#and his smile is nice and gentle but also somehow...

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 || 𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary_ every once in a while, through the centuries, each one of the saja boys would betray their lover: you, one of the original hunters, condemned to be a half-demon and wander through the world with resentment, but also faith that one day you would heal.

Warnings_ violence, overdose of plot, reader implied to come from the western world and being in her early twenties, violence and misogyny, kinda gore (baby’s part), historical inaccuracies and canon divergence, NO PROOFREAD, beware!

Notes_ THANK YOU FOR 3.4K followers, this fandom has been so sweet and welcoming to me <3

♫ ♪ Saja Boys playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

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Mystery; 1965

Your eyes were flooded by the bright yellow tonality of a taxi that passed by the street. The crowd and traffic of the afternoon were a mess. At least the subway was your getaway source. Although it wasn’t any better, you were still running late.

Carnegie Hall was two stations away. Your voice was healed, after so many centuries of disappointments and injuries, you started singing again.

During the first rehearsal, as you sang in the empty theater, you swore you saw the Honmoon shine for a second. A very dim and thin spark, but something changed.

There you met him, a quiet and gentle musician. He rarely talked, but he was nice. You gave him the name of Mystery since he was so avoidant of himself. Usually, you would’ve thought he was an asshole and didn’t deserve the attention but, you tried.

Until he cracked a little and started offering little smiles and awkward touches.

Mystery was all about silence and intrigue. He played the keyboard and electric guitar and liked to wear colorful cotton velvet corduroy suits.

After inviting him to have dinner together at an Italian restaurant, you ended up feeling a little tipsy and dared to kiss him.

He kissed you back. And although no feelings were talked about yet, he changed a bit, being more touchy and smiley than before.

Finally, you stepped inside Carnegie Hall and made your way to get your costume. It was a brand new play that would have you dancing and singing.

Your first scene was in a ballet attire, baby pink and puffy with thin ribbons as straps and your head with a flower crown.

When you came back to retouch your makeup, you found Mystery sitting inside your dressing room.

A smile plastered on your face as you went straight to kiss his cheek.

“Hey” you greeted him kindly.

“Hey, you ready?” He asked you, eyeing you up and down, which made you blush.

You had never seen his eyes, his full face a complete enigma.

“Yes, somehow, I feel good” you admitted, turning to your vanity and spotting a champagne bottle.

“I brought you something to warm yourself a bit” a chill assaulted you, despite his calm tone, Mystery made you feel uneasy.

It reminded you of him…

Without answering, you opened the bottle and bubbles erupted as you poured some of the pink liquid into a glass.

“How considerate of you, Mystery” he didn’t say anything and you frowned.

Your lips touched the glass and you saw him through the mirror, for a second, his eyes glowed and you immediately threw the glass, shattering it and taking him aback.

That was the first time you were able to see a demon in disguise. The first time you were able to tell he had patterns lying underneath his perfect skin without actually seeing them. And the first time you were able to prevent what they had been trying to do to you for centuries.

“You as well?” You asked him, lips quivering as you did everything to not tear up in front of him. “You were too good to be true, Mystery”

Unlike the past, where you always ended up running for your life and fighting demons, you knew that Mystery wouldn’t do that. It was the 60s, when society had totally changed, and things were constantly morphing into new ones.

Still, he tried to hold your hand.

“NO!” you yelled, your hand grabbing his wrist so harshly that within seconds, his patterns shone, appearing from the tip of his fingers to his chin.

“THIS TIME YOU WON’T TAKE MY VOICE!” The strength in your voice made him stumble. You could see his face, not obstructed by hair as usual. He was gorgeous, if not, perfect. But the shock of discovering he was a demon, was greater.

Mystery pulled your jacket and you looked at him horrified.

Through what was visible of his face, you saw his sad grimace. Only that you wouldn’t be fooled again. Sad that it took four occasions for you to be able to open your eyes.

“Go tell Gwi-ma I’m very much alive” you spat before turning and disappearing from the dressing room.

Your voice could heal a million times, but always ended up being scarred, with you being weak for decades. But for the first time, you felt strong, capable, and lucky. Then what was there to do to heal the scar? Only time would tell you. But you knew that after Mystery, it would be hard to hurt you.

Baby; 1855

It was the gloomy Victorian Era. Queen Victoria’s birthday had passed just two months ago and the streets couldn’t let go of the celebrations. Passing as a young woman, you paid monthly rent in a big once aristocratic house for women. Meg was your roommate and she dreamed of getting married. Usually, she dragged you to big parties where she hoped to find a suitor to marry. For you, it was great to get fine and free food at said parties.

It was there that you met him. A young man with the most gracious face you’d ever seen. At first, you thought he was a teenager, turned out to be only a few months older than you. Said he didn’t have a name, that his mother couldn’t name him after birthing him with his father gone. Then urged you to call him “Baby”. You recalled him rolling his eyes when you made fun of the nickname. He pulled one of the ribbons of your hair like a child. But in the end, he was the most fun you’d had in hundreds of years.

Baby had two sisters and a mother, said he inherited his chocolate brown hair from them. But suddenly they vanished. When you asked where they were, the man told you they flew away to the north of Italy. You believed him.

Just like you believed the promise of him taking you to meet his family, just a couple of days after he revealed his intentions were to actually court you.

With no parents on your side for him to ask your hand in marriage, he was simply going ahead. Baby was a nice lover, although you barely knew him. He always offered great conversations and lustful kisses.

You got a job, consisting of singing and playing the piano at a ball. When the day arrived, you pulled out your best party dress. Pink with flounced sleeves, thick ribbons in your braided hair, and jasmine perfume sprayed all over you.

“Enough. You’re acting like a clod” he told you.

“Well, excuse me. I’m just a little nervous” you admitted to Baby as you looked at the crowd in the ball.

You hadn’t sung in years. After the last time, you were terrified of going through the same again. But, it felt nice, surrounded by nice people and by him.

Your leg was constantly bumping into his, a sign of nervousness. Baby could be cold, mean, not a gentleman at the given time, but he was your anchor.

Somehow, despite his unstable nature, his cold fingers caressing your knuckles calmed you instantly.

“Ay, you can do it” he promised in your ear.

He heard you singing once. Just one dark night as thunders flooded the city. The night you almost let him take off your garments. If it wasn’t by your friend Meg, you would’ve ended up naked. The sheets were still tangled and humid just by the kisses.

“Check at the piano for me, thankee. I need a glass of wine…” he nodded, you gave him a kiss on the cheek in private, and held the skirt of your dress to make your way through the guests.

Perhaps it was the age and wear. The piano strings were under extreme tension as you played and singed all along a few minutes. Your high notes had every attendee embellished by you.

A song about loving dearly and dying young. You made sure to lock your eyes with Baby’s when you sang: if my lover goes against, I shall follow his light despite the twaddle of it.

There were no actual songs yet. You knew, that eventually some hunters would start popularizing songs, with more rhythm, tempos, and everything.

But at that 1770s ball, singing didn’t hurt, not being able to make the Honmoon spark anymore didn’t hurt. As long as you could sing your feelings. And let Baby know how you felt about him.

Until the old piano made a sound.

A string snapped, against you. The moment you stopped singing, screams of horror and gasps started to be heard.

Your fingers touched your neck and it felt wet. When you looked at them, they were covered in blood and your patterns shining for everyone to see.

“WITCH!” A woman screamed.

It wasn’t enough to slice open your throat, but the piano string hit you and burned your skin. You couldn’t speak, once again, your voice was in trouble.

Your neck was drenched in blood and tears swelled in your eyes as the pain embraced your body.

“THERE IS A WITCH, MUMMY!” A child yelled before starting to cry.

In your shocked state, you locked your eyes with Baby, he didn’t look taken aback. That sensation of realization and betrayal flooded you again. Baby couldn’t be…he couldn’t.

Immediately you ran out of the place. Each step you gave, left a couple of blood droplets trapped in the fine carpets all across the house.

You were losing too much blood. It was warm, bright red, and fresh. Gasping for air, you stopped past the gardens of the residency of the ball. In the middle of the meadows, you heard steps. And you knew it was him.

“You are a demon…” you said without looking back. Not questioning, but accusing him.

“None of this would have happened if you had not been persistent about singing again” he revealed with a neutral tone of voice only angering you more.

You huffed in disbelief and finally turned to encounter Baby, covered in demon patterns beneath his tailored suit, his pale lilac skin contrasting with the white of his shirt and glowy eyes that you had encountered so many times before him.

“Cry your mercy, a demon was trying to save me? I have to thank you?” He shrugged, then looked distantly at you. And it hit you, that was the way he always looked at you, but you were in love, so you ignored it.

Once again, you had failed to see the tricks of a demon. Your heart was too kind, or your mind too naive. Without anything left to do or say, your ancient spear appeared in your hand. The once shiny pink, blue, and violet turned into a dark purple shine that served as a reminder that you also carried demon patterns beneath your skin. That you weren’t a hunter anymore, just a shattered soul wandering the world.

“Go your ways and let me enjoy this doomed life of mine, demon” you spoke with tiredness.

“You made my heart feel something…” Baby attempted to talk, something he was bad at, but for you, he had tried. Though not enough…

“You are the fourth demon I have come to love, Baby” you admitted, spear still pointing at him, your hands trembling just like the first time though. “It does not hurt anymore…”

It always hurt. It always broke your heart. But at least, for the first time, you were eager to win your way out of his claws. Even if it meant not seeing him ever again.

You memorized his childish face, his cold gaze, and disappeared from his sight.

Abby and Romance; 1775

The prayers and heat didn’t help to make your head stop spinning. It was as if fire were raining in the city of Alexandria. The sweat dripped from your forehead and your hair was trying to hold still in a messy braid. The makeup covering your demon patterns was melting with the heat, causing you to have to reapply it over and over again. At least you could speak again…

After months of wandering through the arid desert, you were taken as a slave. Sooner or later, you were bought by some high-ranking Vizier. He promised to not touch you until he married you. But you couldn’t care less about him. He was cruel, ruthless, and a bad man overall. It had been more than a century since you lost your voice and walked through the earth with demon patterns. And somehow, it felt as if it had happened just days ago.

Until one morning, you hummed at your reflection as you braided your hair. And somehow, you were able to sing again.

A few hours later you performed for the first time. And after finishing, it was prohibited for men to even look at you. But a pair bribed with lots of gold to meet you.

Abby and Romance. Their names in Latin and golden hair almost match in their heads. In the first weeks, you tried to push them away, knowing it was wrong. As the Vizier’s property, you had to be careful. But the moment Romance undressed you and Abby trailed a sliced fig across your body was over.

You allowed them to spend the nights in your silk sheets, buried in your legs until the sun started peeking and they had to leave.

Love was there. You swore it… And they knew it.

During one of the festivals of the summer solstice, you were required to perform.

A contortionist type of dance that merged ribbons into the choreography, you gracefully danced. Men cheered and courtesans poured beer across the tables. The arid weather made it easier for men to request buckets of water to constantly refresh themselves.

You winked at your pair of men in disguise. Everything felt in place.

Until water splashed you out of nowhere.

The makeup across your naked arms and legs was ruined, pink patterns showing in the dim light of the candles.

The music stopped, and all eyes were on you. More than before.

“The Vizier’s dancer was marked by another man…” you covered your patterns, at least tried to do so as the soldiers started surrounding you.

“Adultery is punished with death,” another one said, only making your panic go worse.

You looked for Abby and Romance, something within you hoped they would help you, but the pair remained seated at a table nearby, their eyes glowed for a second and then, they vanished, telling you the truth. How were you expecting that demons would be your saviors?. But you should’ve known better. It had already happened once before.

“HANG HER!” Men started yelling, pointing at you, and throwing alcohol all over your body. You tried covering your face, but it was useless. You were chained and pushed until you ended up on your knees.

“Women never make it far…” whispered one of the soldiers in your ear before dragging you out of the place.

They took you to some improvised gallows, placed a cold tight around your neck, and yanked your hair.

Cold sweat fell down your temple.

You saw Abby and Romance’s faces and all you could feel was anger. You felt the wooden platform tremble. You were probably cursed, destined to suffer at the hands of demons.

But you weren’t ready to die.

So when the tight didn’t break your neck, you felt the pressure in your throat. And before you were about to faint, your body disappeared from the gallows. A purple cloud was scattered around the tight that had been placed around your neck.

That was the day you discovered you had demon abilities and could voluntarily hide your patterns.

But as soon as you appeared in some random alley, you saw them walking away. The pain in your chest and throat was unbearable, you could barely breathe, and there was a big red spot that would turn into a bruise. You felt your voice being in trouble again.

The broad shoulders that you loved to caress came to be the target of your spear as anger consumed you.

They fought back until you pushed the weapon against Abby’s throat. His patterns shone more as you applied more pressure.

“Well, you are not weak” he mumbled, finally pushing you back, making you land seated.

Romance started at you in silence as your eyes pooled in tears.

“You both said you loved me…” as cheesy as it was, it was the second time it happened. And from all the lies, their breaking your heart was the most painful part.

“Hunters prevail. Why does Gwi-ma focus on me?…” your dry and cracked voice made you speak slower.

“You weren’t supposed to live this long…” Romance whispered in your ear.

“Lie to yourselves, but we know that you’ll be carrying me in your hearts for centuries…” you spat out, stepping back. Abby looked sad for a second, but you ignored it. “For that, I hope that every time you think about me, I’m the reason for your shame and misery…”

You would never hear Gwi-ma’s voice in your head. You weren’t ashamed of anything anymore. You couldn’t deny your pain and feelings. You would never deny that you loved Romance and Abby.

For once, your pain played in your favor.

Jinu; 1625

You had run from the plagues. Your cotton cap that covered your hair and a dress that had a bodice were the only two things in your possession. Alone in an unknown world, with no clue of what was next. The village looked down at you. They didn’t like foreigners, people who could barely form a sentence in their native language and had nothing to offer. You felt useless…

Until three gracious and brave women found you. Offered you a shelter, trust, and the chance to have a purpose. They gave worth to your voice and strength in your arms to carry a spear.

They turned into your found family. Until you tried to claim one of your own.

He was sweet, cheeky, would often make you blush to then switch to be the most timid man on earth. Jinu was the person you needed the least, but turned into your safe space.

The girls weren’t sure about him. They didn’t dislike Jinu, but always wondered what was wrong with him. And when you mentioned that maybe, just maybe… There was the possibility of marrying him, but they showed discomfort.

And one summer night, after an argument with them, you ended up in his little home. The only place that seemed to completely make you happy.

Jinu poured two glasses of liquor. His hand slipped a glass to you and with a soft smile, you thanked him.

He brushed past you, saying he would get a wet cloth to clean the dirt on your face. But before, he leaned to kiss your temple.

“Drink a little to relax yourself. I will get a cloth…” you nodded at him.

Once he disappeared, you looked down at the liquid in the glass.

Usually, you avoided drinking. Too worried it would change your voice. But that night, you were stressed out. Tired of having to be split into two groups: your friends and your lover.

Having to separate your heart for good, for the good of them.

Without thinking too much, you drank half of the liquor in one sip.

It burned your tongue but felt warm and relaxed you instantly.

“Gwi-ma found you before I did…” you heard something behind you. The name of said demon made you stiff.

“What?” you asked, extremely confused as to why Jinu knew that name.

“He knew warriors would rise. But prophecies always stated three of them. Never four…” you stood up, turning to see him standing at the end of the table.

His curtains were open, and with the few lights the moon offered, you saw his skin, pale and covered in demon patterns, his eyes and kind smile gone. All of him turning into your biggest threat.

Unable to breathe at the sudden revelation, you almost stumbled back.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” You yelled, your arms shaking as you started to see soft pink patterns spread across your own skin. Your reflection in the mirror hanging over the wall showing you a reflection of yourself that you were terrified of.

“Gwi-Ma wants the hunters dead. But I need you alive” Jinu said to your dismay.

Your gasp slowed, a hand in your chest, trying to protect yourself from the man you loved. But the more he spoke, the more you could feel your heart breaking.

“I cannot let you die…”

“It hurts…” you managed to say, feeling a fire in your chest and throat. Panic settled down in your abdomen. Quickly wondering if Jinu had poisoned you. If you were about to lose your voice. And with all the pain of your soul, you tried to stop him. You tried to sing to send him back to the underworld.

“The hunter’s chant will not save you” he whispered and while his tone was cheeky, his face revealed worry. “Only I can…”

Ignoring him, you attempted to sing as the pain in your throat worsened. You gave up, falling on your knees, but willing to sing.

“To light up the dark…” Jinu heard your attempts to speak. Your voice came out cracked, raspy, and destroyed.

“We will sing our song of light…” it came like a whisper, a plea, an attempt to find hope where there was only darkness.

The creaky house was in gloom. Not even the crickets could soothe the void that the darkness and silence had created.

“And with our strong voice…” tears started rolling down your cheeks, your eyes focused on the new appearance of your skin.

“We will slowly heal the world…” and with that, your voice was gone.

Something struck Jinu. The whole scene caused him to feel uneasy. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel wrong about his decision. He had saved your life, but by keeping your heartbeat, he had ruined every inch of you. And taken your voice.

That sweet voice that sang for him. That was so close to breaking his shame. That voice that ignited a fire of peacefulness in him, was gone as well.

Only your breathing and gasps could be heard. You were crying in silence, curled up in a corner, face sunken in your folded knees.

One last time, Jinu remembered your voice singing the hunter's chant.

To light up the dark

We will sing our song of light

And with our strong voice

We will slowly heal the world

He gulped, goosebumps rushing through his spine. Slow steps shortened the distance between you and him.

Gwi-ma wouldn’t have a reason to kill you anymore. Three hunters would never achieve the golden Honmoon. Four were needed.

He kneeled beside you, his clawed hands tried to touch you.

“I’m sorry. For everything…” he whispered. “You will not understand, but I did it because I love you”

As he stared down, he noticed a dark purple spark. When he looked up, your spear started taking shape, until it ended up pointing at him, marking a definitive barrier between you two.

Your weapon would never shine the same way a normal hunter’s would. Your voice would never trigger the Honmoon the same way it did. But you would never be a demon, despite carrying their mark and losing your purpose as a hunter, Gwi-ma would never control you.

Your heart was too kind to allow Jinu to stay there, but it wasn’t enough for your mind to forgive him.

The spark from your spear illuminated the room, enough for Jinu to see your face. Full of pain, anger, sadness, and patterns.

You wanted to scream, to kill him and send him back to hell. But without your voice, you could only feel the sorrow of having to let him go. And the need to escape from him as well.

“Your friends will never accept you as a hunter again…” Jinu said, stepping back and raising his hands in surrender. “Once they see the patterns and your voice gone…”

“Stay with me. You can hate me for centuries, but I know one day you may understand why I have taken so much from you” Jinu never knew those were going to be the last words he’d say to you.

Your fingers gracefully handled the spear, your breathing full of venom, in a second, Jinu felt the sting in his arm.

Not enough to send him back to Gwi-ma, but fair to make him curse and step back. Giving you just enough time to run away.

Thinking there was still hope, a way to mend things, you appeared at the feet of your friends.

But Jinu was right. At the sight of your patterns, the weapons that once saved you and helped to get rid of demons turned against you. You’d never know you broke the original hunters’ hearts. That they committed the grave mistake of letting you go. Despite their efforts, with your departure, not a single trio of the upcoming generations of hunters would turn the Honmoon golden.

Everyone you've loved has caused you enough pain to lose your spark. And still, there was good in your heart, making you unable to hate the hunters. But demons? You would never be one of them.

And certainly, you would never forgive the one who turned you into them.

Saja Boys; 2025

They all went quiet.

Abby was the first one to hear it.

In the steamy men’s bathhouse, Saja Boys facing Huntr/x, their weapons threatening them. The five men nonchalantly stared back, unbothered.

Just when Jinu was about to call out all the water demons, they heard it.

Your voice.

We are hunters

Voices strong

Slaying demons with our song…

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey stared at each other in confusion.

“Is that the hunter’s mantra?” Zoey asked in a whisper.

When they looked at their enemies, they were even more surprised to see that the Saja Boys seemed to be under a spell.

“That voice…” Abby mumbled before starting his way out, not caring about Huntr/x or the demons anymore.

Surprisingly, the rest of them followed. Almost running, even Jinu seemed touched by the voice.

“This doesn’t make sense” Mira spat out, rolling her eyes and running to follow the Saja Boys. “C’mon, we might be able to kill them while they are distracted”

“First we see who’s singing” Rumi stated. “I also heard an ancient chant. One that Celine taught us at the beginning…”

In the quiet night, they all followed a distant glow that came from a little park.

To light up the dark

We will sing our song of light

And with our strong voice

We will slowly heal the world

Jinu gasped for air. He literally froze steps away from a picnic table in the park.

The chant, the voice, his heart started beating faster, the voices in his head about to be turned on, but he tried to calm himself.

When they all came closer to the light, the sight was truly a rarity.

For Huntr/x, a young woman in a hoodie, shorts, and sneakers holding a spear, a hunter weapon, finalizing an ancient chant and slaying an air demon.

For the Saja Boys, it was more than that.

For Mystery, it was you with a beehive haircut, lilac babydoll dress, and chunky heels, helping him clean his keyboard in the middle of Central Park.

For Baby, it was you with calloused fingers from playing the piano, the tiered sleeves of your dress he hated and you offering Victoria sponge cake to him every time he visited you.

For Abby and Romance, it was you with your heavy gold jewelry, bare feet, and beetroot makeup, making them tea as they waited in your bed past midnight.

And for Jinu… It was your free hair, your linen nightgown, and dirty fingernails from peeling pomegranates, it was your face smiling at him despite not being able to offer you much.

For all of them, it was your voice and that chant.

“She has a hunter spear!” Zoey whispered but yelled at the same time. “This is awesome, let’s go and say hi!”

“No” Mira stopped her. “We don’t know why there is another active hunter…”

And then you turned. You didn’t see them standing near the bushes surrounding the park. You had Huntr/x and the Saja Boys in shock.

Your patterns shine in a soft pink tone. Visibly free, you look unbothered, like you didn’t have to hide them.

Rumi gasped out loud. She was extremely confused, but already felt jealous. Of seeing someone like her and doing exactly what she wished to do.

Jinu wasn’t expecting you to be the great love of his mates as well. But by the way they reacted, he could tell you had history with them as well. He grew curious and more confused.

“You should’ve killed her like I told you from the beginning” Jinu heard Gwi-ma’s voice in his head. “Her voice is completely back, she’s not ashamed of her patterns. If she succeeds, you know what’ll happen…”

“Who is she?” Rumi asked him at the same time.

“A healed demon is a celestial angel, Jinu” Gwi-ma said with a threatening tone. “I’ll give you and your boys the chance to kill her once again. Or else…”

He heard the voices, the cries and screams, your sobs of pain from 400 years ago. He closed his eyes, ignoring Rumi’s question. And what Gwi-ma ignored was that an angel could save his soul and heal the world.

“Jinu…” Rumi called for him, she touched his wrist and he sighed tiredly.

“She’s my past…” he said before turning to look at you. Still unbothered, still young and beautiful as the night you ran away from him.

Your spear disappeared and you returned to the picnic table to pick up your laptop, notebook, and bag.

You finished a water bottle and threw it in a can as you walked away without looking back. Merging with the darkness of the night.

For a second, Huntr/x forgot to fight the Saja Boys. The rest of the demons were forgotten, the only thing on their minds was you.

Quietly but evidently, a new obstacle formed. And the question started lingering in the air. If they both came to explain themselves… Who would you choose to help?

The group of five men who broke your heart and tried to ruin you over the centuries? Or a trio of women who were the replacements of the ones who turned against you?

Ironically, Huntr/x and the Saja Boys were also your past. But you didn’t know that yet…

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

TAGLIST: @yvanill4 @edgycatx @leventseleve-ilfauttenterdivivre @iamliterallyadorable @a-heavenly-hell @moonjellyfishie @c4shcow @yharnam-prophet @simpdevil66 @tothestarsandmoon @chxrrybomb22 @hazbinjeniie @kimyeosinah-reum @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @ellieevu @moonstruckbyyou @dreamingblueberries @kibs-and-bits @jaybbygrl @starrrlights @thesimppotato11 @animelover18 @adharalikethestar @snowywhisp @miaaa16 @kpopmultistans

If this does well, part two is coming but comment what you’d like to see in the plot pls

[perlapulido]

Rumi x Male reader Imagine #1

Imagine: Rumi meeting your son for the first time.

I paced back and forth in my living room, checking the clock every few minutes. My hands were clammy, and I couldn't seem to sit still. Today was the day—the day my kid would finally meet Rumi, my girlfriend of six months. The nerves had been building all week, but today they were at an all-time high.

"Dad, why do you keep walking around like that? You're making me dizzy," my twelve-year-old called out from the couch where they were playing a video game.

"Sorry, kiddo," I said, forcing myself to sit down. "I'm just a little nervous about today."

They paused their game and looked at me with those wise-beyond-their-years eyes. "Is it because of your girlfriend? The one from the band?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Rumi's really important to me, and I want you two to get along."

"Is she nice?"

"The nicest," I said, smiling despite my anxiety. "She's funny too. And smart. I think you'll like her."

My kid shrugged. "Then what are you worried about?"

If only it were that simple. Ever since the divorce three years ago, it had just been the two of us. We had our routines, our inside jokes, our little world. And while my ex had moved on quickly, I had taken my time. Rumi was the first person I'd dated seriously enough to introduce to my child.

The doorbell rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"That's probably her," my kid said, setting down their controller. "Want me to get it?"

"No, no—I got it," I said, smoothing down my shirt and taking a deep breath.

I opened the door to find Rumi standing there, looking gorgeous in a casual outfit—jeans and a simple top that somehow looked runway-ready on her. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she was holding a small gift bag.

"Hi," she said, her smile a little nervous too. It was strange seeing someone usually so confident on stage looking uncertain.

"Hey," I replied, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. "Come in."

Rumi stepped inside, and I closed the door behind her. "I brought something," she said quietly, holding up the bag. "Is that okay? I didn't want to come empty-handed, but I also didn't want to seem like I was trying to buy their affection."

"It's perfect," I assured her, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.

We walked into the living room where my kid was now standing, looking Rumi up and down with unabashed curiosity.

"Hey there," Rumi said, her voice gentle. "You must be the famous kid I've heard so much about. I'm Rumi."

"I know who you are," my kid replied. "My friends at school freaked out when they found out my dad was dating someone from Huntrix."

Rumi laughed, the tension visibly leaving her shoulders. "Well, I hope I live up to the hype. Your dad talks about you all the time."

"All good things, I hope," my kid said, shooting me a look.

"The best," Rumi confirmed. She held out the gift bag. "I brought you something. It's not much, just something I thought you might like."

My kid took the bag, looking surprised and pleased. They pulled out a vintage band t-shirt—one from a group we'd talked about them liking.

"How did you know?" they asked, looking genuinely impressed.

"Your dad mentioned you were into them. I have a friend who works in vintage clothing who helped me track it down."

"This is actually really cool," my kid admitted, examining the shirt. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Rumi said, and I could see the relief in her eyes.

"So," I said, clapping my hands together. "Who's hungry? I thought we could make pizzas together—build our own with whatever toppings we want."

"Sounds perfect," Rumi said.

"As long as we don't have to put pineapple on it like Dad always wants," my kid added.

Rumi's eyes widened in mock horror. "Your dad likes pineapple on pizza? You never told me about this deal-breaker."

The three of us laughed, and something in my chest loosened. Maybe this was going to be okay after all.

As we moved to the kitchen and started laying out ingredients, I watched as Rumi and my kid began to talk—hesitantly at first, then with growing animation as they discovered shared interests. There was something surreal about seeing these two parts of my life coming together, something I hadn't been sure would ever happen.

"Dad, Rumi says she can teach me how to make those Korean pancakes we had at that restaurant last month," my kid called out, excitement in their voice.

"Pajeon," Rumi corrected gently. "They're super easy to make, and so good."

"Maybe next time," I suggested, catching Rumi's eye and smiling at the implication that there would be a next time.

As the afternoon wore on, the three of us settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. The nerves that had plagued me all day gradually faded away, replaced by a warm feeling of contentment. This was just the beginning, I knew—there would be bumps in the road ahead—but for now, watching the two most important people in my life laugh together over homemade pizza felt like more than enough.

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

🥺❤️🥺❤️🥺❤️

[mooningningg]

ִֶָ☾. JJK Men when you reject them. w sukuna, choso, toji, and gojo.

۶ৎ SUKUNA

he's leaning on the doorframe like it personally owes him rent, chain swaying with every move, confidence dialed to 1000. he’s got that half-smirk that screams “i know you want me” even though no one said that.

“Dammn, baby, you lookin’ real snackish today,” he purrs, licking his bottom lip like he’s in a music video from 2008. “Tryna get ate up or what?”

he thinks it’s smooth. hell, he thinks you’re already mentally jumping into his arms. but you just raise a brow, expression flat like a dead fish in a silent aquarium.

“No thanks,” you say, with all the emotional weight of someone declining a grocery store receipt. “I already ate.”

he blinks. once. twice. leans back like he just got smacked by life itself. “…so you just gon’ say that to me?” he asks, gesturing to his entire being. “Me? Sukuna Ryomen? The sexiest man alive in three separate group chats??”

he pushes off the doorframe, hands on his hips, pacing like a suburban dad who just got told someone dented his grill. “Nah, that’s crazy. I wasn’t even serious like that, you feel me? I was just—like—that was community service, y’know? Boostin’ your day. Givin’ you a lil pick-me-up.”

but five minutes later, he’s squinting at you from across the room like you personally betrayed his bloodline. leans toward Gojo and whispers, “She really told me no. Me. No. I gotta fight the universe or sumn.”

and yet… somehow later you get a text. It’s just a selfie of him shirtless, smirking in terrible bathroom lighting.

With a caption,“u sure???”

۶ৎ CHOSO

he’s sitting on the curb, one hand balancing a lukewarm beer, the other gesturing at the moon like it said something offensive. tattoos peeking out from his sleeves, eyes half-lidded, whole vibe screams “I listen to The Internet and overthink love.”

“Yo…” he starts, blinking slow like a sleepy cat. “You ever thought ‘bout how nice it’d be to, like, hold hands n’ kiss under the stars n’ shit? I could be your moon water, mama.”

he says it like it’s poetry. like that was supposed to awaken something ancient in your soul. but you just laugh—kindly, not cruelly—and hit him with the gentle death sentence:

“You’re cute, but no.”

his soul leaves his body for a minute. he stares at the pavement like it just insulted his mom. “…Was it the moon water part?” he asks, so genuinely hurt it’s almost spiritual.

he sits down next to a pigeon like it’s his emotional support therapist. “Bro,” he murmurs to the pigeon. “She said no. And I liked her aura, too.”

he starts rolling a joint like it’s his coping mechanism. “Nah, it’s cool. I wasn’t tryna fall in love or nothin’. That was all hypothetical. Imaginary. Dream logic.”

but he still walks past you an hour later, lowering his shades and mumbling, “You sure though? You lookin’ real dateable right now.”

۶ৎ TOJI

he’s leaning on his motorcycle like a man in a thirst trap TikTok, shirt open just enough to let his chest tattoos say hello, chewing gum like it owes him money.

“You lookin’ at me like that, mama—might as well sit on my face,” he grins, voice raspy like it’s been places you’ve only seen on late night TV.

you don’t even blink. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

the grin falters. his eyes squint slightly, like he’s trying to recalibrate reality. “…Nah. You was lookin’ at me.”

“Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’.

he pulls back like he just got hit by a stray dodgeball in gym class. “Who tf you think you talkin’ to like that?” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I was tryna be NICE. Do you know how hard that is for me?? That was, like, peak effort.”

he starts pacing. real slow. arms crossed. dramatic sighs included.

“Bitches got no taste these days,” he grumbles under his breath. “I’m delicious, fuck you mean. Michelin star face sittin’ out here and she said no???”

later, you get a text that says: ���wyd rn. i’m mad but also free.”

۶ৎ GOJO

he enters like he owns the building, sunglasses inside, smile already in place, voice loud enough to be banned in public spaces.

“Sooooo... baby girl~” he sings, arms spread like he’s presenting a game show prize, “how ‘bout we make bad decisions together~ like kissing in the rain and ruining our friendship forever~?”

he even adds jazz hands. you blink at him, unimpressed. “Absolutely not.”

he gasps. not even fake. a real, loud, gasping “HAHHHH??” hand to his heart like he’s just been diagnosed with terminal rejection.

“Oh my god,” he says, spinning in place. “Oh my god. You hate me.” drops to his knees like he’s in a period drama. “Is it because I’m too beautiful? Is it the six eyes? I’ll wear sunglasses! I’ll be ugly for you!”

text to Shoko: “she said no. this is what heartbreak feels like. play Lana. louder.”

throws himself dramatically across the couch. refuses to eat his mochi. mourns. but still shows up two hours later with two drinks and says, “So. You changed your mind yet orrrr?”

ʚɞ notes, im lit writing anything other than the chapter 6 of extra credit... stop with the pitch forks.

[echo-exco]

❝DOCTOR, I'M CHASIN' A GHOST, DO I LOOK LIKE HIM?❞

୨⎯ ┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱

✰ ৎ──────SYPNOPSIS: all you ever wanted was a purpose. something that would give meaning to your existence, your power. healing others was the only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed… until you ended up in that awful place.

✰ ৎ────── masterlist. | prev. | next.

You were in the same corner as always, sitting by the desk, your feet dangling slightly from the seat, elbows resting on the wooden surface, an open notebook in front of you and a pencil between your fingers. You weren’t writing at that moment. Just reading. One of the many pages you seemed to have copied and rewritten over and over again.

Medical records. Detailed, meticulous, with personal notes and small fragments of thoughts the patients themselves had said out loud without realizing it. Those were your favorites. You liked jotting down those details, even when they were repetitive or confusing. Masashi always said that was a good thing, that using boredom for something “productive” was a valuable habit for someone like you.

Back then, you almost laughed in his face. Not out of any personal contempt, really, it just struck you as funny, ironic, that Masashi, of all people, would talk about productivity like he actually knew what it meant.

Sometimes you wondered if he even understood what work really was. You loved him, of course you did. After all, he had saved you, given you a purpose, a name, a pretty room, white coats with sleeves that were just a little too long. But you also knew that, no matter how fond you were of him, he was downright hopeless at certain things.

If anyone was shouldering the responsibility in that clinic, it was you. Always you. The one who organized the files, the one who remembered to clean the instruments, the one who had to go fetch him because he forgot he had surgery scheduled with a new patient. The worst part wasn’t his messiness—it was the way he reacted when you tried to point out the problem. He laughed. Apologized. Sometimes he picked you up and spun you around like an angry little pet. “Oh, my grumpy little doctor, you scold me more than my supervisor in med school,” he’d say, as if that were somehow endearing.

You were grateful to be here, away from him. At least for now. Sometimes it was just too exhausting to deal with his pleas. You supposed it was because Masashi had a very peculiar way of asking you for things. They weren’t orders. He never phrased them that way. It was more like… “Wouldn’t you like to wear this for me?” or “Wouldn’t it be nice if you sat on my lap while I read your reports?” And since it wasn’t an order, it wasn’t that easy to say no. He asked with that gentle voice, like it was for your own good.

You, of course, wanted to do things right. You wanted him to be happy.

Even with Charlotte around, a girl who was brilliant, efficient, and didn’t have the annoying habit of talking in her sleep, Masashi still kept chasing after you to accompany him in things that had absolutely no clinical purpose. As if only you could meet his ridiculously specific standards for companionship. He said Charlotte was “too artificial.” That he could actually talk with you. That your complaints were endearing.

Charlotte was useful, sure, but she didn’t have a “soul,” he sometimes said. She lacked your charisma and sweetness. Masashi said it while laughing, but also a little too seriously. You, on the other hand, had a soul. And expression. And soft hands, he’d say.

You theorized that maybe that’s why Masashi preferred asking you to try on a new dress in front of the mirror, or to sit with him while he fed you like an ill infant. Sometimes he even held the spoon for you. You always said you could do it yourself, but he insisted you’d get tired.

It was obvious he cared about you deeply. You knew it because he said things like, “Can you smile a little more? My head hurts when you look sad.” And you didn’t want him to hurt. So you smiled, even if it didn’t always come out naturally. He noticed, of course. But he’d say you’d look beautiful when you smiled for real.

Still, you thought it would be wonderful if he put that same level of care and enthusiasm into his work as a doctor. He had so much talent. You’d seen him operate. When he focused, he was brilliant. But it was rare. Lately, he seemed far more preoccupied with you than with his patients. Sometimes you worried he wasn’t sleeping well because of you.

Once again, all you truly wished for was that he’d put that same effort into his medical duties. How many times had you had to remind him that scalpels don’t belong in drawers with pencils? Or that lab reports do not make good bookmarks? It frustrated you sometimes, how he didn’t seem to realize just how important he could be if he simply did what he was supposed to do.

But instead, he came looking for you to ask how you’d slept. Or to fix your hair with those combs he collected like they were family heirlooms. “You look so serious when you frown. It’s adorable,” he’d say. Adorable? What part of asking him for the fifth time to prep the operating room was supposed to be adorable?

But he said it with such affection that it felt rude to say no. Besides, who else would go through so much trouble just for you?

Still, there you were. Sitting with your feet dangling, going over a page full of names and symptoms, trying not to think about the fact that you kind of missed having to scold him.

Just a little. A very, very little.

You quickly straightened up in your seat when you saw Alfred entering your room silently, carrying a box of tissues and a set of fresh bedsheets. Not because anything was dirty, you hadn’t stained anything, or made a mess, or moved a single thing in all those days, months, but because he found it unbearable that your room felt so... inert.

Almost as if you were purposefully avoiding leaving any trace behind.

“Good afternoon, master Y/N.” He greeted in a soft voice.

You didn’t answer. You only lifted your head a few centimeters and gave the faintest nod, as if speaking would have been asking too much of you.

Alfred walked over to your desk. He began wiping the edges with a dry cloth, even though there wasn’t a speck of dust. He adjusted the pencils that were already perfectly aligned. He picked up a folded sheet of paper with a tiny butterfly drawn in the corner.

“You don’t have to do that.” You murmured suddenly, without looking at him.

Alfred gave a faint smile. “I assure you, this is part of my job, master Y/N.”

“There’s nothing to clean. I don’t make a mess. I don’t even use the desk. You can skip this room.”

“Impossible.” He replied with a slight bow of his head. “It would be a grave discourtesy to a resident of this house. Everyone has their space. And their space must be properly cared for.”

You shrank in on yourself a little more. Your shoulders dropped slightly, as if the mere presence of another person in your room made you uncomfortable. As if someone choosing to spend time with you was some sort of overdue obligation.

Alfred didn’t say it out loud, but he’d thought it before: she’s just like Master Bruce.

The way you withdrew. The silence that clung to you. The expression of someone who had accepted that they shouldn’t ask for anything, or need anything. Who believed that simply existing was already a burden to others.

It was the same look he’d seen on a little boy standing in front of two coffins, with an empty face and trembling hands doing their best not to reach out for comfort.

Only now, it was on the face of his daughter.

It was like watching time in reverse. As if the past had returned with a new face—but the same eyes.

And it hurt. He didn’t say it. He never would. But it hurt.

“Can I ask you something, Mr. Alfred?” you said suddenly, your voice soft, seeking permission.

“Always. And there’s no need to be so formal with me, Master Y/N.”

“Why… do you help me?” You asked out of nowhere. It wasn’t a question laced with bitterness or sadness, and certainly not with scorn or hatred toward the butler.

It was a genuine question. You were simply curious about the strange and direct care Alfred always showed you. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this, you’d long since lost count of how many times you’d tried to make him stop, tried to let him know you didn’t need to be treated like someone who belonged to this family.

You can’t understand it. You thought you’d made it perfectly clear that your relationship with this person was strictly formal. You didn’t need him to clean anything in your room or help you with anything, no matter how small or insignificant. You had no power over the city, and you didn’t do anything like your other siblings.

You’re not useful in this house.

And you’re definitely not anyone in this family.

Alfred paused for a second, without lifting his head. He pretended to adjust the corner of a notebook.

“I do it because you live here.” He said with all the solemnity of a butler. But his voice was lower than usual—gentle, as if he were speaking to a small, frightened animal. “And because you deserve to be comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you need help. Sometimes, it’s simply okay to receive it. After all, you’re family.”

You lowered your gaze. You didn’t argue. You just sighed, with a kind of childish resignation.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him.

It was that you didn’t even know how to believe it in the first place.

Because the moment you show your true self… will Alfred really be able to look you in the eyes and say those same words? Gotham is no place for beings like you. This city, your own family, they would all deny your power, your purpose, your very existence and reason for being alive.

It’s painful, suffocating even, to think about what will happen if Bruce or anyone else in this house ever finds out about your powers. You don’t think they’d be capable of understanding. You had to find Masashi just to give meaning to everything you were, something to keep you sane and delay your inevitable collapse.

But was that enough? Was it really worth having that purpose at the cost of your innocence?

You can’t save yourself, so how do you still expect to save anyone else?

Alfred finished straightening the desk, crossed the room, cracked the window open to let in a bit of breeze, and then moved to check the wardrobe to make sure everything was in order. There was no need, of course. Every garment was folded as if no one had ever touched them.

“Would you like me to prepare something for tea?” He asked softly, pausing near the door. “Perhaps some vanilla cookies. Or a bit of fresh fruit.”

“I’m fine.” You murmured. “Thank you.”

You always said that. Always with that same awkward tone. As if being around him, or anyone else in this family, was somehow improper.

Alfred nodded. He didn’t press.

As he closed the door, he stopped in the hallway, hand still on the doorknob. He allowed himself a sigh.

Have I failed her too?

I failed Bruce… and now I’m failing his daughter?

Or is this family simply doomed to grow up believing they’re not allowed to ask for anything?

He knew Bruce was doing everything he could. That he was obsessed with that figure in the shadows, the nameless man who might still be out there, posing a threat to your safety while he remained free.

From the moment you arrived, you kept to the sidelines. Not out of rebellion, or visible pain, or even shyness. You simply acted like someone who was… passing through. As if it didn’t matter whether you got used to this place or not, because you weren’t planning to stay.

According to the files, you’d been through several families. None of them were especially terrible. No marks, no signs of neglect—just returns. The kind that never get recorded as damage, but leave scars on the soul. Families that “didn’t connect,” or “weren’t ready.” Families that got tired.

Alfred had read those reports on a night when Bruce couldn’t sleep. Because he couldn’t sleep either.

And yet… something didn’t sit right. Something felt artificial about the entire sequence of events. Alfred was far too old not to suspect when a story seemed too carefully designed to be harmless.

You… you knew it wasn’t true.

You had seen those documents by accident, stumbled across them by mistake. You flipped through those reports like they were silly stories someone else had written about your life.

You’d never been in any family at all. You don’t even think you’re capable of remembering your own mother.

Masashi had mentioned that he knew your mother. Apparently, they were close friends. Unfortunately, the woman died during childbirth, and poor Masashi took a couple of years to learn of your existence so he could help you.

Of course, there’s no reason for your newly discovered family to ever know about that.

Alfred knew Bruce felt guilty, for whatever you had been through and whatever uncertain future might still await you—even without knowing the details.

He understood.

Because he felt it too.

Maybe you would never see him as more than an old butler. Maybe you’d never understand why he changed your sheets every week or left a glass of warm water by your bed. But he would do it anyway.

Because you are part of this house.

Even if you didn’t believe it.

Master Bruce, he thought as he finally stepped out of the room, this time you won’t be able to postpone the conversation. She looks too much like her for you not to see it.

He closed the door carefully.

The tray remained on the table.

The cookies, untouched.

The tea, lukewarm.

You looked at the butler for a brief moment, then at the snack, a quiet gesture of goodwill. You lowered your gaze. You didn’t nod, didn’t refuse. You just went back to writing a note in your notebook, as if the conversation had never happened.

Eventually, Alfred would forget this conversation.

At least, that’s what you hoped.

Damian knew before the others. Not because Bruce told him first, but because he noticed.

The hushed voices between Alfred and his father. The long phone calls. The sealed file on the Batcomputer with restricted access. The closed-door meetings that not even Nightwing knew about. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together—not when you’d been trained by the League of Assassins.

A daughter.

A biological daughter.

Another one.

He said nothing for an entire day. He just thought about it.

He remembered his mother’s voice, sharp as a blade over tempered steel, repeating for years what he already knew: “You are the only son of Bruce Wayne. The rightful one. The heir.”

But it wasn’t true.

Now there was another.

A blood daughter.

A sister.

Damian felt a strange stab in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was… disorder. Something was wrong with the world, and it needed to be corrected.

He met you three days later.

He expected something. A threat. A fraud. Someone who walked with the arrogance of someone claiming what wasn’t theirs.

But no.

He saw you sitting in the corner, feet dangling from the couch, a cup far too big between your hands. Your gaze still, almost vacant.

You didn’t try to speak to the others. You didn’t approach when he walked in. You didn’t even look at him properly.

Damian felt irritated by that. By your calm. By your weakness. By your silence.

You were… soft. Fragile. Kind, even. When you spoke, your voice was patient. Nothing like what he expected.

You didn’t challenge him.

You didn’t confront him.

You didn’t look at him like an equal.

She knows her place, Damian thought with satisfaction.

That was good. That was right. The world needed order.

And you weren’t part of his world. Not really.

He watched you for days. Always on the sidelines. Never interrupting. You didn’t train. You didn’t ask for missions. You didn’t even complain when the others ignored or interrupted you. Not a grimace. Not a single unnecessary word.

You weren’t useful, but at least you knew you weren’t.

Damian clung to that idea tightly. He needed to believe it.

Not necessarily because he hated you. Not yet.

If you weren’t a threat to his family, then there was no need to eliminate you.

Only to keep an eye on you.

Sometimes he found you alone, reading medical reports or staring out the window. You always pulled away when someone entered. Including him.

That bothered him, too.

Not because he wanted to talk to you. Not because you wanted to talk to him. But because you were supposed to be his sister. Blood. And yet you slipped away like you weren’t.

He convinced himself that it was fine. That it was for the best. That you knew your place. That he, as the true son, the one meant to protect the legacy, would protect you, too.

Even if you were weak. Even if you didn’t deserve it.

Because now, you were part of this, too. And he wasn’t going to let anyone else touch what was already his— his family.

Not even you.

Damian couldn’t fully explain it. It was irritating. Exasperating.

The way you were always there, so quiet, so… out of place.

He had expected anger. Competition. A challenge. Something to prove you had the right to be under the same roof as him. But all he got was that damn look.

That look that held no fear, no defiance, not even a hint of submission.

Just… pity.

The same look he sometimes saw in civilians’ eyes when he returned from a mission covered in blood, before they recognized him as Robin. A blend of judgment and unwanted sympathy.

But from you, it was worse. Because you kept it to yourself. Barely looked at him, and still, you knew. As if you understood before he even spoke.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” He asked once. His voice low, barely a whisper.

It wasn’t a real question. It was meant to provoke.

You only looked at him from the floor, rubbing the arm he had twisted. “…Because you didn’t want to kill me.”

The answer froze him. Froze his chest and burned his ribs all at once.

What the hell did you mean by that?

You had said it in the same voice one would use to list a dosage, to recommend rest, professional. That’s what sickened him the most. That it sounded like you’d lived through it before. Someone yelling at you. Someone hitting you. Someone hurting you.

You just... accepted it.

"...It’s like you’ve dealt with tantrums before." He muttered later, alone in the training room, throwing his katana with such force that one ended up embedded in the steel wall.

Tantrums, he thought bitterly. You made him feel like a spoiled child, not the blood heir to the Assassin League’s throne he once was, not the son worthy of his father.

Still, no one said anything. No one took your side at that moment.

Not even Alfred.

As if everyone agreed. As if you had done something to deserve it.

And that sealed his idea.

You weren’t worthy. You weren’t strong. You weren’t useful. You had no training.

You had no instinct. You had no history. You were just... Bruce’s biological daughter.

That was enough.

Enough to be in his house. Enough for everyone to pretend they cared about you. Enough to take a seat at the table you hadn’t earned.

Damian didn’t want you in his house. He didn’t want you near, but he wasn’t going to let you go either.

It wasn’t because he didn’t want you. It wasn’t because you were his sister. Damian had already seen what the world does to the weak. If you were going to be so stupidly fragile, so pathetically useless, then he would handle it. He would watch you. He would decide what to do with you.

You were his responsibility. His burden.

His sister.

Later, when he recalls that first time he threw you to the ground, he realizes that what made him angriest was your emotional distance. You weren’t a victim. You didn’t cry. You didn’t run away. You didn’t even shake.

You just... waited for it to pass.

As if you already knew him. As if you knew that this too, over time, would heal.

The worst part was that, deep down, he was right.

Cassandra was never good with words.

Nor did she care to be.

She never considered them reliable. She saw them as disguises: fragile tools people used to hide, not to reveal themselves. She had learned from a very young age that lips could lie with elegance, but the body rarely knew how to do the same.

That’s why she didn’t need them.

That’s why she never relied on them to understand someone.

She preferred silence. The stillness between one breath and the next. The tremor in the fingers, the tension in the shoulders, the stiffness of a back, or the way someone avoided a glance. All of that spoke louder, with more sincerity, than any carefully crafted conversation.

With you, from the very first moment, everything was painfully clear.

No greetings or long introductions were necessary. Just a few seconds. Barely ten. That was all she needed to understand you.

You didn’t want to be there.

You didn’t want to talk.

You didn’t want company.

And the most obvious thing: you didn’t want her.

But she didn’t take it personally. It didn’t feel like a direct rejection. It was more like an old barrier, a resistance built with years of experience. A discomfort without a clear name, but dense, thick… as if you had been carrying a weariness for so long that you no longer knew how to let it go.

You were no stranger to the feeling of not fitting in.

She, who also understood that weight, decided not to push you. She didn’t force closeness. She didn’t try to sit next to you at the table, nor did she offer you forced conversations while you flipped through a book or ate in silence. She kept close, yes, but always on the periphery. She measured her steps. She guarded her presence like someone trying not to scare a wounded animal.

Because every time her footsteps got too close, you would tense up.

And that, though she tried not to admit it, hurt.

Not out of ego. Not because she felt rejected by you. What truly hurt her was seeing how that discomfort seemed more directed at yourself. As if being there, surrounded by people who wanted to accept you, was some kind of punishment you had to endure in silence.

Cassandra understood that. And decided she wouldn’t add her shadow to the pile. She wouldn’t be another burden, nor a presence that forced itself.

As the days passed, something started to change. Very little. Almost imperceptible, like the first hints of dawn after a long night.

Your eyes would follow her briefly. You lingered in the common spaces for a few seconds longer. Sometimes, you stayed in the living room, behind the couch, saying nothing, as if simply being near her was already an effort. A silent way of saying you wanted to belong, even if you didn’t know how.

As if you were trying to fit into a home you still found too painful to face directly.

Cassandra didn’t reproach you for it. But she noticed.

She observed how each of your attempts seemed to be born out of exhaustion. How your smiles seemed borrowed. How every word you spoke seemed to come from a corner of obligation, never from a genuine desire to be part of things.

You were forcing yourself to fit in.

That... that was what frustrated her. Not the fact that you kept your distance. Not your silence. Not your emotional awkwardness.

What infuriated her was the falseness of your effort. That lukewarm performance that tried to show affection, but only revealed your guilt. Or your fear.

Cassandra, who had spent her life deciphering these masks, couldn’t ignore it.

One night, she just couldn’t take it anymore.

She found you in the kitchen. You were holding your notebook tightly, pressed against your chest like it was an invisible armor. She had only gone to get a glass of water. She wasn’t expecting anything. She wasn’t looking for a conversation.

But you spoke.

"Do you like jasmine tea?"

It was a light phrase. Empty. Like a rope thrown into the abyss, with no intention of anyone grabbing it.

Cassandra, who had been watching you pretend a closeness you didn’t feel for weeks, responded without embellishment. Without softness.

"Why are you pretending you want to be here?"

The question wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t sharp. But it cut deeper than any scream.

And she knew it.

You didn’t answer. You just lowered your gaze, as if you’d been caught hurting someone, when in reality, you were just lost. Confused. Unable to fully understand why you were pretending something you didn’t even get yourself.

The silence that followed was thick, unbearable.

"You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to." She added. Her voice was still firm, but it no longer sounded like an accusation. "Just… stop pretending you’re trying. It’s fake. And you know it."

That’s what hurt the most.

Not your distance. Not your walls. What really stung was your insistence on faking an affection you didn’t feel. That small lie, repeated in every gesture, every look, every awkward effort.

For Cassandra, who could recognize good intentions disguised as lies, it was the breaking point.

She didn’t speak to you again. For days, not a word, not a glance, not a greeting. Nothing.

If she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t remember looking at you the same way after that.

Cassandra didn’t hate you.

It wasn’t hatred.

It was incomprehension.

It was helplessness in the face of your silent pain and your determination to keep pretending you wanted to be a part of it, even though every action screamed the opposite.

What bothered her the most… was that she still wished you would try for real.

But she did the right thing. She repeated that to herself many times.

You, on your part, never sought her again. There were no more words directed at her. Not even a glance, not even one of those tense sighs you used to let out when her presence overwhelmed you. You became a shadow that avoided hers. You slipped through the house as if she were a presence that hurt you.

In a cruel irony, that hurt even more.

Cassandra clung to the idea that she had done the right thing. That telling the truth, even if it was brutal, was better than continuing to feed a comfortable lie. That at least now you were honest. That you no longer pretended you wanted to be close.

Clearly, you didn’t want her company. Clearly, you couldn’t stand her. Clearly, you had stopped pretending.

So… why didn’t it feel better?

Why did she wake up in a foul mood? Why, when she saw you walking down the halls with your head down and your steps measured like you were an intruder in your own home, did she feel a twinge of frustration she couldn’t shake off?

Why did she keep watching you in the room, alone, hugging that notebook like it was an excuse to exist, her eyes lost in a dead point... and filled with rage?

It wasn’t at you.

She had already resigned herself to your presence. To the way you didn’t truly be there. To your absences even when you were right in front of her.

The rage was with herself.

With that part of her that kept waiting. That wished, at least once, you would turn around. That you would look at her. That you would say something real. That you would make that rejection, at least, feel personal. That it would hurt for the right reasons.

Because before, you used to pretend you wanted to stay.

That hurt.

But now, she couldn’t even have that.

Now, you were a wall.

Cassandra knew she should feel at peace with it.

She should.

Because she hadn’t pressured you. She hadn’t insisted. She hadn’t become a burden. She had done what was supposed to be right: leaving you in peace.

But every time she saw you interact with others in the same distant way, every time you disappeared for hours, every time you avoided any emotional connection as if breathing out loud hurt, she felt something inside her grow heavier.

Sharper.

It wasn’t guilt. Not like what others felt.

It was something else. A dull premonition. Like her intuition, the one that always guided her with such precision, was telling her that the wall was no longer just yours.

That now she was on the other side, too. That she had helped build it. That she, too, hid behind it.

Because it hurt.

Because she didn’t know how to face the pain with words.

So, she did the only thing she knew how to do: she ignored it.

Or at least pretended she could.

She told herself that it was just a matter of time. That you would eventually open up. That you couldn’t stay alone forever. That one day you would sit with them, without fear. That maybe, just maybe, you’d look at her again without that shadow in your eyes.

That one day, you would speak… with truth.

She would be there, waiting.

Because she did the right thing.

Right?

Right?

Even if now, for the first time, she no longer knew how to read you.

taglist. ( closed ! )

@prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue @victoria1676 @ithoughtthinks @maybeethan69 @moonsunlights @ghostxmio @niamcarlin @mys0cksrwet @joseylouge @kore-of-the-underworld @lithiumval @ryuushou @jellystar-star @bbsaeko @sadeem575 @buckturd @justonerandomreader @amaryilia @shycreatorreview @galaxypurplerose @hearts4mica @lonely-entity @bronermalls @justafank @theholyharp @jjoppees @raiyuxa @bbmgirll @hattersrabbit @1abi @a-lurking-fae @cristy-101 @eli-chris @kenman00001 @aaaaailo @c4xcocoa @funtimekoda14 @shrimp38 @ghostgirl-207 @yarn-mony @expressodepressogetoffmyproperty @java-lava @on-a-sugar-rush @hwaissooo @endaculi @shadowsofapastera @deaddino3 @lalana1703 @ash1 @iloveeverythingiread @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @noone1233nobody @yuyuzi-ling @cupid73 @st4rz666 @zhentheraven @angwngss

[plutotheplum]

chapter two | the magician

rafayel x fem!reader

“Perhaps a painting of you, swollen with my child… although perhaps I could capture it better with marble.” Rafayel purses his lips, his gaze flitting towards the sculptures. “Yes,” he breathes out, “swollen stomach, a content expression; I can see it now.”

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, modern au, smut, fluff, kissing, vaginal fingering, blowjob, oral sex, mirror sex, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex

wc: 5.2k

a/n: ummm first rafayel smut fic... kinda nervous🧍🏽‍♀️ for the taglist dw if i haven't replied, you will most likely be added if you have your age somewhere <3

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the star

You’re distracted by sculptures outside Rafayel’s house.

Carved beautifully, the stone marble somehow manages to look soft, the dimpled flesh making your eyes widen as you near them. A new addition to his decor, apparently. You’d never seen them before when you’d visited.

Your fingers reach out greedily to touch the marble, but you think better of it, drawing your hand back with a sigh. You weren’t exactly here to admire the art, although perhaps it was a perk. Maybe you’d end up with a child-prodigy.

You shake the thought from your head, too nervous to go in just yet. Instead, you loiter outside awkwardly, pretending to take great interest in the flower bushes that were in full bloom, your head dipping to catch the scent of the delicate flowers.

“Having second thoughts?”

You shriek, spine straightening as you whirl around to face Rafayel, watching the amused expression on his face as you tremble from the fright.

“Don’t-” you pause to place your hand over your pounding heart. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“You’re such a baby,” he chastises, tilting his head, eyeing the bag pulled over your shoulders. “What’s that for? I think you’ve got enough things to go camping.”

Eyes narrowing, you glare at the purple-haired man, adjusting the straps of your bag. “I wanted to be prepared!”

“To have sex?” he asks bluntly, raising his brows.

Huffing out a breath, you find yourself growing vexed. As blunt as it was, you were here to have sex, with him. You decide not to dignify him with a response, averting your gaze to stare at the statues you’d been looking at earlier, your annoyance simmering. 

Rafayel pouts when you look away, sidling up beside you, his gaze following yours. “I thought you’d like them,” he murmurs, his expression sobering up a bit, “sculpted by yours truly.”

You frown, sneaking a glance at him before begrudgingly replying, “I do like them, but I thought you were a painter, not a sculptor.”

“The term artist covers a great many things,” he says lavishly, gesturing to himself with a graceful motion of his hands. “I finished them in time for my art collection, but,” Rafayel trails off, his eyes roving over the sculptures thoughtfully, “I couldn’t quite find it in myself to part with them so soon.”

“They are beautiful,” you sigh, shoulders sagging as you let the previous tenseness in them pass, the gentle, flowery breeze putting your mind at ease.

“What else would you expect from a man of my calibre?” Rafayel muses, his gaze dipping down to you, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Maybe a sense of introspection,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

“You’re so mean to me,” he whines, tugging your bag free from your hold and dumping it onto one of the stepping stones leading up to his house.

You make a noise of protest, reaching out to grab your water bottle that had begun to roll away, only for Rafayel to wrap his arms around your waist, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. He’s warm, the heat of his chest bleeding into your back through your clothes as he presses himself closer, his nose grazing your neck as he drinks in the scent of you.

His hand smooths over the curve of your hip, toying with the hem of your sweater.

“It would be nice,” Rafayel murmurs absentmindedly, his fingers trailing over your stomach before drifting lower, under your skirt to caress your thigh gently.

“What-” your breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut as you lean your head back against him, “what would be nice?”

“Art of you,” he mumbles, kissing the spot under your ear teasingly. “Perhaps a painting of you, swollen with my child… although perhaps I could capture it better with marble.” Rafayel purses his lips, his gaze flitting towards the sculptures. “Yes,” he breathes out, “swollen stomach, a content expression; I can see it now.” 

Your cheeks feel hot when you hear Rafayel’s low muttering, his words making your thighs press together.

“Zayne- Zayne said it would take at least five days for it to take,” you manage out, head tilting when Rafayel noses against your neck, dragging it over the curve between your shoulder and neck, breathing you in again.

“Five days; five men,” he sighs, his head lifting to peer into your eyes, “you really thought this out, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t expecting all of you to agree,” you say in protest, fingers sliding through his silky, soft hair, tangling in the strands as he kisses your neck again. 

“But how could you resist?” Rafayel continues, his tone turning accusing, “five men, wanting to give you their baby, wanting to breed you and now… now I have to share, all because you’re so greedy.”

“‘m not- ‘m not greedy,” you whine, squeaking when he squeezes one of your breasts through your sweater. “You’re just jealous.”

“Any man in their right mind would be jealous,” Rafayel snaps lowly, turning you in his arms so he can see you properly. His gaze roves over your flushed face hungrily, the desire in his eyes making you squirm. 

“At least you get to go first?” you offer, hoping it provides him with some sort of consolation. “Besides,” you mumble, averting my gaze, “it was my decision as much as it was yours.”

Rafayel lets out a noise of dissatisfaction, his annoyance ebbing away into something more petulant, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Doesn’t mean I have to like sharing,” he grouses, his fingers smoothing over your skirt, trying to erase the ruffles.

Your fingers spread out over his chest, rocking up onto your toes to peck his lips gently. “Feel better?” you ask tentatively.

Rafayel looks taken aback for a moment before he schools his expression into one of sullenness, shaking his head. “Perhaps another kiss would do the trick,” he mumbles, his head lowering.

You bite back a smile, tilting your head to peck his lips again.

“Another,” he requests, puckering up his lips, the sight ridiculous enough to make a soft  laugh slip out of you. “Don’t laugh,” Rafayel grumbles, his arm curling around your waist to pull you closer, “you ought to vanquish my sadness.”

“I’m not a witch,” you whisper against his lips, arms wrapping around his neck. Your eyes flutter shut, this time Rafayel taking the lead as he kisses you, his hand sliding up over your neck to cup your cheek, his fingers cool against your skin.

“You might as well be,” he whispers, “with the way you have me wrapped around your evil, little finger.”

“Evil?” you scoff, feigning offence, trying to pull away from him.

Rafayel doesn’t you, letting out a noise of protest leaving him as he tightens his grip, holding you closer. Your eyes slip shut when he presses his lips against yours, your hand sliding up his firm chest, a soft sigh escaping you. 

He kisses you languidly, unhurriedly as though savoring the moment. It is nice, you think hazily, fingers slipping up into his hair, tugging at the strands gently. Rafayel’s hands smooth against your waist, caressing your sides before his arms wrap around you more firmly.

He whines when you pull away, his breath hitching when you kiss his neck, Rafayel’s head tipping to the side to bare more of his skin to you. Your teeth scrape against his throat, mewling softly when he squeezes your hips jerkily, able to feel the beginnings of his arousal against your hip.

You bite down, not enough to hurt, laving your tongue over the bite as you revel in the airy noise he lets out. 

“Okay,” you whisper, “I‘m ready to do this.”

“What?” Rafayel asks dazedly, blinking rapidly to try and clear the haze of desire that’s settled over him.

“I said I’m ready to do this,” you murmur, hand sliding down to palm him through his trousers, smiling when his hips buck, his head falling onto your shoulder. “I want a baby, Rafayel.”

“Baby,” he mumbles, “yeah… yeah, I’ll give you a baby, angel.”

You hum happily, reaching down for your bag only for Rafayel to tug you back up. A squeak escapes you when he tightens his grip on your wrist, tugging you into his home.

“My- my bag!” you protest, looking back at your bag of belongings sitting pathetically on the stones.

“Thomas will get it,” he mutters, managing to maneuver you in front of him, trapping you against his staircase.

“Thomas is here?” you squeak out, cheeks flushing.

“He’ll be dropping by to collect some art pieces,” Rafayel replies, his fingers shoving up your skirt impatiently, a groan escaping him at the sight of your panties. “Now stop talking about other men.”

“But- but oh-” 

“Silk?” he interrupts, tugging your panties up a little more to stare at the way they sit prettily on your hips, the soft fabric glistening in the natural lighting when he tilts his head. “You wore silk panties? How badly do you want this baby?” he muses. “Practically begging to bred, angel.”

“Thought-” you let out a muffled noise, head dropping forward. “Thought you’d like ‘em.”

“Oh, I like them,” Rafayel murmurs thoughtfully, his fingers spreading out over the fat of your ass, squeezing. “Wear them for me again. I’d like to take a photo, for reference, of course.”

Your shoulders sag immediately when he grazes his fingers against your panties, your thighs pressing together involuntarily, barely able to listen to Rafayel as he rambles something about painting you naked on a canvas, with only your panties on. 

It’s difficult when you’re like this, pressed up against the railing of his winding staircase, panting against it as you twitch, Rafayel’s hand sliding up over your neck to make your head rest against his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he breathes out, kissing your cheek while he grinds his cock into your ass, panting softly into your ear.

You whine, fingers reaching out to curl around the balustrade, hips swaying back to press against his hard cock more firmly, mouth opening in a silent moan when he rubs your pussy through your panties.

“Raf,” you call out his name needily, head tilting to meet his lips eagerly. 

His kisses are more urgent than before, his tongue delving into your mouth greedily. You sag against him, letting out a content noise when he pushes your panties to the side, smiling when you feel him groan against your lips.

“So wet,” he mumbles, lips dragging across your jaw sloppily, mouthing at your skin hungrily.

Your brows furrow when he teases you, his graceful fingers circling your clit for a moment before drifting lower, pressing into your cunt briefly before he draws them back out, fucking you shallowly with his fingers.

“N- no,” you complain, shaking your head, trying to press down against his hand to get his fingers to sink in deeper. “Raf, I need more.”

“Always so greedy,” Rafayel hisses. “You don’t need more. You’ll have five cocks in due time.”

“P- please,” you whimper, desperation making you unabashed enough to beg, “I need your fingers. Just- just put them in!”

He clicks his tongue, fingers readjusting against your neck, squeezing. “So fucking demanding, hm?”

You yelp when he spanks your ass, body jerking against the balustrade.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, close to tears when he thrusts his fingers in and out you, pushing them in deep enough and curling them perfectly to hit where you need them to. “Please- just- I need to cum!”

Rafayel sighs heavily, his fingers withdrawing from your clenching cunt, turning you around in his arms. You blink up at him, pawing at his chest, unbuttoning his shirt quickly, biting your lip when it falls off of his shoulders onto the floor.

“Show me,” he whispers, pressing closer.

“What?” you breathe out, cupping his jaw when he lowers his head, lips parting for the heady kiss he gives you, fingers squishing his cheeks.

“Show me how much you want to cum,” Rafayel murmurs, “show me how much you deserve it. How much you deserve my cum.”

You swallow nervously, eyes fluttering shut when he kisses you again, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

“Okay,” you mumble, stealing a quick kiss before sinking to your knees.

“What?” he says confusedly, his brows furrowing as he stares down at you, pupils dilating when you nuzzle into his trousers.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” you ask in return, pulling his trousers down along with his boxers.

“You don’t have to- I didn’t mean- oh- oh fuck, angel-”

Rafayel nearly cums at the sight of your innocent eyes blinking up at him, mouth wrapped around the head of his cock while you suckle gently, tongue lapping at the tip of him.

You smile drunkenly, mouth opening to show him how his cock sits on your tongue prettily. Rafayel whines at the sight, his hand sliding over his face to cover the deep flush that’s begun to color his cheeks.

“I thought this is what you meant,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his cock, pre-cum clinging to your lips when you pull away.

You move your tongue, swirling it around the string of pre-cum, letting the heady taste of him sit on your tongue.

“You may as well be a succubus,” he mutters, barely able to keep his eyes open, his fingers threading into your hair when you move your head forward, taking more of his cock into your mouth.

“‘m your angel,” you pout, mouth opening wider, sucking harder. Rafayel’s cock throbs and you mewl at the taste of his pre-cum, hand sneaking between your thighs to relieve the ache that’s begun to settle in your empty pussy.

“I don’t- shit- know what you are,” Rafayel slurs, his hips jerking forward unevenly.

You let out a muffled noise, nails digging into his thighs. Rafayel whimpers at the sensation, the combined pain and pleasure going straight to his cock, his hips pushing forward until your head is trapped between the side of the staircase and his hips.

Despite the pleasure he had denied you earlier, you sink two fingers into your dripping cunt, moaning around his cock. Rafayel watches drunkenly, his half-lidded eyes doing their best to try and take in the image of his cock buried in your hot mouth, the gentle bounce of your body as you fuck yourself on your fingers.

“Fuck!” Rafayel curses, his head tipping back when you lap at the tip of his cock, his fingers sliding down your cheek to cup your jaw. “You- you can’t do this with the others.”

You let his cock slip from your mouth with a kiss to the heated length, nuzzling against the underside while you mouth at his balls lazily.

“Feels so fucking good,” he whines, thighs twitching.

Rafayel’s hand wraps around his cock, and you watch with hazy eyes as he begins to jerk himself off, each measured pump and suckle of your mouth sending uneven shudders through his body.

“Please fill me up,” you whisper, hoping your voice sounds sultry enough, “I want your cum, Rafayel. You promised me a baby.”

“Keep mouthing at my balls and I won’t be able to fill you up,” he rasps out, slapping a hand against the balustrade to steady himself when you suckle at the head of his cock again. “Let alone give you a baby.”

You pout, begrudgingly stopping your mouthing. Rafayel peers down at you, grasping his cock as he nudges it against your lips, smearing pre-cum all over your lips and across your cheek. You smile, drunk on the taste of his pre-cum.

“Am I pretty enough to be your muse?”

A disbelieving laugh escapes him, his hand running through his hair before he’s tugging you up onto your feet, lips slotting over yours. Arms wrapping around his neck, you whine, letting him pull your skirt down and your top over your head, along with his bra.

“You’re insane,” Rafayel murmurs, his head dipping to pepper kisses across your chest. 

You bite your lip, head tipping back as he drags his tongue over your nipples, nose pressing into the fat of your breast as he sucks and swirls his tongue. 

The crunch of gravel outside makes you pause, Rafayel’s head lifting.

“Thomas,” he supplies, tugging at your nipples distractedly.

“We- ngh- we should go up,” you whisper, thighs squeezing together when Rafayel spits, his thumbs rubbing his spit into your areolas, making them glisten.

“Pretty,” he mumbles, tilting his head, “but I suppose you’re right.”

You both manage to stumble up the stairs, although Rafayel is unable to keep his hands off of you, his mouth grazing against your neck as he pins you up against a wall, sliding to his knees.

“B- bedroom,” you gasp, back arching when he pulls apart your asscheeks, a low groan leaving Rafayel when he sees the dampness covering your puffy folds and inner thighs. “What-  what if Thomas hears?”

“He won’t if you’re quiet,” Rafayel murmurs, tongue laving over your folds, thumbing them apart to get a glimpse of your swollen clit.

You jerk when he presses his fingers against the achy bud, a squeal escaping you at the sensation, drawing a breathless laugh out of Rafayel.

“Okay,” he muses, “bedroom it is.”

Rafayel pushes you into his bedroom gently, his hands caressing your hips whilst he shuts the door with his foot. You glance around, taking in the panels of floor-length mirrors, the plush bench at the foot of his bed and silk sheets. A smile pulls at your lips. He always did like silk. 

Your head tilts when Rafayel kisses your cheek, arms wrapping around his neck once he steps closer, mouth meeting his for a kiss. His cock is hard against your stomach, pre-cum smearing over your skin, his hands drifting down your back to squeeze at your ass.

“Sit,” he murmurs, fingers dragging across your waist as he pushes you down gently. You follow his guidance, settling down on the bench, fingers running through his hair when he sinks to his knees again.

Rafayel’s fingers curl around your thighs, pulling them apart, his head lowering to kiss your inner thighs. You let one of your legs rest on his shoulder, letting him pull your panties off, a soft sigh escaping you when he kisses your clit, tongue delving through your folds.

“So sweet,” Rafayel whispers, peering up at you, his eyes shining with desire.

“You’re being nice,” you murmur, head tipping back when he slides his tongue through your folds against, briefly sucking before letting go, his fingers brushing against your clit.

“I’m always nice,” he mumbles, sinking his fingers inside of you.

You gasp, back straightening, hips rocking forward when Rafayel’s mouth closes over your clit, his tongue flicking against the swollen bud, face pressing firmly against your cunt.

“Watch yourself,” he continues, nodding his head towards the mirror. “I want you to watch yourself.”

The muscles in his back flex as he buries his face between your thighs again, his hands squeezing at your thighs, tongue working wonders. You whine, tugging at his hair, watching as he shifts between your legs, the reflection making your pussy throb.

Your thighs fall open when Rafayel laps over your cunt, hips rolling to meet the motions of his tongue, squirming on the plush bench as he curls his fingers, beginning to thrust them in and out of you.

“Needy,” Rafayel murmurs, his teeth grazing your thigh, “you look like you’re about to fall apart.”

“And- ah- and you weren’t?” you grit out, a sharp whimper leaving you when he kisses your clit repeatedly, fingers hitting exactly where you need them to.

“That was different,” he grouses, brows furrowing, “you were-”

You hardly care for his words at this point, shoving at his head, gasping when he slips his fingers out of you, replacing them with his tongue. Hips rocking, you keep his head in place, toes curling as you pant.

“R- Raf,” you whine out his name, “‘m gonna cum.”

Rafayel lets out a muffled noise, dragging his tongue from side to side, up over your cunt, teeth grazing against your clit. It sends sparks of pleasure throughout your body, thighs twitching.

“Oh fuck,” you mewl, tugging at his hair harder, somehow losing your balance as you tip back when you cum, thighs squeezing around his head when he grunts, rising up to chase after your clenching cunt, his tongue lapping and sucking; drinking down your slick eagerly.

“Need to fuck you,” Rafayel rasps, crawling up over you, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.

You shake your head when he tries to slip his cock in, rising shakily onto your hands and knees, grabbing a few pillows to shove your face into, ass perking up into the air for him.

“Perfect, aren’t you?” he mutters hoarsely, “always so fucking perfect, angel.”

You make a noise in agreement, mouthing opening in a silent moan when you hear the sound of his hand pumping his cock, the head of it pressing against your pussy, grazing your clit briefly before Rafayel pushes his hips forward.

“Yes,” you slur out, cunt clenching, drawing a groan from Rafayel when he continues to sink his cock into your eager pussy. “Feels- feels so good.”

“I know,” he breathes out, his eyes fluttering shut, “you’re squeezing me so tight, angel. Can feel how bad you want this.”

You whimper, arching your back a little more, head empty of thoughts when he draws his hips back and thrusts forward, feeling his cock stretch you out. 

“Who is that?” Rafayel whispers, his fingers skimming up your back, his hips thrusting lazily into your ass as he watches your debauched expression in the mirror. “Who is that, angel?”

You’re too busy drooling into Rafayel’s satin pillowcases to hear him properly, trying to press your hips back to take him more fully.

He makes a noise of irritation, his fingers sliding through your hair to tug your head back, forcing you to watch the indecent motions that unfold, portrayed perfectly through his mirror. Rafayel looks pretty, you think, purple-hair falling across his forehead messily. He reminds you of the marble outside, delicate and yet, the strength of his hands distracts you.

You wonder if you could capture his beauty as well as he does with you. 

“Tell me,” he whispers again, voice sweet and syrupy, “who is that?”

“I-” you breath hitches when Rafayel squeezes your ass, his fingers pulling apart your asscheeks. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, face burying into the pillows as you shake your head. 

Rafayel clicks his tongue in annoyance and you let out a muffled squeak into the soft pillows, body trembling when he spits down, his spit sliding down over your ass and around the stretch of your pussy around his cock.

“Are you going to make me ask again?” Rafayel croons, his fingers tightening their grip around your hip in warning. An embarrassingly loud moan escapes you when he tugs your head back more firmly, his hand wrapping around your hair to keep you in place. “Look at yourself,” he hisses lowly, “look at how radiant you look. Now, who is that?”

Radiant. 

The word makes you falter, eyes blinking across at your reflection. There’s a thin sheet of sweat glistening across your skin, mouth opening every now and then, your breasts swaying gently with every thrust, nipples hardened. You wouldn’t exactly call yourself radiant in this moment, but when Rafayel dips his head, mouth skimming over your back, his lips reverent against your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, you find yourself feeling more valued than you’ve ever been.

“M- me,” you slur finally, spit slipping out the side of your mouth. Rafayel catches it, his thumb pushing its way into your mouth. You suck around it sloppily, pussy clenching around his cock.

“That��s right,” he soothes, “it’s you, angel, taking my cock so well.”

You mewl, pushing your hips back. “I- ah- I can take it better, Raf.”

“Yeah?” Rafayel murmurs, smiling against your shoulder, shoving his thumb deeper into your mouth. “Better tell everyone else how well you took my cock, okay? How eager you were for my cock, my baby.”

You nod rapidly, heat flaring up inside of you at the thought of him cumming inside, unprotected nonetheless. Your cunt clenches around his cock involuntarily, hips squirming when you feel his cock throb.

“Fuck,” Rafayel whines, his hips stuttering against your ass, “felt- felt that, angel. You like it.”

You whimper back, face shoving back into the pillow when he draws his thumb out from the hot confines of your mouth, his grip on your hair faltering. Your teeth sink into the pillows, the fabric now dark and stained.

Your noises grow louder in tandem when Rafayel picks up the pace, eyes squeezing shut when he grips your ass tightly, his fingers latching on firmly enough to bruise.

“Wanna- fuck-” you moan when Rafayel delivers a particularly thrust, his cock sinking deep inside of you. “Wanna see you, Raf.”

“You can already see me in the mirror,” he whispers, his teeth grazing your shoulder, “if you would stop hiding away in my pillows.”

You pout and Rafayel smiles, tilting your head enough to make you watch yourself and him in the mirror again.

“K- kiss?” you mewl, head tipping back further.

Rafayel groans at the sight, nodding as he leans forward, draping himself over your back, kissing you messily. It’s a bit awkward; your neck hurts but when Rafayel slips his hand onto your lower back, pushing down until you arch even more, ass flush against his hips, his cock manages to sink in deeper than before.

You let out a dazed noise, hand slipping between your thighs to rub at your clit.

“‘m gonna cum,” Rafayel gasps out when you push your hips back, fucking yourself on his cock.

“Me too,” you whine, cheeks flushing when you hear the obscene noises of his cock thrusting inside of you, mouth opening in a ragged squeal when Rafayel brushes your hand away, his long fingers replacing yours against your clit. “Oh- oh my-”

“That’s it,” he manages to grit out, “you’re gonna take every last drop, okay angel? Every last drop so I can breed this pretty pussy. No spilling- shit- no spilling otherwise we’ll have to go again.”

“Uh huh,” you nod sluggishly, squeaking when Rafayel shoves his hips forward, keeping his cock inside of you, balls-deep before he withdraws, continuing to fuck you.

“Gonna have my baby,” Rafayel mumbles, shoving his face into the crook of your neck, fingers rubbing faster and harder when you whine and gasp. “‘m gonna give you my cum, sweet angel.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you begin to chant, unable to keep your hips swaying back, thighs tiring out.

If Rafayel notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he doubles his pace, balls slapping against your clit lewdly, the sensations combined with his fingers enough to have you seizing up; his mouth sucking against your neck heatedly.

“Take it,” Rafayel grunts, his hips smacking into your ass, cock pounding into you. “Take my cum, angel, let me breed you.”

You moan loudly as you cum, body jerking underneath him, thighs shaking. Rafayel curses, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, a deep groan leaving him as he cums, his hips stuttering. You squeak, trying to move away when he falls on top of you, but he doesn’t let you, managing to hold you in place as his hot cum floods your pussy.

“Oh,” you sigh dazedly, a lazy smile spreading across your face when you feel him fill you up, a contented coo leaving you.

Rafayel’s cock throbs and your walls clench involuntarily, drawing out a low hiss from when he pulls out carefully, cum and slick coating his pretty cock.

“Panties,” Rafayel mumbles, his head lifting from the crook of your neck, eyes looking around blearily to try and find your panties. “Where are they?”

“You’re the one who took them off,” you reply tiredly, curling up against his silk sheets, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re wasting my cum,” he complains, managing to find your panties strewn across one corner of his blankets, maneuvering your thighs carefully, pulling your panties up over your hips snuggly, his head dipping to kiss your stomach.

You smile hazily, fingers running through his hair as he rests his forehead against your stomach, laughing softly when you see his expression when his cum begins to leak out, staining your silk panties.

“It’ll have to take,” Rafayel grumbles, tugging you into his side, his body curling around yours protectively, fingers caressing the sides of your breasts before drifting upwards. 

He cups your cheek, tilting your head towards him to kiss you, slow and sweet. You hum, body relaxing into his cloud-like bed, arms wrapping around his neck as you turn into him.

“Who’s next?” he yawns, nuzzling back into the crook of your neck, clinging onto you as though you might just disappear.

“Xavier,” you murmur, thighs pressing together, trying to keep his cum inside of you.

Rafayel hums, his hand sliding between your thighs to rub at your pussy through your panties, kissing your temple when you let out a low noise.

“Maybe he’ll fall asleep as soon as he puts it in.”

You swat the side of Rafayel’s head, sending him a glare. “Don’t be so mean.”

“What?” Rafayel protests, “he’s barely awake half the time.”

“I’d rather have a sleepy baby, than a baby that whines all the time,” you retort, smiling smugly when you see the offended look on Rafayel’s face.

“How- how dare you!” he sputters, snuggling closer, burying his face in your chest this time, letting out a petulant huff. “You are an evil witch.”

You roll your eyes, watching as he mouths at your breast, his teeth tugging at your nipple gently, his eyes rapt, never straying from yours. You bite your lip to muffle a noise when he swirls his tongue around your areola, a sly smile spreading across his face.

“What?” you ask exasperatedly, raising your brows.

“Witches can grant wishes,” he whispers, his tongue running over your nipple again making your eyes slip shut. “So I want you to have my baby, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You hum in response, head lolling to the side. “I’ll try,” you murmur dryly. “Should I drink an enchanted potion to make sure?”

When Rafayel doesn’t reply, your eyes peek open, brows furrowing before they shoot up when you see he’s begun to poke at your stomach, whispering to it in a hushed voice.

“Don’t listen!” Rafayel grumbles when he sees your baffled expression, “this is between me,” he points to himself, “and them.” You watch as he points to your stomach. “I’m expecting twins,” he says matter-of-factly, gazing down at your stomach to ramble inaudibly some more.

“I don’t think you’re ready for twins,” you retort, poking his forehead in retaliation. 

Rafayel scrunches up his face, cheek squishing against your stomach as he bemoans out loud. “Your mother is so cruel to me.”

You snort, unable to stop huffing out a laugh at his behavior. 

“She laughs at my woes and pain,” he continues, sighing aggrievedly.

“Stop trying to turn my baby against me,” you chastise, scratching his scalp gently, watching as Rafayel’s eyes fall shut in bliss.

“Our baby.”

“Hm?”

“Our baby,” Rafayel murmurs, his lips brushing against your lower stomach. “It’ll be our baby.”

taglist >///<

@serenitymaria @kreishin @qyuin @wegottastayfocus @novthirty @syluslittlecrows @blorbohunter @luvleixo @crimsonmarabou @skylaryoung2002 @multisstuff @chirikoheina @supermissnkta @serenity-loves-red @shi-thats-kiera @froleineeeee @jaynawayna @schooki @minyoongi-pouts @mizienjoyer @isagistar @zaynesnowflake @athena-portgas @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @cutelittlesugarfairy @pookiei-bookie @dooopiee @rafshottestgf @thetimetravelernightmare @slytherin-min99 @envy-of-greed @paninisstuff @h0ngh0ngh0ng @nezuswritingdesk @teeheeheartless @flwerie @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @babyx91 @thisaintviolet69 @scoupsonlycherry @blubearxy @midiplier @young-adult-summer @daisys-mushroom-garden @sunsethw4 @lads-ficrecs @buffytheangelslayer @helios-eyre @browneyedgirl22 @straows @lennysnicket @actuallynarii

[strawhbrrries]

Movement

pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

summary: a double date that leads to mike schmidt coming home with you in the name of "helping your friend" and he ends up fucking you.

warnings: unprotected sex, no foreplay, creampie??, female pronouns, slight degrading??, pet names, heavy cussing, mike being hashtag v hot, no established relationship, porn with no plot, not proofread

word count: 2.1k words

author’s note: listen to movement by hozier for the full experience!!! I know this fic wasn't voted to be the first mike one to be posted but I had to do it okay!!!! he's so hot n sexy in this and i need him badly...please enjoy! mwah!

Your eyes scanned the restaurant in front of your car, you were promised a very nice dinner with a very nice man and the place you ended up might as well have been a denny’s. Gia somehow managed to rope you into a double date and as the amazing friend you are, you obliged. Now, you wanted to take it back. If the guy you were set up with wasn’t just an absolute heartthrob you might consider strangling her in the bathroom.

“Gia, this better be the best damn food and the hottest men you have ever experienced or I’m never doing you another favor ever again.” You teased, getting out of your car as she walked up to it.

“I swear he said this place was nicer! Thank you so much babes, I owe you one!” She responded, slipping her arm inside of yours to walk inside. “Maybe the inside is really nice and it’s just a shady exterior.”

You’d never seen the man Gia was seeing tonight so when the two of you arrived at the table you weren’t sure which man was yours, but you knew which one you wanted. He looked gentle, shaggy hair untamed almost like he wasn’t prepared to go on a date tonight. 

“I suppose I’m your date.” He smiled softly, getting up to pull your chair out for you. “I’m MIke, you look uh, really beautiful tonight.”

After the introductions and small talk the two of you hit it off right away, it helped that Gia and her date were more interested in each other than remembering that the people they brought also existed.  The more you talked the more Mike came out of his shell, he wasn’t as shy as you first pegged him to be. Your heel was slowly caressing his calf, neither of you were quite sure when it had ended up there but he wasn’t complaining.

“A man in uniform is hot.” Your flirting was a little rusty, but it seemed to be working just fine for you.

“It’s just a security gig.” He shrugged it off, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. 

You grabbed the straw of your drink, wrapped your tongue around it, and took a sip. Mike choked slightly but covered it up with a cough, adjusting his pants under the table at the same time. 

“She’s not going to go home with him unless I go home with you.” You whispered in his ear as you leaned over the table, tangling your fingers in his hair to trick Gia into thinking you were whispering something dirty. “I’d really like to go home with you.”

You could feel the heat creep up his neck, his face was flushed. His heart might as well be on the outside of his chest with the intensity that it was beating, it’d been a long time since he’d been on a date or even gotten laid but Abby was at home and that just wouldn’t work.

“Uhm, my sister’s at home, can we go to your place?” Mike’s saliva was thick and pooling in his mouth, it felt almost impossible to swallow. He had to be dreaming, this just didn’t make sense otherwise. He was just doing his friend a favor and now your breath was hot on his neck and his jeans were uncomfortably tight.

The second the two of you walked outside he got fidgety, like he was going to take off the second you let go of his hand. Frankly he was surprised you hadn’t let go of it the second you picked it up, he was dripping sweat from the moment he realized you were his date. He quickly made a mental note to send a letter to the company who made his preferred deodorant, the fact that he didn’t smell absolutely putrid spoke volumes on their product.

“So did you mean what you said inside? Because I’m perfectly okay with just going home.” 

“I meant it, don’t be so nervous.” You smiled back at him, handing him the keys to your car.

The tension was thick, his knuckles were white as he tried to keep his focus on the road ahead and making it back to your place safely and not the fingers drawing figures on his thigh as you spoke about something he couldn’t quite grasp. 

Your place wasn’t too far from the restaurant that Gia’s date had picked, that Mike was thankful for. The longer he had to endure the torture that was your fingers on this thighs, the less his ability to be a gentleman and control himself existed. If it was up to him, he’d probably just pulled over and fucked you in the backseat of your own car but it wasn’t. He was a gentleman, he’d just met you all of a few hours ago, he knew better.

“This is the place.” You smiled softly as he pulled into your driveway.

“It’s nice.” He stated, handing your car keys back to you and taking your hand. “Suits you.”

Mike’s eyes wandered the walls, taking in every aspect of you, as you led him through the house. It didn’t take him long to notice that you lived alone, another thing he was now thankful for. His fingers trailed the zipper of your dress as he stood behind you in your bedroom, his other hand rubbing your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“Are you going to take it off?” Your voice was shaky and quiet, for the first time tonight you were nervous. 

“And you thought I was the eager one.” He chuckled, tugging your hair back softly to give him just enough access to your face to make eye contact with you. “Do you get off on bringing strangers to your home and having them fuck you?”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, blessing the ears of the man behind you who responded with a groan. His lips made contact with your neck, biting and sucking at any of the skin he had access to. The hand that was holding your hair back made itself busy drawing the zipper of your dress further and further down until it couldn’t go any further, you shivered as the cold air hit your back. 

Mike detached himself from your neck and took a step back, briefly admiring how disheveled you looked despite still being fully dressed, he made a quick motion for you to turn around and you obliged almost immediately. If you got his dick any harder it might’ve fallen off before he ever got the chance to use it. 

He backed you into the bed, laying you down and sliding your dress off and into a pile on the floor. Another deep groan was emitted into the air as he took in the sight in front of him, you hadn’t worn a bra and the underwear you’d chosen left nothing to the imagination. Mike immediately started thanking whatever god was above for you and the experience he was about to have. 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest. Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone tonight but then you saw him and your entire plan was flipped upside down. You lied about your friend not going home with her date if you didn’t leave with him, you didn’t want him to think you were desperate but he knew now. The second he touched the zipper of your dress, anything left of your facade was gone. You needed him.

“If you weren’t so fucking wet I would’ve thought you were only doing me a favor.” He spoke nonchalantly, rubbing his finger over your folds through your underwear. “ Or maybe you’re just a whore? Huh?”

“For you.” You choked out, words getting caught in your throat over his words. 

At the beginning of the night you would’ve placed money on the fact that he wasn’t capable of things like this, it was like another side of him had come out during the drive to your house. You weren’t complaining, his words were getting to you in a way you’d never experienced. 

“Yeah? For me? Mikey’s own personal whore.” He slipped your underwear to the side and slid his finger through your folds, collecting your juices and bringing them to his mouth. “You’re as sweet as you look, need a honey jar full of you.”

You cried out at him softly, trying to use anything you had to stop his teasing. He was winding you up but edging you right before you could pop, he could’ve said anything and you would’ve agreed just to get him to fuck you. Being this desperate for a man you hardly knew was an exhilarating experience. 

“Please, I need you.” You whined, grabbing at his shirt in a desperate plea. “Please.”

“Good job using your words, pretty girl.” Mike praised, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down, throwing them in the same pile as your dress.

His clothes soon joined yours on the floor, a small pout emerging when you realized you wouldn’t be able to suck him off, his eyes catching yours as he climbed up your body. He kissed his way up, biting occasionally. Fingers tracing your skin just as you had done to him earlier in the night, lighting a fire on your skin as they went. It was like his body was made to fit yours, like your souls had searched for each other through every lifetime and yet this was the first time they had met.

His lips finally met yours for the first time, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away to breathily whisper something in your ear. You shook your head in agreement at whatever he said, as long as he kept touching you like that and making noises in your ear you’d agree to anything he said to you. 

Shaking your head yes was the best decision you’d made so far, you felt two fingers slip inside of you. Thrusting for a few moments before they were replaced by the tip of his cock, slowly pushing in as his mouth found one of your nipples. The gentle man you had once perceived had been replaced by a god who was hung like a horse, splitting you in half with the cock fit for a god.

“Fuck.” Mike moaned, tipping his head back when he bottomed out, taking your legs and placing them on his shoulders. “So good, pretty girl.”

Anything you had planned on responding with quickly dissipated the second he pulled out and thrusted back in, a low groan coming out insead. His fingers were digging into your thighs as he held them up where he wanted them, all you could hope for was the imprints bruising as a reminder that this actually happened. What hair that wasn’t sticking to his skin from the sweat covering it was dangling backwards freely, all his focus was on not cumming too soon and if he continued to look at you he definitely would.

Your eyes had glossed over a long time ago, tears streaming down the sides as a byproduct of the blissful state his cock had put you in, fingers gripping desperately at the sheets and your tits bouncing with each thrust. He was once again praying to every god that he would get to do this another time, then he could sear the image of you under him into his mind.

“Mike, Mikey I need..” You whined, the knot in your stomach twisting and turning, threatening to spill before you could even finish a coherent thought.

“C’mon pretty girl, you can do it, let it go.” He praised you, bringing his thumb down to your clit and drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts to help your orgasm spill over.

His words were the final piece in the puzzle, your orgasm hitting you soon after he spoke. Legs shaking, mind blowing, tears, and silent moans was all your body could do at the supernova your orgasm had proved to be. You’d never cum this hard before but if every orgasm after didn’t measure up, he had ruined you. 

“You did so good.” Was all you heard as you came down from your high, Mike’s hands soothed down your hair as he whispered into your ear. 

His thrusts continued at the same pace for only a few seconds before his hips stuttered and he painted your insides white. 

“I guess tonight wasn’t a total waste.” You joked quietly, turning to the side to smile at him as he laid down next to you. 

“We need to do this more often.”

[butyoudidthis4what]

Perfumer

Jack Abbot x Reader

1.5k || All of my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: none I think. Hinted at sex and suggestiveness but that's about it really.

Summary: Jack smells the perfume you're wearing, flirty fluffy happy teasing ensues. That's it, that's the fic. Established relationship. No use of y/n or related. Zero proofreading of any kind. No beta.

A.N.: The summaries and titles will not be getting better I fear. After getting out some sadness in that last one I just needed something fluffy and happy and flirty. This is very self-indulgent as I love perfume and wish I had Jack Abbot giving me some and then smelling it on me, and telling me I smell good, you know? Honestly I'm quite shocked I wrote anything with like no level of angst in it that was just fluff. But my mental health needed some pure happy fluff with him so here we are. Anyway, this is exceptionally short for me and as with last time this is my first time back writing fanfic in a longggg time so please be gentle and kind and also let me know if you like it! The ending is very open, so there's definitely part two potential depending upon reception and if anyone would like.

“I should have known the trail of smell good was you. You always smell good.” Santos comments as she walks up to you while you stand by the center desk. “Do you own like a thousand perfumes or something?” 

Jack’s head popped up from looking at the tablet in his hands a few rooms down from the desk at ‘smell good,’ correctly assuming it meant you were here. You can feel his eyes on you and look over at him. “Probably not a thousand, but a lot, yes. I collect them.” 

“Why? Aren’t women supposed to want, like, a signature smell or whatever?” She tilts her head at you. 

You start smirking but Robby beats you to it. “Oh, she has to keep Abbot on his toes somehow.” 

“What does that even mean?” She looks between you, Robby, and Jack.

You bite your lip and stifle a laugh. It’s nice, having your relationship out in the open, having been able to get to know Jack’s friends. He’s still quite private though, which you respect, and know Robby is flirting with the line. You weren’t going to go quite as far, but can’t help the way it made you smile, in large part because it’s true.

It’s become somewhat of a game for you and Jack. You wear a different perfume everyday and he guesses what it is. He’s good at it, which isn’t surprising, he’s good at everything he does. It’s a nice way to have a close moment together. He likes buying them for you too to keep the game interesting.

It lets him read your moods a bit too. He’s learned that when you’re a bit down you have a tendency to go for perfumes that are heavier in a sense, more warm and comforting. And if you don’t wear perfume he knows it means things are bad because you don’t want to end up associating a smell with however you’re feeling or what you’re going through. He also swears they mix with your chemistry and smell different at certain times during your cycle. You don’t know why you found the idea of him being able to smell that on you so hot, but you very much did.

Recently you’d taken to layering some of them, in part to be creative and in part to make it more challenging for Jack.

“It means-” Robby starts.

“Okay, can we just not?” Jack asks as he walks over to you, shooting Robby a look and standing next to you. 

“I just think it’s cute how-”

“Still talking.” Jack cuts Robby off. 

“How the tables turn.” Robby shoots back, making Jack roll his eyes. 

“I was just trying to help-” Jack starts.

“Now, now, boys, no fighting in front of the children.” You fake scold them. This time they both roll their eyes at you. 

“Go back to work since you all still want to be here past your shifts.” Jack tells everyone, grabbing your hand and leading you to the doctor’s lounge. 

You expect a kiss and hug now that you’re in private, but instead you’re met with him pressing his chest to your back, one hand coming to hold one of your hips and the other moving your hair off one shoulder and tilting your neck before he leans in close to breathe you in. You can feel the soft skin of one of his lips brush against you and the stubble from him not shaving for a day. 

“Jack,” you breathe, heavier than you mean to, one hand coming to rest on his hand on your hip and the other reaching up to cup his face. 

“Celeste,” he murmurs against your skin. He’s right so you nod. That’s the name of the perfume you’re wearing on your neck and wrists today. “No wonder Santos picked up on you. Heavy sillage.” He gives you a kiss to the neck before pulling back to spin you and give you one to the lips. You smile as he does. “Stop smiling so I can kiss you properly.”

That makes you laugh, but you’re able to control it and in turn he’s able to kiss you properly, how you deserve to be kissed. “I love that you know what that word means and actually used it. It’s kind of hot.” You give him another kiss. “I’m making my military man into a perfumer.”

He hums at you, low and from the back of the throat. He loves it when you call him yours. “If you ever told anyone I would deny all knowledge of having a clue about what sillage and gourmand and all of the other pretentiously fancy perfume related words mean.” 

“I never would. Couldn’t ruin your reputation could I, Dr. Abbot? Plus I like having our little secrets.” You let your voice trail down on the last sentence, run your hands all over his scrub top.

His eyes darken just a little and his jaw tightens. He never really had any sort of title kink before he met you, but there’s something about the way ‘doctor’ slips off your tongue that really gets to him. Same with sir. 

“You’re not here for an ED related reason, are you? Hurt? Sick?” It’s teasing but there’s just enough of a tinge of real concern to the question that melts you. 

“I am not, no. I promise if I ever was here for such a reason I would make sure you knew immediately.” You smile at him softly, run a hand through the salt and peppery curls you love so much. “I just wanted to lay eyes on you, even if only for a moment. I missed you extra today. I’ll let you get back to work.” He nods, the little smile he gives you saying everything it needs to. You share one last kiss before going to leave the room.

“Oh,” you say, turning around and shutting the door again. “You’ve only answered half the question today. I just thought you should know.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You layered scents?”

“No.” You shake your head and smirk. He narrows his eyes a little as he tries to find the answer in your eyes. It suddenly clicks.

“Fuck me, your ankles?” He groans. “You put a different one on your ankles? Why?” He can already feel himself starting to fill out. He doesn’t know if he could articulate why he finds it so hot when you put perfume on your ankles for him to discover but he does. 

Your smirk widens. “For a fun surprise and to see the look on your face when I told you.” He glances around the room and then gets a look on his face like he’s thinking. You’re shocked, honestly. It’s so out of character for him to think about trying to do it at the hospital. It’s only happened twice. “Oh no,” you laugh, “no, no, no, Jack rabbit, you are not finding out here at the hospital, so don’t even think about places you could take me to try and find out.” 

He makes a noise of protest, somewhere between a growl and a whine that makes you bite your lip. He pins your back to the door with his hips and rolls them against you, grinding him into you to let you feel what you’ve done to him. “So what, I’m just supposed to go around like this for the rest of my shift?”

“Well you might want to take a couple of minutes to let that go down baby, but yes. You can finish your shift thinking about what could be on my ankles and what position it is you’re going to put me in to find out.” You press a kiss to his collarbone and his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, an unspoken command to look at him. 

You pull back and do as he asked. So big on eye contact, your Jack. He blinks at you, jaw clenched. “I’m going to be half hard and uncomfortable there for the rest of my shift, you know that right?”

“I am nothing if not a cruel woman.” You say with fake solemnity as you smooth your hands over his chest. “I’m sure as you get drawn back into work it’ll go away. Plus, you know the anticipation and wait makes it better.”

He somehow steps closer to you, almost puts a knee between your legs and leans in close, dropping his voice and making his voice even more gravely. “I want you to remember those words because you’re going to find out all about them once I’m home and I don’t want to hear any complaining.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you threatening to edge me, sir?” His jaw grinds and you see the slightest twitch under your eye that makes you smirk. You love that you can affect him like this.

“I don’t make threats, Doll.” He whispers at your ear as he steps back from you and pulls the door to the lounge open for you both to walk out of. Everyone glances up at the two of you, effectively forcing you to control your reaction as he keeps his voice low, only for you to hear. “Only promises I intend to keep.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part Two is here!

[rafesbabygirlx]

BEACH DATE | Rafe x Pogue!Reader

✧ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

✧ Summary: A day at the beach with Rafe goes incredibly right.

✧ Warnings: MDNI 18+, public sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), missionary, cream pie

✧ 2.8k words

✧ A.N- surprise I lied I’m back. Also I hate this but what matters to me more is that you do and I hope getting this notification excited you. I planned to have this out a couple of days ago but I just kept going back and changing things, adding more to it<3

Also please let know if you’d like to continue being tagged. I know I’m not good or active anymore. So absolutely feel free to leave.

You spent the entire day with Rafe, hidden on a secluded part of the beach. You had woken up at the Chateau, lying to JJ and Pope about where you were going on your way out. Rafe had done the same, lying to his friends saying he'd be on the mainland, completing a job for his dad. The fallout that would come from your relationship being revealed always lingered in the back of your mind. But in moments like this, where the world shrunk to it just being the two of you in the fight and hateful words, and the rivalry all disappeared, it seemed so minuscule.

In this very moment, you were floating on your back in the middle of the water as it gently rocked against you. The warmth of the sun, peaking through the gray of the clouds, kissing your skin gave you a sense of peace. The sounds of the waves crashing at the shore and the calls of the seagulls kept you grounded. The smell of the salt water surrounding you made you calm, a reminder of how free and weightless you felt out here.

Your attention was stolen for a split second when you heard a tread of water. Then you felt it… his touch. Rafe’s two big hands coming from behind you and making home on your stomach as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. His head nuzzled in the crook of your neck, the scruff on his cheek rubbed against the softness of yours. Both of your eyes close, enjoying the serene moment.

You never thought in a million lifetimes that this one would bring you two together. Literally. Being here on the beach, wrapped in his arms. Two people from completely different situations, different sides of the island. Rafe's hatred of Pogues was always loud. Everyone knew it. All his friends did too. A Kook and a Pogue were never meant to mix, let alone fall in love.

You found it weird when your heart would start to race when he was around. Simultaneously throwing jabs at your friends while looking into your eyes and having them soften. His hatred never touched you. People on both sides of the island somewhat feared him. He was a Cameron. An untouchable. You were different for him. Bright eyes, big heart, caring, kind. All the things he wasn’t and he silently adored you until he caught you alone restocking at Midsummers.

“Nice, huh?”

The rare softness of his voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Really nice.” You smiled and melted back into him.

There was a slight hesitation from him. You heard him take a deep breath. “I love you, y'know?" His face turned as he pressed his lips to your skin. Placing gentle kisses behind your ear and down your neck. “Let me show you how much.”

His hold on you loosened a bit when you lifted yourself up and spun around in the water to face him. Arms wrapping around his neck and legs around his waist. His hands instinctively found their place right under your thighs. Your eyes met his, making his heart race in his chest. Breath caught in his through. All just from looking at you.

The space in between the two of you closed as you leaned in to kiss him. His hands now knead the flesh of your ass. His grip was somehow firm but gentle. He walked backwards through the water making his way towards the shallow end, carrying you with him.

His footsteps kicked up sand as he brought you to the far end of the beach. Laying you down on the rocky floor of a small cove that sits in the corner. The water laps up against it, leaving a cool bed underneath you relieving the heat that’s pooling inside of you. Rafe hovers over you peppering kisses down your neck as he settles in between your legs.

You don’t know why, but being in this position with him, an overheard conversation popped into your head, during a time like this you wish you could stop yourself, but you couldn’t help but speak. “I heard Topper and Kelce calling me a pogue slut yesterday and that the boys probably just pass me around.”

A flicker of something flashes through his eyes, something of fury..? but it was too quick to tell. Maybe a realization of the reality of your relationship. Of all the things it could be, but all the things that prevent it from getting to that point.

His head dips and his lips graze your ear, “the only time that you’re a slut,” his voice was low and raspy, “is when I have you bent in half, begging me to let you cum.”

His tongue drew a line around the curve of your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. Without another word, his body slivered down yours, positioning himself just in the spot you needed him the most.

He lazily toyed with the strings of your bikini while his tongue worked on the skin of your thighs. His teeth grazed them, biting into it just softly enough for you to react, but not enough to leave a mark. Finally, untangling the bows, he pulled the bottoms away. He used his hand to spread you open more. A low growl escaped his throat and he licked his lips at the sight. His pupils blow, dark and predatory. Like a lion on a hunt. Not a sight of blue left in them. It was like he was about to enjoy his last meal.

You sat up on your elbows to get a better view of him. Your eyes were locked onto each other. He brought his hand up to your mouth, slipping his thumb between your lips and pressing it against your tongue. You took it in, swirling your tongue around it, getting it all wet, releasing it with a pop as he pulled it out. Without breaking eye contact, he takes his thumb and presses it against your clit. Your clit, that's already throbbing from the pleasure, he teases it with soft and barely there circles. Watching how just this small thing can make your eyes roll back.

“Dripping baby.” giving just a little more pressure, making you let out a gasp and your hips jerk. “You like that?”

“Fuck yes,” you breathed out as his thumb disappeared from you and was replaced with his tongue. He licked in between your folds, from bottom to top with one deliberate stroke, collecting every ounce of your arousal on his tongue.

His lips formed a suction around your clit and his tongue swirled against it. Your back arched and your fingers tangled in his hair gripping at it to pull him in closer as if it was possible. Moans fell out of your mouth unintentionally. He was perfect at this, fuck was he perfect. He knew exactly what he was doing. Like making you feel good was a natural skill of his. His hands held you in place as you squirmed before one hand slipped away and you felt his fingers beneath you attempting to lather them in your juices.

Then you felt them swirl around your entrance, teasing your edge. Your heart was racing with anticipation. Finally, one finger pressed in. Slowly, stroking the walls as he went deeper and deeper. A gasp left your lips from the stretch. You clenched around him instantly. You shuddered as you felt his large silver ring brush against you. It sends a jolt through your body. It was cold and shocking against your sensitive skin. The complete opposite of how you felt.

“Rafe, shit,” your eyes rolled back hard.

His mouth never left you. He hummed against you. Clearly pleased with the effect he had over you. His tongue moved with more urgency and his lips pulled a tighter hold on you. His finger curled inside of you, hitting the perfect spot over and over. It all felt like too much, your back lifted and hips moved with it. His arm that was still around your thigh moved to your waist, bringing your body back down and pinning you to the ground. He didn't want you getting away from him and he made sure of it. Even with him focused on another part of you, you were no match for his strength.

A second finger joinde the first. The stretch is full force. The split between pain and pleasure in the best way possible. Your body tenses for a split second before you relax into his again, opening for him wider. It gives his ring a better angle to rub against you more. It scraped against your hole, causing you to let out a whimper. You feel yourself getting closer. You feel like your stomach has been set aflame. Your nails dig into his scalp. Your breath came out in shallow spurts as it was impossible to catch. He kept going and going until he stopped. Mouth abandoning your clit, fingers pulled away from you. He was evil, super sexy hot, but really fucking evil. You tried to buck your hips up to follow him, but his hand gently pushed you back down as he shook his head and let out a breathy laugh.

“Don’t get to come yet.” He kneeled, beginning to tug down his swim shorts. His cock sprang free, thick and throbbing. Already dripping with precum. “Gonna fuck you, til you shake, fill you up with my cum and fuck that right back into you.”

Ecstasy surged through your body. Your body was begging for him to give you more. You reached up for him pulling him down with you so he was flush against your body. Pressing your lips to his, you opened them slightly inviting his tongue to tangle with yours. He adjusted slightly, pulling back and stroking himself as he lined up with you. You could feel his tip touch you. He pushed in as his other hand tugged your top down freeing your breasts from the confined material. His mouth met with your left nipple, biting down on it then soothing out the burn with his tongue.

He slid in and out with a precision only he could master. Each inch of him sent you into a haze. It was magical. Every thrust hit you deep, hitting every sensitive part. You moved to meet his pace, wanted more but he wasn’t giving in just yet. He wanted to just feel you for a moment. Take it all in.

“That feel good, baby?”

“M-more, Rafe.” Your voice broke on the request. You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him like you needed oxygen. He was the only man you’d ever been with that rough and hard was good. He could bend you in any position and it would always feel amazing. Him unraveling you in the way that he did, felt like it was a gift every time. It felt like your body was made to be under his.

With that, he gave a satisfied smirk and sat up. He grabbed the back of your knees, pulling your legs over his shoulders leaning back down, so your legs were up and spread wide. You blushed at being so exposed and this just made his smirk grow wider. His hands came to either side of your face. You were now nose to nose. His thumb brushed against your cheek. Making this moment feel sentimental.

“You can take more?”

You nodded, “please.”

His hips lifted and he slammed back into you. It was a ruthless thrust, knocking all the air from your lungs. Your eyes squeezed shut and you threw your head back. The angle made his cock hit all the right places. Your arms reached up, needing a place to hold. The wrapped around his wrists, gripping them as hard as he was fucking you. His hand slipped up, yours still around it, and his finger laid around your throat, giving it a little squeeze.

“Eyes on me.”

They flashed open staring back into his. Your breath was caught in your throat. Your legs burned from the stretch. Your stomach ached from squeezing it. Your clit was swollen and throbbing. You clenched around Rafe’s cock, making it almost impossible for him to move, but he broke through your walls with ease due to his pace. It was all so overwhelming. Overwhelmingly good. You could do this thing with him forever.

“Fuck, look at you. You're a damn perfect mess. S’ fucking tight. S’ good for me. Sucking in my cock like that.”

You had no response. There was absolutely no way for you to even get words out even if you tried. Your mouth hung open. You were breathless and seething with pleasure. The only sounds that came from you were moans and gasps trying to catch your breath. The sting of your back rubbing against the rough texture of the ground had no effect on you as he pushed in and out of you. The rocks dug into you, your body could feel every bit of texture, gravel and speck of dirt. But your mind was on him.

You clutched at his arms, needing the feeling of holding onto something. You swore he could throw you across the cove with a single thrust if he wanted to. His head hung low, your tits bounced in his face. Beads of sweat dropped from his forehead onto them. He was grunting loudly. His thrusts only picked up and became more frenzied. Your brain was wiped clean. He was quite literally fucking you dumb and you didn’t give a shit about it.

There’s that one high pitched whimper that leaves your mouth, it comes straight from the throat, and he knew. He always knew. You do it every time. You’re just about to tip over the edge. Your legs tremble around his head. Your thighs burn as you prevent them from completely closing in on him.

“Cum for me baby. Let it go.” His speed picks up to help you just a bit.

Your body convulses as your orgasm ripped through you. Every muscle in your body tighten. Your nails dig into Rafe's skin, you're surprised you didn’t draw any blood. Moans fall from your throat, the noises are raspy now. Rafe's moves don’t let up. He continues to thrust into you chasing his own high.

He finally does, grunts and moans leave his mouth and as stops, buried deep inside of you. His own body slightly trembling from release. You can feel him fill you. He takes a second to press a kiss on your lips before sitting up to take a look at you.

He watches his cum slowly leak from you. It was thick, white, and slow. Licking his lips and stroking your thigh. It’s his stake of claim on you. He knows no one has every fucked you this way before, and now that he’s had you, he knows no one else will ever get the chance.

You’re his. Not in a sense of ownership. A sense that he’s completely and utterly in love with you and he never wants to lose that. It’s irreversible now. You both had given so much of yourselves to each other. There’s no possible way to go back or separate from here.

You lay there catching your breath. Deep breaths in and long exhales out. Staring at him, staring at you, both in admiration.

Then, without warning, he pushes inside you again.

“Told you,” his head is thrown back as you gasp, he grits through his teeth. “I was gonna fuck the cum right back into you.”

He pumped into you at a steady pace. The squelching sound of the mess he’s making fills your ears, even over the waves. You could feel everything happening. His hips smacking against yours. Every inch of him. The heavy breathing coming from the two of you. Both of your cum mixing, coating his length. The way he looked at you when he was doing all of this was enough to almost send you over the edge again.

When he was satisfied, he slowed again, still inside you. He lowered his body weight onto you caressing your cheek and softly kissing your lips. A complete 180 from moments ago. Now he holds you like you're fragile. That’s what you loved most about him.

Times like these are when everything disappears. The pogues, the kooks. The looks you get from people you don’t even know. None of that mattered. Not when you got to be with him, here like this.

Shell divider possibly made by @v6que

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[messylxve]

OPERATION: YOU [ 3 + 1 ]──CLARK KENT!

3 times clark “helped” + the 1 you said thank you

2025!clark kent x reader 2.2k hurt/comfort (?)

!spoiler-free for superman (2025)!

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A new week presented new opportunities and Clark was determined to get in good graces with you. Not because he felt he deserved it, but because a part of him—a large part of him—couldn’t stand only knowing you under the veil and short hours of night. 

Just as Jimmy said, "Forgiveness can be an uphill battle.”

[ 1—the replacement recorder ]

If you weren’t in a consistent state of being annoyed by Clark’s presence before, you definitely were now since Clark ruined your prized possession of a recorder. One that he eventually came to find out was the first one you bought, the moment you started at The Daily Planet. He remembered when Jimmy told him, you were glaring at him from the corner of your eye, pretending to be too busy to care about Steve guffawing in Clark’s face about the whole ordeal. 

Lois said she’d never seen him so red in the face and as much as he wanted to disagree, he knew it was true. 

So he spent the rest of the week hunting down the exact same version you had, even down to the color. And while it was hard, it wasn’t impossible. 

He wrapped it up nicely, folding its box into your favorite colors and held it with the utmost care as he made his way into the Daily Planet, this time standing just a little bit taller and smile shining a little bit brighter. 

But the moment he walked through the elevator doors, he knew something was wrong. Call it a gut feeling. When he rounded your desk, Cat and Lois stood around you, marveling at something you were presenting to them. 

“My sister-in-law just surprised me with it! I guess she heard my cries all the way from back home.” 

Peeking over Cat’s shoulder, he saw the shiny new recorder in your hand, even better than the one you originally had and likely better than the one the man bought you. 

“Oh! Clark,” Cat exclaimed, shocked to see him standing over her. “When’d you get here?” 

With a plastered-on smile, he tucked the gift behind his back. “Just now,” he breathed. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

His eyes naturally fell on you, watching as you narrowed your eyes at him ever slightly. “What’s wrong with you Kent?” 

Of course you were somehow the one to immediately pick up on his strange behavior, no matter how well he managed to cloak the disappointment in his eyes. 

But he only shook his head and took a stumbled step back. “Nothing,” he pushed out, his voice rising the octave. “Just curious I guess.” 

[ 2—the flower fiasco ]

Clark’s next attempt on you possibly seeing him in a better light included a flower shop not too far from where he lived. 

“Do you um, do you have any that say ‘I’m sorry” while also saying “Please don’t hate me.” 

The store was filled on every surface with various shades of different flowers and while Clark seemed to tower over the whole store, even when hunching down his height, he moved past each one with a gentle hand, terrified it would wilt at a single touch. 

“Well,” the employee smiled. “My first line of advice is to tell your partner that they’re right. Even if they aren’t, they are now.”

Clark’s eyes widened, quick to come to his own defense and failing as he stumbled over his every word. “What? No, no, it’s not, it’s not like that. It’s more like, it is like a coworker.”

She lifted a brow at the man, nodding in amusement. 

“Right,” she drew out. “ Well if you’re looking for something more in the apologies department then these should deliver the message.” 

Clark’s eyes almost sparkled when he set his eyes on them, wanting to reach out and touch them, but drawing his hand back. 

“Do you do deliveries?” 

When Clark arrived the next day, the flowers were already sitting on your desk, blooming somehow even brighter than they did before. But once again, your desk was empty. 

As he settled down, beginning on his own work, he watched as you made your way from one end of the office to the other and back, all morning long. 

“Jimmy,” you called as you passed your desk, scratching the nape of your neck. “Do you have the transcripts from the recent LutherCorp press conference?”

“Got it,” he called from his space. “Sending it over now!” 

“Actually,” you paused, coughing into the back of your hand. “Can you send it over to the printer? Perry needs it stat.” 

“Gotcha.” 

For the first time that morning, you plopped down at your desk, another cough forcing itself past your chest, making you hunch over as you caught your breath. 

“Woah,” Lois expressed, slowing down at your desk. “That cough doesn’t sound good. Are you coming down with something?” 

You shook your head, once more scratching at your neck. “Not that I know of. I was fine until this morning,” you wheezed.

Lois frowned, reaching for your hand and pulling it away, revealing the irritated rash growing on your neck. “Holy shit, your neck!” 

Your eyes widened wildly, freaked out by the woman’s sudden outburst. “What?! What’s on my neck?” 

With a quick but fumbling hand, Lois pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of it. “Are you allergic to anything,” she asked as she presented it to you, flagging down a nearby assistant. 

“Only–,” you cut yourself off, finally resting eyes on the vase situated on your desk. “When did that get here?” 

A younger boy you’d seen around the office was suddenly at your side. “Delivered to your desk this morning.” 

“That’s what I’m allergic to,” you wheezed out, your eyes watering. 

“Oh my god,” Lois muttered. “Call security to get rid of them.” 

“No need,” the boy said, swooping up the flowers and already walking off with them. “I’ll trash them now.” 

Turning back to you, Lois began to gather your things. “Here, take a break, go get some air.” 

You shook your head, stubborn as ever despite literally struggling to breathe. “I’ll be fine, it clears up fast.” 

But the woman wasn’t taking it. “Nope, go home, take extra time for lunch, whatever I don’t care. Go get some air and don’t come back until it’s cleared up.” 

Clark could only watch as she ushered you out of the building. With a frown, he wandered to the scene that just played out in front of you, seeing a note from the flowers.. 

‘Hope you don’t hate this apology as much as the first’ —Clark.

[ 3—celebrating superman ]

Clark had steered clear of your path since ‘the flower situation’ as he liked to put it. Maybe Jimmy was wrong about his approach to you, after all for every other woman giggling in his wake, there was at least one who hated his guts. After a while Clark tended to notice that as good as Jimmy was at starting bonds with people, mending them was not as easy for him. 

So he gave up. Not everyone liked him and he couldn’t control that. 

That’s what it meant to be human, right?

The end of the day was barralling in fast, most people wrapped up with their tasks for the day and preparing for the next few assignments for the next few weeks. That meant a meeting with all of your favorite people (note the sarcasm). 

“And finally,” Perry wrapped up. “Next week marks 18 months with Superman seemingly serving the people of Metropolis and to the mayor’s request, we’re doing a special piece to commemorate him.” 

From the corner of his eyes, Clark saw how you perked up to attention, excitement clear in your eyes at the new possibility. 

“We’ll need all hands on deck for this,” Perry continued on. “18 months, 18 quotes, 18 interviews. All with witnesses or people Superman saved personally. For the brilliant suggestion, Clark will be leading this project, any questions?” 

On a typical day with so many eyes on him, Clark likely would’ve given that smile that only read as humble and embarrassed, his ears going pink at the tip. But this time, all he saw was you from the corner of his eye. It was subtle, but that excitement in your eyes dissolved; reducing itself to a pursed smile and disappointment in your eyes. 

Clark was very rarely an impulsive person, more often than not thinking through his every action. But at this moment, he abandoned that notion. 

“Actually,” he coughed into his fist. “The idea was all their’s,” he motioned to you, confusion immediately flashing in your eyes. “I only spread the word. All credit should go to them.”

Clark looked to Perry first, measuring his options before speaking. “Very well. y/n? Will you be able to take the reins on this?” 

Your mouth fell open for just a moment before immediately collecting yourself. “Yes. Yes sir.” 

“Good. On that note, you’re all dismissed, details on the meeting for any one who misse…”

Perry’s words faded as Clark looked over to you, shocked to see you already looking at him, so many emotions dancing in your eyes. Confusion, gratefulness, confusion, pride. Confusion. 

Clark only humbly nodded at you, wordlessly telling you ‘don’t mention it.’

[  +1—breakroom breakdowns ]

The next few days had been…cordial. You weren’t having fun conversations with him, whispering instead of working, but you also didn’t seem like you wanted to storm out of a room he was in. It was progress. Ironically enough, accidental progress. 

He hadn’t been thinking of how he could make some great show of making it up to you. He just did. And you seemed all the happier from that last minute decision of his.

“Clark!” 

The man poked his head up, Perry standing above him with impatience rolling off him in waves, just as he always was. 

“Yes sir,” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Where are they,” he questioned, motioning to your empty desk. 

He paused, recalling when he saw you leave last, coming up with nothing. “I’m, I’m not too sure.” 

Perry sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Go find them, I need the both of you in my office, preferably five minutes ago.” 

Clark turned to Jimmy once the man walked away. “Did you see where they went?” 

“Ummm,” Jimmy paused, thinking for a moment before his eyes landed on the break room. “I think they got a phone call not too long ago, so probably in there.” 

“Thanks Jimmy.” 

Now, Clark didn’t try to use his super hearing often, especially when he was Clark, but as he neared the breakroom, he couldn’t help but overhear you. First he heard the faintest sound of crying, like someone trying to hold it back desperately but failing. 

Then he heard a particularly loud voice over your phone. She sounded older and upset. 

“You’re selfish,” she shouted. “You always have been and I’m sick of you pretending you are some great hotshot with your fancy job that was handed to you. Your brother actually worked to get where you are. All you did was write until some newspaper decided it was mediocre enough to hire you as an assistant. God,” she scoffed, “You probably found some special way to get to your current position too.”

Clark hadn’t meant to just stand there and listen. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it until your eyes went wide seeing him standing there. 

Like a reflex, you turned away from him, immediately hanging up the phone. “What do you need Kent?” 

Clark bit the inside of his cheek, his words reluctant on his tongue. “Perry….Perry wants us in his office.” 

You sniffled. “I’ll be there in a minute, go without me.” 

Clark had always been stubborn. Without thinking, he approached you, pulling a tissue out of his suit pocket. “Are you okay,” he offered. 

You looked up at him with wide eyes then down to the tissue, tentatively slipping it from the man’s grasp. “Do you always have a perfectly good tissue in your pocket,” you joked. 

You were deflecting, Clark could tell, but it didn’t stop his heart from stuttering, knowing that it was the first time you hadn’t replied to him with some level of sarcasm or formality. 

“As fate has it, only when it’s needed.” 

And you smiled at him. It was short, quickly tucked away by the tissue as you wiped away any sign of your tears. 

“Let’s go,” you ushered, starting for the exit of the breakroom. “Before Perry blows a fuse or something.” 

He followed in step with you. From the corner of his eye as the two of you travelled to your destination, your head hanging lower than it usually did, your shoulders tight and your posture as a whole closed off. 

He’d never seen you make yourself so small. 

Approaching Perry’s office, he let you through first, hearing the quiet words you uttered to him: “Thank you, Clark.” 

He froze, his brain short circuiting as he processed your words. He felt his heart slam against his chest at them. Not because it was the first time you told him thank you, but because it was the first time you didn’t call him Kent.

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[pittsick]

── SOLAR WARMTH.

summary: you're cramping, exhausted, and curled up on the bathroom floor when Clark finds you. he doesn’t try to fix everything—he just holds you like you’re his whole world, and somehow, that’s enough.

pairing: clark kent x gender-neutral!partner.

cw: period pain / hurting. besides that, fluff! gentle clark. requested blurb. short writing.

taglist: @plaidcowboy @prismozo @lcvgty-4929 ( to be added )

It starts before Clark even gets home. He hears your heartbeat long before he unlocks the front door. It's quicker than usual, a little uneven. Not dangerous, but enough for him to pause on the porch, brow furrowing behind his glasses. You're in pain. He can tell.

Not in the hospital-level kind of way—he would have flown—but in that deep, dragging discomfort that hits just behind your ribs, right in your gut.

Something familiar. Something he’s seen you go through before.

When he finally steps inside the apartment, he doesn’t call out. He doesn’t need to. The lights are low. Your favorite blanket is curled in a heap on the couch, the TV humming quietly in the background.

You’re not there, but he hears the faint sound of water running from the sink in the bathroom.

Clark sets the grocery bag down gently on the counter—he’d stopped for dinner on the way back—and walks toward the bathroom, careful not to make too much noise. You’re sitting on the floor, back against the tub, knees drawn up to your chest. There's a heat pack clutched to your stomach, and your eyes are closed, jaw clenched tight.

He doesn’t need x-ray vision to see the pain blooming through your lower back and cramping through your abdomen. It hits him like a wave. Not the pain itself, but the fact that he can’t take it from you.

“Hey,” he says softly, crouching beside you. “You didn’t text me.” You crack an eye open, offering him a weak smile. “Didn’t want to bother you.” He frowns, not scolding—never that—but the kind of look that says, you know I’m always here. Always.

Clark sinks to the floor beside you, legs folding like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He leans his shoulder against yours, warm and solid. “I brought your favorite dumplings,” he says after a beat. “I also got some of that weird peach tea you pretend not to like but always drink anyway.”

That earns him a chuckle. It’s small and a little breathless, but it’s enough.

He shifts so he can nudge the heat pack aside and gently places his hand on your stomach instead. His palm is broad and warm—Kryptonian warm, almost like a sunbeam—and he doesn’t press, just rests it there.

You sigh, practically melting into his side. “You're all warm, it feels nice.” Clark smiles, low and easy. “Does it? I'm glad I can help a bit, then.”

You let your head rest on his shoulder, the pain dulling just enough under the comforting weight of him. He’s grounding in a way no one else is. Solid, dependable. You swear just breathing in his cologne—clean linen and a hint of wind—is half the cure.

“I hate this,” you murmur.

“I know.” His hand rubs soft circles on your stomach, warm enough to replace the heat pack altogether. “I wish I could do something more.”

“You’re already doing everything.” He lets that sit for a moment. Then, with a gentle nudge, he says, “Wanna go to bed?” You shake your head. “I don’t think I can move yet.” Clark stands anyway. Not abruptly, not with any sort of fanfare. Just smooth and effortless, like gravity doesn’t quite apply to him.

Then, without warning, he bends down and scoops you up. “Clark—!”

“You said you couldn’t move,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “Lucky for you, I’m pretty good at moving things.” You roll your eyes but don’t protest further, arms curling around his neck. He carries you to the bedroom with ease, brushing open the door with his foot.

The sheets are freshly made—he did them yesterday—and the blackout curtains are drawn, leaving the room bathed in soft shadows. Clark sets you down with care, like you’re made of glass. Not because he thinks you’ll break, but because you matter. Every inch of you. Every tired sigh and every aching muscle.

He disappears for only a second—long enough to bring over your water bottle, a couple of painkillers, and that peach tea he promised. He doesn’t say anything when he hands them to you. He just presses a kiss to your temple and kneels beside the bed while you sip slowly. When you finish, he takes the bottle and climbs in beside you.

You scoot back into his chest without even thinking, and he wraps his arms around your waist, fingers splayed gently against your stomach again. His body is so warm, so steady, like curling up next to a living furnace made entirely of love.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

“I already have it.” Clark kisses the back of your neck, then your shoulder, then the spot behind your ear that always makes you smile. “Still. If you want snacks, I’ll get snacks. If you want Netflix, I’ll suffer through three hours of reality TV.”

You laugh softly, pain still in the background but no longer center stage. “Even The Bachelor?”

Clark groans. “Even The Bachelor.”

You lie there a while, not watching anything, not even talking. Just breathing in the same rhythm. His heartbeat syncing with yours. Every now and then, he hums under his breath—some old Kansas tune you don’t know the name of—and it fills the room like a lullaby.

Later, when the cramps flare up again, he’s already shifting the blankets, already pressing his hand against your abdomen once more. Warmth flows through you like magic. He doesn’t say anything this time. He doesn’t need to.

Because this is what love looks like with Clark Kent.

Soft hands and strong arms. Knowing without asking. And staying, always staying, when the world hurts too much.

[thatonegrimm]

saja boys x readers who’s in a slump? for example, maybe they can function but just feel numb to it all? it would also be nice if the reader was able to hide their struggles (i.e being happy, completing and maintaining responsibilities etc) but the boys know something is up and what they would do? i like to call this passive depression for me personally but idk if there’s a proper name lol

i’m actually such a sucker for hurt/comfort it’s unreal…….. also feel free to combine this into another request if there’s something similar and it’s easier for u! i dont mind :]

-🍋

Thank you for the request! I know exactly the kind of slump you're talking about. Here you go! 💌

🌙Saja boys x reader who is in a slump

-----------------------------

🧿 Jinu 

Jinu didn’t say anything right away.

He just watched you stir your tea for three minutes straight without taking a sip. Not even once. That was a flag.

“You okay?” he asked softly, setting his own cup down.

You nodded. Too fast. “Yeah.”

He blinked. “You’re stirring peppermint tea like it wronged your ancestors.”

That earned a weak laugh. Sort of. You set the spoon down. Still didn’t drink it.

Jinu didn’t press. Just sat beside you, close but not crowding. The kind of quiet he offered was patient, like he’d wait all day if you needed him to.

After a moment, he reached for your hand, his fingers warm and steady as they curled around yours.

“You don’t have to be okay for me to be here,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t say anything back. But you finally sipped the tea—and somehow, it didn’t taste as bitter this time.

-----------------------------

💪 Abby 

You didn’t want to go outside.

Abby didn’t ask. He just showed up at your door holding a folded blanket, a bottle of juice, and the most determined smile you’d seen all week.

“We’re going to the porch,” he said. “Don’t make me lift you.”

You gave him a flat look.

“You know I will,” he added, already opening the door.

And somehow, ten minutes later, you were sitting in the sun with him, your legs tucked under the blanket he’d brought. He didn’t talk much—just handed you a sandwich, peeled the orange for you, and watched the clouds like they were a movie.

“You don’t have to fake it with me,” he said eventually. His voice was gentle but sure, like he didn’t need you to say anything back.

You didn’t. But you leaned into his side, and for the first time in a while, your shoulders dropped.

It wasn’t a solution. But it felt like a start.

-----------------------------

📚 Mystery 

Mystery didn’t ask where you’d gone. He just showed up beside you.

You’d been sitting on the rooftop long enough for your fingers to go numb, knees hugged to your chest, head full of static. The city lights below barely registered.

He offered you a warm mug, still steaming. You didn’t know where he got it from.

“Thanks,” you murmured, voice scratchy.

He didn’t say anything. Just sat down beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, the kind of quiet presence that didn’t demand your energy.

After a long while, he spoke.

“I don’t need the details,” he said softly, eyes on the skyline. “But I’m here.”

There was no advice. No fix-it words. Just that.

You sipped the drink. Let the silence stretch again. And for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like it was trying to swallow you whole.

-----------------------------

💋 Romance 

Romance waited until the others were gone.

He found you at the practice studio mirror, still in your hoodie and sweats, pretending to scroll your phone while your reflection stared back at you with tired eyes.

He stepped in, quiet but sure, and gently tilted your chin up with two fingers.

“Hey,” he said, “you don’t have to hold it together right now.”

You blinked, mouth opening, then closing again. He didn’t press. Just let his hand fall to your shoulder, warm and grounding.

“I know what that look means,” he added. “I’ve worn it too.”

You finally looked up at him—and he smiled, not his usual flirty grin, but something softer. Real.

“You’re allowed to fall apart a little. I’ll still think you’re amazing.”

The tears didn’t fall, but your breath hitched. You let him pull you in, forehead to his shoulder, and let the mirror behind you fade into the background.

-----------------------------

🔥 Baby 

You didn’t want to admit you were in a slump. So you didn’t.

But Baby noticed the way you stayed in bed longer, your hoodie sleeves half-covering your hands. The way you picked at your food and stopped reacting to your favorite drama.

So he stopped trying to ask.

Instead, he made you a little blanket fort on the couch, stacked your favorite snacks on the table, and shoved a warm drink into your hand.

“You’re watching this with me,” he said, already hitting play.

You barely made it halfway through the first episode before he paused it and looked over.

“You okay?”

You shrugged. “I dunno.”

He nodded. Then leaned in and tucked his arm around your waist, pulling you close until your head rested against his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing your hair. “Even if you don’t feel like talking.”

You didn’t answer. But you stayed right where you were.

And that was enough.

-----------------------------

M-List

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬.

━ pairing; sung jinwoo x female reader

━ summary; or how the strongest shadow monarch falls for a squishy little buff/debuff mage who bleeds like a paper cut

━ notes; this is my first solo leveling fic (i don't read the webtoon and i'm still working through the anime), so please be kind or I will cry. please donate to my Kofi if you like my stuff. reblogs are appreciated! (i also have more ideas for this au, if anyone wants them.)

❋ The first time Sung Jinwoo sees you, he thinks you're a hallucination.

❋ You’re an anomaly in a battlefield of steel and blood and shadows: hoodie too big, sundress fluttering, feet bare. No armour, no blade. Just bandages, bruises, wide eyes, a kind smile, and an aura so blindingly alive it hurts to look at. You don’t belong there, and somehow, the entire raid party is glowing.

❋ Literally.

❋ You’re not officially a Hunter. No license, no guild. A walking bureaucratic nightmare.

❋ But every healer Jinwoo’s ever met can’t hold a candle to what you do. Buffs strong enough to boost a D-rank tank into pseudo-B-rank territory. Debuffs that make dungeon bosses stagger. And all of it while you’re very visibly injured.

❋ And then you buff his shadows. Not him. His shadows. He’s never seen anyone do that. They grow sharper, faster, and hungrier. It’s the first time he takes a step back and reevaluates someone.

❋ Then you vanish before he can ask what the actual hell.

❋ You can't heal yourself, which is insane.

❋ You’re a miracle wrapped in the limitations of a squishy human body.

❋ And yet.

❋ Your magic bounces off your own body like water off glass. Even other healers can’t fix you — like your body rejects any kind of help. So, you slap a Hello Kitty band-aid on your latest puncture wound and keep going.

❋ Your magic feels nice, Jinwoo notices. Calming. Warm. Like a warm bath after the chill of winter air. You don't even try to mask your kindness — if anything, it leaks off you like glitter.

❋ He finally approaches you after the fourth dungeon you mysteriously pop into.

❋ (Okay, fifth. He kept hesitating. You’re . . . Confusing.)

"You’re not registered." You blink up at him from where you’re crouched by a collapsed healer, radiating healing light. There’s blood staining your dress. He’s not sure it's all yours. "You shouldn’t be here." "Yeah, I get that a lot." You smile, and it's like the sun itself cracks through the dungeon ceiling.

❋ It’s gentle, and infuriating, and he wants to wrap you in armour and shadows and never let you get within five meters of a gate ever again.

[bbokicidal]

First Time's The Charm? Pt. 2 | OT8 [SKZ]

Notes : This was a Drabble request someone sent in, so it's short, to the point, and simple. Hope you enjoy! Genre : Smut Warnings : 18+ Content Req : Having sex with SKZ for the first time <- Except it's not just your first time together, it's their first time period.

Chris :

So gentle, so sweet. So kind. Keeps his hands off of you at first because he's scared he might push or pull you, so he keeps them fisted in the sheets as he finds comfort in your gummy walls. He's melting against you and trembling as he holds himself up, his chest just barely brushing yours each time he draws his hips back all shaky-like. He eases into it shortly after it all begins, but then stiffens up a bit again when he realizes he might be getting too comfortable with how rough he's getting. You know, with the headboard knocking against the wall and all.

Minho :

Asks you to ride him because he's unsure of how to go about all of it. Afraid he might embarrass himself and look stupid - but he ends up all red in the ears and neck anyway because of how pretty you look in his lap. He has to fight to keep his legs against the mattress when you slide down on his cock, wanting to push up and do something as well. But you find a nice balance in the way you bounce and the way he rocks his hips so carefully; Enough to keep it soft and gentle for his first time but still able to rock his world.

Changbin :

Acts like he knows what he's doing - fumbles when his cock stretches you so much that you ask him to prep you more. He's embarrassed, feels like he messed up somehow, so he needs the reassurance for a while that he was doing perfectly fine - and he's surprised to see that you're a little shy about it all. Of course he'll question you on why you're all red and meek, and when you explain that he did everything right - he's just so big - his confidence comes flooding back tenfold and he's smirking to himself with a downturned smile shortly after. After that? You wouldn't even be able to tell he's a newbie with how cocky he gets.

Hyunjin :

So romantic. Gets eighty thousand candles, decorates the room with them, lights them all - dims the lamps, turns on soft music, sprinkles the floor with rose petals and welcomes you home from work with slow kisses and lingering touches. He can tell you're surprised with the setup - with the way he undresses you so carefully and lets his fingertips trace every inch of your exposed skin. Another one you really wouldn't be able to tell is new to it all. But it also makes you wonder - just how is he so smooth with it?

Jisung :

Fumbles. so bad. Man is anxious, but excited, and it's getting the best of him. He knocks his elbow into the nightstand when he takes his shirt off and ends up whimpering in laughter at the stinging waves of pain, then moves hair out of your face while kissing you and accidentally gets some of it in his mouth. He's doing his best, and even if he's very clearly shy about it and having a hard time keeping up with himself - you can't help but find him extremely cute. (He cums in his pants just seeing you naked.)

Felix :

Gets ahead of himself while gaming and receiving head. He's already in shambles with you on your knees between his thighs, arms wrapped around his waist while ringed fingers click at his LED keyboard In attempt to play support; But he needs more. So he gently pulls you up by the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss before asking that you take off your PJ shorts and give him a little more encouragement in other ways. (Kind of has a frat-boy tone while asking it but ends up giggling and covering his face with his hands when you do strip for him. Shy about it - but also a cocky mf. Love him fr.)

Seungmin :

So.. romantic?? So so romantic?? Not like Hyunjin-level romantic; But romantic in the sense that he caresses every inch of your body, cups your face in his hands while you kiss, and tries to make sure he's always touching you in some way. He can't keep his hands off of you even while just making out, peeling clothes from your body and dipping long fingers between your thighs to feel over the slick dripping from your slit. Also cannot stop kissing you. Knows where your clit is. Makes that very known. (He's done his research.)

Jeongin :

Feel like my instinct is to say 'He's super hesitant' but I don't think he is. Jeongin seems like the type of guy to know what he wants. He's the type to suck a hickey or two into your skin and keep biting you until you ask what he's up to. He's too shy to actually say 'I want to have sex' for the first time, so he just takes control of the situation in a gentle-dom manner; Climbing over you, sandwiching you between his body and the couch, kissing you until your lips are bruised and swollen. He's the type to drag it out for hours and there's so much foreplay but also so much sex. Also asks you right after it's over if you can use toys next time.

Taglist : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

[mv1simp]

requested: max + breeding kink + fertility drugs + driver!reader

Paradise ♥️

Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader

it feels like heaven on the inside (she's calling my name and oh, it sounds nice)

You’re so excited about being the first F1 female driver in years - and on ex World Champion Max Verstappen’s team, no less. But somehow, you end up not only on his racecars, but also in his luxurious silk sheets. There was something about seeing you wearing his name that makes your boss’s possessive desires come out, and lately he’s been thinking about how to keep you in his bed…forever.

content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark team owner!max and his driver!reader, breeding kink, pregnancy, baby trapping, fertility drugs, dubcon, WC 1.8K

Everyone knows Max Verstappen loved kids, and couldn’t wait to be a Dad someday. And he’d make such a great father, too, with his protective nature and strong build, yet surprisingly soft and gentle manner everytime a young fan would approach him. Every woman in his vicinity would stare at him with heart eyes when he smiled and ruffled a child’s hair as he signed their teddy, or held his hand out to help them cross the road, or rocked his nephew in his arms, the baby looking impossibly tiny and peaceful in Max’s swollen biceps.

Every woman apart from you, apparently. You were Max’s newest recruited driver for his personal racing team project, the sensational new addition to Verstappen.com and the first female driver, too. A few years younger than him at 23, you had all the fierce desire to prove to yourself and to everyone else how much you belonged on the grid, how much you deserved a championship. It was like Max was looking at his younger self, who’d been so greedy for that World Cup trophy his whole life.

But now, at 27 and with three titles already to his name, the Dutch Lion had gotten bored of his fame and wanted something…more. And what he wanted especially was his pretty, young driver under him every night as he fucked her to sleep. Of course, you’d been the very picture of rigid professionalism when he’d first met you. Paranoid about being labelled a slut and being accused of using your body to get your seat, you studiously avoided any physical contact with any male driver on the grid - especially your older Dutch mentor and boss who you thought was extremely handsome. You'd die if he ever found out about the poster of him you'd had on your bedroom wall growing up.

But Max had gotten you to relax, to let your guard down with his warm laughter and charming smile, until you couldn’t resist leaning into him when he threw a muscled arm around your shoulders, around your petite waist, or when he drew your much smaller figure to sit on his broad lap as he explained your driving feedback from today’s practise as you watched the recording on his laptop together.

With how close you two got, becoming inseparable on and off the grid, it was only a matter of time before he found you writhing in a hotel bed, desperately moaning his name with scrunched eyes as you pumped your vibrator in and out of your glistening pussy. He’d tossed the pathetic toy aside and given you something far bigger to actually cum on.

Soon enough, the Dutch Lion got his wish (like he always did) of having your small figure underneath his large, muscled one as he pounded into your bouncing ass every night. You moaned and screamed his name, lost in the bliss of being so looked after by the much more experienced older driver, who knew a couple dozen tricks to have you cumming around him. You’d never been so satisfied by any other man, you breathlessly confessed to Max as he slides into you again for the third time that week.

But like he always did, Max quickly began wanting more. He wanted to be the only cock you allowed to enter your pussy - and he wanted to do it completely raw. Of course, with your desperation to win a world championship one day, you were adamant about religiously wearing a condom every single time. No matter how many times he hinted, it was the one thing you refused to budge on. So he knew he’d have to take matters in his own hands. You always followed his lead after all, and he knew once you experienced the high of your first creampie you’d become addicted.

So a few days later he takes you back to his hotel room after a celebratory night out. You’re stumbling in your heels, drunk, and climbing all over him in the dark room as you giggle and whisper that you’re horny Maxie, can he please take care of you like always? Smirking, he makes sure to keep the lights off as he tosses you onto the mattress, your soft legs up over his muscular shoulders. Even in your tipsy state, you never forget to ask him to put the damn condom on, making him clench his jaw. You watch him slide one on before relaxing, welcoming his protected cock in between your lush thighs.

Soon he’s jack hammering away happily, making you whine and moan after he already makes you cum once and is working you upto the second one. But he makes sure to flip you over with his strong arms, pressing in between your shoulder blades so you're face down, ass up.

When he doesn’t immediately sink back inside, you whine and try to turn your head back to see what was taking so long - but his big hands firmly keep your neck in place. Just admiring the view, sweetheart, he says teasingly and giving your plump ass a rough smack.

As you moan from the jolt, he continues slapping and fingering you from behind, knowing how easy it was to get you worked up like this. And bingo, soon enough you’re squirting messily all over his large palm, soaking the sheets below you. So wet, sweetheart, he murmurs. All for me, hmm? You’re dripping everywhere.

You’re moaning brainlessly, not a single thought left in your head as you wiggle your hips shamelessly and ask Max for his cock again, pl-please make me feel good, Maxie? He smirks, knowing in this state you’d never notice if he were to tug the condom off, not with the way you’ve squirted so much and it’d be impossible to tell what was your cum and what was his.

So he does exactly that, finally yanking the annoying plastic off and releasing his angry, rock hard cock. He lines his drooling tip up to your pretty pink pussy, teasing your twitching entrance. Licking his lips, he grins evilly as he thrusts into you with a smooth motion, sinking in all the way to the base. You squirm and pant underneath him, overwhelmed by how good he feels inside you, so warm, your gummy walls squeezing down on every ridge and vein on his thick cock.

After bullying your sweet cunny mercilessly with his thrusts, he holds you down as he drains his heavy balls into your twitching hole, filling you with his creamy, thick cum. You moan under him, tiredly asking why it was so wet, he’d definitely worn a condom, right Maxie? He leaned down to kiss your shoulder, promising he had, it was just so wet cuz of your squirting, you dirty girl.

Now that he’s had a taste of your raw pussy he wants it every single night. Once was never enough for the greedy Redbull champion. So next time, he tears a hole into the condom when you aren't looking, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you approach your climax. You don’t notice until it’s far too late that the condom broke, Maxie! Your cute eyes tear up as he grunts, already have drained half his thick load into you by this point. He pretends to be shocked as he slides out, the broken condom sliding down his shaft. Oh fuck, baby, I already came inside you….You look down at your creamy pussy in awe, curiously using your fingers to play with his cum that’s leaking out of your twitching hole. You can't deny how good it feels to have your boss fuck you raw, biting your lip nervously at the thought of doing it again when he slyly suggests it. He watches you darkly, telling you not to worry, sweetheart, he’ll just get you on the pill instead, okay?

You're reluctant with the side effects potentially messing with your driving, but he convinces you that he knows best as your mentor. It’s easy for him to get his hands on fertility drugs, and he sneaks them to you constantly under the guise of contraception. You accept them willingly, because just like he’d predicted, you quickly became addicted to his cum inside you.

Soon you’re grinding your ass against his erection and palming his dick eagerly as soon as you enter the same room, begging him to have his way with you right here, the fertility drugs making you constantly horny. He watches with an amused smirk, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back on the driver's room couch as you climb into his lap to ride his cock, your doe eyes rolling back as you milk him for every last drop.

He teases you mercilessly for how desperate you’ve become lately, telling you if you were so greedy for his cum he’ll keep pumping you until he’s fucked a baby into you, hmm? Wouldn’t that be fun? To be by his side all day and in his bed all night, to let him look after you while you carry his child? Of course, he keeps this last though to himself, knowing you would never agree to having a kid this early into your driving career.

Oblivious to his dark desires, you let him pump creampie after creampie into you, sometimes even starting races with soaked panties from where his cum leaked out earlier. The fertility drugs have your ass getting fatter and thighs chubbier, and your race suit tightens around your hips. Max loves it, tightening his grip on your soft waist as he fucks you through the hole he's brutishly ripped into your racepants. You squeal, trying to protest, but he grunts in between thrusts that he'll just have to buy you a new one, baby, since your ass was getting fatter these days. You whine in embarrassment from his words, burying your pink face into the cushions as you let him continue to hit it raw. No matter how strict you were with your diet and exercise, you still seemed to be gaining weight for some reason - and you observant boss had noticed it too. While you’re desperately thinking about how to maintain your figure for the season, the handsome, older Blonde above you can’t get enough of your new curves. He litters your plush, over sensitive little body with hickeys and bruises as he easily manhandles you with huge palms, practically wanting to devour you whole. It drives him crazy to give you multiple creampies while you're in his team's racing suit, stretched impossibly tight around your bouncing tits and hips, his Verstappen name plastered across your juicy ass. The same ass that he now roughly smacks, satisfied with how you well you’d taken his generous load when he emptied it into your twitching cunny.

Obviously, there’s only one way this can end. Your boss smirks as he thinks of the future, of you with a heavy, swollen belly and puffy folds after all the cum he’s fucked into you finally gets you pregnant with his child.

—————————————————————————

A/N: for all the breeding kink gorlies hope u enjoy 😼

[lvnleah]

her blessing | kyra cooney-cross x catley!reader.

You hadn’t planned on falling in love when you moved to London.

When Steph had called and said “Just come here for a bit, reset. You need a break and you know my door’s always open”, you’d packed your bags without thinking twice. 

You’d only just broken up with your boyfriend of three years and despite the nine-year gap between you and Steph, growing up she was your protector. Your safe space. And now, you were twenty-two and still felt safest even when she was on the other side of the world. 

That’s why you were currently clinging to her sleeve like a koala, standing awkwardly just inside the entrance to a loud, crowded pub filled with her teammates. It was a team bonding night and also Steph’s idea of helping you “get out more.”

“Steph…” you whispered nervously, voice barely audible

Steph looked down at you with a soft smile, her hand reaching to squeeze yours gently. “I’ve got you, squirt. You’ll be fine. Just stick with me for a bit, yeah? You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek and trying not to shrink into your clothes. The room was loud, filled with laughter and music and way too many confident women who all seemed to know each other. They were intimidating. You could feel your chest tightening just standing there.

You didn’t notice her at first. Not until Steph led you over to a small group and started introducing you.

“Everyone, this is my little sister. Be nice, or I’ll ruin your careers.”

That got a laugh, and a few friendly greetings. You gave a quiet “hi” and kept your eyes low, practically hiding behind Steph’s arm.

You already knew Caitlin, she’d played with Steph for the Matilda’s for years and had known you since you were ten. Kyra was another one you’d met briefly but only on a few occasions when she was pestering Steph after a match. She was a year or so older than you.

Caitlin gave you a warm smile and ruffled your hair, just like she used to when you were a kid. “Still as shy as ever, huh? Welcome to the madness, squirt.”

You gave a tiny smile, grateful for the familiarity. Caitlin’s presence made things feel a little less overwhelming. 

“Didn’t know Steph had such a cute little sister,” Kyra said with a grin.

Your face flushed immediately. You ducked your head, mumbling something incomprehensible and absolutely not cool in return.

Steph shot her a sharp look. “Kyra, leave the poor girl alone. Be nice to her.”

Kyra held up both hands, laughing. “I’m being nice! I swear. See? Totally nice.” Then, softer, she looked at you again. “You okay?”

You nodded, still mostly hidden behind Steph. “Just… crowds.”

Kyra tilted her head. “Same. I mean, not really, but I get it. Want to come sit where it’s quieter?”

You hesitated, glancing up at Steph. She gave you a gentle nudge and a reassuring smile.

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

So, somehow, you ended up sitting in a quiet booth near the back of the pub, with Kyra sliding in across from you. She didn’t push you to talk. She just sipped her drink, made a few gentle jokes, and let the awkwardness ease at its own pace.

Eventually, you started talking. About random things. Childhood stories. Movies you both loved. The most embarrassing things your siblings had done in public. You had plenty of Steph stories. She would absolutely kill you if she heard you telling Kyra about the time she tripped over a wheelie bin and dislocated her pinky toe.

To your surprise, Kyra was easy to talk to. She made you laugh, like really laugh, which was something you hadn’t done properly in weeks.

By the time Steph wandered over to check on you, you were giggling, your shoulders more relaxed than they’d been all evening.

“Well,” Steph said, arms crossed and brow raised. “Didn’t expect you to be the one to crack her shell.”

Kyra just smirked. “I’m good with nervous people!”

Steph rolled her eyes, “Oh definitely,” she said sarcastically, “Just be nice to her. Don’t scare my sister or anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyra said with a roll of her eyes. “No funny business.”

Over the next few weeks, Kyra became a constant.

She texted you every morning with stupid memes and updates about what she had for breakfast. She dropped by Steph’s apartment uninvited, usually with snacks or some random object she “thought you might like.” She dragged you to cafés and bookstores, always patient with your shyness, always gentle with your boundaries.

Steph started noticing.

“You two are getting close,” she said one night when the two of you were curled up on the sofa, having a sister night watching a movie.”

You looked up. “Is that… okay?”

Steph’s face softened. “Of course. I’m just… keeping an eye on her. Kyra can be a lot and I don’t want it to overwhelm you, squirt.”

That should’ve been your first warning sign.

Because no matter how many nights you spent talking to Kyra until the early hours, no matter how many walks you took with your hands brushing but never quite clasped, she never crossed that line.

Every time something almost happened, every time your eyes lingered too long, or you leaned in too close, or your hand tentatively reached for hers, she pulled back.

With a joke. Or a distraction. Or just silence.

It hurt. More than you admitted to anyone. Even Steph.

You told yourself to be patient. Maybe she wasn’t ready. But one night, after another almost-kiss that ended in Kyra literally jumping away from you with a flustered apology and muttering something, you cracked.

You were sitting on a park bench, the wind chilly and your hot chocolate long gone cold.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said softly.

Kyra turned to you, brow furrowed. “Doing what?”

“This. I know you feel it too. I see it. But then you pull away and I’m left feeling like I imagined everything.”

Kyra was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m scared,” she finally whispered.

“Of what?”

“Of Steph.” She looked away, jaw tense. “She’s… she’s your sister. She’s my friend. She trusts me. If I mess this up then that’s ruined things between me, you and Steph. I don’t want that.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” you cut in, your voice breaking. “But you are hurting me, Kyra.”

That stunned her into silence.

“I can’t do this anymore, Kyra. I’m not a secret.” You sighed, “I’m not something to be ashamed of.”

And you walked away.

You didn’t talk after that. Not for days.

Steph noticed immediately.

You were quieter. Withdrawn. You barely touched the pasta she made. You didn’t laugh at her teasing. You didn’t even argue when she paused your favourite show to take a phone call.

And Kyra?

Steph saw it the next day in training. Kyra was off. Missing passes. Slow to react. Silent when usually she was all nonsense and being a pest.

Then, after everyone else had left, Steph walked into the locker room to find Kyra curled on the bench, shoulders shaking.

“Kyra,” she said, stunned. “What happened?”

Kyra didn’t look at her. “I broke her heart.”

Steph stiffened.

“What?”

“I thought I was protecting her. But I ended up pushing her away. And now she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Steph said slowly.

Kyra finally looked up, her eyes rimmed red. “I didn’t want to hurt her. Or make you feel like I crossed a line. But I love her, Steph. I’ve been in love with her for ages.”

Steph was silent for a long time. Then, with a sigh, she sat beside her.

“I never had an issue with it, Ky,” Steph said, “I just…you’re so different. I didn’t want you to clash and then things break down.”

Kyra gave a choked laugh.

“But,” Steph continued, “if you love her, and if you make her as happy as I’ve seen her these past few months. Then I’d be an idiot to stand in the way.”

Kyra blinked. “Wait… are you serious?”

Steph rolled her eyes. “Yeah. You might be a pest but you’re my favourite pest. You should go fix things.”

Kyra didn’t wait for another second.

You were in your room, curled under a blanket, watching reruns of something familiar and comforting when the knock came. You padded to the door and opened it slowly.

Kyra stood there, breathless, eyes still a little glassy, but full of hope.

“Umm…Hi,” she said, voice shaking. “I screwed up. But I love you. I really, really love you. And if you still want me, I promise, no more pulling away.”

You blinked, stunned.

Then you launched yourself into her arms.

She held you like she’d never let go again.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt her thumb brush gently under your eye, her other hand cradling the back of your head as you clung to her hoodie. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered against your hair. “I was so scared of ruining things, but I nearly lost you anyway. That was worse. So much worse.”

You didn’t respond right away. You just stayed there, wrapped in her, your heart finally settling after what felt like weeks of tight-chested confusion. When you finally pulled back, you looked up at her, really looked at her, and saw the way her eyes begged for forgiveness she didn’t need to ask for.

“I was scared too,” you admitted quietly. “Of getting hurt again. But you…you just made me feel unsure.”

She nodded, brushing a stray hair away from your forehead, “No more feeling unsure, okay? Not about this. Not about you.”

There was a long pause. Then she added, almost sheepishly, “Also, if you wanted to kiss me now… I wouldn’t run away this time.”

You huffed a soft laugh, watery but genuine. “You sure?”

Kyra’s lips curled into a grin. “Well, I was sure until you said it like–”

You reached up and cupped her cheek, the familiar warmth of her skin grounding you. “Kyra.”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up.”

And you kissed her.

She melted into it immediately, her hands settling lightly on your waist like she didn’t want to push, like she still couldn’t believe she was allowed to touch you like this now. It was slow and sweet, a little awkward because you both smiled halfway through, but it was perfect.

When you finally pulled away, Kyra smirked, “Okay, yeah, I was amazing at that. That’s in the top five kisses of my life.”

You swatted her arm lightly. “Top five?”

“I didn’t say where in the five! Maybe number one, maybe number four. You’ll have to kiss me again to beat the competition.” She smirked once again. 

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “You’re such a menace.”

“Yeah,” Kyra said proudly, tugging you gently back into her arms. “But I’m your menace now. That’s gotta count for something.”

You tucked your head under her chin and let the silence stretch, Kyra wasn’t perfect. She talked too much when she was nervous. She avoided emotions until they smacked her in the face but somehow she made you feel seen. 

After a long moment, Kyra broke the quiet again, her voice muffled slightly by your hair. “Sooo… when do you think is the right time to tell Steph we’re dating? Before or after I hide all the sharp objects?”

You snorted. “She already knows, Ky.”

Kyra pulled back slightly. “What?! You told her?”

“No. You did. When you confessed you were in love with me in her locker room, remember?”

Her eyes widened. “Wait…she told you that?!”

You grinned. “Of course she did. She texted me to say it was the most dramatic thing she’d ever seen.”

She mumbled something unintelligible into your hoodie.

You laughed softly, your fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”