

Sunghoon.

You spot him across the room instantly. Black joggers, scuffed at the hem, catching on the gritty floor. White tee under an oversized hoodie that sways with him, a quiet shout of street style against the raw backdrop. A bandana tied around his wrist. His crew stands nearby, dapping each other up, heads nodding to the beat. He hasn’t seen you yet.

Good.

You lift your camera and frame the shot, his profile lit by the glow of cheap LED strip lights, backlit by movement. You click once. Then again. Candid.

The DJ cuts the track mid-beat, and a ripple moves through the crowd like lightning. A new challenger steps into the circle.

"Next up," someone calls, "Echo versus Icey." A scream erupts

That’s him. Icey.

You didn’t realize it at first, but break dancers usually go by nicknames. It’s just how the culture works. Everyone has these sharp, catchy handles that stick way better than their real names. Makes sense when you think about it. When you’re spinning, flipping, and throwing down moves that look like they belong in a comic book, your given name just doesn’t cut it.

Take Sunghoon, for example. It’s like a secret identity, a persona that’s bigger than life on the floor. You wonder what your nickname would be if you ever stepped in.

Sunghoon makes his way towards the dance floor, and the crowd tightens.

You raise your camera again.

He doesn’t start big. Just a bounce. Head nod. A few toprock steps that look too casual to be serious — until he drops, spins into a windmill and snaps into a hollowback freeze so clean you hear people yelling from across the garage.

It’s flow. Pure flow. Controlled power. Every move connected, like his bones know where the music’s going before the DJ does. He battles like someone with something to prove, but nothing to lose. Like he doesn’t just want to win, he wants to be remembered.

And in the middle of a thread combo so tight it looks animated, he glances your way. Direct. Sharp. Then he finishes the set with an elbow freeze, legs up, chest forward, eyes still on you.

You click the shutter. Again. And again.

After the round, crews slap hands, people whistle, and the music doesn’t stop. The battle goes on. But you move around the space, framing him between silhouettes, graffiti, limbs in motion. You don’t notice when he disappears from the cypher. But you do feel him appear behind you.

“You get my good side?”

The voice is lower now. Sweaty. Slightly out of breath. You don’t turn around immediately.

“I don’t know,” you reply, adjusting your lens. “You blur a lot when you spin.”

He leans over your shoulder slightly, not touching, but close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him. “Let me see?”

You show him one photo. It’s mid-freeze, motion caught mid-breath, body held in defiance of gravity. But it’s not the move that makes it good, it’s the expression. Focused. Drenched in light and shadow. Alive.

Sunghoon whistles under his breath. “Damn.”

You glance at him sideways. “You impressed?”

He shrugs. “I mean... I look kind of hot.”

“You looked kind of unhinged. Like you were about to levitate.”

“Same thing,” he smirks. “On a serious note, it's really good. Like really, really good. I might even print it out.” That makes you blush a little. He continues, “My crew’s doing a block party tomorrow. Real open floor. Bring your camera. Could use someone with your eye.”

You raise a brow. “You just want free promo.” He grins wider. “Nah. I just like having you around.” You snort at that, “You’re lucky you’re good.”

He’s quiet for a second, “I meant it. You’ve got an eye. Come shoot us.”

You finally nod, and then you lift your camera again and say, “Smile.”

He flashes a peace sign, sticking his tongue out. You snap it.

Ugly. Dumb. A mess of a shot.

You love it instantly.

The battles go on, and you find yourself captivated.

Finally, Sunghoon’s name rings out over the speakers. First place. The crowd roars, but before the noise can swallow you whole, he’s already making his way toward you, weaving through the crowd with a grin that’s all kinds of dangerous and playful.

Before you can blink, he’s at your side and then, without warning, he scoops you up like you weigh nothing at all. Your laughter spills out, light and breathy, echoing against the concrete walls. His arms are strong and warm, steadying you as the world tilts a little in the best possible way.

“You’re heavy,” he teases, voice rough and low, but there’s something soft in the way he looks at you. You giggle again, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. “Lucky you’ve got muscles.”

He holds you a moment longer, like he’s savoring the space between battle and celebration, then pulls back just enough to grin down at you.

“Give me a sec,” he says, eyes flickering to the side. “Gotta do something.”

You watch as he steps away, the grin fading into something more serious. Across the circle, the second-place dancer stands, chest heaving, sweat slicked over his skin, eyes glazed with exhaustion and worry.

Sunghoon approaches, calm but purposeful. Without hesitation, he presses the prize money into the other guy’s hand. “For your mom,” he says quietly. The man blinks, shock rooting him in place. His voice cracks as he tries to speak. “I… I can’t. This is your prize.”

Sunghoon shrugs, eyes steady, voice soft. “I heard she’s in the hospital. Needs it more.”

For a moment, the world stills. The man’s fingers close slowly over the cash, gratitude and disbelief mingling in his expression. “Thank you,” he breathes, voice thick with emotion. Sunghoon just nods and turns back toward you, a small, almost shy smile pulling at his lips.

You stand there, heart pounding, the camera forgotten in your hand, watching the quiet strength behind his gesture. When he reaches you again, you look up into his eyes and say, “That was… very kind of you.”

Sunghoon’s gaze softens. “This whole thing is not just about winning. It’s about what you stand for.” You swallow at that, heart tightening with something you can’t quite name. The noise of the crowd fades, replaced by the steady thrum of your own breath and the sudden heat of his presence beside you.

He squeezes your hand gently, just for a second, before stepping back to the circle. The moment feels charged, like a secret passed between two people who don’t need to say more. You lift your camera slowly, capturing a shot of him looking out over the crowd, victorious.

“Come on,” he says with a grin, voice teasing but warm. “Dance with me?”

You blink, caught off guard by the invitation, a spark of something electric igniting under your skin. The crowd’s roar fades again, this time replaced by the pulse of the beat you can still hear in your chest. Your fingers tighten around the camera, hesitant but curious.

“Dance with you?” you echo, voice a little breathless.

He nods, stepping closer, his eyes bright with challenge and something softer, a silent promise that this moment is just for the two of you.

The circle clears, or maybe it just feels that way. He offers his hand, steady and warm, and you take it, letting him pull you into the middle of the cypher. The music swells again, bass thumping through the concrete like a heartbeat.

You don’t know many moves, you’re not a dancer, but Sunghoon’s rhythm wraps around you, guiding, coaxing. His laughter is low and contagious, and soon you find yourself moving, swaying, caught in the simplicity of the moment.

For a few minutes, it’s just the two of you: the music, the flash of his grin, your breath mingling in the air between you. No prizes, no crowds, no expectations. Just this fragile, perfect thread of connection.

When the song ends, he pulls you close, resting his forehead lightly against yours.

“You got moves,” he says with a teasing smile. You laugh softly, heart still racing. “Only with the right partner.” He holds your gaze, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asks quietly.

And in that moment, you want to say yes. You want to dive into this wild, reckless pull he’s got on you. But the voice inside your head won’t let you. If you go with him, if you have sex with him, it whispers, he’ll leave. Mission accomplished. Just like that, gone. And then what? You swallow hard, feeling the weight of that truth settle like a stone in your chest.

He was supposed to be just a fuckboy. Someone to toy with, to keep at arm’s length. To make him think he can get what he wants, and then shove him away. Nothing more. But every time he shows you a new side, softer, realer, it pulls you closer than you planned.

Still, you shake your head softly, trying to steady yourself. You’re scared. Scared that if you let him in, if you cross that line, he’ll disappear like smoke through your fingers, leaving you alone in the dark.

“I can’t,” you whisper, voice barely audible between the fading beats. “Not tonight.”

Sunghoon’s eyes search yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something like understanding there. Maybe even patience. You step back, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to convince your heart to listen to your head. Because some things, no matter how tempting, aren’t safe to chase, not yet.

Sunghoon looks at you, eyes steady and patient. “I get it,” he says softly, voice rough but sincere. “No pressure.”

He holds out his hand. “Want to get out of here? Go for a walk. Clear the noise?”

You hesitate only a second before slipping your hand into his. His fingers are warm, grounding. Outside, the street feels quieter, cooler. You walk side by side, the air crisp and different from the stale heat inside. The pavement is cracked, the streetlights flickering overhead. Sunghoon glances at you. “Sometimes I think this whole thing, the music, the battles, the crowds… It’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. But then other times... it feels like a cage I can’t break out of.”

You glance over, surprised at his honesty. “I get that. Sometimes the things we want the most feel like they trap us.” He nods slowly at that. “Walking in the streets at night is the only time I really feel free. The quiet gives me space to breathe. To just be.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, just a heartbeat, you let yourself look. Really look.

Sunghoon’s profile is lit by the amber glow of a streetlamp overhead, soft golden light brushing against the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the little crease between his brows he gets when he’s deep in thought. His hoodie’s pulled half-up, messy strands of hair brushing his forehead, damp from the heat of the battle. His lips are parted slightly, like he’s still catching his breath from dancing.

And for a second, framed by flickering neon and the gentle hush of the street, he looks unreal. Like something pulled from a dream. Or a memory you haven’t made yet.

There’s a pause, the city’s hum filling the silence. You take a breath, feeling the words bubbling up. “I don’t usually talk about this, but… I’ve had some bad experiences with guys.”

Sunghoon looks at you, curious but patient.

“Not like… abusive or anything,” you say quickly, “just a few bad one-night stands. Thought it’d be simple. No strings. But it turned messy. Most lied to me afterward. Made me feel cheap. Used. So I don’t do that anymore.” Sunghoon listens quietly, not rushing you. “After that, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone get close, not like that, not easily. It’s safer.”

Sunghoon’s expression softens. “I do that,” he continues quietly. “I'm that guy. The one who says all the right things, gets close just enough to get what he wants, and then ghosts before morning. Sometimes I didn’t even wait for the sun to come up. I hate myself for it.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head at himself. “At first, it felt easy. Like I had control. Keep it light, no strings, no expectations. I told myself I was doing them a favor. Being clear, keeping it casual. But I wasn’t. Not really. Most of the time, I was just scared.”

You don’t speak, but your eyes are on him now, your feet matching his step.

“I didn’t want to connect,” he admits. “Didn’t want anyone to see the parts of me I didn’t like. So I made sure it was always temporary. Quick. Clean. Forgettable.”

He finally looks at you, and his gaze is raw in a way you’ve never seen before. “But the thing is… after a while, it stops feeling good. All that surface-level shit. The adrenaline wears off, and you start to realize you’re just… empty. Like you gave away pieces of yourself for nothing. Took pieces from others. And it hits you.”

He stops walking. You do too.

“I don’t want that anymore.”

The silence stretches between you. It’s not awkward, it’s heavy. Real.

“I don’t want to be that guy to you,” he says, softer now. “Even if that’s all I’ve ever been to other people. I don’t want you to feel cheap, or used, or scared to trust. I just… I like you. Not just how you look. I like how you laugh, or how you see things through your camera lens. I like who you are when you’re not trying to hide.”

Your throat tightens, and he must see it, because he steps just a little closer, enough to make you feel his warmth again.

“I don’t want to push you,” he adds. “If you say no, I’ll respect it. Every time. But I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to say yes. Not to sex. To something real. To us.”

You blink hard, suddenly aware of the way your heart is pounding.

“Damn,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “You’re really not helping my ‘fuckboy’ theory here.”

That earns a small laugh from him, quiet and a little rueful. “I’m trying to retire from the title.” You smile at that, even as your chest aches. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you say honestly.

“I’m not asking you to be,” he replies, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m just asking you to stay. Walk with me. Let me earn it.”

And somehow, in that quiet pocket of night, beneath flickering city lights, with concrete beneath your feet and his hand brushing yours, it feels like maybe, just maybe… you could.

Your room is quiet, save for the soft hum of your laptop and the occasional creak of the old radiator. The city outside murmurs in distant sounds. Cars, the bark of a dog, laughter spilling from a street below, but up here, everything feels far away. Like the world paused somewhere between memory and longing.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, hoodie wrapped around your frame, the faint scent of smoke and sweat still clinging to your clothes from earlier. Your camera sits beside you, the memory card already slotted into your laptop. Folders open. Images load.

And there he is.

Sunghoon.

Captured frame by frame. Candid moments frozen in digital time. You scroll slowly, each photo tugging at something you can’t quite name. In one, he’s mid-spin, hair wild, body blurred in motion, untamed, electric. In another, he’s upside down in a freeze, perfectly still, perfectly impossible.

Then a close-up, taken when he wasn’t looking. His eyes half-lidded from exertion, lips parted, the edge of a smile caught like a secret only you were meant to see.

You stare at that one longer than you mean to.

He’s beautiful. Not in the polished, curated way people try to be. But in the way light hits him. Raw, unfiltered, honest. Like the city sculpted him from noise and rhythm and let him loose just to see what would happen.

Your fingers hesitate over the trackpad. He was supposed to be a game. A joke. A distraction from your own chaos. You were going to toy with him. Let him think he had a chance, and then walk away first. Clean. Simple. Safe.

But then he laughed with you. Pulled you into a dance you didn’t think you’d ever say yes to. Gave away his prize money without blinking. Told you the truth like it cost him something. And now here you are, knees curled to your chest, staring at pictures of a boy who was never supposed to matter.

You press a knuckle to your lips, trying to quiet the noise in your head. You can still hear his voice "I don’t want to be that guy to you." You remember the way he said it. Careful. Sincere.

A little afraid.

What if he meant it? What if you let yourself believe that someone like him, who's made his share of mistakes, who’s been guarded and reckless and selfish, could actually want to be better... with you?

Your heart flips, traitorously.

But the fear rises again just as fast. You’ve let someone in before. Let them close, let them kiss you like they meant it, only to realize you were just a story they didn’t bother finishing. You’ve woken up in someone else’s sheets and felt like you left pieces of yourself behind that you couldn’t get back.

And Sunghoon… he’s dangerous in a different way. Not because he lies. But because he tells the truth too well. And truths can hurt more than lies when they fall apart.

Still…your eyes drift back to the photo, him grinning mid-freeze, looking like he belongs to the night and the light and nothing in between.

You save it in a new folder.

You name it Maybe.

On the other side of the town, Sunghoon can’t sleep.

He’s lying on his back in the dark, one arm slung over his eyes, hoodie still on, the city still humming somewhere outside his cracked window. His body’s tired, aching in the best ways from the battle, the dance, the high of it all, but his mind’s wired. Flickering like a dying streetlight. Loud with thoughts he doesn’t know how to silence.

You.

You, in the crowd with that camera, eyes sharp and curious, catching him like he was something worth framing. You, laughing against his chest, the sound so light it knocked the wind out of him. You, stepping back when he asked you to stay. Soft “I can’t” slicing through his chest sharper than he expected.

He gets it. God, he does. And that’s what hurts more.

Sunghoon shifts, pushing up to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers combing through his damp hair. The room smells like detergent and old incense. He’s surrounded by shadows, and still, your voice echoes in his head like you’re right beside him.

"Most lied to me afterward. Made me feel cheap. Used."

He swears under his breath. The guilt, sudden and sharp, creeps in like a draft under the door. He’s done it too. Been that guy. The kind who made girls feel wanted just long enough to get what he wanted. Told himself it was mutual. That it was fun. That no one got hurt if no one caught feelings.

Lies.

He thinks about one girl who used to play with the strings of his hoodie when they kissed. Another who left a poem in his notes app. Another whose number he still has, unread texts gathering dust. He thinks about how he never stayed. How he never meant to.

Because staying meant vulnerability. And vulnerability meant risk. Real connection always did. But with you… You scare him in a way he didn’t think possible. The way you see him, like you’re not impressed by the moves or the cocky smiles, like you’re waiting for him to drop the act, makes him feel both exposed and alive. Like he’s not performing anymore. Like maybe, just maybe, he could be himself.

He leans his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“I don’t want to be that guy to you,” he whispered earlier. He meant every word.

You don’t know how much it took to say that. How hard it is to unlearn being guarded. But he’s trying. He wants to try for you. He remembers the way you looked at him when you declined his offer. Not cold. Not distant. Just… scared. Like the walls you’ve built are the only thing keeping you upright. And he doesn’t want to knock them down. He wants to be patient enough to wait on the other side.

He gets up, walking to the window, hands shoved into his pockets. Down on the street, two bikes coast past under the dim glow of a streetlamp. Quiet. Brief. Free.

Sunghoon presses his forehead against the glass and exhales.

He doesn’t know what this is yet, not really. But he knows he wants it. Wants you. Not for one night. Not for the thrill. But for the way you looked at him after the battle. Like he was worth something beyond his pretty face.

He hopes you come to the block party tomorrow. He hopes you keep taking pictures. He hopes you don’t give up on him before he gets the chance to prove he’s not who he used to be. And for the first time in a long time, he’s not thinking about who else he could be with, or what girl’s DMs he hasn’t opened yet. He’s just thinking about you.

Just you.

The smell of grilled skewers and burnt rubber hits first.

The block’s been taken over, tape strung between poles, speakers stacked like towers, lights strung from rooftops to trees like fireflies caught in wire. It’s dusk, the sky bruised purple and orange, and the music’s already thumping loud enough to make your ribcage vibrate.

You clutch your camera tighter as you step into the heart of it.

Crews are scattered in clusters, bouncing in place to the beat, trading handshakes and half-practiced footwork. Kids on scooters weave between legs. Someone’s spray painting the side of a truck. Girls are dancing on the curb, laughing with slushies in their hands, and the whole thing feels alive, wild and beautiful, and chaotic in the best way.

You scan the crowd for him.

You don't want to admit it, but your stomach's been tight ever since last night. Since the walk. Since the way he looked at you like he didn’t want to be the version of himself you'd imagined. Since you saw a version of himself he probably never showed anyone.

And now you’re here.

Because some part of you wants to believe that maybe people can change. That maybe this thing, whatever it is, deserves more than just a line drawn in fear.

You catch him before he sees you, again.

Sunghoon’s standing near the speakers, hoodie half-zipped, a New York Yankees cap on his head. He’s laughing at something a crew member said, head tilted back, gold chain catching the light. And for a moment, you don’t move. You just watch. Because framed by the pulsing streetlights and dusk falling in slow strokes across his cheekbones, he looks... devastating. Effortless. But not in a calculated way. Like the kind of person the city makes poems about. The kind of boy that breaks hearts and doesn’t mean to. And yours aches. Just a little.

Then his eyes find you.

Everything slows. His smile shifts, less wild now, more real. Something flickers in his expression, like he wasn’t sure if you’d come, like your presence just changed the whole weight of the evening.

He jogs toward you, weaving through the crowd. “You made it.”

You nod, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” he says, voice low, more relieved than cocky. “We’re warming up. Wanna shoot from the roof?”

Your brows lift. “There’s roof access?”

He grins, already leading the way. “There’s always roof access if you’re dumb enough.”

You follow him up a metal staircase that groans under your weight, past open windows spilling music and sweat and city air. When you hit the roof, the entire block unfurls below you, people spinning in the street, painted vans, cables humming with strung-up lights.

You lift your camera, framing it all.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You glance at him. “Yeah. Just... nervous.”

Sunghoon leans against the railing, watching the dancers. “Me too.”

You tilt your head. “You? Nervous?”

His lips twist into a wry smile. “About you.”

Silence sits between you. Thick, warm, honest.

“You scare me a little,” he admits. “You make me want to stop pretending.”

You lower the camera slowly.

“I think I’ve done a lot of pretending,” he continues, eyes on the street. “Pretending I don’t care. That no one else does either. That all this…” he gestures at the party, the dancing, the chaos “...is just noise.”

“But it’s not,” you say quietly. “No,” he breathes. “It’s not. And you, you're not. You see me. And I don’t think I’m used to that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. The camera is still in your hand, but your fingers aren’t steady anymore.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says. “I’ve hurt girls before. Not because I hated them. Just because I didn’t know how to stay. Didn’t want anyone to see the shit I was trying to outrun. But I don’t want to lie to you. Not even by omission. I’ve been a fuckboy. I’ve ghosted. Lied. Said things I didn’t mean just to feel wanted for a minute.”

You blink, surprised at the rawness.

“I didn’t expect this,” he says. “Didn’t expect you. And I don’t deserve your trust yet, I know that. But if you let me, I’ll earn it. Bit by bit. Even if you never say yes. I still want to be someone worth staying for.”

You stare at him a long moment, wind tugging at your sleeves, music thudding up from below like a second heartbeat. And finally, you lift the camera.

Click.

Sunghoon blinks. “Did you just take a picture?”

You smile softly. “Yeah. Had to catch the moment.”

He exhales a laugh, but it’s soft around the edges. Hopeful. “Do I look tortured and tragic?”

You glance at the preview. “You look real.”

As those words leave your mouth, the music pulses louder and the block party really kicks off. People spill into the streets and alleys, laughter and shouting weaving through the warm night air. Lights strung between buildings cast a carnival glow, and the scent of grilled food and spilled drinks fills everything.

You find yourself pulled into the flow, the beat catching under your skin. Before you know it, Sunghoon’s hand is at your waist, guiding you. The song is slow, romantic. He pulls you close, fingers curling gently around your back, and you rest your hands lightly on his shoulders. Your bodies move in quiet rhythm, slow and effortless, as if the whole city paused just for this.

You smile, heart quickening. “I like this.”

He tilts your chin up, eyes searching yours in the soft light. “I like you.”

You lean in, the space between you shrinking until it vanishes. His lips meet yours softly at first, almost hesitant—like he’s testing the waters. Then the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more certain, as if he’s been holding back all this time, waiting for this moment. Your breath mingles, hearts racing in sync beneath the glow of the city lights. His hand cradles your cheek gently while the other rests at your waist, pulling you closer. Time seems to stretch and blur, the world around you fading until there’s only the warmth of his mouth and the steady thrum of your heart beating.

When you pull back just slightly, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling.

“Stay with me,” he whispers.

You nod, feeling like maybe this time, you just might.

The two of you stand hand in hand on the rooftop, the warm glow of the block party spilling up in waves beneath you. From this height, the crowd looks like a moving sea of colors and lights, people laughing, dancing, shouting, living. The scent of grilled food drifts up, mixing with the faint coolness of the evening air. Sunghoon leans close, his voice low. “Crazy how something so chaotic can feel… kind of perfect, huh?”

You nod, eyes tracing the tangled web of string lights and pulsing speakers. “Yeah. Like the whole city is alive tonight.”

He shifts closer, hand brushing against yours. “Wish moments like this could last.”

“Maybe they can,” you say quietly.

He smiles, and the city feels a little less loud, a little more yours. The music shifts, the beat quickening. “Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging you down the stairs. The party swirls back to life around you. Laughter, shouting, the pulsing bass, people everywhere, lost in the moment.

He weaves through the crowd with ease, and soon you’re introduced to his crew. Ni-ki, with his sharp smile and easy confidence, Heeseung, calm and steady, and Jake, who’s already handing you a plate piled with grilled skewers.

“Food always tastes better at a party,” Jake says, winking.

You nibble your skewer as Sunghoon leans close. “Ready for round two?” You nod, eyes catching his under the string lights. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, pulling you close. This time the dance is lighter, freer. Laughs escaping you both as you spin, move, and find the rhythm together. The cool breeze tousles your hair, and when your eyes meet, the world feels still.

Then, as if drawn by some unspoken magnetism, your lips meet again. Longer, deeper, filled with all the moments you’ve been holding back. The city fades, the music dims, and all that exists is the two of you, tangled in the night.

The party eventually winds down. The music fades into a distant hum, and the crowd thins, laughter turning into quiet goodbyes. You and Sunghoon find yourselves back on the rooftop, wrapped in the calm after the storm.

He pulls you close, the city still glowing faintly beneath you. His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. “I don’t want this night to end,” he admits, fingers tracing your jaw gently. “I just want to spend every second with you, all of it.”

You meet his gaze, heart fluttering in the quiet morning light.

“Then don’t let it end,” you whisper.

Without another word, he leads you to his car and drives both of you to his apartment. There's no one. Just the two of you. The streets are mostly empty now, painted in the amber hush of early morning, and neither of you says much. There’s something reverent about the silence. Something sacred.

His apartment is dimly lit, clean but lived-in. A hoodie draped over a chair, speakers stacked near the wall, a cracked mug on the counter. It smells like clean linen and something faintly earthy, like cedarwood and mint. Like him.

You stand by the window, looking out at the city, still catching your breath from everything the night had been. Sunghoon walks over slowly, stopping just behind you.

“Still okay?” he asks gently, not touching you yet.

You nod, but your arms stay folded across your chest. “I’m just…” you trail off. “Nervous.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, “Because of before?”

You glance up at him, and the look in your eyes is answer enough. He exhales slowly. “You don’t have to do anything, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “But… I want to. I just don’t want to feel like I did back then. Like I’m being discarded.”

Sunghoon gently reaches for your hand, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When you don’t, he interlaces his fingers with yours. “I’m not leaving,” he says. “And you’re not a maybe to me. Not a moment. Not something I’ll ever pretend didn’t happen.”

You meet his eyes. He’s watching you like you’re the only thing that matters. Like the party, the city, the rooftop kiss, none of it compared to now.

“I just want you,” he continues, his voice low, honest. “But only if you want me too. No pretending. No pressure.” Your chest tightens at his words, soft and full and aching all at once.

“I want you, too,” you say.

He leans in slowly, giving you time. When his lips touch yours, it’s careful. Tender. Like a promise sealed in warmth. The rest happens in slow motion. His touch is patient, never rushing, never demanding. It's exploring, learning, and worshipping in the smallest ways. Fingertips over ribs. Lips on your shoulder. Whispered words that you feel more than hear.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs

When he’s finally above you, the space between your bodies gone, he pauses.

“Still okay?”

You nod, breath trembling. “Yes.”

And this time, when he moves, it feels different than anything you’ve known before. Less like being claimed, more like being seen. More like a soft surrender than a loss. Like trust, like healing, like the beginning of something that scares you in the best possible way.

He kisses you again, his lips moving slowly, deliberately, tracing the path from your mouth to your collarbone. The air between you hums with quiet urgency, but he doesn’t rush. His hands, warm and steady, slide along your waist, fingers spreading to map the shape of your hips like he’s memorizing them by touch alone. He takes off your shirt and your bra as his mouth dips lower, breath grazing your chest as he lingers there, almost breathless.

When his lips close around your nipple, it’s not just desire, it’s devotion. He teases gently, tongue flicking in slow, measured circles, then draws it into his mouth with a low hum that vibrates straight through you. A small sound slips from your throat, and your back arches instinctively, pulling him closer. Your hands run along the muscles of his back, slipping under his shirt, and when he takes it off, your palms find his skin. Warm. Solid. Real.

You don't realize you're trembling until he kisses you again, slower this time, his hands stroking your sides in calming rhythms. It feels like he’s grounding you, anchoring you to something steady. Something safe. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, voice low and almost hoarse.

You nod. “Yes. I just…” The words tangle in your throat, soft with uncertainty. “I don’t want this to be a one-night thing.”

Sunghoon stills for a moment, then leans in and brushes his nose against yours. “It’s not,” he says. “It won’t be. I want all of you. Over and over again. Every day, in every light.”

And there’s something in the way he says it, not just lust but need, aching and honest, that makes your heart ache in return. He kisses you again, deeper now, more sure, and when his body presses against yours fully, you feel it. Not just the strength, the warmth, the barely restrained hunger, but more than that. The care. The weight of someone who’s choosing you with intention. With hope and love.

Clothes fall away slowly, piece by piece – his jeans pushed down, your panties hooked off with careful fingers. Every touch is unhurried, a question offered and answered with soft nods, with the way your bodies lean into each other like magnets finding their pull.

When he lowers himself between your legs, it’s with the kind of attention that steals the air from your lungs. His touch is patient and precise. Not performing, not taking, but offering. Learning what makes your breath catch, what makes your thighs tense, what makes your hands grip the sheets. He listens. Responds. Adjusts. And when your fingers clutch his and your body arches, he doesn’t stop, he stays with you, holding you through the waves until you’re gasping his name.

He comes back to you slowly, kissing your cheek, your shoulder, the hollow at your throat. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers again. “Every part of you. Every sound you make.”

You pull him into another kiss, messier this time, needier, your body flushed and open beneath him. And when he finally enters into you, slowly and carefully, there’s a stillness that settles between you. A hush. Like the world has narrowed down to just this. Your breath in his mouth, the trembling of his hands as they cradle your face, the way your hips tilt to meet his like you’ve always known how.

He moves gently, each thrust a question, each gasp of yours an answer. There’s no distance now. No room for fear, no room for the walls you once guarded so carefully. Only skin. Heat. The shared rhythm of two people choosing to be seen.

You moan his name like it’s sacred. He moans yours like it’s a prayer.

Time bends. The world blurs. The build-up is slow and inevitable, like tides pulling you under. And when the high finally hits, it’s not sharp. It’s soft. Blooming. It ripples through your body like light, like warmth, and Sunghoon doesn’t let go. He stays with you, wrapped around you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin, even as his own body trembles above you.

After, neither of you speaks for a long moment. You lie tangled together, your heartbeat still racing, your skin dewy with sweat. His chest rises and falls against yours, his fingers tracing slow circles along your spine.

“You feeling okay?” he murmurs against your temple.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Better than okay.”

He pulls you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies, his warmth seeping into you like a slow-burning fire. His lips find yours again, soft yet urgent. Every kiss is a promise, every touch a confession. You let yourself fall into the moment completely, unguarded and safe. The outside world disappears, leaving only the steady rhythm of two hearts learning to beat as one.

“I want to be with you,” he whispers, voice rough with feeling. You smile, a warmth blooming inside that no words can quite capture. “I want that, too.”

And in that quiet, fragile space, the future feels wide open, waiting just for the two of you.

Yay, another fanfic! This one feels deeply personal to me, as I relate to Y/N a little too much here. I’m, surprisingly(?), a big hater of hookup culture. Oh, and I also dated a breakdancer, lol. Hope you liked it! If you want to get a feel for the dance battles, I highly recommend looking them up on YouTube. My favourite one is this one, because I've met Kriss myself many times, and even used to take his classes.

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midniqhtt · 1 month ago

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comfort fic reads II 4k celebration

₊˚⊹⋆ main masterlist ꨄ︎ part two list ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: list got too long and had me maxed out. so i shifted some fandoms to part two instead.

hi loves! i never do anything for celebrating but i thought i could make a big list of all my favorite fics i’ve read over the past few months/years and continue rereading. i can never get enough of showing my appreciation for writers and all their hard work, and i want them to know i think of these fics/series at least once a day ♡︎ i say ‘comfort’ but theres more angst lol

key- A: angst II F: fluff II S: smut II SB: slow burn II C: comfort

.𖥔 MARVEL .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑺

ꨄ︎ loving you is easy two II @blank-potato II A + F

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

ꨄ︎ fooled around and fell in love II @flowersforbucky II S + A + F

you've never been one for commitment, and your teammates know it. when you and bob start seeing each other, it takes them by surprise and makes them worry about how he'll react to the heartbreak that they expect to follow. what they don't understand - you've never felt like this about anyone.

ꨄ︎ soft currents next to you II @nghtwngs II S + A + F

there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

ꨄ︎ home is where the heart is II @ilovemilestellersmoustache II A + F

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

ꨄ︎ soulmate II @geminiwritten II A + C

you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé

ꨄ︎ we can’t be friends part two II @tfatwsbarnes II A

bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

ꨄ︎ cowboy like me II @goldenlikedayl1ght II A + F

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

ꨄ︎ xerox two three II @ichori II A + SB + C

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

𝑩𝑼𝑪𝑲𝒀 𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑺

ꨄ︎ bad boys don’t buy flowers II @espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

ꨄ︎ come back to you II @buckyalpine II F

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

ꨄ︎ curiosity killed the cat II @queers-gambit II A + C

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

ꨄ︎ you’re my desire part two II @marvelouslizzie and @notafunkiller II S + F

Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

ꨄ︎ graveyard part two II @wkemeup II A + C

As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too.

ꨄ︎ dreamscape II @/wkemeup II A + C

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

ꨄ︎ blurred lines part two II @ellemj II S + A + F

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

ꨄ︎ love language II @/flowersforbucky II S + F

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

ꨄ︎ flashing lights part two II @pellucid-constellations II A + C

Bucky’s worst fears come true when he’s called to a scene. If he’s the one with the dangerous job, then why is it your life that’s hanging in the balance?

ꨄ︎ stay still part two II @buckysknifecollection II A + C

What if your soulmate was the one person you had hurt the most?

ꨄ︎ saturn II @shurisneakers II A

you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.

ꨄ︎ bleeding heart II mournthebird II A + C

You're his assigned nurse.

ꨄ︎ 40s!bucky II @helaintoloki II A + F

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ under my skin II @/flowersforbucky II F

what first begins as a series of bad luck shows you a different side of the man who normally drives you crazy.

ꨄ︎ moral of the story II @dearwalker II A

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑹𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ without you part 2 II @foli-vora II A

You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

ꨄ︎ for science II @projectionistwrites II S + A + C

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

ꨄ︎ red flags II @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss II S + A + F

Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way.

ꨄ︎ the jake problem pt2 II @bensolosbluesaber II S + A + C

Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ sunset lovers II @duskholland II F

you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

ꨄ︎ one more to see you II @waitimcomingtoo II A

in an effort to see Peter again, you Dream Walk and learn it’s consequences

𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑿𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑭𝑭

ꨄ︎ silent treatment II @floral-and-fine II A + C

where the words their soulmate speaks first are tattooed on their arm.

𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑽𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑺

ꨄ︎ watchful eyes II @/espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

ꨄ︎ out of time pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 II @after-avenging-hours II S + A + F

When Steve is poisoned on a mission, his only hope is a pure Super Soldier Serum. You travel to 1943 to find it—but without the infinity stones, your actions could change the future. Can you save him before time runs out?

.𖥔 TOP GUN .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝒀𝑫

ꨄ︎ the plan II @/geminiwritten II A + F

the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

ꨄ︎ the kind of girl i could love II @roosterforme II F

Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him.

𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑳𝑬𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑾

ꨄ︎ love to lie pt2 pt3 pt4 II @/ddejavvu II A + F

Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

ꨄ︎ things unseen and heard II @bloatedandalone04 II S + A + F

the one where you overhear bradley talk about you to jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

ꨄ︎ playing games II @/geminiwritten II A + F

you've been best friends with rooster for years and you're both obviously in love with each other, but he refuses to cross that line... until you accept some help from hangman and he takes the game just a little too far

ꨄ︎ wrong number II @roosterforme II F

Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

ꨄ︎ between friends II @sometimesanalice II S + F

Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

ꨄ︎ trouble in paradise II @/sunlightmurdock II S + A

After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

ꨄ︎ i’ll show you good, restore your faith II @/se7entyrell II A + F

Your relationship with Bradley is new. Really new. Like, 'haven't let him smell your morning breath yet' new. But when he gets a call telling him that his mom is dying, you find yourself driving him to San Diego in the middle of the night, preparing to meet his entire extended family during the worst period of their lives.

ꨄ︎ terms of endearment II @ohtobeleah II A + C (heavy themes)

They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵

ꨄ︎ domestic fantasy II @/geminiwritten II F

your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

ꨄ︎ dirty laundry part two II @/geminiwritten II S + A + F

after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

ꨄ︎ medical emergency II @marvelwitchergilmore II F

When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

ꨄ︎ sign of the times pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @se7entyrell II S + A

You're destined to die in Jake Seresin's arms. In every life, in every iteration, it's inescapable. Whether you loathe, or love each other, each ending stays the same. But what if it doesn't have to?

ꨄ︎ spring fling pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @ddejavvu II F (in progress)

You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

.𖥔 MISCELLANEOUS .𖥔

𝑹𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑻 𝑨𝑩𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑻

ꨄ︎ odds are stacked II @sunlightmurdock II S

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

𝑻𝒀𝑳𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑺

ꨄ︎ all yours II @/geminiwritten II A + F

after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

ꨄ︎ orange juice II @ahsokaismyqueen II S + F

When it's time to interview a group of storm chasers for your new book, you get sent back to your hometown. You never would have guessed one of the people you'd be interviewing would be your ex boyfriend. And you might still be a little in love with him.

ꨄ︎ no hesitation II @briefinquiries II S + F

Tyler would be the type of guy that if a girl came up to him and said ‘this guy is creepy, pls pretend to be my bf’ he would be like ‘hell yay’ and scare the guy away

𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ all the stars are closer II @kashimos-hajime II A + F

mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻

ꨄ︎ all american boy II @scribes-of-valar II A + C

Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

ꨄ︎ no.1 party anthem II @sunsburns II F

what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

𝑴𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳 𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯

ꨄ︎ an itch you can’t scratch pt2 II @theonewiththefanfics II S + A + F

After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

#bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bucky barnes x reader #john walker x reader #matt murdock x reader #moon knight x reader #peter parker x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #bob floyd x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #rhett abbott x reader #tyler owens x reader #clark kent x reader #chris beck x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #fic recommendations #fic recs

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