#and the look on their faces before and especially after !!!!!!!!!

[cowboybeepboop]

Bliss

"You’re mine. Mine to love, mine to cherish, mine forever."

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count:  3.3k

Summary: Teasing Clark about his ‘harem’ finally leads to your first fuck.

Warnings: Overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, p in v sex

You and Clark have been dating for 6 months, and he’s quite the gentleman. Which has its ups and downs… especially since you’re one horny mother fucker and he waited until your third date before even kissing you, so sex has been, well, off the table in his mind. 

As you hear the sound of the balcony door opening, your heart skips a beat, and your body stiffens with anticipation. Clark, your dashing boyfriend of six long, sexually frustrating months, steps into the room, looking as heroic as ever in his superhero attire.

His cape flutters slightly behind him, and his eyes, filled with a mischievous glint, lock onto yours. You respond with a roll of the eyes. “Don’t you look dashing, Superman?” The aroma of the gourmet dinner you've prepared for your anniversary fills the space between you.

Clark chuckles at your sarcastic tone, hanging his cape on a coat rack. He smiles as he looks you up and down, clearly pleased to be home and to see you.

"Don't I always?" He teases, walking over to you and gently pulling you towards him. He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a sweet kiss on the forehead.

"I suppose you do," You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you into a tight hug. "Are you hungry after saving the city?"

He hugs you tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck and sighing contentedly. "Starving," He mumbles against your skin, his breath warm on your neck. "What smells so good?"

"I made your favorite." You pat his back, pushing him away slightly so you can prepare the plates.

Kent reluctantly lets you go, but not before stealing a quick kiss from your cheek. He leans against the counter, watching you with a boyish grin. "You spoil me," He teases, admiring your every move as you skillfully plate the food.

"I know, I know." You grin, grabbing the plates and bringing them to the dining table. "I'm too good for you, Clark." After setting the dinner table, you pull him in for a kiss. 

Clark chuckles against your lips, his arms wrapping around you and holding you close. 

"You're absolutely right. You're way too good for me." He agrees in a teasing tone, pressing a series of light kisses along your jawline. He pulls back slightly, his arms still holding you, and gazes lovingly at you. "But I'm pretty sure you love me anyway."

"That I do," Your smile grows wider, as he admires you. "Now, let's eat." 

"Yes, ma'am." He replies with a mock salute, pulling out a chair for you before taking a seat himself. He looks at the meal before him, his eyes widening in excitement. "Oh, this looks incredible. You really outdid yourself."

He immediately digs into the food, humming in appreciation at the first bite. He looks up at you with a grateful smile. "You seriously are the best, you know that?"

"Thank you, my love." You bite down on your lip, watching as he devours his whole plate. "There's more in the kitchen if you're still hungry." You continue snacking on your plate. 

Clark chuckles at your comment, his appetite seemingly endless. "You're probably right. I could eat a horse right now." He stands up and heads to the kitchen to get seconds, returning a few moments later with an even more generous plate of food. 

He sits back down and digs in again, clearly savoring every bite. "I swear, you make the best food," He says between mouthfuls, his words slightly muffled. "I don't know how I survived before we started dating."

"I guess now you're going to need to hire me as a private chef," You tease with a laugh, "Or just move in already, since you swing by every night to steal some food." 

Clark chuckles at your tease, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "Guilty as charged," He admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "But can you blame me for coming over here when you cook like this?"

He takes another bite, savoring the flavor before continuing. "And about moving in... I have to say, I think it's starting to make more and more sense." 

"Yeah?" You stand from your seat, moving to sit on his lap instead, your arms wrapping around his neck. "You're considering living together?" Your eyes remain locked on his, fingers brushing over his cheekbones lovingly. 

Kent wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you settle on his lap. He gazes into your eyes, his expression soft and loving. "I am," He says quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. 

"To be honest, I've been thinking about it for a while now. It just makes sense, you know? I spend more time here than I do at my apartment anyway." He leans in and kisses your forehead, his hand moving to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

"Well, I can't say I wouldn't love that." You sit back on his thighs, hands cupping his face as your heart pounds against your chest. 

Clark's heart skips a beat as he looks up at you, your touch sending a shiver down his spine. He gazes at you adoringly, his eyes filled with desire and affection.

"Really?" He asks softly, his hands gently resting on your hips. "You're sure you're ready for me to invade your space full-time?" He teases with a grin, but his voice carries a hint of vulnerability.

"I'm more than ready, Clark." You lean in, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. Clark melts into the kiss, his arms winding tighter around your waist. He pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, his lips moving against yours in soft, sweet rhythm.

He reluctantly breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to look up at you with a tender expression. His eyes search yours for a moment before he breaks into a shy smile. 

"You know, there are some benefits to me moving in…" He says, his voice soft.

"Benefits?" You smirk, arms wrapping around his neck as you pull yourself even closer. "Like finally letting me join that harem of yours?" You tease, knowing the 'Superman harem' rumors are still bugging him. 

Clark groans dramatically at your comment, rolling his eyes playfully. "You're never going to let me live down that rumor, are you?" He huffs, but there's a hint of amusement in his expression. 

He then smirks, running his hand down your back, his touch deliberate and suggestive. "Besides, why would I need a harem when I have the best woman right here in my lap?"

"Yeah?" You adjust yourself on his lap, skirt pushing up your thighs. "We still haven't made it past second base yet." Grabbing his free hand, you guide it between your legs. Despite his obvious desire for you, he resists the movement slightly, his grip on your thigh tightening.

He looks up at you with a mixture of embarrassment and hesitation. "Love, we're...we're in the middle of dinner…" He protests weakly, his voice a little shaky.

You sigh, leaning in to kiss his nose before leaving his lap. "Okay, you're right." Giving him a reassuring smile, you settle back in your seat, looking down at the plate in front of you. 

Clark releases a breath he didn't even realize he was holding as you lift yourself off his lap, the heat from his red cheeks slowly subsiding. He watches you settle back in your seat, a mixture of disappointment and relief flooding through him.

He shifts uncomfortably in his own seat, his body still tingling from the closeness and the brief suggestion. He attempts to compose himself, clearing his throat and focusing on his plate once more.

You finish the dinner in silence; it would be a lie to say you're not frustrated. You're *very* sexually frustrated, but outside of that, your relationship has always been amazing, so you're not going to push him on this. 

You return to the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes and putting away leftovers, trying to clear your mind. Clark watches you as you tidy up the kitchen, his gaze following you around the room. 

He can sense your frustration and tension, his sensitive hearing picking up on the subtle changes in your breath and heart rate. He rises from his chair and pads silently into the kitchen, standing behind you as you wash the dishes. 

He gently places his hands on your hips, his touch feather-light. "Love…" He whispers, his voice soft but hesitant.

"Hmm?" You respond with a hum, leaning back into his gentle embrace. Clark wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, a mix of the dinner you'd cooked and your natural pheromones that drive him wild.

His hands gently roam your body, tracing the curves of your waist and hips, but stopping short of going any further. "Can we talk?" He murmurs against your skin, his words punctuated by a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"Of course, we can." Your hand moves to his arm, slowly caressing the soft skin. 

His gaze flickers down to your hand on his arm, a mixture of desire and concern in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the words. "You know…we're different, right?" He finally manages to say, his voice tentative.

"I know... You're not from Earth, and you're a lot stronger than me." You chew on your lip, head pressed against his chest. 

"Yes, exactly." He nods, his grip on you tightening slightly. "I've always been careful, trying to control my strength so I don't hurt you accidentally..."

He hesitates for a moment, his voice growing quieter. "But with intimacy... It’s even more important. I have to be even more careful… to make sure I don't... lose control. I don't ever want to risk hurting you, love."

Turning in his arms, you look up at him before speaking. "Clark, I know... But I've got needs and I have been aching for you, I crave your touch *so* much." You nearly whine at this point, your body desperate for release. 

“Clark, please.” Your voice is a whisper now, taking his hand once again, you place it between your thighs, feeling his fingers brush against your sensitive spot. You let out a needy moan, eyes fluttering shut at the contact. 

Clark lets out a shaky breath as you guide his hand between your thighs, his mind warring between his desire for you and his fear of hurting you. He can feel the damp heat of your core through your clothing, and the primal, possessive part of him that's been suppressed all night finally begins to surface. 

He moves his other hand to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. "Love…" He groans, his voice thick with lust. "Are you sure you want this?"

"More than anything, Clark. More than anything..." You grind against his hand slightly. 

His breath catches in his chest as you grind against him, the last of his resistance crumbling away. In that moment, his desire for you outweighs all his hesitations, and he makes his decision.

In a swift, fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms, one arm under your thighs and the other supporting your back. "Hold on to me," He whispers, his voice low and gravelly. "I'm taking you to the bedroom."

Clark carries you to the bedroom with the same gentle yet firm strength that you've come to love about him, the anticipation building with every step he takes. He sets you down on the edge of the bed, his eyes burning with a fiery intensity that sends shivers down your spine. 

He takes a moment to simply look at you, drinking in every inch of your body, as if committing it to memory. He slowly pulls your dress over your head, exposing your curves to his eyes. He carefully removes your bra and panties, groaning at the sight. 

He slowly lowers himself to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours as he slides your legs apart. Kent kisses the inside of your thighs, moving closer and closer to the apex of your desire. 

His breath is hot against your skin, sending waves of need crashing through you as he lingers just shy of where you want him most, earning needy whines from you.

Finally, he reaches your cunt, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you, wet and eager for him. He gently presses his lips to your clit, his tongue darting out to taste you. 

You gasp at the sensation, your hands flying to his hair to pull him closer. He doesn't need the encouragement; he's already lost in the sweetness of you, the way your body responds to his every touch. 

He licks and kisses you with a passion that's been building for months, his tongue swirling and flicking, teasing and coaxing you closer to the edge. Your hips buck against his face, and he holds your legs tight, his grip firm but not painful, keeping you in place as he explores you. 

He runs his tongue along the length of your labia, tasting your wetness, before delving into you, his tongue pushing deep inside, exploring every fold and curve of your pussy. 

You moan, your body trembling as he finds your G-spot and begins to flick it with unyielding precision. His other hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, which pebbles under his touch.

Clark's eyes are on yours, watching as you lose yourself in the pleasure he's giving you. His eyes are dark with desire, and you can see the strain in his jaw as he tries to hold back, to give you everything you need without losing control. 

You're so close, so close to coming, and you whisper his name, begging him not to stop. He responds by increasing the pressure, his tongue moving faster, his mouth suckling at your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

The first orgasm hits you like a meteor, your body convulsing as you cry out his name, your legs tightening around his head. But he doesn't stop, not even for a moment. 

He continues to lick and suck at your clit, his tongue now lapping up the proof of your pleasure as it floods from your body. You try to push him away, overwhelmed by the sensation, but his arms are like steel bars, holding you in place, refusing to let you escape.

You whine for him to stop, but your pleas are met with a low, determined growl, his mouth never leaving you as he takes you through another orgasm, then another, until you're nothing but a quivering mess of nerves and need. 

Your orgasms come in waves now, each one rolling into the next, stealing your breath and making your legs tremble and shake. You're so sensitive, so overwhelmed by the sensations that you're not sure how much more you can take.

But Clark doesn't stop, driven by his need to please you, to hear you scream his name as you come apart in his arms. He's relentless, his tongue and lips working you over with a skill that's both thrilling and terrifying. 

You're lost in a sea of pleasure, unable to do anything but cling to him as he pushes you further and further. Finally, you can't take it anymore. 

"Beg for me to fuck you," he whispers against your skin. And so you do, your voice hoarse and desperate, your body aching for the kind of release that only he can provide.

Clark's grip on your thighs tightens, his eyes flashing with triumph and desire as he stands, pulling you to the edge of the bed. He strips off his glasses, setting them aside, and then his shirt, revealing the sculpted chest and abs that make up the body of a superhero. 

“Fuck, Clark. You’re so sexy.” You lean forward, hand brushing over his muscles before your lips find purchase on his skin. 

With a primal growl, Clark's eyes burn with a fierce intensity that you've never seen before. He stands before you, his powerful body bared, his erection standing tall and proud between his legs. His muscles ripple and flex as he reaches down, his hand wrapping around his cock, stroking it once before positioning it at your entrance.

He leans over you, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, "I've wanted this for so long, love." His hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

You nod, your breath coming in pants. "I trust you, Clark."

With that, he presses forward, his cock sliding into you inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, the feel of him filling you up so completely, so perfectly. 

He's gentle at first, his movements slow and deliberate, allowing your body to adjust to his size. You can feel every vein, every ridge as he stretches you open, the sensation bordering on pain, but the pleasure quickly overwhelms any discomfort.

As he sinks deeper, he groans, his eyes rolling back in his head. "You're so tight," He says, his voice strained. "So wet." 

His hips begin to rock, his cock sliding in and out of you with increasing speed. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your moans and whimpers.

His hand moves from your face to your hip, his grip firm as he starts to thrust into you harder, his movements more demanding. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him closer, needing more. You can feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling low in your belly.

Clark leans down, capturing your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in the same rhythm as his cock. His free hand roams your body, finding your breast and pinching your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure through your veins.

You arch your back, pushing your chest up to meet his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fucks you with a passion that's been simmering beneath the surface for months. 

His strokes are long and deep, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

He pulls out of your mouth with a gasp, panting against your neck as he nibbles and sucks on your earlobe. "You're mine," He murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine. "Mine to love, mine to cherish, mine forever."

You whimper in response, your body responding to his claim. You've never felt so owned, so claimed before, and it sends you spiraling over the edge. Your pussy clamps down on his cock as you cum, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

He groans, his movements becoming more erratic as he feels you tighten around him. His hips slam into yours, the headboard knocking against the wall with every thrust. The bed shakes beneath you, a testament to his power and the intensity of his need.

He moves his hand from your hip to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles as he continues to pound into you, gently yet forcefully.

You moan into his mouth, your hands sliding down to grip his ass, urging him deeper. You're so close, so close to cuming again. And then he hits that perfect spot, and you do, your pussy spasming around him as he drives into you, his cock hitting the back of your cervix.

Clark's orgasm follows swiftly, his cock pulsing inside you as he releases. He groans, his body shaking with the force of it, his cum filling you up.

[eulogiez]

UNDERSTANDABLY SO.

(superman 2025) clark kent x fem!reader, 3.1k

synopsis: clark kent is overwhelmed by his affection for you, and your relentless lack of will to see it. a gift mishap in the planet office gives you affirmation of the false pretense that clark’s just not that into you, leading to a dramatic turn of events between you two.

tags: unedited, reader is a cynic && an unofficial eldest daughter with wounded self-image, clark thinks he’s being delusional (he’s not) (you are madly in love with him too), fluff && slowburn, coworkers && friends to lovers, the pov is kinda messy (sorry) (it’s roughly third person omniscient but it focuses for a hot minute on how down bad he is for you), angsty bc you drive each other crazy by not communicating, making out!

- no use of y/n!

Everyone knows that Clark’s benevolence is anything but ill-inspired. He doesn’t believe you incapable, doesn’t face you with a smug look or egocentric smirk, expect any goodwill or favors in exchange whenever he helps you or anyone else about their daily tasks—or a cup of coffee, on him.

In his head he mulls over the details of your order, —of everyone’s, of course; the heap of sugar that Lois absentmindedly churns into hers, hardly dissolving, (“I party like a rockstar, choir boys!” She defends to Jimmy and Clark) the moderate spoonful Jimmy adds in his, and when it comes to your preference—the miniature cup of cream, cautious spoonfuls of sugar, and exact number by which you swirl your stirrer. But that wasn’t him being any more excessively chivalrous than he already was, right?

Much to the dismay of an internally disgruntled Clark, you fail to see how his regular acts of altruism are especially catered towards you when he does them. He is patient, and if there’s anyone he’s willing to wait for, it’s you—but he’s unsure how to magnify that you’re the main object of his daily affections. At some point he accepts with defeat that you’re not so oblivious to his obvious adoration, just that you won’t requite it.

Stifling down his unwavering desire, he relishes in the way you take a long sip of your coffee, and when you thank him and say “Wow Clark, you could’ve fooled me. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought I’d just made this,” he almost wants to wrap himself in the warm embrace of your appraisal, feeling gratified by your satisfaction over something as simple his mastery over your cup of coffee.

On occasion you seemed especially soft towards him just the same, but Clark boiled every charitable deed down to your character, that you just shared in his goodwill and nothing more—like the time he lost his glasses.

Clark paced around his desk in a frantic haze, turning manila file folders over and shoving binders and stacks of loose leaf paper entirely aside, finally hollering from under his desk, “Has anybody seen my glasses? I remember taking them off for only a second, and—”

He hears you clear your throat from behind him after missing the click of your heels as you sauntered towards his desk. The abrupt sound coupled with his rush to get to you cause him to hit his head against the desk’s bottom and you stifle a little laugh watching his big body struggle from underneath, feeling sorry for him. Slowly he comes out from under, rubbing his poor sore head. He feels overcome with an immediate sense of serenity when he sees you, his missing pair of spectacles in hand.

This time he clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there—,” he starts.

“Don’t be, Clark,” you finish.

He sees your waiting hands nursing his glasses, and before he can mutter a prompt ‘thank you’ or take them for himself, you’re putting them on him yourself, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with a manicured finger.

His breath catches hard in his chest and his eyes zero down in on you as you do it, (vision still fuzzy), your smile cheesy and large on your face and a focused sparkle in your eye. You’re more than happy and willing to do it, so he doesn’t stop you—not like he wanted to.

“All better?” you inquire with a tilt of your head, still looking up at him, giving his still-sore head another rub. All he can do is stand there and nod dumbly, while Lois and Jimmy’s eyes return to their screens when you look back to relieve the feel of brazen eyes behind you after cheekily smiling and watching through the whole exchange. He can only shove down the feeling and the signs that might be pointing in his favor. He needed to be sure.

It never seems to register that your thoughtfulness towards him is reciprocated romantically, even if in the most trivial of ways; that you truly know him and await the invitation to explore the most of obscure trenches you’d yet to get to know of him, to finally be his—like when you’d asked him to come over to your desk and proofread an article you’d just written while you left to the lady’s room. Unbeknownst to him, you’d left a split screen tab open of a love song by The Mighty Crabjoys playing, perfecting timing your departure with the song so that the lyrics aligned with his arrival at your desks with words perfectly encapsulating how you felt about him.

In all fairness, you’d wanted him to know how loudly you’d loved him in the quietest of ways, with as little words as possible. A part of you couldn’t believe a man could be this good and expect nothing in return, and that he could feel as strongly about you when you felt you had so little to offer. Often overcompensating for insecurity and fear of abandonment, you serviced him and others to assure yourself of having some purpose or usefulness, paying extra attention to him, whether it be his quirks and interests or ‘punkrock’ bands he’d loved ardently in his adolescence.

Whenever you’d tell a story to your coworkers or drone about the random events of the weekend, it was always Clark whose eyes yours had the tendency to meet, it was only him you really cared to tell the happenings of your life to—whether they were plain and mundane or eventful. Every now and then you’d narrate to them your close encounters with Superman, who seemed, by sizable coincidence, rather prone to saving you, or at least catching you for small talk in between lifting metal beams above his head or clobbering a wild beast to its knees, much to your confusion. You recalled to Lois, Jimmy and Clark how Superman had once left a monster’s severed green, suctioned tentacle, festering with great big leaves, at the foot of The Daily Planet’s entrance and how you’d glided over the slimy thing, landing right on your bottom.

“And he left this slimy thing—I don’t even know what it was—on the concrete when I was leaving work and you won’t believe how I tripped right over the giant thing, it was just covered in mucus all over the sidewalk so I never stood a chance getting past it unbruised. Green ivy monster tentacle…whatever slimy gross diseases it had on it made me itch for a week.” You told the story with a fit of laughter that encouraged the three to join in, too, making Clark feel better.

He winced a little at first, feeling apologetic at the damage he’d dismissively left unfortunately for you, and you didn’t fail to leave out how remorseful Superman looked as he brought you back to your feet with the creature tailing only mere feet from behind him. That week you’d headlined Superman, on the front page in big bold letters dubbing the story badly, “Superman Shunts Tentacled Green Ivy Monster.” Clark gave you two thumbs up and an amused grin from over the papers across you at his desk only seconds after skimming the headline. Your heart fluttered within your rapidly pounding chest when you smiled back.

Everything you take from one another is with a grain of salt, the fleeting glances (more like stares), lightest flutters of touches before darting away, and compliments especially tailored to one another; you both noticed everything.

Against all odds (besides the subtle implications that there might be something there), Clark decided to make the first real big move to finally initiate something between the two of you. If you really weren’t up to accept his final advance, he wouldn’t let his pride be wounded. He was a man, and he could dismiss the torment of rejection for your sake, because nothing made him happier than doing something for you, and so be it if that something meant letting you go.

For months, Clark thought to carefully plot his way around asking you out—finally settling on a simple but sweet gesture that would shed a light on how he knew you, on how he listened. After all, listening and memorizing seemed to be your shared love language. He’d bought a rather large vase in your favorite color, wrapping it with a ribbon of an accent shade of that color. The vase was filled to its brim with your favorite flowers in a bright, big, bouquet. A tag hung loose around the neck of the vase.

Clark arrived early that morning, awaiting your arrival; you were of the first at your desk when the day began and the regular Daily Planet chaos ensued. All he needed to do was write a date proposal on the tag of the vase.

Somewhere between now and his lost-glasses fiasco, he’d lost the pen you’d given to him one day, in your favorite color, when he’d loosely mentioned how many of his own ran dry and he needed to make a run to the store that day for a refill on supplies. Frantically searching high and low, the glint of the pen caught his eye from afar, on Lois’s desk. He was sure she wouldn’t mind him shuffling through her penholder for it.

In his best handwriting, he scrawled on it, “Unlike slimy green monster tentacles, these won’t give you poison ivy. They’re nicer too, I hope.”

He smiled down at the vase, proud of his work. He turned the tag over to its other blank side to pen the note’s author as well as your name, but all he could get out before hearing the boom of Perry’s voice from his own office was “From Clark.”

“Kent!” Perry squawked at Clark with a furrowed brow, hands on his hips before ushering him to his own office, going on about how he needed to talk about his latest column of the paper and his miraculous interview scores with Superman. He anxiously left the vase there, awry still on Lois’s desk.

Victim to Perry’s droning, he missed you filing in closely after Lois.

“What’ve we got here?” Lois asked rhetorically, immediately seeing the vibrant flowers perched idly on her desk.

“Ugh, must be that hookup from a month ago that keeps showing up at my apartment. God, if he knew anything about me, he’d know I’m sensitive to pollen,” Lois exclaimed, completely missing Clark’s scribbled note and wrinkling her nose in revulsion before letting out a roaring sneeze. You laughed beside her, admiring the gift wistfully and thinking about how lucky you’d be to receive something as simple but grand as this, even if the guy totally failed to think it through especially for Lois. She tossed the vase in the wastebasket beside the coffee hutch before slumping in her seat.

Noticing Clark’s absence and entrapment in Perry’s office in the last ten minutes since you clocked in, you gave him an apologetic glance (which he exchanged with a grateful smile) when you made your way towards the piping hot coffee percolator. Humming to yourself, you stopped in your tracks noticing the tag that Lois had missed to see entirely—the side of it reading “From Clark.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t already believed Clark couldn’t like you back, but to finally have to settle with the reality of it when you had the slightest twinge of hope made you feel completely idiotic. It was like you thought, that this friendship couldn’t foster something more, that the discreet intimate moments you shared and sweet nothings amounted to just that—to nothing. You made your way back to your desk, forgetting your coffee and feeling defeated. The rest of the day you were practically mute and unreceptive to your coworkers’ advances at conversation, leaving them dazed and confused.

Clark wasn’t any more chatty than you. Finally leaving Perry’s office after a good while, his eyes settled on you, eyes completely trained to your screen, and to his great disappointment, noticed your abandoned flowers in the chasm of the coffee station wastebasket. He left out a great sigh of disbelief and anguish, sitting back at his desk to watch you only to notice the way your eyes completely dodging his at every glance.

Only when you were making your way out of the Daily Planet did he make any true efforts to converse about the matter, only hesitating for a moment before calling your name, hoarse and weak, with your back turned towards him.

You swiftly turned your heel to finally look at him, like it didn’t hurt, like the last thing you wanted to do was leave him here in the newsroom lobby, knowing he didn’t deserve it, but that you couldn’t take it, that you couldn’t bear to be here, with him.

“The flowers,” Clark started, eyes fluttering shut with anguish before opening to look back at you. “Why—”

“Clark, you don’t need to explain to me. I just feel stupid for ever thinking that this,” you cut through over him, pointing between the two of you, “could be something. That we were something. And it’s not fair to you that I iced you out for that, and that I can’t just be happy for you trying your shot with Lois, but—

“They were for you,” Clark didn’t bother letting you finish. He couldn’t bear a moment longer of hearing your misconceptions that his affections could be for anyone else but you. Couldn’t you see what you do to him? He looked utterly disheveled standing before you, black curls unkempt atop his forehead glistening with sweat, tie nearly undone and dress shirt unbuttoned some way up the collar, pink lips slightly parted, all tense and distant from the heartbreak he’d endured all in a single work day. The abrupt confirmation that you’d felt the way he did was some consolation in his woe over the principle of the situation and that his efforts at you had almost gone unheard.

You suddenly pitied him, feeling that familiar heart drop. You shuffled your feet, looking down at your heels. “Clark, why didn’t you say anything?” You were meek when you asked, suddenly afraid.

“Why didn’t you?”

His question was rightful as your own, the thousand words you’d been meaning to say to him finally making their way to your lips, in due time after for so long suffocating, choking down within you.

“Clark, I’m no good for you, I could never actually consider that you’d actually want to be with me,” you let out a mirthless laugh as your eyes well to their brims with tears that you fight to keep down.

“How could you say that about yourself?” he asks more to himself more than to you, as he makes his way over towards you, closing the vast gap of air where tension lingered. Clark was not only inherently an empath and raised by a good pair of people. Aside from the virtue that so naturally came to him, like it coursed within his veins, he had to study the mosaic of the human character, acquaint himself with all its complexities, and understand that cynicism didn’t come as easily to him as it did others, understandably so.

If there was nothing in the world to be cynical of, Clark wouldn’t be suited up against ravenous beasts every other day. He had to sympathize with, though he could never understand, that for some odd reason you were riddled with a sense of damaged esteem that made sure you were never made privy to his adoration.

You can only fall silent as the tears finally stream down, feeling vulnerable there before him. The silence stings and thickens the air.

“Let me?” he asks you gently, opening his arms to embrace you, to which you timidly nod. He rests his chin above your head, hunched over.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, feeling even more timid and vulnerable than you. You nod at him with a weak smile when his eyes meet yours, but his lips don’t meet your own. They kiss your tears away, and at your forehead, nose, and quivering chin, and your shaking hands, whispering in between each thing he loved about you, how kind and noble you were for being here in him in this moment, naked from the shell that for so long you’d found solace in, your brains and beauty, how you made him laugh the most of everyone in the office, that being here and working with you was some beautiful luck of the universe and the only great thing he had to look forward to every day, if nothing. That memorizing every incandescent detail about you—from your coffee preferences to the animation with which you narrated your stories, and the crinkles by your eyes when you laughed with him while doing so, was a routine he never would tire of.

When his lips finally meet yours, you’re both warm and calm with a sense of comfort, of togetherness here in this moment. You’re unconcerned with your worthiness to latch on to him, or shy away when his strong hands cup your face, or when he deepens into the kiss passionately.

When he breaks away and the pacific blue of his eyes meet yours, breathing heavily, he says, “We’ll go slow. I want you to trust me, I want you to know how much I really like you, and I like you a lot,” he says and you share in your laughter this time, genuine and hearty.

“I like you a lot too, Clark Kent. Thank you for waiting, for liking me this much,” you say sincerely. He wants to say he doesn’t need nor expect any gratitude for being enamored by you, that it really takes no work, that it’s less task and more instinct, and that you were worth every second of the wait. Before he can open his mouth again, you are pressing your lips to his again and all he can do is melt into it, and hold you.

[oldermenfucker]

Maldives; The Land of Chaos / M. Robinavitch

Summary: you planned this trip a year ago when you had no idea you’ll go to it as exes, especially not after the nasty breakup you experienced.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smutttt, angst, exes to lovers, angry!robby and equally angry!reader, TENSION, jealousy, alcohol consumption, oh but there’s only one bed:(, pining and yearning cause they’re not done yet oops, unprotected sex, breeding ofc, mean!robby a little, fingering, oral(F!), English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 7.3k+

an: this is my piece of work for the Fun In The Sun collab by @robbyology ! Hope y’all enjoy this fic🤭 Comments and reblogs are always appreciated💕 and a very special thank you to my babe @m-robinavitch for brainstorming with meeeeee<3333322

Fuck.

  Yes, fuck is right, so is any other curse word you can think of, as you thank the lady and grab your plane ticket to read it. Fuck. Your seat is next to him, right next to him. If you weren’t so pissed at him, if you made it to this trip as a couple, you would have been overjoyed.

  Not now, though, not when you remember how happily you reserved these seats so you would sit next to each other all throughout the flight. But you weren’t exes back then, and you didn’t experience one of the nastiest breakups of your life.

  “Fuck,” Robby sighs, scratching his chin as he looks down at his own ticket, shaking his head as he walks back to the lady behind the counter, “Listen, Ma’am, can you please check if there are any seats available–“

  “Sir, I’ve checked it for the lady next to you and gave her the same answer: no. Your seats were booked under your name, and the flight is full. We can’t change your seats, I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck,” he groans this time, throwing his head back as he tries not to look so miserable, but you can see it in the way he scrunches his face and runs a hand through his hair. 

  “Move, man, we wanna get our tickets too,” someone nudges Robby gently, and you roll your eyes at the interaction before walking away, hearing a quick ‘sorry’ and a string of curses as he tries to catch up with you.

  “Why are you following me?” You turn around abruptly, making him crash into your chest, but you are lucky he is fast enough to grab you by his arm around your waist and stop you from hitting the ground, “Watch out, grandpa.”

  “I’m not following you, kid,” he lets go of you immediately — as if your skin burned his hand — before he puts some distance between you. “Don’t get your hopes up, this is just a trip.”

  “Yeah? Then why are you following me around with your tail between your legs, Robby?” You glare at him, scoffing when he rolls his eyes and runs a hand over his face, “Don’t do that, it makes you look like you are a breath away from cardiac arrest.”

  “You might send me to one if you keep talking to me like that,” he sighs, his eyes meeting yours, gaze hardening when he sees your smug smirk, “I’m not following you, don’t flatter yourself, kid. Our seats are next to each other, it’s best if we board the plane together.”

  “I thought we were on this trip on our own, Robby,” you cross your arms over your chest, biting your cheek in annoyance, “You do remember that we broke up, right? Maybe the old age is getting to you finally.”

  “Very funny, sweetheart, but the only thing that’s getting to me is your insufferable attitude,” he says, walking past you with an innocent-looking grin, but you know him better than this, “And it wasn’t a we decision, you broke up with me.”

  “Don’t fucking start,” you grumble behind him, grabbing your suitcase and bolting past him towards the chairs without sparing him a single glance, sitting down on the only chair available in the row you saw him going to, “Oh, so sorry. You wanted to sit here?”

  “Forget about it,” he snaps at you, giving you an annoyed smile as he stands next to the seat, looking out of the big window, watching the planes land one by one. He stands with his hands in the pockets of his worn-out jeans — jeans, yes, because it’s Robby and he can’t wear something a bit comfortable even for a flight.

  You sigh and throw your head back against the edge of the chair, looking up at the high ceiling while you count the lights slowly. By accident, of course, you glance at Robby. It would be a lie if you said he didn’t look good. He does look good, straight out of your favorite fairytales, looking good, and it makes you anxious.

  He’s always had that power over you, and he knows it, or perhaps knew, given how shitty your relationship turned during the last few months of it. He knew he could consume your mind all day, making your brain shut down with full trust and simple words when he was around you, having you tremble with pleasure in many different ways.

  You take another look at him, noticing the twitch in his fingers before he buries them in the hair at the back of his head, scratching his scalp and taking a deep breath while you are busy eyeing him up and down.

  “You’re staring.” He announces, turning his head slightly to catch your eyes, the ghost of a smug smirk forming on his face already. You don’t shy away from his gaze, especially not when he notices you pulling on the skin of your lips, watching him closely as his grin widens, “Oh, you are, sweetheart.”

  “I am not,” you hiss, frowning as he shakes his head and leans down to be face to face with you, raising his eyebrow at you when you bite your lip and give him a daring look, “I’m not staring.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  It’s his time to stare at you, watching the quiver of your lips closely and the twitch of your eyelid. There is something hidden behind his big brown eyes, a longing perhaps, or a resentment he’s developed for you.

  “Sir, take my seat,” the old man next to you says, giving the two of you a disgusted look as he shakes his head, “You have a lot to talk about, it seems.”

  “Um, no—“

  “Sit down, don’t make a scene.”

  Robby thanks the guy and sits down immediately, not really wishing to sour his mood more than it already is. He spreads his thighs, his jeans grazing your pants, making you shudder at the barest contact.

  “Do we really have a lot to talk about?” He nudges your knee with his, trying to lighten your mood even though he hates to be here — or so you think.

  “No, we don’t.” You shift your knees to the side, crossing your arms over your chest, squeezing your eyes shut when you feel him let out an annoyed sigh. You do have a lot to talk about. There are many, many things you should talk about, like how his jealousy would piss you off, and he would leave for the night when you confronted him about it. Yeah, you definitely have a lot to talk about, but you don’t want to. Not now. “What are you doing here, Robby?”

  “Going on a trip I’ve paid for?”

  “I had to beg you to pay for your half because you thought we should relax and enjoy our time in the house, yet here you are dragging your ass all the way over to the Maldives.”

  “What is your point, kid?” He turns around fully in his seat to look at you, the lighthearted intentions gone as his tone drops, “I’m here now, you can’t get rid of me, I’m going on this trip.”

  “Don’t call me kid, Robby, I fucking hate it.” You don’t, you just hate how many memories it brings back. “And that’s my point! Why are you going? It’s not like you’re dying to experience this. So? Are you here just to make my life hell?”

  “I deserve this break as much as you do, if not more, kid.” You roll your eyes as he leans on the back of his chair, looking forward, “Not everything is about you.”

  “Oh, hahaha, of course it isn’t.” You sound just like him, and you know it irks him; he has rubbed his personality all over you, and it isn’t a good thing. “But this time it is, isn’t it, Robby? You always say you are too tired, that nothing can ever be good enough to leave the town for a break, but you are here.”

  “I won’t leave because you’re bitching in my ear, I won’t. We will go there and you’ll see me every fucking hour for four days. Get ready for it, sweetheart.”

  “I fucking hate you.”

  “No, you don’t,” he smirks at you, side eyeing you, watching how you seethe silently, “You actually love me, which is really embarrassing for someone who tries to act tough all the time.”

  “I only act like that around you ‘cause you hurt me, asshole,” you spit the words out, throwing one leg over the other, knocking his knee harshly, giving him a fake pitiful look, “Oh, no, sorry, did I hurt you? Boo-fucking-hoo, Robby. I don’t care, just like how you didn’t care.”

  “I’m not leaving,” he says, clutching his knees, rubbing his palm over the place you just hit, inhaling deeply, “Your efforts are in vain, kid. Good luck.”

  “Fuck you,” you hiss, standing up to grab your suitcase when you hear your boarding announcement start through the speakers, “I’m gonna make this trip hell for you.”

  “I would like to see you try.”

  •••

  “Ma’am, I need you to check the villas again. I’m sure there is at least one villa with two bedrooms. I’m begging you, please.”

  “Look, Mrs. Robinavitch—“ you glare at her so hard you are sure your eyes are about to pop out of your skull, but she isn’t phased, she only keeps talking, “We are fully booked, meaning there is no other option for you other than the villa you chose a year ago. Okay? Please enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you,” Robby cuts you off before you start begging the receptionist more than you already have, grabbing the key cards and pointing at the driver who is waiting for you to get in the cart to take you to your villa.

  Robby extends his hand to you after you thank the lady and walk away, but you slap it away and get in the cart without glancing at him, hearing his sharp laughter as he takes the seat next to you, grabbing the front seat when the driver starts taking you to your assigned spot.

  “So I was thinking—“

  “We’re fucked already—“

  “Can you listen for a second? You’ve become so miserable since you started your senior year,” Robby says, looking at you from beneath his lashes, “I was wondering if we could still do—“

  “I’ve always been miserable, and no, we can’t do the shit we booked a year ago when we were too gooey for each other. I’m not gonna go on a date on the beach with you.”

  “We paid… two thousand dollars for that one—“

  “We did?!” You gasp, hiding your face in your hands when Robby nods, “We can’t go.”

  “We have to—“

  “We don’t! We can just… go our separate ways! We don’t need to do anything together—“

  “This is your villa, Mr. Robinavitch.” The cart stops in front of a deluxe over-water villa, and you are reminded by how real this trip actually is, “I’ll bring in your stuff, please, enjoy.”

  You jump down instantly, snatching the key cards from Robby before marching towards the door, swiping the card, and entering the villa; it’s huge. There is a full-length mirror in the hallway, one bathroom on your left, and a few steps to reach the bedroom.

  “Robby?”

  You stand there, in the middle of the room with a defeated look on your face, hands on your hips as you stare at the California King bed right in front of you — huge, blindingly white, clean and ready to be used.

  You could have gotten the best dick of your life if you hadn’t broken up with the man behind you.

  “You’re taking the couch,” you point at the foot of the bed, walking on the patio that connects to the ocean with a staircase, “Ooo, lovely.”

  “I’m not taking the couch,” he follows you, sitting on the said couch, putting his ankle on his knee as he spreads his arms over the back of the cushions, looking at you while you have your back to him. If only he could do it without being reminded of how you weren’t his anymore.

  “Yes, you are, it’s not up for debate.” You turn around, leaning back on the railing, mimicking Robby’s smile, “The bed’s mine after the shit you put me through, so—“

  “The bed is big enough for five grown adults; you don’t need all that space for yourself.”

  “Yes, I do. You sleep on the couch.”

  “Nope,” he shakes his head, walking toward you, standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, “I’ll sleep right next to you.”

  “I hate you,” you grin at him, puffing out your chest and taking a step closer to him, his tummy barely brushing against yours, but you can feel the warmth of his body already.

  “I hate you more, sweetheart.”

  •••

  You take off your clothes the moment Robby slips inside the shower, tiptoeing toward the outside pool you have on the patio next to the staircase leading into the ocean.

  Robby being here won’t change your plans. You wanted to skinny dip in a clean pool and watch the sunset a year ago, and you still do. So, without caring about Robby — you definitely care, it’s kind of a show now — you slip into the warm water, sighing at the feeling enveloping your body.

  You lean on the edge of the pool, resting your head on your forearms while you watch the clouds change colors as they move in the sky. This is exactly why you planned this trip a year ago. The calmness, the silence, the soft breeze, and the smell of the ocean. And a smoking hot ex in the shower.

  Yup. Totally how you imagined it.

  You hear his footsteps: slow, deliberate, and determined. There it is, the beating of your heart and the hope that turns into reality when he approaches the patio. You have set up the steps for him to follow, and he does.

  “Enjoying the view?” He asks, joining you in the pool, but he doesn’t swim to your side; instead, he mimics his earlier pose, leaning on his elbows on the edge of the pool.

  “Yeah, until you came and ruined my moment of peace.” 

  Big mistake, you shouldn’t have turned around to look at him. Fuck, fuuuuuuck, he looks good. Naked as the day he was born, his lower body is covered by the water, his broad chest catching the peachy hues of the sunset, and his eyes twinkle as he stares at you.

  “You’re staring,” he says, running a hand through his hair — still damp from his shower, and fucking hell, the few strands that cling to his forehead are driving you nuts — before his eyes drop to your collarbones and lower, catching the sight of your tits under the water.

  “You wish,” you reply quietly, not knowing how to mask your emotions while he is only two meters away from you — fully naked by the way — and looking at you like you are the reason the sun goes down and the moon comes up, “I’m just enjoying my pool.”

  “So am I,” he shrugs, still not looking into your eyes, running his tongue over his teeth — you can follow the movement even though his mouth is closed, “By staring at you.”

  “Keep looking and I’ll bite you.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a threat,” he smiles at you, watching as you scoff and shake your head, swimming to his side before dragging a nail down his chest, then digging it in his skin, making him hiss, “Oof, kid, you’re down the wrong path.”

  “Good, whatever keeps you away from me,” you smile back sarcastically, patting his chest before putting your palms on the patio, pulling your body out of the water, rolling your eyes when he lets out a low whistle and eyes you up and down, “Pervert.”

  “You love it.”

  “Fuck no.” Fuck yes, but he doesn’t need to know that. You walk away from him, water dripping from your limbs, and he nearly breaks his neck to try and stare at your thighs. “Enjoy the sunset.”

  “I already am.”

  •••

  “Is it too late to walk back to the villa?” You ask, tapping your foot on the soft sand as the two of you stare at the large table and two fluffy cushions on each side, while the waiters place different dishes for you.

  “Yup,” Robby smiles back awkwardly when the waiters stand on the side and wait for him to ask if you need anything else, “No, everything is perfect, thank you.”

  “Fuck, is that lobster? Robby, we paid for a fucking lobster?” You kneel on one of the cushions, examining the dinner table, “Were we fucking crazy?”

  “Not just one, but three because we thought we wouldn’t be full by the end of the date,” he scratches his beard, walking through the sand to reach his cushion, taking off his sandals to sit cross-legged, scanning the table, “Okay, fuck, did we just— order oysters? We never fucking eat these things!”

  “What were we thinking, Robby? This is insane! Can we, like— send them back or something? Thank the chef and write a gratitude letter, and ask for a steak or hell, even a pizza?” You bring an oyster to your nose, smelling it before gagging and putting it down, “Fuck no, I can’t eat this shit.”

  “I mean, at least we’ve got a– what is this?” He turns the golden bottle around, squinting his eyes to read the label before doing a dramatic fall on his back, his head hitting the soft sand, “We’re fucked, sweetheart.”

  “What? What is it?” You reach across the table to grab the bottle, faking a cry as you read the words, “Moet & Chandon Rose Imperial, Case of 24 with Gold Sippers. Robby, you need to fucking talk before I scream.”

  “I don’t have any words to say–“

  “You spent over $500 on a fucking champagne, not just you but me as well. Were we preparing for you to propose to me or something?” You shriek, placing the bottle back on the table, throwing your head back as soon as you feel the evening breeze hit your neck.

  “I mean… yeah, I ordered this with buying a ring in mind…” he groans, sitting up, shaking off the sand from his hair, giving you a bashful smile, “Can’t fault a man for wanting to do you good, can you?”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not together, so I’m not sure how good you did me,” you sigh, before scooting closer to Robby, dusting off the sand from his sky blue shirt, “We’ve paid for everything, might as well enjoy it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, I just—“

  “You couldn’t have known, Robby.” You lean your head on his shoulder, watching as the hot balloons go up in the sky and the sun lowers slowly on the horizon, “Let’s just have a civil dinner for everyone’s sake. The mashed potatoes look delicious.”

  “Yeah, and the little bowls of pasta too,” he nods, kissing the top of your head before you have the chance to move away, and he looks down at his hands when you pat his shoulder and move to sit on your cushion again, “So, champagne to celebrate my failed proposal?”

  “Absolutely,” you grin, watching him while he tries to open the bottle, grabbing the knife nearby before he smashes the top of the bottle, making you scream and hand him a glass, giggling as he pours you the drink while some of the liquid spills on the sand, “You’re fucking messy.”

  “Yeah, well, one of us has to be entertaining!” He smiles fondly. For the first time in months, you are laughing at something he does, not out of sarcasm, anger, or frustration. It’s genuine, out of pure heart, and it sounds all too familiar.

  He’s missed this sound more than he likes to admit.

  “Can we eat the pasta and sneak out of here?” You ask, giving him a shy look, “Take the lobsters and champagne and order a cheap pizza while we drink in the ocean?”

  “Do you have a bag? We should also take the wine—“

  “Oh my god, are you seriously agreeing with this? No complaints, no lectures about how it’s a waste of money–“

  “Nope, nothing,” he shrugs, placing the bottle on the table before he grabs his glass, “Well, cheers to our failed relationship.”

  “Don’t say that! You make it sound like we were a mistake, but we weren’t! You were just controlling—“

  “I wasn’t!” He scoffs, clinking his glass to yours before he drowns the golden liquid, “I just didn’t like seeing men ogle my girlfriend. I don't think it was a bad thing.”

  “Oh, were you now–you know what? Let’s just stop right there. I’m quite enjoying this moment. Don’t fucking ruin it,” you tip your glass toward him, huffing out an exaggerated breath when he only looks at you as if he isn’t saying anything wrong, “don’t do that. I hate when you act like I’m crazy.”

  “Do what? I’m just looking at my girlfriend—“

  “Ex-girlfriend, Robby,” you say through gritted teeth, drowning the rest of your champagne before grabbing one of the pastas and stuffing your mouth with it, talking with a full mouth, “You do that stare thing when you think I’m in the wrong, which I rarely am by the way.”

  “Right, I’m not gonna talk about it anymore,” he sighs and stands up, offering his hand to you, and you look at it for a good minute. For a second, he thinks you are about to push it away, but he is relieved when you place your hand in his palm gently, letting him pull you to your feet without a fuss: “Grab whatever you want, we’re going back to the villa.”

  “Fuck, yes!” You take the champagne bottle after letting his hand fall and give the wine to Robby, picking up the lobster plate as you watch him put his sandals on, “You know, this would have been amazing if we had some music.”

  “I’ll play something on my phone when we get back to our room,” he says, following you out of the area the waiters cleared out for the date, walking shoulder to shoulder with you over the wooden bridge that leads to the overwater villas, “Look.”

  You follow his gaze, watching the sky turn into a bright shade of orange and pink, the image of the sunset falling over the ocean. It’s beautiful, it could have been more beautiful if you could hold his hand, but you have to enjoy the sight for now, with or without him.

  “It’s beautiful,” you say, taking a long sip from the bottle, walking ahead of him toward the villa.

  Robby stays behind for a second, his eyes trailing after you, following every step you take. It is pathetic, it really is, to look at you with heart eyes even though he was the one who caused the downfall of your relationship. If only he had worked on himself back then and regulated his insecurities, maybe you would have given him another chance.

  He takes a good look at you; you are wearing a floral dress that reaches your mid-thighs, clinging to the curves of your body just the right way, and the sight makes him dizzy, reminding him how much of an idiot he actually is.

  He comes inside the villa quickly, finding you on the patio, putting the bottle and the plate on the table before taking off your shoes, walking down the staircase that leads to the ocean, sitting on one of the stairs with your feet in the cool, clear water.

  “Hey, come join me!” You smile, kicking your feet in the water gently, “Bring the champagne too.”

  “Sure,” Robby smiles back and joins you, his large body occupying most of the space, his thighs grazing yours as he drinks from the bottle before handing it to you, his hazy brown eyes watching you closely, “You look beautiful.

  “Thanks,” you reply, suddenly feeling shy at how intense his gaze is. You used to love how he looked at you; so full of love and adoration, like somehow you were the center of his world, and anything other than you was irrelevant. Tonight, he seems like the Robby you love, the one who would feel so comfortable and happy around you, not the one with destructive thoughts that eventually pushed you over the edge.

  “Nothing to thank me for,” he wiggles his toes in the water, pouting a little, “I mean it.”

  “I bought it for tonight, you know? The dress, I mean,” You shrug, taking a swig of the champagne before you give him the bottle, leaning back on your elbow on the upper stair, “I went out a few days after we booked everything, saw the dress and thought you’d like it.”

  “I do, a lot actually,” he grins at you, his wrinkles deepening when you chuckle and shake your head, “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “I do, I do! But,” you scrunch up your nose a little, “I didn’t buy it just for dinner. I thought you’d go crazy over it and we’d have some fun after that.”

  “You’re lucky we’re not together, cause that dress would have been on the floor the moment I saw you in it,” he tells you so casually you think you are hallucinating. His eyes are darker than usual as he rakes them down all over your body, from your toes to your lips, “If only we were together.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do,” he looks away for a second, running a hand down his neck, “I’d have turned into a beast, you know me better than that, sweetheart.”

  “Well, lucky me,” you stand up, approaching the table before you grab a fork and bring the lobster to your mouth, humming at the taste, “I’d have hated you for ruining my vacation by fucking me.”

  “Yeah, lucky you,” he stands up as well, walking past you into the villa and towards the bathroom, “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “'Cause I can’t trust my self-control to keep my hands to myself.”

  And that leaves you breathless.

  •••

  It’s stupid, you tell yourself, it’s probably nothing. You told him you were on this trip as two individuals, not as a couple, not as anything other than two exes. But last night changed everything for you, and you thought he felt the same. But he has been gone the whole day, the clothes he had on yesterday are on the couch, and his phone is on the coffee table. 

  “Don’t,” you whisper to yourself as you put your perfume on. Fine, if he wants to get lost, so can you. You spotted a beach bar this morning, and now, you are determined to go and have some fun because Robby can’t ruin this trip for you; you refuse to let him do that.

  There is a lingering thought in the back of your head, and it is making you anxious. Everything was going so well last night, what changed? Why did he leave without a word before you woke up? And more importantly, why did he say those things if he wanted to disappear a few hours later?

  Doesn’t matter anymore, you walk to the beach bar, white sundress falling on your upper thighs, and your sandals catching some of the sand in them as you make your way further into the area.

  The hotel has done a wonderful job in making the atmosphere welcoming, and as much as you like to enjoy your surroundings, you can’t. Not when you notice Robby laughing at another girl, flashing her that sickeningly charming grin.

  It feels as if someone’s dumped an entire bucket of ice on you. Of course, he would go around and have fun, of course he would enjoy his vacation to full potential, of course, you were being delusional about making progress with him, and hoping for another chance.

  You walk a bit closer, taking a good look at both of them; he is leaning into her, and so is she. She looks older than you, probably mid-forties, and fuck, she is beautiful, and definitely Robby’s type.

  You feel sick to your stomach, and each quick and shallow breath you take in doesn’t help because your heart is racing a mile. You can’t do anything but watch her raise her hand and rest it on his biceps. He glances down at where she is touching him, looking up and giving her a very soft smile.

  You look away instantly, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you start to taste the metal. You need to get away from the scene as soon as you can, so with shaky legs, you take long strides to go to the other side of the bar.

  Sitting on a stool, you wait for the bartender to come and ask for your order. You wish he would come sooner because, unfortunately, you are sitting where you can see them laughing and chatting.

  “What can I get ya?”

  “Gin Tonic with a twist, make it two,” you say, tapping your fingers on the countertop while you try to take your eyes off the scene in front of you. It’s impossible, even though the bar is crowded and music fills the space, you can still hear Robby’s rich laughter across you.

  What you wouldn’t do to make him laugh like that, but someone has already taken your place, it seems.

  “Is this seat taken?” a man a few years older than you asks you, waiting for you to reply, and when you shake your head no, he sits down and rests his forearms on the countertop. “It sucks to be alone in this place.”

  “Tell me about it…” You agree, thanking the bartender when he brings your drinks, gulping down one so fast you feel your throat burning for a good few minutes, face twisting, and eyes squeezed shut, “Fuck!”

  “Rough night?” The man next to you chuckles awkwardly, sipping on his drink while he looks at you with an amused expression.

  “Yeah, unfortunately,” you take a good look at him, and you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t handsome. He is tall, muscular, with curly brunette hair and flushed cheeks. He is a beautiful guy, pleasant to the eyes, but no one compares to the man you have in mind.

  You glance across the bar, finding Robby already looking at you curiously, his fingers wrapped around his glass while the woman sitting next to him keeps talking. You turn your attention back to the man next to you, smiling softly at him before you start nursing your second glass.

  “I’m not really alone, you know,” you sigh and resume talking, “I’m here with my ex, actually. This was supposed to be our dream trip, but meh, nothing is going the way we thought it would.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Oh god, no please, don’t pity me—”

  “It’s not pity! I’m sorry he was that undeserving of you,”  he shrugs, grinning when you hit his arm playfully, “I’m serious! You’re so beautiful, I had to leave my sister alone just to shoot my shot.”

  “You are here with your sister?” you ask, turning fully toward him, suddenly feeling the burning sensation of a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. “Why would you come on a trip like this with your sister?”

  “It’s her honeymoon, and I don’t know, somehow her husband had a spare ticket, and here I am!”

  “You’re not here to ruin her honeymoon, are you?”

  “I won’t as long as you let me buy you a drink.”

  “Oooo, okay, I mean, it’s better than sharing a room with your—”

  “Sweetheart?”

  Speaking of exes, there he is — Robby with a smile that can kill a man from ten miles away, standing behind you, hands pushed into the pockets of his beige linen shorts. If he didn’t look too good, you would have slapped him across the face. You might do it anyway because he looks down at the man next to you like he wants him dead.

  “That’s your ex—”

  “Boyfriend, actually!” Robby beats you to it: “Should we leave now?”

  “No, we were talking,” you hiss at him, turning back to the man in front of you. Two can play this game, Robby. “I’m so sorry, he has always been like this.”

  “Get up, sweetheart, we had plans for the night.” he glares at you, and you glare back, standing up, but before he can hold your hand, you grab your glass and throw your drink on him, soaking his shirt completely.

  “Fuck you, Robby,” you march past him, not bothering to check and see if he is following you, but you are sure he is with how heavy his footsteps fill the open air, “I can’t believe you! How much of a fucking asshole you have to be to ruin my night like that?”

  “I didn’t ruin anything—”

  “You’re a fucking hypocrite! You can go and flirt with every woman you can get your hands on, but the second someone shows interest in me, you are scaring them away!” you scream, swiping your key card before pushing the door of the villa open, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, pacing the space around the bed, “What do you want from me, Robby?”

  “I’m not gonna watch someone else flirt with you—”

  “Robby! Oh my fucking god, do you hear yourself?” You cry out, “You can’t let others flirt with me, but you also get insecure because someone is nice enough to approach me! ‘I don’t deserve you, kid.’ Yeah, you fucking don’t because you can’t get it into your thick fucking head that maybe, just maybe I want you and nobody else! That I have never led them on, and it was you who couldn’t see my efforts.”

  He doesn’t say anything, he just stares at you with teary eyes, his lips trembling as he watches you walk around the room, rubbing your arms to soothe yourself. He takes a step closer, speechless and shocked.

  “I saw you with her, someone closer to your age, someone who isn’t like me, Robby, and you looked happy! And I understand why you’d get jealous because fuck, I wanted to throw up when I saw the way she looked at you,” you heave, wiping your tears away, “And I thought, was I so neglectful that I couldn’t make him feel secure in our relationship? Did I not show how much he meant to me—hmmm!”

  Robby kisses you so hard that you stumble back, clinging to him to keep yourself steady while you try to kiss him back. There is nothing sweet in the way he moves his lips against yours; it’s forceful, full of unresolved emotions, pent-up anger, and passion.

  You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close while he leads you toward the bed, his hands roaming your body with one thought in mind — he has to make it up to you.

  “You’re such a hypocrite,” you mumble against his lips as he trails his kisses down to your neck, grabbing the hem of your dress and pulling it off, your bra and panties following it closely — too fast, you don’t even have time to react because he is so desperate for you.

  “You can cuss me out as long as I get to eat your pussy,” he says and grabs the back of your thighs and drops you on the bed, pulling off his shirt as soon as he can before he crawls on top of you and begins to kiss a path down from your belly button.

  “I hate you—” you gasp when he bites your inner thigh, throwing your knees over his shoulders while he nibbles at your flesh, making his way to your aching pussy.

  “Yeah, I know, sweetheart.” And with that, his mouth engulfs your cunt, tongue flat against your wet folds as he drags the thick muscle up and down, enjoying how you buck your hips and grab his head.

  There is not a single thought in Robby’s head, not one, and it shows by how he is eating you out like a man starved. Months without getting to touch you, days spent together in the Pitt, yet you have been too far away from him, and now he finally has you where he wants you, where you want to be too.

  “Fuck, Robby!” you let out a shaky breath when he wraps his lips around your buzzing clit, humming as he starts hollowing his cheeks, his beard burning your skin as he feasts on you. You pull on his hair, thrusting your hips up, whining when he pushes you down with his forearm on your lower abdomen, “You’re such a loser.”

  “Oh, yeah? Tell me more, sweetheart,” he dives back in, flickering his tongue over your sensitive bud while he brings his fingers to your fluttering hole, circling the entrance with the tip of his finger before he pushes in, making you hum and go rigid in his hold.

  “Fucking pathetic,” you moan out, digging your nails into the back of his neck, “Thinking I wanted other men— ah, Roh-bbyy– I can never do that to you.”

  He adds another finger, stretching you open, relishing in every sound you make as he scissors you open with his digits, listening to the way your breath hitches when he curls his fingers inside you while his tongue does wonders on your clit.

  You can’t hold back anymore, your orgasm crashes into your body like a truck, leaving you a moaning mess under Robby’s touch. Your legs shake on his shoulders, your release coating his face as he pulls his fingers out immediately and shoves his tongue inside you, drinking you up as best as he can.

  You lie on the bed, breathless and shaky, when he gets rid of his shorts and crawls on top of you, dragging his teeth on your skin until he reaches your open mouth, pushing his tongue into the cavity and humming when you start sucking on it, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him locked to your body, tasting yourself on his tongue.

  “Still think I’m a loser?” he asks, pressing his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes as he reaches between your bodies to grab hold of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few times.

  “I’ll always think you’re a loser,” you peck the corner of his lips, arching your back when you feel him running the tip of his cock between your drenched folds, tapping your clit a few times with his member before he lines it up with your hole.

  “Well, this loser is about to fuck you.”

  “Good, just do it fa-aah!” You can’t finish your sentence because he bottoms out in one swift thrust, feeding you all his cock in a single move, punching the air out of your lungs, “Robby!”

  “I should have fucked you in front of him,” he groans into your ear, his larger body covering yours entirely as he picks up his pace, driving his dick in and out over and over, “Pretty boy thinking he’s got a chance with you.”

  It’s been quite a while since the last time you slept with anyone, and the last time was with him anyway. He is stretching you out deliciously, making your eyes roll to the back of your head with each thrust. He is pouring everything he’s felt during the past few months into fucking you, and boy, is he doing a great job.

  You claw at his back, wailing out his name in pleasure. It should feel wrong; he is your ex, and yet, you’ve never felt closer to him than you are now. You throw your head back, spine arching off the bed as the fat tip of his cock hits your cervix repeatedly, making your body pulse in delight.

  You can’t fight off your climax, nor can he. It’s kind of ironic how you both come at the same time, as if your bodies are synced even after a breakup.

  You gush around him with a moan of his name, head buried in his neck, and teeth sinking into his flesh while he groans into your hair, movements faltering as he comes deep inside you, pushing his hips into yours roughly, making sure you take everything he is giving you.

  “You are a real loser for coming so fast.”

  “Says the one who came twice in twenty minutes.”

  •••

  You toss and turn on the bed, reaching mindlessly for Robby, but you are only met with his empty space. Sitting up slowly, you spot him on the patio, sitting on one of the chairs, staring off into the horizon. You stand up, grabbing the cover and wrapping it around your naked body before approaching him.

  “Hi,” you say, smiling gently at him, and he returns it without a second thought, his grin reaching his eyes — it’s been a while since you were the reason for his smile, and it feels great to do it again.

  “Hey, c’mere,” he spreads his legs a bit, pulling you on top of him gently, and you take your time to cover his naked body, except for his boxers. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “Wanted to ask you the same thing,” you mumble, laying your head between his neck and shoulder, enjoying the warmth his body provides. “You were gone, I thought you might have ditched me again like yesterday.”

  “Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hips, resting his head on top of yours, “I was craving a cigarette so bad, I had to distract myself.”

  “Good,” you nuzzle your face in his neck completely, kissing his pulse point quickly, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “You wanted to skin me alive a few days ago,” he chuckles at your groan, holding you tighter against him.

  “Yeah, well, I still wanna do that, so you're treading on thin ice, mister,” you tell him, wrapping one arm around him, gently scratching the nape of his neck, knowing how he calms down immediately, “You shouldn’t have done that last night.”

  “I’m sorry,” He sighs, “I just… sometimes I can’t control my thoughts, it’s fucked up, I know that, but… I keep thinking about how someone your age could treat you better, someone who doesn’t come with a heavy emotional baggage—”

  “Robby, look at me.” You cup his cheek, forcing him to listen to you, “If I wanted someone like that, I’d be with him. But I don’t want that, I want you, with all your stupidity and your jealousy to some extent, because when we were together… it would get out of hand sometimes.”

  “I know, I’m so sorry about that. I’m trying, I’m really fucking trying.”

  “That’s amazing, and we will talk about it later when we get back to Pittsburgh, okay? Let’s just enjoy our time for now.” You kiss him softly, and he reciprocates without hesitation, but the moment is cut short when Robby pulls back suddenly.

  “We have to go out in a few hours.”

  “Why?” you ask, kissing his cheek down to his jaw, enjoying how his beard scratches your face.

  “Because I just remembered we’ve booked two jet skis for an hour—”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? How the fuck are we gonna— you’re not serious, are you?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately, I am, and we paid for it.”

  “This has to be our last vacation for a while,” you poke his chest, giggling when he brings the finger up to his mouth and bites it gently, “Only road trips from now on, at least they are less chaotic.”

[eveningcherryblossoms]

It's A Beta Life, Not A Better Life | Part 15

A platonic yandere Batfam x neglected beta reader story

Time and place: A deserted highway at dusk, the sky red as fresh blood with black lurking around the edge.

Character: On one side, you, Reader S, and Duke Thomas. Across you and Duke, the Bat-slash-Wayne pack, comprising of Batman-slash-Bruce-Wayne, Nightwing-slash-Dick-Grayson, Red-Hood-slash-Jason-Todd, Red-Robin-slash-Timothy-Drake and Robin-slash-Damian-Wayne.

Background: You, biologically the child of Bruce Wayne, had been neglected by him and his pack for the whole nine years you lived with them after your mother's death. Six months ago, upon your sixteenth birthday, you presented as a beta, otherwise known as the inferior gender despite the fact that the presence of betas was integral in packs. Revolted at the prospect of receiving 'family love' solely on account of your secondary gender, you decided to hide the truth and train yourself in preparation to leave once you were of age.

Unfortunately for you, this afternoon the Waynes had communicated with each other and come to the suspicion, if not the realization that you were neither an alpha nor an omega like them. Having eavesdropped on their chat and thus known that you were in danger, you resolved to flee the city–regardless of you still being underage–only to be attacked by the freaking Joker who just escaped from Arkham Asylum. You managed to fend him off and even reached the bay to Metropolis... But right at the moment you spotted your friend and fellow beta Duke being taken by Joker's goons.

In defiance to rationality, you proceeded to turn back to save Duke. You chased the van carrying him and the goons to an abandoned warehouse where Joker awaited, and snuck in right before the Bats entered. You continued sneaking until you could reach Duke and untie him while Robin was struggling to release the other hostages.

As it happened, Robin realized your identity–right in time to intercept a sneak attack intended for you. Said attack being a forbidden serum that could instantly turn an alpha like his original self into an omega... with the side effect that, should he not get scented by his pack beta in time, he would die from overheating. And you, well.

You were not Robin's pack beta. But you could scarcely leave your little brother to die like that, especially considering he got attacked to save you. So you saved him, because pack or not he was your little brother.

Oh yeah, Robin was your little brother Damian. You were today years old when you found out the Waynes and the Bats were one and the same.

And now here you were, standing on the paved road facing the Bats. As you saw them standing there across of you, you couldn't help feeling bitterly amused.

Look, the mighty Bats, the protectors of Gotham who flew in the night sky. Currently forced down to the ground like the rest of humanity.

The gun you looted off Joker burned against your side where you had it tucked. Your fingers itched to shoot. Your legs strained to run.

Your heart–

Your heart bled. Damned if you had an idea why, but it did.

Regardless, you didn't show anything. Not only was your face covered with a visored helmet and a gas mask still, your body language remained impassive. There was another shred of bitter joy in your mind at the realization that the Bats were visibly less put-together.

Glancing at Duke, you murmured, "You don't have to stay here with me, you know."

Duke retorted immediately, "I've followed you so far, you think you can just ditch me?"

Warmth filled your bleeding heart at that, like a blanket wrapped around a stabbing victim. Thanks to your mask, you didn't have to bother concealing your fond smile before it vanished at the sound of one of the Bats speaking.

"Reader."

You didn't hesitate responding with a mocking tone.

"Batman."

Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father in name only pressed his lips in a line. "Show us your face," he ordered before belatedly adding, with clenched teeth, "Please."

Truly an effective way to make you want to obey him. Ha.

You smirked behind the mask you pointedly did not remove. "No, thank you. I'm sure you lot can hear me just fine like this anyway."

Batman opened his mouth probably to give you another order, but Nightwing impatiently cut in, Robin's unconscious form carried on his back.

"Puppy, you have been a beta all along?"

The question would have been manageable, had it not been for the hopeful tone Nightwing used, complete with the undertone of you have been our pack beta all along? that even a deaf person could detect. As it was, you were barely able to refrain from recoiling in disgust and fear.

Calm down, you told yourself. You needed all your wits about you while you were confronting the Bat-Wayne pack.

"A beta, yes," you laid stress on the first word, and quirked your lips downward when the Bats predictably ignored it.

"Why didn't you tell us?!" Red Robin shouted. "Gods, all these months–that's–why did you lie to me you were an omega?!"

"And why are you, an unbonded beta, walking around Crime Alley alone?" Red Hood snarled. "For that matter, why are you attending Park Row High without telling anybody in the pack?"

"Reader," Batman growled. "You have much to explain."

You deliberately remained silent for a few more seconds, arms crossed and backside leaning against your bike. It was only when Red Hood lost patience and began stomping towards you that you spoke up.

"You know, if I hadn't been listening in to your conversation this afternoon, I would have been baffled," you drawled. "After all, why would the Bat pack, the vigilantes of Gotham, randomly talk to me as if I were one of their own?"

They suddenly went silent and stiffened. Though you couldn't see it due to their masks, you dared wager they were nervously eyeing each other, as if only realizing–

"Y, you didn't know? No one told you?" Red Robin asked, incredulous.

"When did we ever interact long enough for any of you to say something like that?"

"Oh my God, nobody told you..."

Nightwing staggered, Robin's body precariously tilting off one shoulder as he hurriedly steadied the unconscious kid.

"Reader–Puppy," he began, voice desperate. "Why didn't you tell us? We would've been so happy–"

"Exactly." You nodded, causing Nightwing to stop and gape in shock. Then to make things clearer, you added, "I don't want to make you happy. I don't want to be your pack beta."

The way the Bat-Wayne pack took it, you might as well have said that you wanted to be a beggar. Something unfathomably ridiculous. As if being their pack beta was something great instead of horrifying.

(You ignored the little voice in your mind pointing out how, had you presented as anything except a beta, you would've been touched to be accepted in the pack.)

(After all, being a beta, you knew that that was entirely why they'd accept you.)

Red Robin stumbled forward, actually pushing a stunned Red Hood to one side as he spluttered, "What do you mean you don't want to be our pack beta? You are our pack beta, it's not–you can't just say no!"

Had you presented as an alpha or an omega like them, would you have acted just as entitled to betas?

The thought disconcerted you. You cast a guilty look Duke's way–not that he could have seen it–before responding,

"One needs to be a pack member before one can be a pack beta."

It wasn't always the case, of course. But in this case? Red Robin did imply that you were their pack beta because you were already pack.

Nine and a half years' worth of memory, none of which had you being included in pack activities, attested that you had never been pack. Merely a random, unwanted addition.

The Bat-Waynes didn't seem to agree with that, judging from the stricken looks on their faces–Nightwing's and Red Robin's anyway–as well as the hurt anger in their scents.

How nostalgic. It reminded you of your first time meeting Dick, and of Jason's funeral. Dick's and Bruce's scents hadn't had this undertone exactly, but they were just as awful.

You were brought out of your reverie as Batman, in a move that shocked you, actually took off his cowl.

Duke gasped. You probably did too, but you were transfixed on that face. Your father Bruce's face. You last saw it... When exactly? That day he went to your room, so six months minus one day ago?

He looked tired. Exhausted, really. Sad, too. And bafflingly–

Disappointed.

Like he got any right to be.

Tone saccharine, you asked, "Something the matter, Bruce?"

Bruce's already stiff face stiffened even more. He sent you a look that could have passed as a glare if not for the hurt, pathetic aura about him. You pointedly did not take pity on the man, and boy were you glad for your decision considering what he proceeded to say without an ounce of guilt or shame:

"You must not act like this, Reader. You are my child and our pack member, no matter what you think."

No matter what you thought, that bastard said?

As if your thought was wrong?

It was only by sheer self-control that your arms remained crossed, despite your dominant hand's fingers itching for the Joker's gun. Your mouth, however, couldn't stop itself from coldly replying to Bruce.

"Now that's just funny," you said. "Because I sure don't recall a single time you–any of you–treated me as pack."

Bruce faltered. "Surely–Alfred–"

"Mr Pennyworth is an admirable butler," you sneered.

Bruce turned around to his children, but before he could say a word, Red Hood harshly took off his helmet then peeled off the domino mask he had on underneath.

"Hold it right there! You don't talk about Alfred with that kind of tone!" He barked.

You wanted to laugh.

"I understand that Mr Pennyworth acts more in the capacity of a benevolent grandfather to you," you cooed. "But to me, he has always behaved in the capacity of a proper butler. Capable. Placid. Politely indifferent. Never a pack member."

If possible, the Bat-Wayne pack appeared more stricken at that.

You rolled your eyes. "And even if he is–which he is not–that doesn't automatically make me pack, duh. He would've only been part of my pack. You can't have others do your job for you and claim it as yours, Mr Billionaire."

You didn't spare a pale Jason another look, nor did you heed Nightwing and Red Robin trading uneasy glances at the back.

(You did think about Robin. Damian. Was he all right now? Why was he still unconscious? Why didn't any of them drop him off first at wherever their base was?)

You kept your eyes trained on Bruce, who looked back at you with some emotions you couldn't begin to decipher. Eventually he spoke again.

Softly, gently, as guiltlessly and shamelessly as he did before.

"I love you, pup."

Had Joker's gun been in your hand, you would've shot him dead.

"I don't believe you."

Bruce had the gall to look hurt at your response. Not blatantly perhaps, but more than enough for Nightwing to step up and defend him.

"Puppy," he tried to say soothingly. "Look, we get that you're upset with us now–"

"I'm not," you interrupted. "I'm indifferent about you guys now."

Because the opposite of love was not hatred but indifference.

For a moment Nightwing's lips tightened into a thin line, but the performer side of Dick Grayson quickly took control. "We get that you're upset with us now." He smiled, pure and serene like effing Bodhisattva despite the undoubtedly petty decision to continue calling you 'upset'. "We also acknowledge that we have failed you in many ways as a pack. You do deserve better than what you've received so far, Reader. You are worth it."

Counting 1, 2, 3...

"But don't you think you are being a little too harsh? We are your pack, puppy. You must not be rash and alienate us so quickly. We're just looking out for you, because we want what is best for you. Can't you give us another chance and let us make amends?"

Called it. Of course he would try to manipulate you.

You were tempted to unmask just so they could see you beaming, but opted to stay prudent just in case. So you just answered, "Mm, no, I can't. My bad."

He hadn't taken off his domino mask, but you just knew the corner of his eyes was twitching in anger.

Batman done, Red Hood done, Nightwing also done. That left Red Robin as the only one to try persuading you, and the guy did hastily moved to do just that.

"Reader, please understand," he pleaded. "It's not like we want to neglect you! We're just–everyday there's something. We're so busy all the time and you're not one of us so you won't get it, but–stuff just gets–not forgotten, but... lowered in priority. We couldn't come to your school play when there was an intergalactic war we had to prevent from happening! We couldn't take care of your scrapes when the rogues were terrorizing the city! Please understand!"

You tilted your head up, looking at the sky above. The lurking black had yet to completely hide the red. The buildings on either side of the road were unused and dark, but a lone street lamp flickered to light. A plan began to brew in your mind.

"I do understand." Turning towards Red Robin (Tim? Why did you differentiate between their real names and aliases anyway?), you added, "What you don't understand is that regardless of the reason, you lot still neglected me. Were it not for the Wayne's money and reputation, I would have been removed from your pack's custody years ago. I don't trust your pack with my well-being."

Red Robin opened his mouth, hesitated, and ended up not speaking. His shoulders slumped.

For a short minute, no one else moved. No one else spoke. Then Bruce did one more time.

"You will not stop denying that you are our pack beta, then?"

You nodded.

He nodded. "Then we can only bring you back home by force."

At that, everyone exploded into movement.

You aimed and shot.

Taglist: @randomlyappearingartist @bellethesleepypotato @nirvanaxx1942 @tenswife @galaxypurplerose @shycreatorreview @cupid73 @time-shardz @mikusamsan @simpingpandas @kore-of-the-underworld @elmichi0 @farsketch @altumsomnum @hai-there-how-are-you @vanessa-boo @ashjade19 @yandere-enthusiast @a-lurking-fae @hyperfixatedcatlover @leeiasure @luckynemi @lowkeyjarrr @lunoorbonoor @deathbynarcisstick @tacendxx @staarflowerr @magical-panda2 @whognuthis @arwenyukiamoto @hon3ydewcaram3l @lilyalone @jazzyspaceghost @teabutnerdy @bunbunbread @darktrashpoetry @conqcakes @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @unrelatedlily @ciatin @ratchetprime211 @mybones537 @anonasatoruu @vikkus-main @shqyou @sitepathos @ee-1ovelifedownthedrain @totallynotacat13 @ratterpatter @hayourdadgon

[kissandtellus]

Dodged a Bullet: Sylus Pregnancy Story

Synopsis: Sylus has faced so many dangers in his life. But who knew a pregnant wife would be his hardest battle yet!

Warnings: Mentions of birth, Sylus is a lil overbearing, use of Evol, Smut, car smex, Fluff, MC is a brat, Sylus is the brat tamer.

Luke and Kieran trail behind you like anxious shadows, their plague masks tilted in sync as they eye your every move. Especially how one of your hands rests protectively over the small swell of your belly. The twins had taken their role as "guardians of the pregnant queen" with alarming seriousness since Sylus left for a meeting at Elysium.

Kieran, ever the more vocal twin, nudges a stray pillow out of your path with his boot before it can trip you up. "Boss would skin us alive if you even stubbed a toe on his watch," he grumbles.

Luke, quieter but no less intense, hovers near your elbow like an overgrown watchdog, silently judging how fast you’re walking. "...Shouldn't we slow down?" he finally mutters after three laps around the penthouse, voice muffled behind his mask.

From its perch on the chandelier, Mephisto caws loudly in agreement (or mockery—hard to tell). The metallic gleam of its feathers matches Luke and Kieran's unamused masks as they exchange glances that scream: We are not paid enough for this.

Then again... Sylus did pay them well above what he probably should.

He'd probably just laugh at their suffering. And then pay them double.

You pause by the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching your reflection and the twins' hovering silhouettes behind you. "I think I can handle walking without an armed escort," you tease, patting your stomach. "Unless we're expecting an ambush... from the fruit bowl?"

Kieran groans. “Please don't joke about that. Boss once had us raid a grocery store because he thought the oranges looked suspicious."

Luke nods solemnly, adjusting his gloves with military precision. "...They were very round."

Mephisto chooses that moment to dive-bomb Kieran’s head with another ear-splitting caw—clearly agreeing (or demanding snacks). You barely stifle a laugh as chaos erupts, Kieran swatting at the crow while Luke sighs and starts texting Sylus under his breath

“Send backup” or maybe just “Why me."

Mephisto lands on your shoulder and you narrow your eyes at the stubborn bird. “What? Are you going to start chastising me too?”

Mephisto cocks its metallic-feathered head, beady eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to smugness as it lets out a sharp, mocking caw, directly into your ear.

Luke immediately stops typing and raises his head like a soldier hearing gunfire. "It's telling Boss," he announces gravely, as if reporting an act of treason.

Kieran crosses his arms with a huff still swiping crow feathers off his jacket. “Great. Now we’re gonna get another lecture about ‘letting her overexert herself.’ Like you don’t sprint into battle zones for fun." His voice drips with sarcasm before he throws up his hands dramatically. "Oh nooo, pregnant wives shouldn't lift forks without supervision—"

On cue, your phone vibrates ominously in your pocket:

SYLUS ✧ lights up the screen. The preview reads:

> Kitten. Sit down. Before I call in an actual army to drag you there myself~ ♡

...Meanwhile, Mephisto preens on your shoulder like the winged snitch it is.

Your eye twitches as you stare at the bird right in its snitchy eyes. “You know, I’m hungry-“ you lean in closer, “-suddenly craving bird.” You snap your teeth like fangs at the mechanical beast.

Mephisto screeches defiantly in your ear but flutters to a nearby lamp, clearly unimpressed with your threats.

Luke clears his throat nervously, “Miss Y/n... Boss said 'or else.'”

Kieran huffs, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes as he mutters under his breath, "...Told you she's scarier than the boss."

Then your phone vibrates again:

> I'll be back in 10. If you're not sitting down in 3, you will have other reasons for not being able to sit~♡

You pick up your clutch, an expensive piece of accessory Sylus bought for you, and hurl it at Mephisto. “Stop snitching!”

Mephisto squawks indignantly, but deftly dodges the clutch with a fluttering of metallic feathers. It perches atop the chandelier, the better to glare down at you with avian disdain.

Next to you, Luke and Kieran are trying to stifle their laughter while watching you argue with a crow. Luke checks his watch and murmurs to Kieran, “Time's almost up."

Meanwhile, your phone's buzzing like a persistent fly. Sylus' messages have upgraded from mere teasing to threats (albeit deliciously worded ones).

Kieran nudges you toward the couch with surprisingly gentle hands. Hisplague mask hides his smirk, but you can sense his amusement. "*Boss is right. You'll just make it worse for yourself if he has to come in here and force you to 'comply.'"

Luke, ever the practical one, nods in agreement. "...And we really don't need the world ending because Boss saw you standing up for too long."

As you sink into the plush cushions of the couch, Mephisto squawks triumphantly from its chandelier perch.

With a grumble, you flop onto the couch, arms crossed like a petulant child. "You're all traitors," you mutter, shooting daggers at Mephisto. "Especially you."

The crow lets out what can only be described as a laughing cackle.

Kieran leans against the armrest, his smirk evident even behind his mask. “Face it, you’re stuck here till Boss gets back." His tone is far too pleased for someone whose job description technically includes running errands, not restraining pregnant women from wreaking havoc.

Luke meanwhile, has already fetched your discarded clutch and set it neatly on the coffee table (along with two more decorative pillows to ensure maximum ‘comfort enforcement’). He straightens up and nods in satisfaction before pulling out his phone again—probably updating Sylus with some kind of security report like:

- **Subject secured.**

- **Hostility level: Mildly annoyed.**

- **Requesting snacks as appeasement strategy.**

And just when you think things couldn’t get worse… the penthouse doors swing open with an ominous click. A familiar low drawl cuts through the air like honey.

"Now, now... what do we have here?" Sylus strides in with that effortless, predatory grace of his—his sharp red eyes landing on you like he already knows exactly how much mischief you’ve tried to get into in his absence.

Mephisto flaps down immediately and lands on his shoulder, cawing victoriously as if delivering a full report.

Kieran and Luke instantly snap to attention, stepping back like they weren't just conspiring against you five seconds ago. The cowards.

Sylus tilts his head, smirking as he flicks open the takeout bag in his hand—because of course he brought food after ordering your confinement. “Hungry enough to try eating my crow now, kitten?" He tsks playfully before dropping onto the couch beside you with that infuriatingly smug ease of a man who won without lifting a finger. His free hand slides around your waist possessively as he leans in, lips brushing your ear while cooing.

“Should I be jealous? Or should I just remind you… who tastes better?"

You grumble and snatch the food from him. “I think we should use Mephisto for target practice.” You ruff, pointing a finger gun at the crow and making a noise like an unleashed bullet.

Sylus chuckles, utterly unfazed by your threat to use his crow as target practice. “And who would wake you up in the mornings?" he asks with a teasing smirk.

Mephisto squawks in agreement but quickly dodges your finger-gun gesture like a well-trained acrobat.

Damn bird.

The smell of food wafts through the air, and despite your efforts to play it cool, your stomach rumbles in betrayal. Sylus' eyes gleam with amusement, even as he smoothly moves you into a more comfortable position against his side.

Damn him too.

His voice drops to a husky murmur, "Open wide, kitten."

The food has already been plated and cut into bite-sized pieces, perfectly arranged like a five-star meal.

Of course it is.

Sylus picks up a morsel, his dark red eyes watching you intently as he holds it to your lips. No doubt there's some kind of lesson here about obedience and patience, but your hunger has officially won out over any lingering defiance. You open your mouth, taking the bite without further protest.

Sylus looks utterly pleased as he continues feeding you, an indulgent smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Good girl," he purrs between bites, his free hand stroking your belly. The touch is almost reverent, a silent promise of protection and care.

Mephisto, ever the attention-grabbing cockatoo, decides that this is the perfect moment to start preening atop Sylus' head. You watch the crow carefully, not entirely convinced its motives are pure. Is it trying to spy for Sylus? Distract you somehow? It’s definitely planning something...

Sylus's smirk deepens as he catches your narrowed gaze at Mephisto. "Stop glaring at the bird," he chides, his voice laced with amusement. "It'll think you actually have a problem with it." He tilts his head slightly, just enough for Mephisto to slide down onto his shoulder like some kind of gothic parrot and feeds you another bite, slow and deliberate.

Then, just when you least expect it, Mephisto leans in close... and nips your finger.

"Ow!" You jerk back dramatically (it didn't even hurt). “Did you just order an assassination attempt on me?"

Sylus laughs outright this time, the sound rich and unguarded as he grabs your wrist to inspect the imaginary wound, his thumb brushing over the spot where Mephisto’s beak barely grazed skin before pressing a teasing kiss there instead.

"My little hunter..." His eyes gleam like molten garnet in the penthouse lights: equal parts pride and mischief glinting back at you from beneath dark lashes... before dropping pointedly toward where his food offering sits ignored now that theatrics have taken priority again.

But you being hormonal and tired of Mephisto’s antics, tear up. “Sy….” You hiccup back a sob, lower lip trembling. “He hurt me and you promised to protect me…”

Sylus’ smirk vanishes instantly, replaced by a flash of raw, lethal protectiveness. His grip tightens around your wrist, his other hand coming up to cradle your cheek as he scans your face for any trace of real pain.

Mephisto wisely senses the shift in atmosphere and takes flight toward the chandelier before Sylus can decide whether to punt it out a window.

"Shh. Look at me." His thumb brushes away an escaping tear with shocking gentleness, a stark contrast to the murderous glare he shoots over his shoulder at Luke and Kieran, who have frozen mid-step like deer in headlights.

Kieran is already pulling out his phone:

> Luke: ...Should we call someone? Like an exorcist? For Mephisto??

> Kieran: NO TIME JUST HIDE THE BIRD—

Sylus turns back to you, voice dropping into that dangerously soft purr that spells doom for anyone who isn’t you.

“You want me to pluck every last feather off that overgrown pigeon?" He leans in until his lips hover just above yours, breath warm against your skin as he murmurs something far more obscene

You shake your head and rub at the imaginary tear in your eye. “No…but maybe some boba can make up for this betrayal…”

Sylus stares at you for a long, silent beat—then exhales a sharp laugh through his nose. "You," he growls, gripping your chin between his fingers with mock sternness (though the amusement in his eyes betrays him), "-are the most shameless little liar I’ve ever met."

He kisses your pouting lips once—hard—before pulling back and reaching for his phone. A single swipe of his thumb sends Luke scrambling toward the penthouse elevator before Sylus even finishes speaking.

"Bring her boba. And if that bird so much as looks at her wrong when I'm gone..."

Mephisto lets out a scandalized CAW! from its chandelier perch. Sylus ignores it, instead pressing another kiss to your forehead while murmuring.

"Next time just ask for the drink, Kitten." His smirk returns full-force as he adds under his breath "...Or don’t. I do love seeing you scheme."

You consider yourself a patient and claim person. But calm like an approaching storm. Sylus has been gone for four days after a ‘card’ game with a shady man he does business with.

You are absolutely losing it, anger and hysterics, all confided to Sylus’ home.

The penthouse feels eerily quiet without Sylus, his absence magnified by every familiar furnishing that reminds you of your missing husband. Mephisto has been conspicuously absent from his usual perch, wisely giving you space to stew. Luke and Kieran are practically tiptoeing around the rooms, trying to maintain a balance between keeping an eye on you and giving you privacy.

Your mood swings from furious to worried to annoyed and back again in a matter of minutes. Sylus promised he’d be back the next day, but it’s been days and you’re starting to suspect foul play.

But you knew the way to get his attention, but it was stupid and dumb and would get you in so much trouble.

You’d sneak out into the N109 Zone without backup, without letting anyone know.

You wait until Luke and Kieran have settled in for the night before slipping out. The N109 Zone feels even louder and more chaotic than usual, a buzzing cacophony of danger that sets your nerves on edge. It doesn’t take long to attract unwanted attention—whispered threats and curious stares turn into hostile glares, hungry eyes watching you like a lone rabbit in a wolf pack.

But you push through, determined to find some sign of Sylus despite every fiber of your being screaming this is a terrible idea.

Hours later, you’re lost in a maze of twisting alleyways, your pulse racing as you realize you’ve ventured way off the beaten path. A shadowy figure looms in your peripheral, and you whirl around just in time to catch a flash of angry eyes but it’s too late.

Hands grab you from behind, wrenching your arms back as something cold and sharp presses into your neck. The scent of leather and danger fills your nose as a voice, low and unfamiliar, hisses a warning in your ear.

"Don’t. Move."

You whimper, body shivering. In your prime before pregnancy you wouldve taught this punk a lesson. But the fluttering in your belly keeps you stable. “Let me go.”

The figure holding you sneers, his grip tightening as he forces you to stumble back into the shadows. "Quiet." His voice is rough, impatient—the sound of someone used to being obeyed.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as the edge of the weapon at your neck presses a bit deeper, drawing a thin line of pain and blood. The fear is palpable, a tangible presence in the air around you.

And then, out of the darkness, another voice cuts through the tension like a gunshot. A voice you know all too well—low, drawling, and utterly terrifying.

"Let her go. Now." Sylus’ silhouette looms at the end of the alleyway, his crimson eyes glowing with an unholy light as you catch a glimpse of something dark and metallic in his left hand.

Your captor stiffens, clearly not expecting to cross paths with an armed Sylus tonight. The weapon against your neck wavers slightly, and for a moment, you allow yourself to feel hope—only to have it snatched away as the blade presses deeper, a clear warning. "Walk away, Onychinus," your captor growls. "This doesn't concern you."

Sylus doesn’t move. His grin sharpens—too wide, too bright, utterly unhinged in the dim alleyway. "Oh?" His voice is silk-wrapped steel as he takes another step forward.

"That’s my wife."

The man holding you freezes, his breath hitching as realization dawns.

...And then the screaming starts.

All you can see is a flash of red and pain, and then your captor howls as his arms go limp. Your feet stumble forward on instinct, the sudden freedom jolting you back to reality. You whirl around to see your attacker cradling a smoking hand,his skin marred and burned beyond recognition as he scrambles toward the opposite end of the alley.

Sylus stands over him, eyes burning and chest heaving like a wild animal. His left hand is still outstretched, tendrils of energy coiling around his fingertips like snakes.

"Run."

It's a single word, but it carries the weight of a thousand dark promises. The man’s gaze jumps frantically between Sylus and the weapon he left behind, before finally making a wise decision: he flees.

You too, try to run from Sylus’ wrath.

Oh no.

You barely make it two steps before his energy whip snaps around your wrist jerking you back with a sharp yank. A breath later, Sylus has you pinned against the alley wall, his free hand planted beside your head as he looms over you like an impending storm. His expression is pure fury beneath that icy composure but worse than that? He’s silent.

That terrifying quiet lasts exactly one heartbeat before-

"You." His voice cracks like a gunshot in the dark, fingers tightening just shy of bruising around your captured wrist. "Are going to explain to me WHY I just found my pregnant wife wandering the N109 Zone ALONE LIKE SOME KIND OF—" He cuts himself off with a furious exhale through gritted teeth. The glow of his right eye pulses dangerously in the dim light as he visibly fights for control before growling out one last word-

"...Idiotic."

“Y-you’re stupid!” You snap, the corners of your eyes tearing up.

His eyes widen at that, the momentary shock almost as dangerous an indicator of Sylus' impending anger as the ominous hum of his energy whip. His grip tightens on your wrist.

"Repeat that." His tone leaves no room for argument, every syllable coated in deadly calm that only a fool would challenge.

...Fortunately, you're well past the point of rational thinking. His silence scared you half to death, now you're eager for a reaction. “You heard me."

"...I see." Sylus' voice is soft now, barely more than a whisper, but you know better than to take that as a good sign. With a flick of his wrist, the energy tendrils binding your wrist surge forward to immobilize your entire body, pressing you firmly against the alley wall like some kind of living straitjacket. Sylus tilts his head as he studies you, his expression turning almost thoughtful.

Abruptly, his body jerks as a sharp burst of power surges through the binding, sending a painless shock wave through your muscles and forcing them to go rigid.

"I suppose a refresher course in proper behavior is long overdue," Sylus continues calmly, his gloved hands tucking into his pockets as if this is just another discussion over coffee. "But for now... We need a change of scenery. And perhaps a lesson in patience.”

The energy whip crackles once more as the tendrils tighten around you, cutting off any hope of escape or protest. "Let's continue this conversation at home, kitten. I have more than a few things to say to you."

The car ride home in silent. You rub at the cut on your neck from the knife, murmuring curses towards your husband.

Sylus doesn't so much as glance in your direction as he drives, his eyes locked on the road with a focus bordering on mania. The tension inside the car could be cut with a knife, a palpable silence that weighs on your chest like a physical force.

"Keep your hand away from your neck," he snaps suddenly, his eyes flicking over to yours in the rearview mirror. "Unless you’d prefer to be bandaged alongside your other punishments."

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Your defiance has grown tiresome."

“It hurts.” You snap back. “Asshole…”

Sylus exhales sharply through his nose, and for a moment, the car swerves slightly, like he physically fought the urge to slam on the brakes right then and there.

"Watch. Your. Mouth." His voice is glacial, each syllable precise as if carved from ice. "Or I'll give you something real to cry about."

The rest of the ride passes in suffocating silence, punctuated only by your quiet sniffles and Sylus' white-knuckled grip on the wheel.

“Just stop talking to me!” You snap, pulling your knees up to your rounded belly and covering your ears.

If Sylus heard you, he doesn't show it.

The car skids to a stop before a sleek high-rise—windows tinted and dark. Before you can even reach for the door, it swings open. Sylus appears beside you like a ghost, his expression as unreadable as ever. He takes your arm in a grip that's just shy of bruising and lifts you from the car, his movements smooth, practiced.

"You're already in enough trouble," he scolds, tugging you toward the waiting elevator.

The moment the doors shut, the atmosphere shifts. Sylus seems to grow larger, a dark, ominous presence that fills the cramped space with a palpable aura of danger.

"Last warning," he murmurs, his breath warm on your ear as he leans in. "Any more disobedience and I'll put you over my knee—pregnant or not."

You try to dig your heels in the carpet, even as you walk past the twins who had no idea you left in the first place.

Kieran and Luke are standing frozen in the foyer—masks still on but postures screaming "Oh shit" as Sylus marches you past them. Kieran reaches out like he wants to say something, but one sharp glance from his boss has him dropping his arm immediately.

Luke just crosses himself. Probably praying for your soul.

Sylus drags you into the bedroom before kicking the door shut behind him with a force that rattles the walls. He drops you onto the bed, his hands already unbuckling his belt. The leather slides free in one smooth motion as he looms over you, eyes burning hotter than any flame.

"You are going to regret every single choice you made tonight," he promises darkly, snapping the belt taut between his hands.

"Starting with that little stunt in the alley."

You barely have time to process his words before he’s moving—his free hand snatching your wrist and dragging you over his knee in one swift motion. The first swat lands with a sharp crack.

“F-fuck!”

"Language." His palm cracks down again—harder this time, right where your thighs meet your backside. The sting is immediate and bright, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

Sylus pauses just long enough to rip your hands away from their protective spot before continuing his assault with practiced precision. Each smack lands like a brand, alternating between cheeks in a rhythm that leaves you squirming in vain against his iron grip.

"You do not run off into the N109 Zone." **SMACK.**

"You do not ignore my warnings." **SMACK.**

"And you certainly"—his voice drops into something lethally soft—"do not put my wife OR my baby in danger."

The final swat lingers, pressing heat into already tender skin as he leans down—lips brushing the shell of your ear while murmuring- “Are we clear?"

You are a mess. Sobbing, sniffling and snotting like a child yourself. Your ass stings, your thighs sting and you feel humiliated. “H-hate you!”

Sylus releases his hold on your wrists, the movement surprisingly gentle as he eases you upright in his lap. His eyes are soft, the anger seeping out of his voice until only concern remains.

"Kitten," he murmurs softly, stroking a sweat-slick strand of hair from your face. "I know it hurts. But it's necessary."

He cups your chin in his hand, turning your tear-streaked face towards him as he leans in to whisper, "We need you safe. And if a little pain is what it takes to keep you from doing something so stupid again...”

You sniffle and try to hide your face away, one arm wrapped around your belly.

"And I know you wouldn't either." Sylus pulls back slightly, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. His eyes are softer now, the anger and fear from earlier replaced by genuine concern as he studies your tear-streaked face. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You're still my rebellious little cat. But it's my job to make sure you stay safe."

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around your middle. "And I take that job very seriously," he murmurs against your skin.

You curl up in his bed, pouting after your punishment. Sylus was changing your clothes to pajamas, being careful with your sore bottom.

The bratty behavior drains from your body under his caring touch.

But your brattiness rears its ugly head yet again. Sylus is fine tuning his motorcycle, heavy gloves and grease smeared across his nose.

You storm over, arms crossed, glaring at him through the faint scent of engine oil and leather.

“Sylus!" Your voice cracks with frustration, yelling like a child denied dessert. "I need ice cream!"* (A blatant lie; you don’t even like sweets that much.)

But it doesn’t matter because he ignored your dramatic moans about "starvation" five minutes ago, too focused on adjusting the bike’s carburetor to humor you.

This cannot stand.

Before he can react, you snatch his grease-covered wrench off the workbench and hurl it into the bushes

Silence. Then—slowly—Sylus straightens up from his crouch by the motorcycle... wiping his hands methodically against an already ruined rag while leveling you with that look. The one that usually precedes either (a) him throwing you over his shoulder or (b) making very good on all those whispered threats from last night.

"...Fetch." His tone is dangerously pleasant as he gestures toward where metal met foliage seconds prior, eyes glinting like twin blades under garage lighting. “-and pray I let this slide when I catch up with you.”

You stare at him, weighing the consequences of disobeying—before spinning on your heel and bolting for the bushes. Sylus watches you go with an amused smirk, his expression unbothered.

He's in no real rush, after all. "Run, kitten.” His drawling voice carries after you into the night. "It'll make it more fun when I catch you."

You yelp as you try and rush past the perfectly planted bushes and dig around to try and find the wrench. Sylus gives his pregnant little wife a head start of course

You’re halfway through frantically pawing at the bushes when Sylus finally strides over—taking his sweet time, like a predator who knows their prey has nowhere left to run. He crouches beside you with an infuriating smirk, plucking the wrench from its leafy hiding place with ease.

"Disrespectful little thing," he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before gripping your chin between grease-stained fingers. "Throwing my tools? That earns more punishment later."

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip—leaving behind a smudge of oil as he leans in close enough for you to taste engine smoke on his breath.

"...Unless you'd rather work it off another way?"

He chuckles, low and dark, before sliding an arm beneath your legs and sweeping you effortlessly into his arms. His grip is firm around your waist, keeping you cradled against his chest as he strides back toward the garage.

"Let's call it a draw," he muses, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Besides... I've always had a soft spot for feisty kittens in need of taming.”

Sylus grins, a slow, dangerous smirk that sends a shiver down your spine just as surely as the cold edge in his eyes.

He has you in the front of his favorite classic car, knees bent to your shoulders as he fucks you within an inch of your life, Hell bent on fucking the bratty attitude out of you.

The leather seats creak under your weight, the cool material pressing against your overheated skin as Sylus looms over you—his fingers tangled in your hair just tight enough to keep you pinned beneath him. His grin is sharp, predatory; his breath hot against the shell of your ear when he whispers.

"You’ve been asking for this all day."

One hand skims down to grip the soft flesh of your thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise as he slots himself between your legs with effortless dominance. "Now let’s see if we can't fix that attitude problem once and for all."

His movements are relentless. Every thrust purposeful and punishing in its precision. Each snap of his hips a stark reminder.

You might be carrying his child, but that doesn't mean you're untouchable.

He knows every inch of your body. What makes you shake, what makes you moan, what makes you melt and succumb.

His lips sear a path along your neck, nipping at sensitive skin as he growls in your ear. "Naughty girl...thinking you could ever run from me."

You cling to his shoulders, turning into his drooling little girl within minutes. “M’ sorry! Just missed you!”

Sylus slows his movements—just slightly—but doesn’t stop, dragging the pleasure out with deliberate cruelty. His grin is wolfish as he leans in to lick away the tears clinging to your lashes.

"That's more like it," he purrs against your lips before claiming them in a searing kiss. One hand tangled possessively in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to leave marks. "Now apologize properly."

“M’ sorry! Sorry for bein’ bad. Just wanted to-“ you choke back a moan at a hard thrust that feels like it may reach the baby in your tummy. “-wanted your attention!”

"And you've got it," Sylus purrs against your skin as he trails hot kisses along your collarbone, every movement making it increasingly difficult for you to think straight let alone form words. "Every last bit of my attention. All on you. Just how you like it, right?"

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes gleaming in the dim light. His tongue flicks out to taste the sweat on your skin as he smirks once more, sardonic and sinfully playful. "But next time... all you have to do is ask."

His hands find their way between your bodies, fingers trailing lower as he growls into the crook of your neck. "No need to throw tools or get all bratty...not when I'm always more than happy to give you what you want."

Sylus smirks, nipping at your earlobe before whispering-"Maybe if you'd asked nicely... I'd have bent you over this hood the moment you stepped foot inside.”

"Would you've liked that, kitten? To be on display here in the garage...?" His gaze burns with desire, his words low and sensual. "Such a dirty little girl, aren't you?"

“Y-you care about these stupid cars more than me-“ you hiccup, trying to cover your face.

Sylus chuckles softly as he shifts his weight to pull your hands away from your tear-streaked face.

"Tsk, tsk, kitten. Eyes on me." He tightens his grip, pinning your wrists above your head with ease. "These cars aren't my top priority right now... or can you not feel how deep I am?"

He bottoms out in you, holding his cock to the base inside of you to watch you squirm and gasp.

Your breath hitches, every nerve in your body alight with sensation as Sylus refuses to move. His grip on your wrists tightening just enough to keep you trapped beneath him while he drinks in every desperate twitch of your body. His smirk is wicked, his voice rough with amusement and something darker.

"Look at you," he praises, rolling his hips ever so slightly, just enough for the drag of him inside you to wring a broken whimper from your lips. “You’d think I hadn’t touched you in weeks."

His thumb brushes over the frantic pulse at your wrist before leaning down until his lips brush against yours, a teasing hint of a kiss that never quite connects.

"Let me hear it again. Tell me how much you missed me.”

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

The safe house is quiet—too quiet. The faint hum of the city below does nothing to mask the absence of Mephisto’s screeches or the twins laughter. Your fingers trace over a pacifier left on the coffee table, heart aching with a hollow kind of worry.

Sylus notices. Of course he does. His arms slide around your waist from behind, lips pressing against your temple. “You’re fine.”

You want to believe him—you do. But it's hard when you know exactly where you are.

Safe house #4, tucked away in a corner even Onychinus' enemies wouldn't dare touch. All because last night...someone got too bold.

A shattered window in the nursery was all it took for Sylus to relocate you before dawn—no arguments, no hesitation.

His grip tightens now like he can feel your thoughts spiraling.

“You won't be there long," he promises against your ear and you can almost taste his fury underneath those words. “Because I'm going hunting."

But you worry, of course you worry. You stand, Sylus’ leather jacket draped over your shoulders. “Don’t go…it’s so lonely here…” you whisper.

He pauses, fingers hovering over the revolver for just a moment before he sighs.

"You can't come with me, Kitten." His voice is firm, devoid of his usual edge. "Not in your current condition. It's too dangerous."

He straightens slowly, slipping his weapon into its holster before making his way back to your side. His eyes burn as he looks at you.

“Promise me... Promise you'll stay here."

Your jaw tenses. “What if I go into labor?”

Your breath catches at the intensity in his eyes, the unspoken command buried beneath layers of concern and steel. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, rough with calluses but almost as if it’s made for you.

“If you do…” He exhales, nostrils flaring as if already dreading the mere possibility. “Luke has instructions to move heaven and earth to get me back here before our child even thinks about making an entrance.” He brushes a piece of your hair back. “I won’t miss it.”

His other hand drops to your swollen belly, pressing gently where he knows their tiny foot likes to kick against your ribs. A silent vow.

You are both his.

And Sylus doesn’t break promises when it comes to what’s his.

But Sylus doesn’t return in a day or two. A week and a half goes by and you are stuck in the safe house. Luke and Kieran bring you food when possible. It was a stormy night and the safe house rattled with the thunder.

But another sound filled the metal walls.

“Fuck..”you clutched the side of the futon with a groan, sweat beading from your forehead. You’d been having contractions all morning but didn’t dare to reach out to your husband. You are alone in this stupid fucking safe house and you are about to give birth.

The storm rages outside, rain lashing against the reinforced windows with enough force to rattle the thick glass. But the sounds of nature are drowned out by a more urgent symphony: Your sharp gasps, the creak of the metal futon as you ride each contraction, and most importantly, the distant wail of engines cutting through the storm.

Luke and Kieran are returning.

Their motorcycles tear up the gravel driveway, skidding to a halt right outside the heavy doors. It's a cacophony of chaos, but it means safety. More importantly...?

It means Sylus soon will be here.

Luke and Kieran drag you into the makeshift bathroom. It’s far from the nicest room in the safehouse but it will do. They submerge you in the lukewarm water as you say every curse into the open air.

Water sloshes violently as another contraction hits, sending waves splashing over the tub's edge while Luke curses under his breath trying to keep you steady. Kieran, ever the pragmatist, tosses a towel over your knees (useless) before pressing his comm device to his ear with urgent fingers.

"She’s in labor," he barks into it, voice straining to be heard over your creative string of expletives and the storm still battering the walls outside. "I don’t care if he’s mid-interrogation—get him here now."

The line goes dead and so does any patience left in the room. Because between contractions?

You hear it.

The distant roar of an engine screaming through rain-soaked streets...getting closer.

A familiar revving growl.

Sylus is coming back.

Kieran and Luke meet him at the door, letting you have a brief moment of privacy.

Sylus is soaked to the bone when he strides into the bathroom, water dripping from his hair and clothes but there's no time to care about that.

Not right now.

"Kitten," he breathes, voice ragged with worry as he drops to his knees beside the tub. His hands immediately find purchase on your shoulders, gripping you with a ferocity that borders on desperate. The relief in his eyes is almost too much to bear.

“You shouldn't have waited for me. Not like this." His fingers tremble ever so slightly where they press against your skin.

You rest your heated cheek against the crack linoleum tub, groaning through a contraction. “I waited like I said I would. I was good…” you murmur through a pain induced haze.

His breath catches,raw and unguarded for once, before he presses his forehead to yours. “Too good."

He strips off his soaked jacket without hesitation, rolls up his sleeves past scarred forearms and climbs right into that damn bathtub with you.

Water sloshes everywhere as he pulls your back flush against his chest, hands sliding over yours where they grip the edges of the tub.

“Breathe," he orders against your ear. "Just like I taught you." And when the next contraction hits, his arms tighten around you like steel bands, an immovable anchor in the storm.

Somewhere beyond pain and exhaustion?

You realize this is exactly where he was always meant to be.

Just the two of you.

His voice is soft, almost drowned out by the sound of your ragged breathing and the storm outside.

“Let me take the pain," he murmurs and it sounds less like an offer than a command.

His words vibrate through your body, reverberating through your chest as his arms tighten further. “I’ve got you. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Your eyes flutter closed with the next contraction, but there’s no escape from reality.

Sylus is here.

And he’s staying. No matter what.

You feel your entire body seize with agony and your head rolls back against his shoulder. “Sylus I can’t-I need something for the pain-“ You know an epidural is far from an option, but you’ve been stabbed by Wanderers and shot countless times, but nothing compares to this

"I know," he grits out, the rawness in his voice betraying how much it kills him that he can’t fix this for you.

But then his grip shifts. One arm stays locked around your waist. The other hand lifts, his palm glowing faintly red with his Evol.

"Look at me." His voice is iron-clad even as his breath fans hot against your temple. “Focus on my eyes."

His right eye burns crimson, not just the usual glow, but something deeper. Something all-consuming.

The pain doesn’t vanish… but it blurs.

Muted beneath a wave of unnatural calm as Sylus pulls you deeper into the illusion. Your muscles slacken slightly against him despite the contraction still wracking your body—your mind adrift in whatever hallucination he’s weaving just for you.

He won't take away what's natural, but he'll damn well make sure it doesn't break you.

When you finally drag yourself back to reality, breathe shallow and sweat-slick but steady.

Sylus is still there.

His gaze is softer now, some of the tightness easing from his shoulders when it becomes clear the worst has passed.

"There you are," he murmurs gently, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face. His touch is surprisingly tender as he cups your chin, tilting your head so your eyes meet his in the water-blurred room. “Was that enough?"

You choke back a sob with trembling lips. “Thank you…” when the next contraction comes you are exhausted, you can barely manage a whimper.

When the next contraction hits, Sylus doesn’t hesitate.

He tightens his grip around you, one hand lacing with yours while the other presses firmly against your abdomen. You feel it again. That familiar hum of his Evol threading through your veins, blurring the sharp edges of agony into something bearable.

"One more push," he whispers against your ear, lips grazing the shell of it like a prayer or maybe a threat. Directed at whatever cosmic force dared make this harder for you than it needed to be.

“Then it's over."

Your teeth clench hard enough to chip but you dig your nails into Sylus’ arms. Your back bows and the scream that tears from your throat is animalistic.

Then, the pressure is gone. Sylus quickly dips his hands into the water, scooping up the squirming and screaming infant still covered in after birth.

The tiny baby girl is placed into your arms and you feel the world stop turning for a blissful moment. She looks just like her daddy, all thick dark lashes and tufts of white hair.

But then she lets out the most pitiful cry.

Sylus, the most feared man in N109, stares at this helpless, squirming thing with utter bewilderment before choking out-

"Fuck me, she sounds like Mephisto."

You can’t help it, you burst into exhausted, tearful laughter, pressing a shaky kiss to the baby’s tiny forehead as Sylus continues staring like she just performed some kind of dark miracle in his lap.

Then? The dam breaks.

“Oh My Love….” he mutters, rough fingers brushing over her shock of white hair with awe. “She really is mine." His voice cracks on the last word.

Then she lets out another wail, this one ear-piercing enough to rival even his damn crow.

Sylus does something you never thought you'd see.

He flinches.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He grumbles.

Tags: @karolamurdock @superluckystar @sleepyplum @starry-stay-s @chiizuyu @justannie18 @betterlatethanava @miraculousy-a-demigod @mengomango1 @placeofsupercooltopics @voidsylus @ohmysylus @moonfrogs15

[drafts-and-delusions]

Hello! I'm not sure if I you're taking requests rn (if you aren't then js ignore this) anyway, if you are I would like to request the saja boys since I'm so obsessed with them at the moment reacting to you singing their part in the song 'your idol' thank you for reading <3

Singing their line in "Your Idol"

Tags: gn!reader, reactions, subtle fluff, reader sings

so i was on Genius to figure out which lines belong to whom. jinu needs to give mystery some more lines oh my lord

🎀 Masterlist  💄 Request Guidelines

Jinu

You're in the kitchen, microwaving leftovers, casually mumbling lyrics without really thinking. The song is just playing in your head; background noise, the kind that sticks. But when the beat drops and you hit his part. "I'm the only one who'll love your sins; feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin.” You commit. Voice lower, smoother than before. You’re not performing, just playing around. Still, the delivery’s solid.

You don’t realize he’s standing in the doorway until he clears his throat. You freeze. Then turn. He’s watching you with his arms crossed, that familiar glint in his eyes. “Keep going,” he says, trying not to smile. “That was hot.”

You laugh, flustered. “I wasn’t even trying. I didn’t sing it properly.” “No, you sang it beautifully,” he says, stepping closer. His voice drops a little. “Sing it again.”

At first, you think he’s joking, but his gaze lingers; he looks focused. Like he’s hearing those lines for the first time—except they’re yours now.

Later that night, after things have calmed, he pulls you close. His hand finds your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. “I like hearing you sing,” he murmurs.

You hum, half-smirking. “Guess I’m your idol now.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “Don’t push it.” But his arm tightens around you anyway, and when you’re both drifting off to sleep, he mumbles something under his breath. He’s already memorized the sound of your voice.

Romance

It starts off innocent enough. You’re just messing around while he warms up, casually mouthing along to the backing track. Then your voice slips out—clear, smooth, and a little too confident.

"Know I'm the only one right now..."

His head snaps toward you. You keep going, fully leaning into it now, mimicking the way he performs it. There’s a playful tilt to your voice; you even match the subtle rasp he throws in when he sings live.

By the time you hit “I will love you more when it all burns down,” he’s staring at you like you just committed a personal crime. His mouth is open, brows drawn, absolutely stunned.

He throws his hands in the air. “Okay. Beyoncé. Chill.”

You laugh. “Jealous?”

“You’re just mad I sound better than you,” you tease.

“First of all, blasphemy. Second...” He pauses, still blinking. “Yeah. I’m mad. Mad and personally attacked.”

You walk off, still singing under your breath, deliberately soft but perfectly on pitch.

He points after you. “You’re banned. No more covering my lines. Especially not if you’re gonna sound better than me.”

You shrug like you didn’t just shake him to his core.

Ten minutes later, he’s sitting alone on the couch with his phone at half volume, listening to the secret recording he made while pretending not to be impressed.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, “maybe just one more time.”

Abby

You don’t even hear him come in. You’ve got your headphones on, mind fully in the zone, singing to yourself like it’s no big deal.

"Keeping you in check, keeping you obsessed—play me on repeat..."

You pause when you hear something behind you. A choked squeal, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone collapsing onto the floor.

You turn around and find him face-down on the carpet, legs kicking like he just got electrocuted.

“Babe? Are you okay?”

He lifts his head slowly, clutching a pillow to his chest. His face is flushed, hair slightly messed up. “I’m fine,” he says, breathless. “You just sounded so cool.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“I thought I left the stove on, so I came back. And then I walk in and your voice just hits me like a truck.”

You try not to laugh. “I was just messing around.”

“Mess around more,” he says, standing up and walking over to you like he’s not entirely grounded in reality. “That was actually lamazing.”

From then on, he starts asking you to do it again. Not in a serious way—more like he’s obsessed. Every time the song comes on, his eyes snap to you.

Doesn’t matter if you’re brushing your teeth or half-asleep on the couch; he’ll nudge you and go, “Say the line again.”

You blink. “What line?”

“The ‘I can be your sanctuary’ part. But, like, flirty.”

He’s so serious about it, too. Head tilted, expectant, already biting back a smile.

You sigh and do it once more, voice low, soft, like you’re trying to sell the line.

He covers his face immediately. “Oh my god. I’m dating the coolest person alive.”

And yeah, he asks again the next day. And the day after. And the day after that.

Mystery

You’re singing quietly under your breath, lost in your own world as you wipe down the counter.

"More than power, more than gold."

You don’t even realize he’s behind you until his hand brushes your waist. You freeze.

“You remembered that line,” he says.

You glance at him. “It’s short. Easy to remember.”

He leans in closer. “Still sounded good.”

“Thanks…”

He doesn’t smile. Just stares a second longer, like he’s thinking about something.

“You don’t talk much,” you add. “Hearing your line was kind of a big deal.”

He shrugs. “Hearing you say it might be better.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t lie.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sing it again.”

“…Why?”

“Wanna hear it,” he says simply.

You hesitate. Then you say it again, a little softer this time.

He pulls you into his chest without warning, rests his chin on your shoulder, and repeats the line back.

You don’t get anything else done that night. Not really. Every time he looks at you, your mind goes blank. His voice keeps playing on a loop. And the worst part is you know he knows.

Baby

You think you're alone, so you're just messing around—rapping his part, voice dropped an octave, trying to nail that deep, cocky tone he always pulls off without effort.

"Unh! bichi naneun fame, gyesok oechyeo, I'm your idol."

You lean into it, letting the lyrics roll off your tongue like you’ve done this a hundred times. The smirk comes naturally; it's his, but you wear it well.

He’s in the doorway. You don’t notice him until you hit, "Thank you for the pain 'cause it got me going viral," and that’s when he starts slow-clapping.

“Damn,” he says, dragging the word out. “Didn’t know I had competition.”

You shoot him a look. “I sound better than you.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow, strolling in like he’s not already losing his mind. “That confidence is cute.”

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, studying you like he’s torn between being proud and mildly offended. You don’t stop.

"Uh, yeah, natji anneun fever, makin' you a believer—"

His jaw tightens; you catch the twitch in his fingers. There’s a grin building on his face, but he’s doing everything he can to keep it from cracking.

“You gonna finish that verse or do I have to put you in your place?”

You glance at him, unbothered. “Make me.”

He walks over—slow, calm, dangerous in a way that makes your spine straighten. He leans in until his mouth is just behind your ear, and whispers, “I liked it better when you were out of breath.”

Then he pulls back like nothing happened, drops onto the couch with a sigh, and mutters, “Still proud of you though. You had the flow right. Almost had me beat.”

He’s lying. He’s been reeling since the first line. You’ll catch him mumbling the verse under his breath later, pretending he’s not still thinking about the way you made it sound.

[phone4pills]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝟏

taken!chris drives you home after ruining your ability to walk

a pout rested on your lips. it was 10 am. you were in Chris’ sweats and your top from yesterday. and you were shattered.

usually, you’d be in the passenger seat, fighting over the aux with him, but after last night, you were too tired. and you were more comfortable with three seats of space in the back, even if it meant sacrificing your song choice privileges.

meanwhile, Chris made his way to the car. painfully slow. still smug after yesterday’s affairs. he eventually opened the door and dropped into the driver’s seat, throwing a cereal bar towards you in the backseat.

“what’s this?” you huffed, picking the snack up from where it landed, in your lap.

“breakfast. you didn’t eat anything.” he reminded you, facing you in his seat. as much dissatisfaction it gave you to give in to him, he was right.

and alongside tired and shattered, you were fucking hungry.

“…thanks.”

Chris turned it hat so it was backwards and crossed his arms. he gave you that look, the one that said “seriously, you good?” without saying it. you nodded, shifting over to the far right seat and leaning you head on the window.

a couple minutes later, Chris was driving you home like the gentleman he claimed to be, one hand on the wheel as he rolled a toothpick between his teeth with the other.

a tense but comfortable silence had grown between the two of you. Chris with his eyes on the road. you with your eyes on Chris. the longer you admired him the more prominent the ache in your core became.

yes, you could barely walk. yes, your thighs were a mess with hickeys. but your body was already grieving his. missing that feeling that spread all over when he was buried in you. connected to you.

it wasn’t meant to be like that. not when he wasn’t yours. not when he loved someone else. love. not a craving. a feeling. a bond with another girl.

at least he swore he did.

“who’s car is in your fucking driveway?” your train of thought was diverted off the tracks entirely when his voice became that low.

“oh, no I got a new car. figured it was time.” you replied, sitting up. Chris hummed with something like approval. maybe even relief.

“what if it wasn’t my car?”

“huh?” the boy swivelled in his seat, jaw clenching.

“you sounded upset. got a problem with me having people over? like other men.”

“nah it’s just—I’ve never been good at sharing. especially not when it comes to special things. like you.”

ironic considering you shared him with his girlfriend every single day. but that was your choice. your problem.

“anyway,” Chris broke the settling silence, “you doing anything tonight?”

you scoffed, getting out of the car. a little too fast for your legs to handle. nevertheless, you held your composure. “text me.”

“yes ma’am.”

the last thing you heard before shutting the car door.

ahhhh, okay so there’s this. and then I also have a nightwing!chris draft (smutttttt). also ‘mature now’ is in the works. ovulating = writing. part two will be out maybe this week.

- ©phone4pills

[wosospacegirl]

Clueless- Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia needs someone to control. Y/n's a liar who needs money.

Warnings: mentions sub/dub relationship dynamics, power imbalance; nothing sexually explicit though.

Word count: 4.7k

infos: escort!reader

A/n: this was written in may <3 (draft)

..

It was the preseason before the Euros, and Alexia Putellas needed a distraction.

Alexia had always been calm, collected and composed, both in and outside of the pitch. 

On the surface, she was everything anyone could ever aspire to be: a focused captain that could be trusted with anything, a caring daughter, a thoughtful sister, and a skilled player.

But none of it felt like enough anymore. Not with so much piling onto her shoulders that some days, she genuinely had to remind herself to breathe. Like her lungs forgot how to work under pressure, like she had to fight for the air coming in through her nostrils. 

Sleep wasn’t as easy as it was a few months back. Alexia couldn’t quite place when it had started; she just noticed things were off when she found herself lying awake on her bed for hours, even before decisive matches.

She was restless. People started to notice. First her teammates, then her mom. It had become physical, the purple marks below her eyes, her skin that looked more pale than usual because she didn’t want to go out as much.

That was when she started inviting girls over. They were momentary figures in her sheets, gone before the sun was even up, getting out of her bed with scattered clothes in their hands, begging Alexia to let them stay.

She never did.

Now, they were just names she didn’t bother to remember. Faces she couldn’t recognise anywhere. 

But they did help Alexia for a while. Alexia was always very clear with what she wanted: someone who could take orders, someone who was going to do exactly what she expected them to.

 Most of the girls Alexia had in her bed were nice, obedient. Some of them were proper brats, purposely going out of their way to provoke Alexia, thinking it was all a game.

But for Alexia, it never was. 

The moment some girls started to act as if Alexia were a brat tamer, she would quickly ask them to leave. She didn’t get off when they tried to push her buttons, when they tried to get her attention in any way possible.

She just wanted someone docile, dutiful, and pliant.

And she wasn’t going to find that in one of those stupid clubs her sister was always dragging her to, or in one of those coffees the younger girls on the team would drag her to.

And that’s when Alexia had an idea, a brilliant one, too. She tried to ignore it for a few days, tried to tell herself that she couldn’t, shouldn’t follow it. That she was Capitana, that she had a reputation and a name to honour, and that the idea could risk it all.

She pushed the idea away, she did nothing for two months. Especially after renewing her contract with Nike and signing a clause that said she was prohibited from taking part in any kind of scandals.

But after Barcelona had lost one of the games to Real Madrid and she had no one on her bed, ready to help her blow off some steam, that’s when Alexia agreed to her own idea.

She needed company. Not a lover. Not a one-night stand. But someone who was there when she said so. Someone who listened. Obedient. Quiet. Someone is easily controlled. Not a brat, no, definitely not.

Just…a distraction,

That was when she found the girl.

It was late, almost one in the morning, when Alexia began to search for one of those evenings when the weight in Alexia’s chest wouldn’t let her sit still. 

So she searched. She typed the words very slowly, hating how the word ‘Escort’ felt so dirty and demeaning.

Alexia ignored it as she looked through websites. Some were clearly frauds, others were focused on heterosexual relationships. Some weren’t clear whether they would keep Alexia’s privacy, others were way too secretive about their women. 

She kept searching. She clicked. She Scrolled. Until she found the exact type of business she wanted. It was obviously an escort website, focusing on hiring women for sexual activities, but more importantly, sex scenes. 

Alexia would be able to pay while keeping her name and security number private. There wouldn’t be any evidence of the transaction. 

What made Alexia less guilty about this whole thing was that the money would go straight to the bank accounts of the girl she picked. The website wasn’t acting as a pimp, selling the girls out. They were there because they wanted to, because they also wanted to find someone to play in scenes ,too, all while making money.

Alexia had a lot of money, so she didn’t mind.

It didn’t take long for Alexia to find her.

No photo. No name. Just an age–young. The girl was a few years younger than Alexia, but legal, and listed clearly. That was enough, Alexia didn’t care as long as the law and the girl didn’t.

There was a short list of rules on the girl's profile, a series of dos and don’ts. It was detailed, filled with her own boundaries, her wishes, things she was open to negotiate and topics that were hard don’ts. 

Alexia read it carefully. The same care she showed when she was faced with a very tactful team on the pitch. She read the girl’s profile too, looked at her age again, then at the absent picture, and checked that the girl was from Barcelona.

Then she focused her attention on the list again. Alexia had never created this sort of list for herself; she just knew what she liked and what she didn’t like, but as her eyes scanned the skin, she realised she had found the perfect one.

Submissive. 

Open to dom/sub dynamics, both sexual and not. 

Comfortable with discipline.

No group scenes. No exhibitionism. 

Consent to restraints, spanking with belts and other objects, too.

It was everything Alexia hadn’t known she was looking for. As if the girl behind that profile had materialised out of her dreams.

Alexia quickly clicked Contact. And wrote an email stating that she was interested in getting to know the girl, that their preferences matched and that the girl wouldn't have to worry about money. Alexia would make sure to deposit as soon as the girl agreed. It was direct. To the point.

A few days later, she got a reply, right after she was leaving a hard training session, sweat was dripping down her forehead, as the girls talked about some locker room gossip, Alexia was too tired to care about.

The girl wrote that they could arrange a meeting if Alexia agreed to pay half the amount up front. She finished saying that, if Alexia didn’t wish to be with her at the end of their meeting, she would give the money back.

Alexia agreed. She made the payment inside her car, as she was ready to go home. The girl replied fast. She wrote ’Thank you for the payment’ and said that Alexia could set a date up for them to meet, no matter the day or time.

 She only had one condition: it had to be in a public space for her own safety.

Alexia didn’t mind. She wanted to keep the whole ‘relationship’ as secret as possible, so she would much prefer their first date would be at her house, but the girl’s condition was reasonable. Smart even.

After a very long time, Alexia was feeling something more than just…numbness. 

..

Y/n was a liar. 

She got in trouble a lot during her teenhood, not for lying, just for doing things her parents decided were wrong. The way she found to get around her parents’ watchful eyes was to lie. Lying became the only way to keep her living the way she wanted. 

It turned into a survival mechanism that she held tight to. She never lied to twist stories around for fun, or to make things greater than they were. No. She lied when she had to, when she needed to.

She got used to it. Didn’t even feel it when a white, innocent lie would fall through her lips; she had grown accustomed to it.

So, it just felt appropriate that she would also lie on the consort website. 

Y/n was in the last semester of college; she was studying biomedical sciences, hoping to get into medical school (which she did). She applied to Barcelona’s University, did a test, an interview and was one of the few selected.

She was going to be in medical school in the fall.

The only problem? She didn’t have money.

Barcelona’s University didn’t charge any form of tuition, but it didn’t pay for housing, food or anything else, either. That meant Y/n had to find a way to live, to pay for the groceries and for the bills that were piling up. 

She had worked in bars and coffee shops, she babysat and pet sat more times than she could count. Her side jobs were okay, they paid enough for Y/n to have a decent living. 

But then her parents decided not to parent anymore, and Y/n ended up with her fourteen-year-old sister to take care of as well.

Two mouths to feed were a lot, especially when said mouth was a growing teen. 

Y/n didn’t care if she had to skip a meal or two. But she definitely would not make Catalina go through that as well. 

She did what she had to do. She stepped up and began looking for a new job, one that paid more. One that could cover the rent, one that would get Catalina proper shoes.

She wasn’t embarrassed about how her eyes lit up when she saw an advertisement about how some site (that Y/n had never heard about) was looking for escorts. 

She didn’t wait too long to contact the site. They quickly allowed her to sign in as an escort, and as they did, they gave her two options. 

One. Being an escort purely for show. She wasn’t expected to do anything sexual with whoever hired her.

Second. An escort would be expected to perform sexual acts, but, of course, everything within her limits.

Option number two paid more. Y/n picked that one.

Y/n was then met with a list, one she was supposed to fill with her preferences and boundaries. She had to search what most of those things meant. 

She had never participated in anything related to BDSM in her life. Never.

That was her first lie.

The biggest one until now, too. But she got to it, she filled the form with dos and don’ts about things she didn’t even get close to doing. 

Y/n wasn’t completely inexperienced, but she was rather vanilla. She only had two sexual partners, both girls she met in college. 

It was sweet, simple and efficient. Nothing rough, nothing wild. They never got to use any toys either, no vibrator… no nothing.

But Y/n needed to check as many boxes as she could. 

There were higher chances of her finding someone if she said yes to more stuff, right? 

She had only said no to actions that would be too distressing for her. 

She would get a fourth side job to get Catalina her schoolbooks, but she would not participate in watersports. 

Yes. She had to Google it. 

Yes. She regretted it immensely.

..

Her second lie came as she was putting on a dress. 

It was a black one, long, showing no clavicle; it was tight, just right, not enough to make her feel like she was vacuum-sealed. She had bought the goddamn dress when she was working as an Event server a few months ago.

“Where are you going?” Catalina asked, her glasses too big for her face. 

“I have work tonight.” This one lie didn’t hurt to say because it was kinda true. Y/n was getting ready for work, just not a work that was very much accepted. But still, people paid.

Catalina just didn’t need to know the nature of her job, not yet.

Plus, Y/n wasn’t even sure if the woman was going to like her enough to sign the whole deal. Maybe she would look at Y/n and decide she wasn’t right for her.

Maybe she would look Y/n in the eyes and see that she had never been in a BDSM scene, that she didn’t know what she was doing.

That it was all pretend.

She didn’t mind pretending, though.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to get any more jobs?” She sat on the edge of Y/n’s bed. “Because you failed your last test, remember? You were too tired to study?”

Y/n hated when Catalina brought that forsaken test up. It was a molecular biology class, and Y/n had slept through her alarm clock – she had been up till late tending the bar a few streets up – when she woke up, she was 30 minutes late.

She failed the test badly, and she was too shy to ask the professor for a second chance, so she just accepted the 30/100 she got.

Y/n looked through her lipstick options, there weren’t a lot, maybe four, one of them had expired two years ago, but there was enough there for Y/n to use, so she wasn’t going to throw it away. She questioned if she should go for red, but it seemed too bold.

“If everything goes right tonight,” Y/n said, putting on her last bit of make-up and looking at her younger sister through the mirror. “Then I’ll only keep this one job.”

“No more babysitting the twins downstairs?” Catalina teased. “Hmm, I think I’ll miss you coming back with your face filled with sharpie drawings.”

“No more drawing on my face while I nap, nope”, Y/n answered, turning around. “And this one pays good too, maybe we can finally get you some proper glasses, one that fits.”

The girl pouted. “I like my glasses.”

“Of course you do,” Y/n rolled her eyes, taking a step further and hugging her sister. “You just like them because they were mine first.”

Y/n was ready to leave through the door. She had already told Catalina the usual: “Don’t open the door to anyone”, “If something happens call the police and then call me,” “Don’t eat all the snacks.”

Catalina was accustomed to being left alone at the house. Y/n always had to work during the night, so Catalina learned to fend for herself. 

She said she didn’t mind, but Y/n felt guilty. 

A fourteen-year-old shouldn’t spend all nights alone in a broken-down apartment. But it was what they had right now, and it was going to be enough.

As Y/n took the metro (the taxi was too expensive) she thought of who she was going to be. 

She needed to be sweet and gentle, which was okay, she was like that normally. If the woman wanted something bolder, then she would have to pretend to be confident, a bit more spirited.

She needed to meet the woman first, and then she analysed who the person needed her to be. At this point in her life, Y/n didn't care to just play her part.

It was all just going to be another big lie.

..

The third lie came when Y/n found herself face to face with the woman who had just deposited twenty-five hundred euros into her account.

Alexia Putellas.

When she first made contact with, Y/n had not known it was the Alexia. The email didn’t have a name, just a time, place and the transfer.

So she was more than surprised when she walked into the restaurant, Amar Barcelona, a five-star restaurant, and saw that who was sitting there was Spain and Barcelona’s captain.

Their table was in a private area.

No one else was around.

Y/n froze.

Y/n wasn’t a fan, didn’t keep up with football or any sport beyond occasional tennis matches. But one didn’t need to be a fan to recognise Alexia Putellas. 

It was impossible to live in Barcelona and not know her.

La reina. That’s what they called her. 

Alexia must have sensed her presence because she looked up from the menu. Y/n felt her eyes running up and down her body. 

Then, in a swift motion, Alexia rose to her feet. She was a bit taller than Y/n, not a lot, just enough to be a little intimidating, just enough to unsettle.

“Good evening,” Alexia said. “ Let’s start, sí?”

She sounded formal. Should Y/n be formal too? Maybe…they should shake hands, at least?

Alexia took one step closer and pulled the other chair from the table, She pointed at it with her chin. “Sit.”

Her tone was soft, almost gentle, but it didn’t leave any room for arguing or disagreement.

Y/n did what she asked, she sat and felt as Alexia put the chair back in place, as if Y/n weighed nothing. Y/n felt the table against her rib. Alexia had pressed her too tightly, but she wasn’t going to say anything. 

Alexia was authoritative.

It made Y/n nervous. 

She wasn’t used to being talked to like that. it didn’t bring any bad feelings, though. It was just weird. Different.

“I’m Alexia,” she said, so casually it almost sounded like a joke.

Why was she presenting herself? Wasn’t that obvious already?

Alexia looked at her, as if waiting for something.

Oh. Right. Her name.

“I–I prefer not to share my real name” Y/n said, saying every word slowly just like she had practised at home. “Not for now, at least.”

She had promised herself she wasn’t going to share her real name with whoever had chosen her. Not in the beginning.

Alexia didn’t seem like a crazy person. But still, Y/n had to be careful... her name was also intertwined with Catalina’s, and the last thing Y/n was going to do was put her in danger. 

Alexia lifted her eyebrows as she leaned back into her chair. She didn’t expect that answer. 

“Okay,” Alexia said. “What should I call you, then?”

Alexia didn’t shy away from eye contact, her hazel eyes were burning Y/n.

 It made her feel small. She didn’t know what to answer, didn’t know what she should be called.

She looked away. Silence.

“I asked you a question,” Alexia’s voice was colder now. What should I call you?”

Y/n quickly found her way back to Alexia’s face, she studied it, trying to read her. Her lips were pressed thin, but not so much that you couldn’t see them. 

Her brows were knit together in a way that said she was annoyed.

Great. First time meeting Alexia, the woman who was supposed to hire her, and she was already slacking.

Alexia wanted answers. Quick and clean, with no hesitation. Y/n swallowed. She figured she better become exactly that.

“You can pick,” Y/n said. “Whatever you wanna call me is fine.”

Alexia nodded, just once.

“You think too much, cariño,” she said. “And take too long to speak.”

Cariño.

Y/n felt the word land softly in her ear, especially sweet coming from someone as reserved as Alexia.

She smiled. Just a bit. Just enough for Alexia to see that she liked the nickname. Not that it would have mattered if she hadn’t. She’d given the player the green light to call her whatever she wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n said. “I’ve never done this before.”

Alexia raised one brow. “Been in a restaurant?”

Y/n rolled her eyes (mentally). She had a feeling Alexia wouldn’t appreciate it if she actually did.

“No,” she said, waving her hands. “This sort of talk, I mean.”

“First time escorting?” Alexia asked.

“Yes", Y/n replied, quicker now. She hoped Alexia liked that she hadn’t been with anyone else–well, at least not in this way. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, but you’re nervous. Haven’t stopped moving your hands since you’ve got here,” she said bluntly. “I don’t want you to be nervous.” 

Y/n looked down at her hands. They were shaking a little. She put them under the tablecloth, taking them away from Alexia’s vision. “Okay, I won’t”

She was definitely going to keep being nervous, she was just going to get better at pretending she wasn’t. Alexia’s presence was intimidating. 

“Good,” Alexia reached for the menu, then passed it across the table to her. The leather folder was warm from her hands. “Pick whatever you want,”

“And f you wish to make it official–” The blonde paused, placing her elbows on the table, talking business now. “-eat something light.”

Y/n blinked.

“We can go to my place after this,” Alexia added, like it was the most casual thing in the world, as if she were just offering Y/n a ride.

Y/n’s stomach sank even further. That was a lot of information to process.

First: not a single dish on that menu resembled real food. Where was the pasta? The chicken? Caesar salad? Instead, she had Orecchio di elefante schnitzel with poached egg and truffle. What even was that?

Second: go to her house?! Oficial? What was happening? Why did Alexia have to deliver things so forthrightly?

Y/n didn’t expect it to escalate tonight. Not like this. Fuck, she was wearing her old underwear. And now she was apparently heading to Alexia Putellas’ house, where they would have sex. Kinky sex.

The type of sex Y/n knew nothing about. The kind Y/n had lied on the website, saying she knew about it, that she was a connoisseur, even.

Fuck.

What if she didn’t want to? What if she got there and Alexia started to kiss her, and she felt nothing? Y/n began to sweat, her foot was tapping on the floor, and her hand was slightly shaking.

So much for trying to hide how anxious she really was.

Y/n was an escort now. She couldn’t get nervous about the idea of sex! This is what she agreed on; it was what she had signed up for when she logged into the site and offered her company and her body for the exchange of money.

“We don’t have to.” 

Alexia’s voice pulled Y/n out of her thoughts. Y/n looked from the menu to Alexia.

Her face was expressionless.

“W-what?” Y/n blinked. 

We don’t have to?

Her stomach dropped. Did Alexia not want to keep this going? Was she backing out? Ending everything before it even began?

No, no, no, that wasn’t good. She couldn’t afford that. Not when Catalina needed some good shoes, and the rainy season was just starting.

“We don’t have to go to my house,” Alexia explained. “Not if you don't want to. I just thought there would be a better place for us to talk about things in more detail.”

Ok, okay. Then she still wanted Y/n. She could fix it. She was going to be honest now.

“I’m not ready for a scene yet,” Y/n blurred, heat rushing to her cheeks.. 

Had she used the right term? 

Alexia absolutely couldn’t know Y/n knew nothing about BDSM. It was stated in Alexia’s contract that her escort was aware and had practised BDSM before.

Y/n hadn’t. 

“We aren’t going to do any scenes,” Alexia said slowly. “Not for some time.”

Y/n was caught by surprise. 

“Why?” she tilted her head.

Alexia furrowed her eyebrows. 

“What do you mean, why? We barely know each other,” Alexia said. “We’ve got a long way to go before we’re comfortable, sí? I need to trust you–and more importantly, you need to trust me.”

“Oh,” Y/n said. “Yes, sorry. You’re right.” She looked down.

Alexia didn’t say anything. She just turned her attention back to the menu. “Do you know what you want?” she asked, eyes still on the page.

“No,” Y/n admitted. “I… I don’t really know what half of these dishes are.”

Alexia hummed. “Do you like brut wine?”

Y/n nodded automatically, but she had no idea what brut wine meant. As far as she knew, wine was supposed to be either red, white or rosé. 

“Great, is my favourite,” Alexia said as she pressed a small button on the table, and seconds later, a waitress stepped into the room.

“Hello, Miss Putellas,” the girl said. She looked nervous to be speaking with Alexia. Y/n didn’t feel so alone. “How can I help you?”

“I want a bottle of wine, Dom Pérignon Pinot Noir, Chardonnay,” Alexia said. “Sautéed clams and portobello mushrooms for her. Smoked salmon and caviar bikini for me.”

The girl wrote it down carefully, then swiftly disappeared from the private room.

..

Alexia took a minute to observe the girl sitting in front of her; the girl whose name she didn’t know, the girl who looked far too agitated to be an escort. 

Her shoulders were tense, her eyes darting every time one of the waitresses walked in to fill their glass of wine. She even tried to hide her hands from Alexia, but she could feel the way her fingers were twitching under the table.

She looked apprehensive. She expected to be reprimanded by Alexia at any second. 

Alexia would not. Not for now, at least. Alexia enjoyed a good scolding; she got off on a good reprehension and discipline. 

The feeling of control that came with it, the tension, the narrow silence that followed it. Being obeyed because she was right and the other person should just listen to her…it all felt like a drug to Alexia

But none of that could happen until the full contract was signed. The one that allowed Alexia to do so, that gave her full permission.

Alexia didn’t associate well with the word ‘dom’; she thought it was rather ridiculous, even though it matched exactly what she was and how she felt. She didn’t like to use it though, it felt too much like a cliché, too real. 

If she didn’t use the word, then her desires were just that: deep and private yearning.

Alexia was looking for someone who would obey her, someone who would sit quietly at her side while she watched a movie, quiet because Alexia told her to be, someone she could take care of mentally and physically.

Someone who would let her lead.

When the girl first walked in, Alexia had been sure Cariño wasn’t that girl at all. She seemed like she didn’t know what she was doing there. Completely lost. 

When she told Alexia it was her first time escorting, it all made sense.

She was probably, given her age, a college girl who envisioned that her interest in BDSM could become something more: a job, a way to make money. 

But again…she looked young, too young to be here. She looked pretty, Alexia could not deny that. Her personality wasn’t bad either. 

She was very awkward, but it looked like she was really trying to be polite and gracious. Not bratty at all, too, she hadn’t said anything witty or done anything to rile Alexia up.

Alexia could see herself going on more dates with her, maybe take her to some coffee shop, outside of Barcelona, somewhere she wouldn’t be recognised. 

The only thing that was bothering Alexia was how the girl seemed clueless about everything. 

She did’t know how to behave in five-star restaurants; she didn’t know how to have a proper conversation with Alexia, and didn’t even know how to eat clams.

Alexia was eating her salmon with the same demeanour she always carried, cutting it cleanly. 

The girl across from her was…stabbing the clam with her fork. As if it were a piece of red meat, its shell even had scratch marks from the fork.

Alexia let her try again before quietly placing a spoon (that the waitress had given her for the clam) at the edge of the girl’s plate.

“Use this,” she said.  “You won’t get much done with the fork.”

The girl looked embarrassed as she accepted the cutlery, holding it as if it were something precious.

Cute. She looked cute.

Maybe Alexia liked clueless. 

..

A/n: wanted to try and write something a bit different.

The restaurant mentioned really exists and it's in Barcelona. I copied their menu into the fic, you can check it here.

Tag list: @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics @riyaexee @miaereen

[vxnillabxn]

LOVE YOUR WRITING AND YOUR THEMEEE, SOOOOOO CUTE AND SOFTTTT!!! ꒰ ˆ ꒵ ˆ꒱ can i pleaseeeeee request you write when mc is so spoiled by them that even when the Lis say no one time she will cry, sulk and refuse to talk to Lis the whole day ໒꒰ྀི -᷅ ⤙ -᷄ ꒱ྀི১ , if you don't want to thats totally fine! thank you sm pretty! (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x fem!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH! ८ ◞ ◟ ⑅ ა and also, what a cute request! i absolutely love it, and i loved imagining each scenario even more! shout-out to all the spoiled babies out there~ Ꮚ ܸ ◞ . ◟𓂂꒱ ♡ ALSO, thank you so, so, so, so much! this blog reached 400+ followers, omg??? i don't know what to say, other than thank you, from the bottom of my heart ᵎᵎ ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

he could be a tease, and he could also tame you whenever you got too cocky or smart with him.

after all, you knew he would give in anyway, so there was no need to get demanding with your colonel, pips.

however, what he couldn't do was say no to you.

it was impossible.

he might try to shift your attention elsewhere if your demands were too difficult to meet.

or he could think of other things he knew you liked, just so you'd still feel pampered and listened to.

but straight-out denying you something?

unthinkable.

also, it's not like you asked for ridiculous things.

most of the time, you'd just want him to cook something specific, or to buy you something if you didn't feel like spending —or didn't have the money for it.

the smile on your face, as well as your pleased squeals, were rewarding every time.

so, picture his own surprise when you ran to the door with a stuffy nose, wearing his sweater, and coughing loudly… before he finally stopped you.

“pipsqueak? where do you think you're going? i'm about to cook lunch.”

he asked, approaching you slowly.

you just smiled and vaguely pointed through the window next to the door.

huh?

you mean outside?

where it's freezing cold —plus raining?

you soon approached and rubbed your cheek against his chest, looking up at him with pleading, puppy eyes.

“please, lebbie? i want to see the pink rain lilies bloom!”

no. he absolutely wouldn't have it, especially when you were so sick.

“baby, you're coughing. you can't even breathe properly, there's no way—”

“come on! i want to go! come with me, i'll be fine!”

you started pulling him toward the door, but he just picked you up by the waist with one arm and took you away.

“no, baby. that's not a good idea.”

…no?

did you hear that correctly?

he gently sat you down on the couch and draped a warm blanket over you.

“now, stay here while i make lunch. do you want some soup? maybe some stew?”

you crossed your arms over your chest, soon averting your gaze so as not to look at him.

he sighed and moved to the spot you were looking at.

“baby, i am talking to you. do grilled veggies or pasta sound better?”

you averted your gaze again, frowning and narrowing your eyes.

“...'not hungry.”

you mumbled.

and he just let you be, because he knew you could get moody when hungry.

so, he kissed your forehead and went to cook something, as you sulked by yourself.

by the time you two ate, he noticed you were still as pouty as when he left you on the couch.

and worse of all —you weren't talking to him.

not even answering with hums or nods.

“pips?”

he softly called out.

nothing.

you still played with your fork against the plate, pouting your pretty lips and sniffling while the rain poured outside endlessly.

“baby…”

again, nothing. you just stopped playing around and finally stood up from the table.

you shot him one last angry glare before going to your shared bedroom, stomping loudly.

were you mad because he didn't let you go out and potentially get even more sick?

unbelievable.

of course, he followed you, and soon enough, you were squirming under his arms, as he trapped you from behind between his chest and the edge of the bed you were about to climb into.

“pipsqueak, talk to me.”

you tried to get away from his grip, but he was firmly keeping you in place.

not roughly, not harshly.

he just needed to hear you say what was troubling you out loud.

“let go, you big meanie!”

he sighed and turned you around so you could look into his eyes.

“princess… i know i said 'no' to you, and that made you upset. but you're sick, baby. you think i'd ever put you or your health at risk, hm?”

no answer —just a frown on your pretty face.

“answer me, baby. please.”

he guided your face toward his, and you really couldn't do much against his coaxing voice.

he's right.

you covered your lips to cough again, and finally… you gave in.

“i just wanted to see the flowers bloom, lebbie… i'm sorry.”

ah, there she was.

his pretty princess.

“i know, baby. but we can go when the rain stops, okay? it might not be as exciting as seeing them bloom, but… we can go admire them for a while. would that be okay?”

you nodded, hugging him tight.

“yeah… that's fine.”

he smiled and pulled you closer, kissing the top of your head lovingly.

“though, if we're going out, you'll have to drink the ginger and garlic soup you hate so much afterward —just to make sure you don't get worse, pips.”

“hey! that's not fair!”

you tried protesting, but he was already sitting you on the bed and peppering your face with slow kisses, willing to wait for the rain to stop so he could finally indulge you…

while teaching you a lesson after, too.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

you're his pretty pearl, his muse, his long-awaited bride.

he lives to please you, and he loves spoiling you with anything you need, you want, or with things you didn't even know existed.

in return, though, he'll demand some things too, like kisses or attention.

and since you're always so well taken care of —and you love him so much, you never hesitate to indulge, just as much as he does when it comes to you.

one particularly hectic afternoon, rafayel was running around, looking for his favorite pencil.

he looked under the sofa, under the rug, behind the cushions…

it was nowhere to be seen.

he was getting a bit frustrated, but his tension eased a little when he heard your bare feet paddling toward him.

“hey, raffy, look!”

he looked up, and the first thing he saw was a “cute” video of a… cat.

sigh.

“my pearl, why must you punish me with the horrific sight of a… feline?”

a soft giggle escaped your lips before you took his hands in yours.

“don't be silly! don't you think it's cute, all fluffy and chubby?”

he looked at the video again and grimaced.

“uh… define 'cute'.”

you rolled your eyes and dragged him with you to the couch.

“raf…”

he looked at you.

and he knows that glimmer in your eyes all too well.

the eagerness in your voice.

the way you fluttered your eyelashes…

you will ask for something.

“yes, my pearl?”

“can we… adopt a cat? pretty please?”

he knew something like this was coming, and he shook his head almost immediately.

“don't you want a kitty plushie instead? i promise to buy you as many as you—”

“no! i want a real kitty! maybe two!”

you stood up between his legs and shook him by the shoulders.

“please, please, please, please, please, ple—”

“no.”

you stopped.

what did he say?

“huh…?”

“i said no, cutie. we won't have a kitty. i'm sorry, but—”

you stepped away, your lips agape… and your pretty eyes soon turning teary.

“wait, no, my pearl—”

you picked up your phone and ran to your shared bedroom.

he followed suit, but you closed the door in his face…

before opening it again, just to throw the pencil he'd been looking for straight at his head.

“hey, cutie!”

he picked it up immediately, and you just pouted.

“i hope you lose it again, you… kittyphobic!”

bang.

the door closed again.

he took a deep breath and gently rubbed his head.

were his tantrums like this, too?

…did you have his pencil all along?

and, most importantly, was a kitty that important to you?

he babysat a kitten before, and, to be honest, it wasn't as cat-astrophic as he expected.

but having a kitten for life? he wasn't exactly fond of the idea —even when it pained him to see you so sad.

so, trying not to sulk himself, he had to think of ideas.

he paced around in the living room, not wanting to upset you further.

and, after a while, he thinks of what you love the most.

cuddles, him, and… uh, kittens.

naturally, he goes shopping for some supplies.

with a little bit of black paint and some cat ears, he prepares himself to apologize.

because how dares he say “no” to his beautiful girlfriend?

and while he isn't exactly giving in to your request… he hopes you forgive him, even if it's just a little bit.

he knocks on the door and waits for you to come out.

and after a few minutes, you peek out, still frowning.

however, the frown soon turns into a surprised expression as you take in the drawn-on whiskers on his cheeks, the little black heart at the tip of his nose, and the kitten ears resting on his head.

he wastes no time hugging you tightly, starting to rub his cheeks against yours.

“raf—!”

he hums and now nuzzles your neck, closing his eyes as he works.

after what feels like ages, he steps back to look into your eyes and asks:

“you wanted a cat, right?”

you try to compose yourself, fixing your hair and clothes.

“mhm… why? you changed your mind?”

he sighs and cups your cheeks.

“no, but… look! i can be a cute kitty! and best of all, i'm yours! you already have me, cutie.”

he rubs the tips of your noses together, and you can't resist it anymore.

you smile and give in, making him smile as well.

“i actually thought about it… and i was a bit unfair. you don't like cats, and i don't want to force you to do anything, because you wouldn't do that to me either.”

you whisper, smiling apologetically.

he sighs out of relief, but you soon speak again.

“but… now that i have a bigger kitten, i want to give him a big, sparkly collar!”

you clap your hands together and jump.

and how could he say no to you again?

…not when he'll probably end up doing something worse just to make it up again?

“...yes, my pearl. choose the color.”

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

he's your number one enabler.

you wouldn't be this spoiled if it wasn't for him.

in fact, your lips don't even have to move. he just knows what you want before you even think of it, and he'll get you not one, but two of everything, just in case.

you wanted a dress? here, have two different colors.

you wanted an ice cream? he buys two, in case you want some for later.

you need a new laptop? yeah, he gets you two as well, so you get to use them for different things.

he doesn't think you're materialistic, though. it's just… why struggle with wanting anything?

he can, as much as snap his fingers, and your dreams will come true —and that's all that fulfills him; seeing you happy and relaxed.

today wasn't any different.

you went up to him, invaded his lap like a cat rightfully claiming their space with their favorite human, and stared at him.

he looked up from his laptop, his gaze now focusing entirely on you.

“yes, kitten?”

you smiled, poking his cheeks.

“i want my own credit card.”

he blinks slowly, before his eyebrows arch slightly.

“may i know why?”

you quickly show him your phone, and there's this ad from a new bank saying that new clients will get a personalized credit card. you absolutely want your own, but you need to open an account.

he reads the terms and conditions, and his eyes turn back to yours.

he speaks, and you squeal in joy.

“yay! thank y—”

but, wait.

his words didn't sound familiar.

you expected a “yes, sweetie,” or a “right away, darling.”

instead, you hear those dreadful words again.

“i said no, kitten.”

you're so confused.

maybe he thought it was a scam?

that must be it. otherwise, he wouldn't say such an outrageous word, would he?

“wait! a friend told me it is totally legit! she got a hello kitty credit card!”

he sighs, and his hands soon grip your waist slightly.

“you do not need your own credit card. you have mine, and it is yours to use as you please.”

you pout your lower lip.

“yeah, but it's not the same, sy. i want my own customized credit card!”

he gently pinches one of your cheeks between his thumb and index finger.

“no, kitten. that's final.”

“you know what? i'll get one anyway!”

you climb off his lap and quickly walk out of his office.

he just follows you with his gaze, and eventually keeps working, because he knows you'll probably give up after finding out how tedious it is to open an account and provide all the information they usually ask for.

however, you do spend three hours outside, and when you return, you don't come looking for him.

mephisto had him updated about your whereabouts, of course.

but still, sylus wouldn't dare approach you.

not when you were in spicy-kitten mode.

because you weren't talking to him.

and you didn't for the rest of the day, until it was dinner time.

the room felt tense as you two ate, and he finally reached out to caress your hand.

“sweetie.”

you pulled your hand away, obviously still sulking.

“hmph.”

you kept playing around with the food, and sylus noticed you weren't just mad at him; you were also frustrated about something else.

and he didn't need to ask —he just cocked his head to the left, leaning back on his chair, and his piercing crimson eyes did the rest.

you couldn't hide it anymore, and it took you some seconds to finally speak.

“i went to the bank… the waiting room was full...”

“mhm.”

he gestures at you to go on.

“and after three hours, i still had thirty people before me… but i really wanted my own card! it's not fair!”

“i see.”

he dabs a napkin against his lips, and he stands up just to kneel next to you.

“don't make fun of me, sy…”

his expression softens. how could he ever do such a thing?

he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles, then the side of your wrist, then he travels up your arm, all the way to your shoulder.

he stays on your neck, where he places soft, reverent pecks.

“i will get you your own credit card,” he whispers, trailing your jawline with the tip of his nose. “...under my name, of course.”

you want to interject, but a soft —warning— nibble on your earlobe leaves you silent.

“you will decorate it as much as you want, only if you promise not to set foot in that bank ever again.”

you pout and nod quietly.

his right hand cups your cheek, and he brushes your bottom lip with his thumb.

“use your words, darling.”

“...okay, i promise.”

“good.”

he stands up, not without kissing your lips tenderly first, which steals a smile out of your lips.

his heart thumps at the sight.

“can we go right away, sy?”

you stand up behind him, hugging him tight.

“kitten, it is rather late.”

“it's the N109 zone, it's always late! moooove!”

you now start pushing him toward the door, and he just allows it.

the sooner you get what you want, the sooner you'll be happy and cuddly again.

such a smart, spoiled little kitten he has.

…or rather, helped to create himself.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

xavier could be blunt when he wanted to be, and you'd definitely notice whenever he did what you asked for willingly, or when he struggled just for the sake of not making you cry.

either way, with time, he slowly learns that you get really happy whenever he gets something you wanted…

and that he would hate it if someone else managed to make you as happy as he does.

so, you become his spoiled princess eventually, and trust me when i say… you're literally treated as royalty.

from putting on your shoes for you, to brushing your hair after you shower.

no, he won't let you open any door, and whatever you say, goes.

obviously, he's lucky enough to have a sweetheart like you, who never asks for impossible things.

so far, he's been able to keep up with your pleas, and those doe-like eyes you use to get away with everything.

but right now?

he doesn't understand if it is because of the planet's placement, if the moon has mercury in retrograde, or if he got unlucky.

you wanted to go out and eat something.

xavier was exhausted, and he wanted to take a nap first… but you knew he would sleep for hours, so you tried to drag him along, given how hungry you were.

“please, i'm craving pizza! or chicken nuggets…? no, fries!”

you were jumping around, trying your best for your boyfriend to stop resisting and come along.

“we can order takeout, my starlight.”

you didn't want to, though. takeout sometimes took way too much time, or it arrived cold.

“xav! come on, we won't take long! besides, we'll order what you want!”

and he just couldn't take it anymore.

he gently removed your hand from his, and he shook his head.

“no, princess.”

your frantic movements died down.

his tired eyes were still on yours, but his expression became gentler, as if sensing you were about to be distressed.

and he was right.

your arms fell limp to your sides, and you looked away.

you bit your lower lip, and your eyes got teary.

you were so hungry, you didn't want to order takeout food, and your boyfriend told you “no”.

it was a tragedy.

your shoulders slumped, and you quickly made your way to your shared bedroom to hide under the covers, not allowing xavier to get near.

but he was worried sick, noticing your teary eyes.

his worst nightmare was right in front of him —his princess getting sad… and it was his fault.

he tried following you, but you threw some pillows his way.

then the army of plushies he won for you.

then, you grabbed the books on his nightstand, ready to launch them his way…

and that's when he quickly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

his princess was hangry, and all that he could think of was going out and buying some food for you.

but wouldn't that make you even more angry? considering he ended up doing what you pleaded him to, but now by himself?

no, he would have to step up his game.

so he went to the kitchen.

…not to cook, but to try.

he watched some videos on easy recipes that could be done on a rice cooker, so he gave one of them a shot.

and, to be honest, it wasn't that hard.

you finally abandoned the warmth of the blankets and rubbed your puffy eyes, peeking in when you smelled the stew-ish he was cooking.

your tummy rumbled, you truly wanted to eat, and xavier was focused on making things right, still not noticing your presence.

his delicate fingers worked wonders when plating everything up, and even when the stew looked like mashed, boiled veggies thrown over rice, it had a great aroma.

he carefully placed everything on a tray for you, but he stopped when your hand met his arm.

“xav…”

you softly called out, looking up at him.

he tensed up; not because he didn't want you close, but rather because he felt guilty after denying you such a simple request earlier.

“i'm sorry, princess… i should've just gone with you. i know you didn't crave... this, but i still hope you enjoy it.”

he puts the tray over the table, and outstretches his hand for you to take.

however, you run to him and hug him tight, burying your face on his chest.

“i'm sorry… i just didn't want to wait until you woke up from your nap to go out, and i also didn't mean to throw things at you…”

he shakily sighs out of relief, and he cradles your head to pull you even closer.

“it's okay, my starlight. it was easier for me to go with you, and take a nap afterward.”

you both step back just to look at each other, and he kisses your forehead, before fluttering his eyelashes against your cheeks, in what you call “butterfly” kisses.

“now, sit down and wait for me to feed you, okay?”

and now you're back to being pampered, because he spoils you the rest of the night.

and even when he truly, truly needs to sleep, he finds rest and peace when seeing you with a satisfied smile and bright eyes that he promises never to put tears on anymore.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

zayne knows when to spoil you, and when to draw a line.

however, he's so smooth with it that you never notice when he shifts your attention and makes you want something more reasonable…

nor do you notice when you end up doing something he's been wanting you to do, like eating enough, sleeping your hours, and having, overall, healthy habits for your mental and physical well-being.

that doesn't mean that he won't give in when you crave something, or when you ask him to purchase something materialistic —and totally unnecessary.

just take his wallet, love, but do tell him what you plan to buy.

by now, he knows you so well that he is not surprised when you spend on games, on things you use for your hobbies, or when you buy two pastries so you can share them with him.

you're such a spoiled sweetheart, after all, always thinking of him.

today, though, you were particularly insistent.

it was a stressful week for both of you, but zayne had it worse.

he was barely sleeping three hours, and you woke up to him already leaving for work, even when he hadn't rested.

you couldn't force him to sleep, but what you could do was stay up with him to cheer him on, or at least bring him some tea or snacks.

“zaynie, don't you worry! we'll stay up together, and i'll help you with anything you may need!”

obviously, you too had it rough. you've been sleeping for less than five hours, which wasn't as bad as zayne's sleeping routine, but it wasn't healthy either.

“my love, you've been sleeping quite poorly too. i do not want you to stay up because of me.”

you huffed and took him to the bed, before plopping on top of him.

“well, i don't care. i will stay up so we can go to sleep together!”

he gently rolled around, now hovering on top of you. he took his glasses off before they could fall down on your face.

“no, love.”

his voice was stern this time. if it wasn't for the term of endearment, you would've felt like one of his patients.

a soft gasp escaped your lips.

and then, your eyes were teary.

zayne’s expression shifted, and he tried to cradle you, but you squirmed and managed to slip away from him, running to the living room.

“wait—”

but you were already gone, sniffling away.

didn't he want to sleep with you?

was he mad? he sounded mad.

why would he say that awful two-letter word to you?

he can't stand you, surely.

he doesn't want to spoil you anymore.

you threw yourself on the couch, burying your face on a cushion as you cried.

his steps were light as he followed you downstairs, and the sight broke his heart.

“oh, my love…”

you clutched the cushion and looked up with tears streaming down your cheeks.

he only got closer, and you sobbed louder.

okay.

this wasn't going to work, so he decided to give you some space, as he went to prepare you some herbal tea.

he returned to take you back upstairs, but you wouldn't listen to him.

he had to finish his work, therefore he went up to your shared room… though he returned with his laptop and charger, so he could stay next to you on the couch.

you had your arms crossed over your chest, looking at the floor as he worked. occasionally, you wiped away some tears.

sure, you two were together as you wanted, but it didn't feel as good.

he was way more focused on you and your puffy eyes, even when you wouldn't acknowledge him despite being quite literally next to each other.

when you reached for the tea he made for you and gently took a sip, he felt a bit relieved.

however, he could still notice you were tensed up.

“my love. can we talk?”

you averted your gaze immediately, and put the mug down.

“please, sweetheart. i am sorry.”

…you side eyed him.

he set his laptop aside, and he gently called for you with outstretched arms.

“my attitude was inexcusable. i am sorry for hurting your feelings, love. but...”

but?

apologies shouldn't have a “but”.

you frown, but he keeps talking.

“i just want you to sleep like you deserve, my love. i do not wish for you to follow my unhealthy habits… even when i do want to stay up with you.”

ah, this is unfair.

you sniffled again and found yourself crawling into his arms.

he rocked your body with tenderness and patience, shushing you down and kissing your head repeatedly as soon as he had you close.

would it be like this the next time he denies anything to you?

well, for starters, would he deny anything to you again?

he doesn't think so, not when you are clinging to him even after he wounded your precious heart.

your plan, however, “failed” once again.

not because he sent you to sleep by yourself, but because he fell asleep while rocking you, and you fell asleep with him protectively holding you.

so, even unconsciously, zayne is still giving in to his sweet, spoiled princess, no matter if you still don't quite understand how much he cares about you and your well-being.

[jareaufiles]

jack abbott and how he fucks you headcanons? PLS

JACK ABBOT – NSFW HEADCANONS

MASTERLIST

Jack’s seduction is slow, deliberate—like a business negotiation he knows he’s already won.

He’ll have you flustered before he’s even touched you. His voice alone, low and silk-smooth, can make your thighs clench. The way he calls you “darlin’” or “sweetheart” with that faint smirk—it’s the smugness that gets you. He knows the effect he has on you, and he exploits it.

He’s extremely dominant in bed, but not in a performative way.

Jack doesn’t bark orders—he commands with soft-spoken authority. “Take your panties off and lie back for me.” “You want Daddy’s cock, baby? Say it.” He can make the filthiest things sound refined, which just turns you on more.

Jack loves eating pussy. Like… worship-level love.

He’ll get on his knees in that expensive suit and push your legs apart like he owns you. One hand on your thigh, the other holding your hips down as he takes his time sucking on your clit, tongue slowly fucking into you until you’re crying his name. He’ll murmur praise against your cunt like, “That’s it, baby. So sweet for me,” as he groans and devours you like it’s his last meal.

He’s into overstimulation—and edging, if he’s in the mood to ruin you.

Jack likes watching you beg. Likes seeing you squirm under him, cheeks tear-streaked because he’s denied your orgasm three times already. “You don’t come until I say so,” he’ll growl, fucking you deep, slow, one hand tight around your throat as he watches you fall apart.

He’s possessive, but classy about it.

That hand on your lower back at business events? It dips just low enough to claim. That whisper in your ear? “I can still taste you on my tongue, baby. Smile for the cameras.” He’ll finger you under the dinner table if he’s in the mood—make you come in silence while he keeps up polite conversation.

Jack fucks like he’s got something to prove.

And maybe he does. Age, reputation, legacy—he puts it all into how he handles you in bed. Deep, grinding thrusts that make your entire body bounce against the mattress. He likes it messy. Likes the slick sound of your wetness every time he drives into you. When you’re soaked, dripping down your thighs, he’ll mutter, “That’s right. You were made to take this cock.”

He’s obsessed with how tight you are for him.

Every time he pushes inside you, he lets out a growl—low and feral. “So tight, sweetheart. Every damn time.” He loves watching your face twist when he stretches you open, especially if it’s been a while and you’re already shaking.

Jack loves it when you ride him—but he won’t let you lead for long.

He’ll let you grind against his cock, watch you with that smug look as you bounce. Then suddenly, his hands are on your hips, slamming you down harder, rhythm brutal, like he’s in control again. “You wanted to ride Daddy, huh? Then take it.”

He finishes deep every time.

Jack is a cum-inside-you man, no question. He’ll fuck you through it, not pulling out, grinding his cock as he spills inside and holds you there, panting in your ear. “You’re mine now, baby. All fucking mine.” Sometimes he stays inside after, still hard, fucking his cum deeper until it leaks down your thighs.

Aftercare? Immaculate.

He’ll get a warm cloth, wipe you clean, kiss your trembling thighs. Tucks you under the sheets and holds you close, whispering, “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed, sweetheart.” His fingers trace lazy circles on your back while you drift off on his chest.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[missmookie]

bimbo clarke kent smut🫣

keep it down, will ya?!

cw: clark kent x bimbo!reader, embarrasment, rude-ish neighbor, smut towards the middle, daddy is used 1-2 times, squirting, unprotected sex (uh oh 😲), mdni/nobody under 17 yadayada blah blah or do i can't control what you do and consume + i barely check who interacts with me anyway

you and clark had just moved into your new apartment together. it wasn’t anything crazy— a two bed + one bath walk-up on the third floor, soft lighting with slightly creaky wooden floorboards and tall windows that let in the morning sun. but to you, it was perfect.

the kind of perfect where everything still smelled like fresh paint and cardboard, where clark would come home after a long day at the planet and kiss your forehead before even setting down his stuff. where you’d giggle while trying to make dinner in one of his oversized t-shirts, where he’d always lift you up to reach the high cabinets even though you were never really trying that hard to get anything. it was soft. new. yours.

and maybe the walls were a little thin, and maybe the sound echoed when the bed frame hit the wall, but that didn’t really cross your mind that first night—especially not when clark had you laid out under him like a present he couldn’t wait to unwrap.

“mm—clark, slow down,” you whimpered, voice breathy as you held onto his shoulders. “feels too good—can’t, nnghh."

his mouth curved into the sweetest little smile as he kissed your cheek. “you don’t have to do anything, baby. just let me take care of you.”

you were already soaked from how long he’d teased you—soft kisses, hands sliding under your shirt while you straddled his lap on the couch, his voice low and warm when he told you how pretty you were, how he missed you all day, how much he needed you.

by the time he carried you to the bedroom, your legs were trembling around his waist and your panties were practically ruined from your slick.

and god, he was so big. thick and heavy between your thighs, stretching you open slow as he pushed in, murmuring praises into your neck the whole time. “you can take it, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. “you always take it so well for me. just breathe f'me.”

you gasped as he bottomed out repeatedly, eyes fluttering with tears of pleasure, mouth falling open. your voice came out in a broken little whines, “oh my god, clark you're so deep, i-it’s too much, i can feel you in my stomach—”

he groaned at your words, hips slightly stuttering. “shit, baby… don’t say things like that. you’ll make me nut too fast.”

you giggled, high and airy, arms wrapping around his neck. “you like it when i say that? when i tell you how big you are daddy?”

he gave you a warning look— gentle, but dark. “watch it.”

but you just kept babbling, pouty and fucked out, too cockdrunk to stop. “i love your cock, daddy. s-so big, fills me up so good, don’t think ’m ever gonna walk again—”

he silenced you with a kiss, deep and messy, before rolling his hips harder, dragging himself out to the tip, then slamming back in with a force that made the headboard hit the wall with a sharp thud!

you moaned, near pornographic.

“shh,” he whispered against your mouth. “you gotta be quiet, honey.”

“but i can’t baby, i can'ttt ” you whined, tears falling from your eyes just from how good it felt. “you’re fucking me so deep, baby, can't— fuhhck!”

“i know, sweetheart.” he pressed a hand flat to your lower stomach, pressing down. “right here, huh? that’s me?”

you nodded quickly, dumb and breathless, jaw going slack as he started fucking you in slow, deep strokes that pressed against all the right spots. the bed creaked with every movement, the wall thudded in rhythm. your moans were shameless, echoing loud in the room every time he kissed the tip of your cervix.

“baby,” you slurred, clinging to him. “it’s gonna be so messy, i can feel it clark, ’m gonna, g'nna make a mess—”

he leaned in close, glasses crooked on his face. “go ahead,” he rasped. "wet my dick ꒰♡꒱, make a mess all over it.”

and when you finally came, body shaking beneath him as wet, clear streams leaked from your pussy, he followed seconds later— thrusting into you deep and slow as he spilled inside you, white sticky cum painting your womb as he moaned out your name.

you laid there tangled in the sheets, legs trembling and chest heaving, still babbling sweet little nothings as he kissed you through your orgasm. “you okay?” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

you nodded sleepily. “mhm, s'good… but, baby?”

"hm?"

"we were so loud."

he just chuckles, kissing the tip of your nose, and pulls you flush to his bare chest. “worth it.”

౨ৎ

the next morning, you tugged on a hoodie over your tiny sleep shorts, still a little sore and floaty between your thighs. your legs brushed when you walked, and you bit your lip, smiling to yourself as you slipped out the front door to get the mail.

the hallway was quiet as you padded down in your house shoes to the little row of mailboxes, humming to yourself while flipping through a stack of envelopes. but before you could make it back to your apartment, someone cleared their throat behind you.

you turned, and immediately wished you hadn’t.

one of the neighbors from down the hall stood there in a pressed blouse and pencil skirt, lips pursed in a tight, judgmental little line. “hi there,” she said. “welcome to the building.”

you smiled nervously. “oh, thank you! me and my boyfriend just moved in yesterday.”

“yes, i had figured,” she replied coolly. “everyone had figured, actually.”

your stomach dropped. “...huh?”

“i’m just saying,” she continued, folding her arms, “it’d be really great if you two could keep things down next time. the walls here are thin, you know.”

your whole face went hot. “oh my god! i, i-i’m so sorry!” you stammered, clutching the mail to your chest. “i um, i didn’t realize, i swear, w-we weren’t trying to— ”

“just be mindful,” she quips, turning on her heel and walking off.

you stood there frozen for a beats, mouth hanging open in pure mortification before rushing back to the apartment, nearly dropping the mail as you slammed the door behind you.

“clark,” you gasped, stomping back into the kitchen where he was sipping coffee in nothing but his sweatpants, “baby. i think the neighbors heard us.”

he looked up from his mug, blinking innocently. “what?”

“last night! when we, you know!” you make a circle with one hand and pushing your pointer finger through it repeatedly. "that!" you groan, covering your face with your hands. “this lady with the most lucious hair i've ever seen literally stopped me in the hall to say the walls are thin. she said everyone heard!"

clark set his mug down, and you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying so hard not to smile.

“oh no,” he said, all faux concern as he walked over and wrapped an arm around your waist. “that’s awful.”

“stop it! don’t act like you’re not proud of yourself,” you huffed, smacking his chest lightly. “you were literally breaking the bed, clark! i swear i heard the headboard crack at least five times!”

“i wasn’t trying to,” he murmured into your hair, biting back a laugh as he kissed your temple. “guess you just bring it out of me.”

you buried your face in his chest, whining, “i can never show my face out there again.”

“you’ll be fine,” he chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to your cheek. “we’ll just keep it down tonight.”

he paused.

"...or not."

"clark kent!"

he was already laughing as you shoved at him with both hands, but he pulled you right back in, kissing the pout off your lips until you melted in his arms all over again.

and later that night? the neighbors definitely heard you again.

© missmookie est. 2025

[moonchildstyles]

Hear me out. Vamp Harry comforting y/n from a really bad nightmare. Like maybe it was the blood children or something and she’s just really shaken and scared even though she knows h will always protect her and H just holding her and comforting her until she goes back to sleep and the entire time she’s asleep he doesn’t even loosen his hold. Just makes sure she stays tucked in his arms, which is the safest place she could ever be in 🥺

wordcount: 2.1k+

—————

Scanning his hand over the length of her back, Harry took in a heavy breath of (Y/N)'s scent as she slept against his chest. Her hair rustled against his nose, reacting to his fanning breaths. Though they were separated from the layers of blankets, he could still feel the heat emanating from her skin. He couldn't help but to cling to her, hoping she wouldn't get disturbed by the chill of his own touch. 

Harry didn't have to look out the shaded windows to know the moon was still high in the sky. He had hours still until (Y/N) would wake in the morning. Though since meeting her these hours in the dark had become an impatient time for him, he always enjoyed the opportunity to observe her. There was always something new to find about her. 

That was something he'd always admired about her: the way humans were always changing. He'd never really paid attention to the transience of the beings around him, not until he met (Y/N). Now he'd become entranced at the idea of there always being something new to see, something to discover about (Y/N), after a long existence of the same. 

Even tonight, she wasn't sleeping quite the same as she always seemed to. As usual, she was stuck to him with her head tucked against his neck. But, there was a difference in the way she clutched at him, with her hands between their chests, fingers in his shirt. Though he couldn't see her face at the moment, he could feel the fanning of her breath skating over his skin, the pacing different than he was used to when she was so deeply asleep. 

A crooked smile hooked his lips. He liked the idea that even in her sleep she searched him out, reaching for his touch. If his heart beat, he was sure it would be pounding against his chest, looking for her own. 

Harry closed his eyes, sinking into the mattress. (Y/N) had told him once that she dreamy of him often, nearly every night. What he wouldn't give to crawl into her mind, to see what she saw. 

Especially on a night like this, where she clung to him, heart rate picking up in her chest. A dimple dented his cheek at the thought of what could be whirling around her head. Selfishly, he hoped it was about him; the kind of dream that had her heart quickening, her breath coming in puffs. 

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a breathy murmur fell from her lips, "Harry." 

That soft smile widened into a grin on his lips. He tightened his hold on her, wordlessly letting her know that he was right here. He's got her. 

"Harry," she murmured again, more clarity to her voice than before. 

A pinch appeared between his brows. If he didn't know any better, he would think she had awoken.

"(Y/N)?" 

The rumble of his voice vibrated under her cheek, though she didn't stir. She never usually spoke in her sleep, especially nothing past a few mumbled words. Maybe this one was particularly vivid —particularly real to her tonight. 

Harry continued to run a circuit with his palm around her back, fingertips dragging between her shoulder blades. As much as he did enjoy hearing his name on her lips, he hoped the gentle touching would settle her down. He couldn't imagine she would wake up very rested if she talked all night long. 

The longer he touched her, the more her body relaxed. Her heart rate lowered, back to the even pacing that she started the night with. Harry took another long pull of her scent into his lungs. As much as he loved her voice, hearing her during the hours he missed her most, he figured this would make for a better night for her. 

All at once, Harry could hear the spike in her heartbeats, the rocketing of her breathing just as she fought to untangle herself from him. The quilt wrapped around her body was messily pushed off, hooking around her hips with the sheets going askew. She couldn't seem to move fast enough, her croaky voice muttering indecipherable words until he could hear the shout of his name breaking through her throat. 

"Harry!" she gasped, unfocused gaze seeing through him.

A sheen covered her eyes, sparkling over her iris. He doubted she could see in the dark of their bedroom the way he did, especially when she seemingly began to panic more. Her breathing came in noisy pants, hands bundling close to her chest as if she were too afraid to reach for him. 

The mattress creaked under his weight as Harry sat up, reaching for her himself. 

"(Y/N), petal? Are you okay?" he asked, watching as the world came into focus for her.

Instead of a gasping breath shuddering her lungs, a whimper eked from her throat. The sheen over her eyes turned into a gathered puddle on her waterline, ducts flushing red. Those bundled hands at her chest clutched one another harder. 

"Harry? Is that really you?" she whispered, voice broken and watery. 

"Oh, petal," he crooned, reaching for her.

He took her into his arms, holding her as she crumbled into him. He could feel the falling of her tears against his neck, the way she shuddered against his chest. His own features were pinched, brows furrowed. 

"What happened, petal?" he murmured, palms spanning her back as he held her close.

She only let out a shuddering whine, nothing sensical leaving her. His lips thinned, his worry mounting. He thought she had been sleeping just fine, that he had soothed her past her vivid dreaming. 

(Y/N) clung to him, crying for as long as she needed. To Harry, it felt like hours, waiting and worrying as his imagination conjured up the many reasons she would be blubbering into tears in the middle of the night. 

(The most logical reason, that also made him want to cringe away, was a nightmare containing himself). 

"H-Harry," she cried, "I'm sorry." 

His expression further soured. "Petal, why are you apologizing?" 

She shook her head, a shuddering breath leaving her lungs. "I'm cr-crying all over you. In the middle of the n-night." 

He couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped him. "As if I was sleeping. 'S alright—do not waste your time worrying about me. I am worried about you, my love. What happened?" 

She sniffled, turning her face until she laid her cheek against his shoulder. "Bad dream," she mumbled, voice thick and watery. 

Harry hugged her that much tighter in response. "What was your nightmare about?" 

She hesitated before she spoke, Harry waiting intently. "The—uh—the... those things that found me that one time. When you yelled at me." 

Her voice was impossibly quiet; he doubted any human would have been able to properly hear her, lacking in the heightened senses he possessed. 

Though, there was a part of him that wished he hadn't been able to hear her at all. His frozen heart cracked hearing the description she gave. 

The memory she brought up wasn't one he looked back on fondly. One he wished he never participated in and would do over in a heartbeat if given the chance. Especially when he considered just how different the outcome could have been had he never followed her out to the garden at the exact right moment. 

"I-I was outside again," she continued in his silence, a hiccup disrupting her voice, "And they were there. I tried calling for you, but you couldn't hear me, and the-they kept getting closer. I was going to run, but they were faster, but I made myself wake up before they caught me." 

The crack in his frozen heart turned into a full crevice, halving the organ until there were only strings of his love for her holding it together. 

"Petal," he crooned, hoping she didn't hear the break in his voice, "I am so sorry. So sorry." 

"It's okay," she murmured, shaking her head against his shoulder, "It wasn't real." 

Though her words were a reassurance, queued up for the both of them, Harry wasn't able to take it as such. While she was right, this dream wasn't real and he was able to soothe her and keep her safe, there was a time when this scenario was real. Not the exact one, as he came to her without even a single call, but close enough that it felt harrowing. 

But, this wasn't about him. He wasn't going to sob over her and beg for her forgiveness when she so obviously needed comfort. 

"I've got you, petal," he promised, "They aren't coming back. I swear it." 

"I know," she nodded, hair ticking his cheek, "I know that, I don't know why I even had this dream. I haven't thought about them in so long." 

That was a small balm in his chest. At least he had been able to make up some for the incident, enough to keep her from dwelling on that day. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, for more than just this appearance in her dream, "But you're safe now. I am going to keep you safe, I swear." 

"I know." 

(Y/N) snuggled against him that much more. 

She fell silent then, allowing Harry to tune into his senses. He could hear the small tremor in her lungs, matching the hiccup that echoed through her. The pacing of her heartbeat was evening out into a soothing baseline, the thrum that he was able to pick out of a lineup. The only remnant of her tears was the stain on his shirt. 

Far from the first time, he wished he was warm for her. He wished he could do more for her; touch her in more than just a few delicate sweeps made in fear of igniting goosebumps on her skin. Though (Y/N) never cringed away from him, or pulled away from his touch before he made the choice for her, he was sure it would be much more pleasant to snuggle into something warm. 

But, Harry kept holding her. He soothed his palm around her back, recreating the circuit before she had jolted awake. 

"Do y'want to go back to sleep, petal? Or did y'want to go to m'studio, or something—get your mind off of your dream?" 

He could also make her something to eat, he thought. Or one of those frothy chocolate drinks she showed him. That would warm her. 

Harry waited for an answer. The silence stretched on.

A furrow knitted his brows. She hadn't fallen asleep already, right?

Taking stock of her form, he listened to the drum of her heart rate. Her breathing was even, void of the hiccuping tremor that had pushed out her sobs. She was draped over him a touch more than she had been moments before, having melted into him until she was being held up by his arms.

She'd already fallen asleep. 

A smile cracked his features. Maybe he wasn't quite as cold as he thought he was. 

Breathing out a heavy, unnecessary sigh, Harry cautiously laid back. The bedding tufted around him, his arms a careful cage around her body. He attempted to keep her as steady as possible, shifting her only when he pulled up the comforter over her form. Once he had her nestled into the sheets, her hands still gently clutching his shirt, he glanced at her face. 

Her features were set into peaceful lines, lacking those creases and edges that had marred them before. Her lips still held that flush and swell from her sobs, though only the tear tracks reflecting off of her skin was the only give away of her hard night. 

As much as he felt responsible for her nightmare, there was something calming knowing that she found that comfort in his arms, enough so that fell back to sleep without a second thought. All she seemingly needed was his arms and promise that he would be there, that he had her, and she was reassured enough to go back to resting.

Looking at her, he tipped his head and rested his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, reveling in her warmth, the very tip of his nose skimming her own. 

She was okay. Despite how much he dwelled on his past mistakes and grievances, (Y/N) loved him anyway. Found solace in him. Looked for him for safety. 

Just as much as he looked for her to fill the missing half of his heart. 

Hugging her tight, he pressed a delicate kiss to the tip of her nose. "I love you, petal." 

Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, he decided. He was going to wake her with breakfast in bed, paint a new piece for her, create a gourmet lunch, maybe run out and get the kitten she had begun begging him for, and a grand dinner to cap everything off. All while he would be at her disposal, falling to her every beck and call. 

He was going to take care of her. 

—————

thank u smsmsmms for reading and to whoever requested this literally forever ago!!!!! sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun requests or ideas of your own pleaseee send them in!

[beomiracles]

𝖲𝖰𝖴𝖤𝖠𝖪𝖸 𝖢𝖫𝖤𝖠𝖭 연준

Yeonjun didn't know what to expect when he pulled into the makeshift carwash on your driveway. But $20 was not something easily passed up, especially not when they include you in a mini bikini.

𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

chaebol!yeonjun x car washer!reader (f) 𐔌 🫧 𐦯 explicit content, dom!yeonjun & sub!reader, paid services, yeonjun is a perv & also a little handsy, reader is deliberately trying to be seductive, breast play, kissing, dry humping, yeonjun's an ass man, spanking (light), face sitting + oral (f.rec). not proofread !

彡 wc 2.4k

Yeonjun’s fingers drum against the steering wheel as he cruises down the nearly vacant street. The area, usually bustling with life, seemed eerily quiet today. But when he makes a left turn, he suddenly realizes where all the commotion has gone. — Lined up by the sidewalk are dozens of cars, all waiting in line for something he couldn’t yet see. 

So naturally, Yeonjun joins. Eyes peering past the three cars in front of him, he manages to catch a glimpse of the driveway they were all longing to get into. A large sign made out of cardboard reads, ‘Get Soaked!’ Yeonjun’s lip twitches, hands curling a little tighter around the wheel as he settles back against the leather seat. 

Why not? 

The line is atrociously long — moving at a snail's pace with each car pulling up and out of the driveway. Then finally, after what seems like hours of wait. There’s a mere two cars ahead of him. By now he’s got a damn near perfect view of the girls working. All dressed in skimpy bikin’s, drenched head to toe in water and soap. 

His eyes lingers on one of them, carrying a heavy bucket filled to the brim with a sudsy concoction. You stumble toward the car, flashing the guy in the driver’s seat a smile before pouring it all over his windshield. What little is left in the bucket, you tilt back to yourself, letting it pour down your chest as you grab a sponge. 

Yeonjun swallows, eyes stuck to the shorts you wore, clinging to your skin like a second layer. He shamelessly ogles you, trailing your figure with each step you take — gaze glued to the curve of your ass when you bend over the hood of the car. 

Another twenty minutes later and it’s finally his turn. His car pulls into the driveway, tires coming to a screeching stop on the concrete. He sees you, skin glistening under the hot summer sun. Your back is turned to him, your attention diverted to the other girls. The conversation between you is muffled, but then you turn on your heel — and Yeonjun’s breath catches in his throat. 

Rolling his window down, he can barely contain his smirk as you approach, bending down to rest your elbows on the window sill, the scent of vanilla perfume invading his senses. “Looks like you’re our last customer for the day”, you say, your voice a sultry drawl. 

Yeonjun chuckles, “Lucky me.” 

You send him a half-smile, nodding toward the rest of the girls. “The others are gonna get to cleaning up, so it’ll be just you and me. Hope that’s alright.” Yeonjun’s gaze flickers between you and the remaining girls a few yards away. The thought of getting you to yourself, he could not be more pleased, “That’ll be perfect.” 

He pays you in cash, and you accept the money gratefully as you shove it in the back pocket of your shorts. Then you get to work, pouring a bucket full of water and soap — making it run down his already spotless windshield before you begin cleaning. Your hands move slowly, sponge squeezed between your fingers as you lean over the hood of his car. 

Relaxing back against the driver’s seat, Yeonjun is given a perfect view of your tits as they damn near spill out of your ridiculously small bikini. He licks his lips, adjusting himself in his pants as he tries to ignore the way he’d been aching for a taste since he’d first laid eyes on you. 

You catch his longing glances, how could you not? And fuck, the smile you send him back makes him reconsider his morals for a brief moment. 

You’re practically draped over the hood of his car at this point, one leg swung over the shiny surface. Back arched just perfectly when you sit back to squeeze the excess soap on the sponge all over your chest. The soap suds trail down your wet skin, taunting in the way they caress every part of your body, some slipping all the way down your stomach and past the waistband of your shorts. 

Yeonjun tears his gaze away when you slide off and walk over to fetch another bucket, biting back a strained groan as he wonders what had compelled him to pull into the long line in the first place. But his gaze quickly finds its way back to you, watching with barely contained desire as you bend down to pour more soap in the bucket. 

The last bit of his restraint snaps when you lean back up, moving in a way that made him pray the neighbors kept their kids inside. Without thinking twice he leans out of the window, his voice betraying how worked up he already was. “Hey, you do any detail work?” 

With a slightly puzzled expression, you turn back to him — like you were making sure he was actually talking to you. “I…” You re-approach his car, stopping by his rolled down window. Yeonjun can sense the hesitation radiating off of you and before you can get another word in he blurts out, “I’ll pay double.” The proposal surprising even himself. 

You bite your bottom lip at the offer, eyes darting toward the house where your friends waited for you to finish up. Then your attention returns to him, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “Alright”, you say as you extend an open palm — and Yeonjun’s already reaching for his wallet. 

The leather of the passenger seat becomes soaked the second your wet body slides inside, but Yeonjun could hardly care. His gaze follows your every move. He can tell that you don’t know what you’re doing, hand sliding over the instrumental panel with a damp towel carefully — your posture a lot less provocative than it had been five minutes ago. 

“So, you doing this for charity or something?” He asks, fingers trailing along the side of your arm absentmindedly. You blink twice at the question, clearly caught off guard by his advances. The quiet stutter of your breath makes him smirk. — “Yeah… Something like that”, you mumble, your attention not straying from the rug in your hand. 

Yeonjun hums, but doesn’t pull away, instead his fingers inch higher until they’re toying with the strap of your bikini. You tense under his touch, audibly swallowing as you clear your throat. “Is there anything else that needs attention?” You wonder as you glance around the spotless inside of his car. Anyone could see that the vehicle was hardly in need of any touch ups. 

Tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek, Yeonjun weighs his options for a moment. “Yeah”, he then says as he shifts in his seat, hand patting his lap, “Right here.” 

Your reaction was everything he’d expected. Jaw slacked and brows raised high on your forehead as you searched his face for any hint of a joke. But what he hadn’t expected was for you to comply almost right away — wet legs maneuvering over the gearbox as you settle on his spread thighs. 

Yeonjun bites back a snide remark when your hands find his shoulders, instead diverting his attention to your chest — mere inches from his face. Your skin is still damp, and Yeonjun bets he’d taste soap if he leans forward to lick the curve of your breast right now. He holds off though, fingers brushing against your jaw as he peers up at you with lustful eyes. 

“You gonna pay me triple for this?” You ask, head tilted to the side as a small smirk plays on your face. 

“Depends.” 

You frown, “On what?” 

Yeonjun’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, the motion slow and deliberate. “If I’m happy with your services.” 

He leans forward, hand sliding down to grip your chin as he connects you both in a kiss. You respond almost right away, arms wrapping around his neck when you slip your tongue in his mouth. He keeps you close, refusing to break away from the moment of intimacy as he exhales against your lips. 

When you grind your hips down on his clothed erection, Yeonjun can’t help but groan as his hands begin to wander. He feels every part of your exposed skin, fingers squeezing around your waist before trailing to your back as he finds the string holding your bikini top together. “Off”, he grunts into the kiss, sighing when you reach behind to undo the elastic. 

He leans back to give you room, watching with intent as you slide the skimpy piece of clothing off — eyes immediately going to your hard nipples. He takes one in his mouth, doesn't bother asking as his fingers pinch the other one. The ragged moan he pulls from you is enough to tell him you want this just as bad as he does. 

Tongue swirling over the expanse of your breast, he can taste the salty essence of soap on you — images of you pouring that bucket all over yourself flashing before him. His teeth drag along your skin, and Yeonjun fights the urge to not just sink them down as hard as he can, longing to hear you whine under him. 

Your back bumps against the steering wheel, sending off the car horn as it echoes through the neighborhood. He feels you tense against him, your head snapping over your shoulder for any sign of your friends. 

Straightening back up, Yeonjun pulls his mouth off your tits as his hand grabs your face — turning you back to him and forcing your lips to meet in another kiss. 

“Fucking car’s too small”, he gruffly mutters under his breath, fingers fumbling for the button that would send the seat flying backward. When it does, you yelp in surprise, clinging on to him even harder. 

The new position allows you to grind against him with more ease, your initial shock quickly subsiding into pleasure. Yeonjun’s hands roam your body, finally getting a handful of the ass he’d been staring at for so long. Fingers digging into your flesh under the pathetically small shorts, he pushes you down on him, groaning at the way you slid against his throbbing cock. 

Suddenly the layers of damp clothes seemed like an ocean separating you, and Yeonjun impatiently began tugging on the wet material that hugged your ass. Quickly catching on, you reach down to undo the small button holding everything in place, allowing him to yank the useless shorts down in one go. 

His eyes widen when his hands return to your ass, only to be met with bare skin. “Fuck, you’re not wearing any panties.” He murmurs, the statement followed by your sweet giggle as you nod against his neck, still grinding against his pants. 

Yeonjun wastes no time in tugging you forward, making you squeal as you hold on to him. “Sit on my face”, he instructs to which you still against him. Head lifting from the crook of his neck, you send him a confused glance. Giving your ass an impatient slap, Yeonjun huffs, “Come on.” 

You swallow before hurriedly complying, crawling along his sprawled out body. Knees sinking into the leather of the seat either side of his face, Yeonjun is given the perfect view of your exposed cunt, just as wet as the rest of you. His hands claw at your thighs, urging you close. “Sit”, he rasps, the command coming out more of a plea than anything else. 

Doing as he says, you carefully allow yourself to sink down on his waiting face. Yeonjun practically moans at the feeling of you pressed against him, mouth open as he tries to swallow you whole in one go. You squirm when his tongue drags across your fluttering hole all the way to your clit, swirling around it a handful of times as he draws you closer. 

Fuck, you taste amazing. 

His hands return to your ass, kneading the soft flesh there as he devours your cunt. Above him, you whine, thighs trembling around his head as you fight to stay upright. 

Yeonjun momentarily diverts his attention from your clit, instead working on pushing his tongue as deep inside of you as he possibly could. His eyes, previously closed as he focused on the sensations of you on his face, fluttered open when he hears you moan above him. You look absolutely divine like this, choked up by the simple touch of his tongue. 

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and Yeonjun swears he could’ve cum right there and then. You send him that same smile you had earlier, the one that made him ache for more, hips arching up into nothing as he grips your ass harder. 

His brows furrow when he feels you clench around his tongue, your hips have begun moving on top of his face — clit hitting the bridge of his nose each time. “You gonna cum on my face?” He murmurs, the words muffled against your cunt. You nod, just barely uttering a breathless ‘uh-huh’. 

The slap he delivers to your ass echoes throughout the car, making you whine. “Words”, he says in one short breath. He hears you gasp, thighs clenching around his head when you mumble out a quiet, “Please.” 

Yeonjun smirks against your cunt, satisfied with your answer, his tongue moves back to tease your clit. 

It doesn’t take him long to have you writhing on top of him, moans and pleas spilling from your lips when you finish. He drinks up every drop of it, mouth greedily moving against your spasming cunt like a man starved — desperate to satiate his cravings. 

It’s not until he can barely breathe that he pulls back, chin and lips smothered in your arousal as he peers up at you. Your chest is heaving and your forehead is covered in a sheen layer of sweat. “Well?” You pant as you meet his gaze. 

Yeonjun licks his lips, savoring the remnants of you. His hands give your ass a firm squeeze, “You’ll get the triple.” 

With an amused giggle you carefully slide back down his chest, settling on top of his thighs as your fingers trail along the waistband of his pants. Toying with his belt, you send him that same fucking smile, “How about quadruple?”

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[barnesonly]

Illegal

mob!bucky barnes x fbi!reader

summary: You’re an FBI agent sent undercover to get close to the most dangerous mob boss in the city. But the deeper you go, the harder it gets to remember which side you’re really on.

word count: 6,3k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! for all the tags/warnings, please check series masterlist since it may contain spoilers.

Chapter Six — „Mess” | Previous

“I guess we’re both liars then.”

It hit you like a punch to the chest.

You blinked. “What…?”

He finally looked at you. Eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

“Promised?” he repeated after you. “You wanna tell me about promises after everything you’ve done?” He sniffed and his eyes rolled upward, not in annoyance, but like he was searching for patience—or trying to hold back tears.

“I gave you everything I had,” he said, shaking his head, almost like he pitied himself for it. “I fucking believed in you. I let you into my world—let you touch parts of me I didn’t even know still existed. And you stood there, looked me in the eye, and lied.”

James stepped back like even standing this close to you made him sick. “So don’t talk to me about promises. You don’t know the first thing about keeping them.”

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths as you tried to steady yourself—tried to keep from falling apart entirely. You placed a trembling hand over your belly, instinctively, protectively. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

“What… what happens now?” you asked, voice small, raw. Barely above a whisper.

You weren’t even sure if you were asking about you two or the baby—or both.

“I don’t fucking know,” James said, the words torn out of him. “But we are done.”

Your head shook instantly, fiercely, panic climbing up your throat like fire. You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Especially not now.

“Please,” you whispered, stepping forward, one hand still clutching your stomach. “Please just give me a chance. Please, James—”

But his head was already shaking, the reaction so visceral it startled you. Sharp and immediate. Like the idea physically hurt him.

“No!” he snapped, voice cracking under the weight of it. “We’re done. We’re fucking done—I don’t even know you! You’re nothing but a stranger to me!”

You crumbled under the weight of it all, tears spilling down your cheeks again, your voice barely more than a breath.

“I don’t know what to do now, James… please,” you choked out. “I’m so scared—”

He flinched like it physically pained him. His eyes darted to you, then away just as quickly, like looking at you was too much. Too raw. Too full of everything he used to love and everything he didn’t know how to forgive.

He ran a hand over his face, the weight of it all pressing down on his shoulders until they slumped. You could see it—the part of him that still cared, that still ached for you, even through the rage and heartbreak.

“What’s your deal with them?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, worn thin. “The FBI. What happens if you tell them you’re pregnant?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “They’d pull me out,” you said quietly. “Immediately. I’d be debriefed, moved… probably put under protection somewhere far. They’d make me testify.”

His jaw tensed, ticking with something unreadable. “Because they’d think I’d come after you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you said quickly, firmly. “I know you wouldn’t. But that’s not how they see it.”

„I just put a gun to your head.” he reminded you.

„But you didn’t pull the trigger.”

James nodded, slow and bitter. A pause stretched between you—long, brittle, heavy with things neither of you wanted to say.

“Do it,” he murmured. “Go. Let them take you somewhere safe. Start over.”

You stared at him, heart plummeting. “You’re telling me to disappear?”

“I’m telling you to live,” he said. “Before this gets worse. Before you’re in deeper than you already are.”

You took a shaky step forward. “I don’t want to leave you. Or hurt you.”

He gave a dry, broken laugh. “Little late for that.”

You stood there, breath catching in your throat as the weight of those words settled over you like ash. Final. Irrevocable.

“I can’t just leave,” you whispered. “I know I lost you, I know I did, but James…” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

He looked at you then, eyes glassy and torn, like part of him wanted to believe that—but the rest of him knew better.

“There’s no coming back from this,” he said quietly, not even looking at you. “And you know that.”

Your knees nearly buckled. You sobbed, covering your mouth with your hand like that could keep you from falling apart. But it was too late for that. You already had.

James finally looked up, and though his eyes were rimmed red and full of something close to regret, his voice came steady.

“Tell them,” he said. “Go to the FBI. Make your deal.”

You blinked through your tears and shook your head. „I don’t want that.”

“It’s the only way,” he muttered. “They’ll protect you. Protect the baby. That’s what matters now.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want protection—I want you.”

He sniffed, running a hand down his face. The sound he made was barely a breath, but it so much pain and the final crack of something breaking.

“Please…” he said, eyes glistening. “If you want to fix this—then do it.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. Every part of you resisted what he was asking. What it meant.

“It means I’d have to testify against you, James. I’ll put you in more trouble, I—” Your voice was hollow. Shaken.

His eyes closed for a moment. Then opened, steady. Resolute.

“I said do it,” he said. “Say what you have to. Tell them what you know.”

“I don’t want to, James. I meant what I said, I love—”

He gave you that look. Sharp. Cold. The kind that sliced straight through whatever you were about to say. And it shut you up instantly.

You swallowed, stumbling over your own breath. “Please—I… I just don’t want you to suffer. I—”

He cut you off with a heavy sigh. „Show me your phone.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“I need to know what you’ve been telling them,” he said, voice low and grave. “Everything. Right now.”

You nodded without hesitation. There was no point in resisting—not anymore. You reached for your phone with shaking hands, unlocked it, and pulled up the messages. The ones with Mike. The ones you’ve read over and over the past week with a growing pit in your stomach.

Then, without a word, you held it out to him.

He took it from you slowly, fingers brushing yours for a second too long—enough to remind you what it used to feel like when he touched you with care, not suspicion.

And then he turned away. Silence stretched thick as his eyes scanned the screen, thumb slowly scrolling. His jaw flexed, shoulders rigid. You could hear every shallow breath he took.

Each second felt like a lifetime.

He froze for a moment. His shoulders stiffened. His eyes narrowed. Then he read one of your messages aloud, voice low and raw.

“‘He’s still oblivious. I didn’t expect him to be so stupid.’”

He let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Oh wow.” It wasn’t amusement. It was disbelief—hurt, gut-deep and sharp, cutting clean through his chest. He shook his head, the ghost of that dark laugh still lingering as he looked down at the floor. “Nice. Real fucking nice.”

“James—God, I didn’t mean that,” you said, stepping forward, heart lurching. “I couldn’t just message him saying I fell in love with you. I had to say something.”

He turned toward you slowly, eyes blazing. “So instead, you said I was an idiot.”

“No,” you whispered, voice breaking. “That’s not what I meant, Jesus—”

He didn’t answer. Just looked down at the phone again, jaw clenched so tight it trembled slightly.

Another scroll. Another wound.

“‘He’s way too soft for this. Can’t believe he actually runs the city. Fucking loser.”

His voice was quieter this time, flat and gutted. “Fuck.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “James—”

“You think I’m soft?” he snapped suddenly, eyes flashing as they lifted to meet yours. “That I’m some fucking fool you could manipulate and lead around?”

“No, that’s not—” you started, chest tightening, “…That’s not how I saw you, I was scared, I was trying to throw him off, I didn’t want him to think—”

“That you were falling for me?” he bit, voice sharp and disbelieving. „Yeah I’ve heard that already.”

The silence was unbearable—stretching, suffocating. Each swipe of his thumb felt like another heartbeat you might never get back. He was reading everything now. Every message you’d sent. Every report. Your summaries of his habits, his movements, his past. His triggers. His scars.

He got quieter the deeper he went. No sharp words now. No anger in his voice. Just silence.

A silence that hurt worse than shouting ever could.

His face was unreadable, but you could see his chest rise and fall faster with each second, like he was drowning and trying not to show it. The kind of quiet that only came when the devastation ran too deep to speak.

Then his voice, low—almost numb. “You wrote about my past.”

You swallowed hard. “I—James, I didn’t want to—”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept reading.

“You knew how hard it was for me. You knew what those memories did to me.” He exhaled through his nose, slowly, like holding back something sharp. “And you wrote it down like it was data. Like I was just an assignment.”

„I—I’m sorry.” you whispered.

He handed the phone back to you without a word.

“What else?” he asked, voice flat. “What else did you tell them?”

You blinked, heart pounding so hard it felt like it echoed in your ears. Your throat was dry. You stared down at the phone in your hand for a beat too long.

“There were… files,” you said quietly. “Under your bed.”

His eyes snapped to you then. Sharply. You forced yourself to go on.

“I took pictures of them. Sent them. I didn’t know what they were, just that they looked… important. And you kept them hidden, so—so I logged them…”

He ran a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You went through my shit,” he muttered.

You flinched. “James, I didn’t know I’d feel this way back then—please, I didn’t know it’d turn into—”

“You still did it.” His voice didn’t rise. It dropped. “You still chose to do it.”

You looked down. Shame thrilled up your spine, dark and electric.

„God, I was so stupid for not checking you before,” he muttered, more to himself than to you—like the weight of his own blindness had just landed. His hands curled into fists for a moment. His jaw clenched tight. And then, suddenly, he turned and walked out of the room.

You froze for half a second before your legs moved on instinct, following him. “James? What are you—?”

But he was already in the bedroom, pulling a bag from the closet and tossing it onto the bed. You watched, stunned, as he began packing—clothes, a few essentials, everything with the efficiency of someone who’d done this before. Someone used to disappearing.

“James,” you tried again, voice shaking. “What are you doing?”

“You can stay here,” he said shortly, not looking at you. “For now. Until you make your deal with them. Until they send you away.”

Your stomach twisted. “Wait—what? No, what are you talking about?”

He didn’t stop folding. Didn’t stop packing. “You’re safer here until it’s over. Until they relocate you or wipe your identity or whatever the hell they do for people like you.”

You stepped closer, heart racing. “People like me?”

“Informants,” he said, bitter and flat. “Traitors.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder and brushed past you, heading down the stairs like he couldn’t get out fast enough. But you couldn’t stop—you couldn’t just let it end like that. Not without trying.

You followed him, your voice chasing after his retreating back. “What then? What after they send me away? When I start over, when I disappear—what happens then?”

He didn’t turn around. Just said, cold and distant, “I told you. We’re done.”

You swallowed hard, barely keeping upright under the ache in your chest. “And the child?”

He stopped. Right there, in front of the door. Back still turned to you, his shoulders rising and falling with one heavy breath.

“I don’t know yet.”

The door closed shut behind him.

You stood frozen, staring at the space he’d just filled, like maybe if you stood still long enough, he’d come back. Like the echo of his footsteps might turn around. But it didn’t. He was gone.

And then it hit you. All of it—like a flood finally breaching the dam you’d tried so hard to hold up.

Your knees buckled and you sank to the floor, sobbing. Hands pressed to your face, chest heaving, the grief too big for your body. You didn’t even try to stop it this time. You couldn’t. You weren’t sure if it was for him, or for you, or for the life growing inside you—maybe for all of it.

Because he was gone. And somehow, even though he had spared your life, it still felt like you’d lost everything.

———

It’s been three days.

You sat curled up on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago. You hadn’t even noticed. The TV played quietly in the background—some news channel you weren’t watching, just noise to drown out the silence. Or try to.

Your phone sat beside you on the coffee table, face down, but you didn’t need to check it to know there were no new messages. No missed calls. No change.

You’d called him. Again and again. Every hour, sometimes every half. Just to hear his voice, even if it was only his voicemail. You never left a message. You couldn’t. What were you even supposed to say?

Please come home?

I’m sorry?

I miss you?

He wouldn’t pick up. Not once.

You hadn’t slept. Not properly. The guilt kept you up at night, and the fear clawed at you during the day. You hadn’t made the deal yet. Every time you picked up the phone to call Mike, to say the words—to start the process—you froze.

You were too scared. Too fucking ashamed.

And more than anything, you were so, so lonely.

Your fingers drifted to your stomach again. A reflex. A habit. Not tenderness.

Just fear.

You weren’t ready. You hadn’t planned for this. Every time you thought about what was coming, your mind just… stalled. Blank. Nothing. You didn’t feel strong or maternal or protective—you just felt small. Lost.

And he still hadn’t called back.

You were terrified. Of him. Of the deal. Of the baby.

Of being alone in this.

Of deserving to be.

Evening came and you still hadn’t eaten.

You’d taken a shower. Brushed your teeth. Gone through the motions of pretending you were human again. Slipped into a T-shirt and climbed into bed with the same ache in your chest that hadn’t left for three days straight.

The sheets smelled like him.

You pressed your face into the pillow to stop yourself from crying again when your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

For a second, you stared at the screen like it was wrong. Like it was some trick of your exhausted brain.

James

Calling…

Your breath caught in your throat. You blinked at the screen. Then, with trembling hands, you answered.

“Hey,” you said quietly. A sad smile tugged at your mouth. It didn’t reach your eyes. “You called.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just silence on the other end. Breathing. And then—

“Did you talk with them?”

You swallowed. Shame already creeping up your spine like a slow tide.

“No,” you admitted. Your voice cracked on it. “Not yet.”

He nodded slowly, even though you couldn’t see it.

“When?” he asked, voice low, careful.

You pulled the blanket higher over your stomach, as if that could shield you from the weight of the question. From what it meant.

“This week,” you promised. “I swear, I just—”

But he cut you off gently. Not out of cruelty—just tired of the excuses. The delays. The way everything felt stuck in place except the clock.

“I don’t care,” he said quietly. “About that right now.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.

“How are you feeling?”

Your lips parted, stunned. You hadn’t expected that.

You blinked up at the ceiling, vision going blurry with the tears you’d been holding back all day.

“I don’t know,” you said after a while. And it was the truth. “Tired. Sick, sometimes. I haven’t really… thought about it much. I’m just scared.”

You heard him exhale softly on the other end of the line. Not disappointment. Just the same kind of fear, maybe. The same unknown.

“I’m so scared, James,” you repeated, barely more than a whisper. Your voice cracked at the end, and you pressed your hand to your mouth like that could keep the rest from spilling out.

There was silence on the other end—long enough to make your heart race again—until he finally spoke, voice low, rough, but not unkind.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

A pause.

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

You let out a quiet breath, closing your eyes. You wanted to believe him. You wanted it to mean something more. But all it did was remind you that you’d have to figure it out without him.

Because no matter how soft his voice had been, no matter how it used to feel—safe, solid, home—you knew better now. You’d lost that. Lost him.

You hesitated, the silence stretching again between you both. Then, carefully, like the words might shatter in your mouth, you asked,

“What about the deal… with the FBI. What can I say? What shouldn’t I say—so I don’t cause more problems for you?”

There was a pause. Then a tired, worn-out sigh came through the line.

“I don’t know,” James muttered. “It’s too late for that anyway.”

Your throat tightened. “No—James, I swear I… I’m gonna say just enough. I won’t tell them much, I swear.” you whispered. „I just want to keep you safe,” you added quietly. “Even if you never speak to me again—”

„Take care, okay?” he said. „I gotta go.”

You wiped your tears. „Yeah… Yeah, of course.”

And then he hang up. Just like that.

———

He sat in his car long after the call ended, fingers clenched around the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

God, he hated this.

Hated how hearing your voice still made something ache inside his chest, even after everything you did. Hated how you cried like that, scared and uncertain and so damn alone, and how every instinct in him still screamed to fix it—fix you. Hated how weak that made him feel.

He didn’t want to talk to you again. He shouldn’t.

But the baby… That changed everything.

It wasn’t about you anymore. Not entirely. It was about this small, quiet life growing because of something that should’ve never happened. And as much as he wanted to hate you, wanted to shut you out completely and disappear into whatever plan he could salvage—

He couldn’t.

Because what kind of man would that make him?

Not the kind he promised himself he’d be. Not the kind his mother prayed he’d grow into. And sure as hell not the kind a child deserved.

James exhaled through his nose, slow and bitter. His father had always said the job came first. That there was no room for softness in this world, no space for weakness—especially not for family. James had watched that man disappear into smoke and blood and late-night deals, coming home only to bark orders and cast long shadows across the kitchen floor.

He swore he wouldn’t be like him.

And yet—

Here he was, driving around the city with two guns under the seat and a kid on the way.

No. He wasn’t going to be that man. He wasn’t going to let the baby grow up thinking love came with locked doors and hushed voices and someone always leaving.

He wouldn’t stay—not really. Not in the way he used to. Not in the way that would’ve made you smile in the mornings or call out to him from the kitchen with your hands on your lower back, aching from the weight of everything.

Because you were going to be sent away.

Because it was safer that way—for both of you. Because the walls were already closing in, and the only thing left to do was damage control.

But he would find a way to be there. Somehow.

He didn’t know what it would look like, or what the rules would be. He didn’t even know where you’d go or what name you’d have by then.

But he would be there.

Not for you. For the baby. As much as he could be. As much as the mess allowed.

———

It was late afternoon when you got there. That weird hour between lunch and dinner when the café was quiet, just a couple students hunched over laptops and the soft clinking of mugs behind the counter. You sat by the window, where the light hit just right—your usual spot. Or at least it used to be, before everything changed.

You hadn’t been here in weeks. Not since before the lies turned heavy and the truth got too sharp to carry around.

Now you sat nursing a lukewarm tea, hands wrapped tight around the ceramic, trying not to look like you were unraveling in slow motion.

Mike was on his way.

You’d called him yesterday. Told him it was about the job. Told him you needed to see him in person. He hadn’t asked questions—just agreed, like always.

You were done playing the informant. Done playing both sides while trying to keep your heart in one piece.

And you were pregnant.

You hadn’t told Mike that part yet. You weren’t even sure how you’d say it out loud without feeling like the world might collapse on itself. It still didn’t feel real. The test, the ultrasound, the nausea, the unbearable exhaustion—sure, they said otherwise. But your mind hadn’t caught up yet.

James hadn’t called again since that night. You hadn’t expected him to. What else could he say after all that?

But his voice still rang in your head. His silence afterward rang even louder.

You told yourself this meeting was about moving on. About safety. About the future. But even now, every part of you was aching from the past.

The bell over the café door chimed.

Mike stepped in like he owned the place, like this was just another day. Another mission report.

You looked up. Straightened in your seat. And waited.

“Hey,” he said, before sliding into his seat. “Didn’t think you’d pick this place. Bit sentimental, isn’t it?”

You gave a tight smile, eyes flicking to the window. “Guess I just wanted something familiar.”

Mike leaned back, draping an arm across the back of the booth like he had all the time in the world. He looked as always—same leather jacket, same easy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So?” he asked, fingers tapping lightly on the table. “What’s this about? You said it was important.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It is.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You stared down at your tea for a second before speaking. “I’m out.”

There was a pause. A blink. Then his eyes squinted. „Out?”

You swallowed. “I fucked up, Mike.”

“What do you mean? Did he find out or—?”

“I’m pregnant.” You cut him off.

“Holy shit…”

For a moment, there was only silence. Even the usual hum of the café seemed to fade.

You looked at him.. Let him see the fear, the exhaustion, the weight of everything collapsing at once.

“I didn’t plan any of it,” you said quietly. “I didn’t even know for a while. But it happened. And I’m not dragging a child into this mess.”

He blinked, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. “You sure it’s his…? I mean was he the only—”

You let out a bitter little laugh. “Don’t insult me, Mike.”

Mike dragged a hand down his face, trying to process. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Shit.”

“We gotta tell the team,” Mike said finally, voice lower now. “You know what that means, right?”

You didn’t answer at first. Just sat there, staring at the window, feeling your chest cave in slowly.

“I know.”

His eyes softened. “Testifying. Full statement. Witness protection. Probably even relocation.”

You nodded once, slow. Like your head was too heavy to move any faster.

“I’ll be gone,” you murmured. “Gone for real this time.”

Mike leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

“And the baby,” you added hollowly.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. That too.”

You exhaled shakily, pressing your palms against the ceramic cup just to keep them from trembling. You had known this was coming. You’d asked for this meeting knowing exactly where it would lead.

But knowing didn’t make it easier. Knowing didn’t stop your heart from aching like something sacred was slipping through your fingers.

You looked out the window again. The sky was turning gray.

“I really didn’t mean it to be like this, Mike.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

„And I’m so afraid.”

„Hey,” he reached for your hand across the table. „You’re gonna be safe, you hear me? We’re gonna make sure of that.”

That didn’t make it better. Because James wouldn’t be there. Not for this part. And the entire idea of safety felt like a punishment.

———

It was late. The sun had dipped below the skyline an hour ago, and the city lights were just beginning to flicker to life. You rubbed your eyes as you stepped out of the cab, exhaustion clinging to your bones like fog. The meeting with Mike had drained you. The decision you’d made—finally, clearly, terrifyingly—was still echoing in your chest like the aftermath of an explosion.

You opened the building door and stepped into the elevator. You were still going back to his apartment—one last time, today. After what you told Mike, all that was left was to pack your things and prepare for the whole process to begin.

The door opened and you barely walked in before freezing in place.

James was standing in the middle of the living room.

You blinked. Once. Twice. “James?”

He turned at the sound of your voice. Looked the same. Tired, maybe. His jaw was tight, arms crossed like he was bracing for something.

You gave a small, surprised smile despite yourself. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” He hesitated. Cleared his throat. “I wanted to see if you’re fine.”

Your breath caught a little. Just a fraction. “You called me two days ago.”

“I know.”

“But you didn’t answer yesterday. Or today.”

“I know,” he said again. Then added, quietly, “I just… I had to think.”

You nodded slowly, setting your bag down by the door, trying not to read into the way his gaze lingered on your face.

“Well,” you said gently, “I’m fine.”

James didn’t look convinced. He didn’t smile. His eyes dropped to your stomach, just for a second. Just long enough.

You wrapped your arms around yourself without thinking.

“I shouldn’t be seeing you right now,” you said after a beat. “I just talked to Mike. Told him everything. It’s not safe.”

“I know that too.”

You tilted your head. “You had your people spy on me?”

He swallowed and avoided your gaze for a moment. “Maybe.”

You huffed—partly amused, but another part of you knew you deserved it.

“So why come?”

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at you with those tired eyes. “Told you. I wanted to see if you’re fine. And the baby.”

You nodded, slow. Your throat felt tight again.

„Do you know where they’re going to move you?” he asked after a beat.

You shook your head. “No. Not yet. Mike will tell the team later. I just need to pack my things and get out of here,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the apartment. Your voice was small, like it didn’t quite belong to you.

The place already felt like a half-empty shell.

You were both silent for a moment. The kind of silence that used to feel comforting between you—shared, warm, familiar. Now it sat heavy in the air, awkward and foreign. Like you were strangers who knew too much about each other.

So you asked, even though it hurt to hear yourself say it. “Are we really done, James?… Is that it? The end?”

He didn’t answer right away. But then his jaw tensed. He swallowed hard and nodded once.

“I can’t trust you again,” he said, voice quiet but resolute. “Not after what you’ve done.”

He stood stiffly in the middle of the apartment, arms crossed like he was trying to hold himself together. Like saying it out loud might split him open.

“But I don’t want to leave this child behind,” James said, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at him then. Past the anger, past the walls. Past the betrayal. And something in your expression softened—just enough to let it show. The ache. The understanding.

“You don’t have to,” you said gently. “I never wanted to shut you out.”

He let out a quiet breath, eyes darting down to the floor. „But I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “Be in their life without being in yours.”

You nodded slowly. “We’ll figure it out,” you murmured. “I mean… it’s not going to be perfect. Or easy. But if you want to be there—if you really want that—then I’m not going to stop you… Obviously. God, you know I care about you.”

He looked up at you again. And maybe for the first time in days, something in his face cracked open—just a flicker of relief, guilt, longing. All tangled.

Then he nodded, too.

„Okay.” His voice came quieter this time. Firm, but tired. Like it cost him something to say it.

“But don’t mistake it,” he continued. “I meant what I said. We’re done. Don’t get your hopes up.”

It landed like a stone in your chest. No cruelty in it, just the kind of finality that made your breath catch.

You nodded, even though it hurt more than you could ever admit.

Because god—you still loved him. Every broken, beautiful part of him. And maybe you always would.

But what could you do?

It was over.

“Will you keep me informed? When you know where you’re gonna move?” James asked.

You looked at him for a long second. Something heavy swelled in your chest—hope, ache, love, all tangled up and choking you. But you nodded. Quietly.

“Yeah. I will.”

He nodded too. Just once.

You looked down, your fingers curling around the edge of your sleeve, fidgeting. The silence stretched—quiet, thick. You didn’t lift your gaze when you said it.

“I really did love you. Still do.”

The words came out softer than you meant, barely more than breath. Like a bruise being pressed. A wound reopening.

There was a pause, then his voice—flat, almost cold.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

But something in it cracked. Just a little. A tremble tucked behind the sharpness, like it hurt him to say it.

He stepped forward. Just a few feet between you now. No warmth in it. No comfort. Just presence. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black phone—nothing flashy, just functional—and held it out to you.

“Here. It has my other number on it.”

You blinked, confused for a second, before understanding settled in. A burner. Something clean. Off the grid. A way to talk without the Bureau ever knowing.

You took it slowly, your fingers brushing his.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

He stepped back again almost immediately, like the contact burned. “Only use it if you need something. Or if it’s about the baby.”

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice.

He turned without another word.

No goodbye. No lingering glance. Just the shift of his shoulders as he headed toward the door, heavy steps muffled against the floor.

You stood there, clutching the phone he gave you like it meant something more than it did—like it was still warm from his hand.

He opened the door and for the smallest second, you thought—hoped—he might turn around. Say something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

The door closed behind him and you were alone again.

———

A week passed.

Everything was settled now—at least on paper.

You had testified the day before. Just like you promised. Just enough. The bare minimum to keep James out of deeper trouble. Enough to close the chapter, but not enough to damn him completely.

They didn’t like it, but they took it.

And now you were being relocated. England.

Some city with gray skies and clean slates, they said. New name. New address. New story. The whole thing felt surreal, like you were watching someone else’s life move on without you.

You were back in the apartment—your apartment, though it didn’t feel like it anymore. The place was quiet, stripped bare, like it never belonged to you in the first place.

You sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on your stomach, the other holding the burner phone James had given you.

You stared at it for a moment. Then you opened the contacts and called James. It rang a few times before he picked up. Then you heard his voice, low and rough, like he hadn’t spoken all day.

“Yeah?”

You swallowed. “It’s me.”

A beat of silence.

“I know,” he said quietly.

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “It’s settled. I’m leaving next week.”

“Where to?”

“England.”

Another pause.

You could almost hear him shift, like he’d stood up or started pacing. “That far.”

You tried not to sob again. Tried to hold back tears, as if you had any left.

“Yeah. It’s… rather permanent, they said.”

His voice was quieter now. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

You let out a small laugh—thin, shaky. It barely passed for one.

“So… you still wanna be in the baby’s life? Even with me being halfway across the world?”

There was no hesitation in his answer.

“Yes.” Firm. Certain.

You blinked, taken aback by how steady he sounded.

“I’ll find a way,” he added. “Doesn’t matter how far you are.”

You sank deeper into the bed, hand resting gently over your stomach.

“I don’t even know what it’s gonna look like yet,” you whispered. “My life. Over there.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” James said quietly.

That made you close your eyes. Not because it helped—but because it hurt.

He still believed in you, even now.

“You say that like I didn’t fuck everything up.”

“You didn’t. Not everything.”

You opened your eyes again, staring at the ceiling. “I did, James. I did. I lied to you. I got involved in shit I shouldn’t have. And now I’m running away to another continent like a coward.”

“You’re not running,” he said. “You’re doing what you have to. For the baby.”

It was quiet after that. The kind of silence that made your chest ache.

“Do you…” You hesitated. “Do you want me to send updates? When I go to appointments or… I don’t know. When something changes?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see.

“I’ll get a new SIM when I land,” you murmured. “I’ll text you from it.”

“Okay.”

A beat. Then his voice softened, barely above a breath.

“Take care of yourself. Both of you.”

You swallowed hard.

“I will.”

You hung up. The dial tone faded, and still you sat there, phone resting on your belly like it weighed a thousand fucking pounds.

Silence settled in again. Heavier this time. Thicker.

You stared at nothing.

You were really doing this. You were going to leave the country. Change your name. Start over. Alone.

Well— Not alone. Not really.

There was the baby.

Your baby.

Your hands curled slightly over your stomach. No bump yet. No real signs, not beyond the nausea and fatigue and bone-deep fear that had crawled into your lungs and refused to let go.

God. A baby.

What the hell were you doing?

You didn’t know the first thing about raising a kid. You barely knew how to take care of yourself on the good days. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t have anyone waiting on the other side of this. Just a new passport and an empty apartment somewhere in England.

And now—this little thing. This tiny, fragile thing that hadn’t asked for any of this, hadn’t asked to be dragged into the mess of your life, and yet was already tangled up in the worst parts of it.

You pressed your palms to your eyes. Tried not to cry. Again.

You weren’t ready.

You didn’t feel like someone who should be a mother.

Not yet. Not now.

Not without him.

But there was no “with him” anymore.

You were on your own.

And you’d have to figure it out. Because no one else was going to do it for you. Because the world didn’t wait for scared girls who fucked up and got pregnant and wanted someone to hold their hand and say it’s gonna be okay.

You were the one who had to say that now.

You were the one who had to make it true.

God, you hoped you wouldn’t mess it up.

Chapter Seven soon… 💸

series tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you—you’re crossed out—it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @muchwita @its-in-the-woods @taqmari @opheliabbarnes @rabknowstheend @pineapplechuncks @infinitepersuasion @sweetesharley @adalvsseb @miss-chuchu @nandanandada @globetrotter28 @whorunthemfworld-girls @madlyinlovewmattmurd0ck @ruexj282 @xamapolax @bloodmocha @castawaycreature @wakemeornot @lilylilyyyyyy @rue963 @miirasarchive @fleurenoir @figtreesandmoonlight @steph88x @starstruck-cowgirl @okaytrashpanda @lovely-seb @sinistersnakey @bananaminn @readscreamrepeat @yes-ilovetowrite @g0back2bed @jbuckybarnesimp @zombi3-girlz @paristheonewhoreads @justagirlcalledaddie

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[aleph-sharp]

YEEES! SOMEONE ELSE IS WITH ME ON THIS!

Rumi has night vision popular fandom hc- agreed, but its not like cat nightvision, she can see perfectly in the dark

Rumi is silent as a ghost - absolutely, and partially canon

Rumi is weirdly strong, even for a hunter- again, kind of canon

But lets get the weird stuff! She runs cold, absolutely,

Also pretty much exactly my thoughts on her form are the same as yours

I love the weird gut feelings thing, like, pre-reveal she randomly saves some fans from a falling piece of stage well before anyone could have noticed it.

I think she probably can tell where someone recently died. If demons manage to take one or more souls she always manages to find them near instantly rather than them having to search for the disturbance in the honmoon. Of course this doesn't help her self-hatred and perfectionism, because she can always Feel when she fails to protect someone nearby.

She has that thing, where she can move weirdly level. Like, when she walks, it looks like shes gliding on ice rather than moving her legs and her body stays perfectly level, it happens when she gets angry at someone, and the other girls just think its a thing she learned from dance and fight training that she does unconsciously, until after they find out about her and realize, Oh wait this is a demon thing.

She doesn't purr or growl, but she Does make that weird metal door creaking noise that derpy did sometimes. She sounds like a haunted house vault sometimes because of it

When Rumi's hair is unbraided, it, for some reason, especially as it's basically to the floor, half of it tends to move to in front of her face and moves a bit on its own, like, the first time she unbraids it in front of the girls, and goes full creepy ghost girl if said ghost girl had a purple hair phase

I think Demon!Rumi HCs in the fandom tend too much towards the bestial and don't take advantage of the fact she's the daughter of a Jeosung Saja, the psychopomps who carry the names of the dead on crimson cloth.

She's always just a little cold. Not corpse cold, but just a little cool. She doesn't overheat easily, and she's fine at temperatures most people would find uncomfortable (Helps with the long sleeves in summer. She's genuinely fine with it) (She has definitely shocked Zoey and Mira awake by surprising them with cold feet)

When she goes "full demon" she doesn't have horns or a tail, but her lips turn the blue of hypothermia, her extremities turn the purple of frostbite, and her gums recede ever so slightly, making her fangs ever more noticeable.

When she wants to be, she can become very, very quiet. Part of this is undoubtedly her hunter training, but sometimes it's as if she simply doesn't create noise.

The teleportation does not help this.

She finds that she always has an inkling of when someone near her is going to die. Sometimes it's a cold sensation in her gut, sometimes it's an unnatural shadow dogging their feet, sometimes it's a series of Final Destination style omens only she can make sense of.

And this isn't even accounting for how her Demon heritage interacts with her Hunter heritage (See how I didn't even mention her patterns)

[iamquiantrelle]

FORTY • iamquaintrelle

# tags: @everythingblaesthtic, @mauvecherie-writes, @szariahwroteit, @greedyjudge2, @irishmanwhore, @jessnotwiththemess, @peyiswriting, @queenshikongo3, @saintwrld @brownsugarcoffy @iamryanl @amirawrah @muglermami @scorpiobleue @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @pickingupmymercedes, @literallysza, @mochachocolatayayaa, @cocobutterqwueen, @pinkcatcus, @cherry2stems, @sapphireheaven, @chaoticcoffeequeen, @motheroffae, @a-moment-captured # summary: requested by @palefacestudentlove # warnings: porn with light plot, cursing, p in v penetration, male receiving oral sex, pregnancy kink, creampies (no condoms). 18+ only # author's note: this is as freaky and detailed as i can get....

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Colorado mountain home, casting long shadows across the wood-paneled walls. Lewis stirred in the king-sized bed, his arm instinctively reaching across the sheets to find you, but the space beside him was empty and cool.

January 7th, 2025. His fortieth birthday.

The number felt strange rolling around in his mind. Forty. Four decades on this earth, and in a few weeks, he'd be driving for Ferrari for the first time. The weight of it all – the new team, the expectations, the milestone birthday – should have felt overwhelming. Instead, lying there in his favorite place on earth, surrounded by the Colorado mountains he'd called home for over a decade, it felt... peaceful.

The sound of plates clattering downstairs made him smile. You were already up, probably making breakfast. He stretched, feeling the familiar ache in his lower back that reminded him he wasn't twenty-five anymore, and padded barefoot down the wooden stairs.

"Morning, beautiful," he called out as he entered the kitchen, but you barely looked up from the stove where you were flipping what looked like regular pancakes.

"Oh, hey," you said casually, glancing over your shoulder. "Sleep okay?"

Lewis paused, studying your face for any sign of... well, anything. A knowing smile, a badly hidden excitement, even acknowledgment of what day it was. But you just turned back to the pancakes, humming softly to yourself.

"Yeah, slept good." He moved closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and pressing a kiss to your neck. "What's all this then?"

"Pancakes," you said simply, leaning back into his warmth. "Figured we could use a proper breakfast before you start your workout."

He waited. Surely you'd say something. Mention the date, crack a joke about him being over the hill, anything. But you just continued cooking, perfectly content in the morning routine.

"Right," he said slowly. "Pancakes sound good."

Maybe you were planning something for later. That had to be it. You weren't the type to forget important dates, especially not his birthday. You'd been together long enough that you knew how much family celebrations meant to him, how much he valued the quiet moments away from the chaos of his public life.

But as you plated the pancakes and sat across from him at the kitchen table, chatting about the fresh snow that had fallen overnight and whether the roads would be clear for a drive later, Lewis felt a small knot of disappointment forming in his chest.

"So," he said, cutting into his pancakes with perhaps more force than necessary. "Any special plans for today?"

You looked thoughtful, chewing slowly. "Not really. Was thinking we could just chill. Maybe watch a movie later? You've been stressed about Ferrari and everything."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, that sounds... nice."

The conversation moved on to mundane things – the weather, the grocery delivery that was coming later, whether they should start the fire in the living room. Normal, domestic topics that would usually make Lewis feel content and grounded. Today, they just made him feel... forgotten.

After breakfast, he went for his usual run on the trails behind the house, Roscoe bounding alongside him through the snow. The Colorado air was crisp and clean, filling his lungs as he pushed himself up the familiar inclines. Usually, the physical exertion cleared his head, but today his mind kept circling back to your casual indifference to the date.

Forty years old. The milestone felt bigger than it should, especially with everything changing in his career. Starting over at Ferrari at forty was either brave or stupid, and some days he wasn't sure which. Having you acknowledge that transition, acknowledge him, would have meant something.

When he returned to the house, sweaty and slightly out of breath, you were curled up on the oversized leather couch in the living room, laptop open, looking completely absorbed in whatever you were working on.

"Good run?" you asked without looking up.

"Yeah, good." He headed toward the stairs. "Gonna shower."

"Mmm," you hummed, already back to your screen.

The hot water felt good on his muscles, but it did nothing for the growing irritation in his chest. He stood under the spray longer than necessary, trying to talk himself out of being petty. So what if you'd forgotten his birthday? You'd been dealing with your own work stress lately, and it wasn't like he needed a big celebration. He was a grown man, not a child waiting for a party.

But the rational voice in his head was losing the battle to the hurt one.

When he came downstairs, hair still damp, you were in the same position on the couch. He settled beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.

"Whatcha working on?" he asked, nodding toward your laptop.

"Just some emails," you said absently. "Boring work stuff."

He tried to peek at the screen, but you angled it away slightly. "Important emails for a Tuesday?"

"Every day's important when you're trying to stay on top of things," you replied, still not really looking at him.

Lewis leaned back against the couch cushions, studying your profile. There was something about your posture, the way you kept glancing at him and then away, that didn't quite fit with your casual act. You were hiding something, he was sure of it now.

The question was what.

"You know what I was thinking?" he said, testing. "Maybe we should do something special today. Since it's, you know..." He trailed off, giving you every opportunity to fill in the blank.

"Since it's what?" you asked, finally closing the laptop and turning to face him.

"Since it's Tuesday?" he finished weakly.

You laughed, that genuine sound that usually made his heart skip. Today it just made him more confused. "You want to celebrate Tuesday?"

"I mean, why not? Live every day like it's special, right?"

"Very philosophical of you," you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "But I think you're just restless because you don't have anything for today. Why don't we watch something? You pick."

Lewis stared at you for a moment, searching your face for any crack in the facade. But you just smiled back at him, patient and expectant, as if this was any other ordinary day.

"Fine," he said, reaching for the remote. "But I'm picking something good."

He scrolled through the options, eventually landing on Cool Runnings. The familiar opening credits rolled, and despite everything, he felt himself starting to relax. This movie never failed to make him smile, no matter how many times he'd seen it.

"Really?" you said, settling back against his side. "This again?"

"Don't act like you don't love it," he said, his arm automatically wrapping around your shoulders. "Besides, it's a classic."

"If you say so," you laughed, but you snuggled closer anyway.

As John Candy's character appeared on screen, Lewis felt some of the tension from the morning start to ease. Maybe this was enough. Maybe he didn't need grand gestures or big celebrations. Maybe just being here, in his favorite place, with you warm against his side, was all he really wanted for his birthday.

Even if you didn't remember it was his birthday.

The thought stung again, but he pushed it away. The movie was just getting to the good parts, and your hand was tracing lazy patterns on his chest through his t-shirt. This was nice. This was enough.

He almost believed it.

By the time the Jamaican bobsled team was making their final run, you were half-asleep against his shoulder, your breathing deep and even. Lewis found himself more focused on the weight of you against him than on the screen, on the way your fingers had stilled against his ribs, on the soft sound you made when you shifted in your sleep.

This was what he'd missed during all those years of constant travel, of hotel rooms and airport lounges and endless obligations. These quiet moments of pure domesticity, where the biggest decision was what movie to watch and whether to start the fire.

The movie ended, and he carefully reached for the remote to start another one, not wanting to wake you. Ferris Bueller's Day Off began playing, and he settled back to watch one of his other favorites, his hand stroking absently through your hair.

"Life moves pretty fast," Ferris said to the camera, and Lewis found himself nodding along. "If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Forty years. Had he been looking around enough? Had he been present for the moments that mattered, or had he been too focused on the next race, the next championship, the next goal?

You stirred against him, mumbling something incoherent before settling back into sleep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

Maybe this was what forty looked like. Not the milestone he'd been dreading, but just another day in a life he was finally learning to appreciate. Even if it wasn't going exactly as he'd hoped.

The afternoon wore on in comfortable laziness. You eventually woke up during the middle of Ferris's museum scene, stretching like a cat before curling back up against Lewis's side.

"What time is it?" you mumbled.

"Around three," he said, not bothering to check his phone.

"Mmm. We should probably think about dinner soon."

"Should we?" He was perfectly content to stay exactly where they were, your body warm against his, the fire crackling in the background.

"Unless you want to starve," you said, but you made no move to get up either.

"There are worse ways to go," he said, and you laughed.

"Very dramatic. No wonder you like these old movies."

"Oi, they're not old. They're classic."

"Same thing," you said, tilting your head to look at him. "But I love that you still get excited about them like you're seeing them for the first time."

There was something soft in your expression, something that made Lewis's chest tighten with affection. This was why he'd fallen in love with you – not just your beauty or your intelligence, but the way you saw him. Really saw him, not the public persona or the championship titles, just Lewis.

"You love me even though I have terrible taste in movies?" he asked.

"I love you because you have terrible taste in movies," you corrected. "Among other things."

"Other things, huh? Like what?"

You pretended to think about it. "Your cooking skills are questionable at best. You sing off-key in the shower. You leave your workout clothes everywhere."

"Wow, you really know how to make a man feel special on his—" He caught himself just in time, but not before you raised an eyebrow.

"On his what?"

"On his... Tuesday," he finished lamely.

You studied his face for a moment, and he could see the exact moment you decided not to push. "Right. Your Tuesday."

The conversation moved on, but Lewis couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. You were more attentive for the rest of the afternoon, bringing him tea without being asked, laughing a little too hard at his jokes, touching him just a little more frequently than usual.

By evening, he was certain you were up to something.

You disappeared upstairs while he was building up the fire, claiming you wanted to change into something more comfortable. When you came back down, you were wearing one of his old Mercedes t-shirts and nothing else, your legs bare and beautiful in the firelight.

"Comfortable, huh?" he said, his eyes tracking the movement of your thighs as you walked.

"Very," you said innocently, settling back onto the couch beside him. "What? It's your shirt."

"I'm aware," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. The sight of you in his clothes always did things to him, and you knew it.

"Good," you said, curling up against his side again. "What should we watch now?"

But Lewis was finding it hard to concentrate on the TV with your mostly naked body pressed against him. Your leg was thrown over his thigh, and every time you shifted, the hem of the t-shirt rode up just a little higher.

"Lewis," you said softly, and when he looked down at you, your eyes were dark and warm. "Happy birthday."

The words hit him like a physical blow. Relief, confusion, and something that might have been anger all crashed together in his chest.

"You knew," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Of course I knew," you said, sitting up to face him properly. "Did you really think I'd forget your fortieth birthday?"

"I..." He stared at you, trying to process everything. "You've been acting like it was just another day."

"It was just another day," you said softly. "Until now."

"I don't understand."

You smiled, and there was something almost mischievous in it. "I wanted to give you something normal. Something quiet. I know how much you've been stressing about Ferrari, about getting older, about all the changes coming. I thought maybe what you needed wasn't a big celebration, but just... this. A day that felt like home."

Lewis felt something tight in his chest start to loosen. "You did this on purpose."

"The whole day. I wanted you to remember what it felt like to just be Lewis, not Sir Lewis Hamilton or the seven-time world champion or Ferrari's new driver. Just the man who loves terrible movies and gets excited about fresh powder and makes the world's most mediocre pancakes."

"My pancakes aren't mediocre," he protested weakly.

"They're definitely mediocre," you said, but you were smiling as you said it. "But I love them anyway. I love all of it. I love you."

The words settled over him like a warm blanket. This was why he'd fallen for you, why he'd known from almost the beginning that you were different. You didn't just love the successful parts of him – you loved the quiet parts, the mundane parts, the parts that had nothing to do with racing or fame or achievement.

"So what happens now?" he asked. "Now that it's officially my birthday?"

Your smile turned wicked. "Now we celebrate properly."

Before he could ask what that meant, you were straddling his lap, your hands framing his face as you kissed him. It was soft at first, almost gentle, but it quickly deepened into something hungrier, more urgent.

"Wait," he said against your mouth, his hands settling on your waist. "What about dinner?"

"Later," you murmured, nipping at his bottom lip. "I have other plans for you first."

"Other plans?"

Instead of answering, you stood up and held out your hand. "Come with me."

Lewis let you pull him to his feet, his heart starting to race with anticipation. Whatever you had planned, he had a feeling his fortieth birthday was about to get a lot more interesting.

You led him upstairs to their bedroom, where he noticed for the first time that the lights were dimmed and there were candles flickering on the nightstands. The whole room smelled like sandalwood and vanilla, warm and inviting.

"When did you do all this?" he asked.

"I may have been planning this longer than just today," you said, turning to face him.

"How much longer?"

"Does it matter?" You stepped closer, your hands sliding up his chest. "The point is, I wanted tonight to be special. Forty deserves to be celebrated properly."

Lewis felt his breath catch as your fingers found the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Your eyes tracked over his chest, taking in the familiar lines and angles, and he felt heat pool low in his belly at the hungry look in your eyes.

"I can't believe you're forty," you said softly, your palms flat against his chest.

"Thanks for the reminder," he said dryly.

"No, I mean..." You looked up at him, something almost awed in your expression. "I can't believe how lucky I am. How lucky I get to be here with you, like this."

The sincerity in your voice made his chest tight. "Baby..."

"I love you," you said simply. "All of you. Every year, every day, every moment."

Lewis cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. "I love you too. More than I know how to say."

"Then don't say it," you whispered, rising up on your toes to brush your lips against his. "Show me."

The kiss was different this time – slower, deeper, full of promise. Lewis felt himself getting lost in it, in the way you melted against him, in the soft sounds you made when he nipped at your bottom lip.

When you broke apart, both breathing hard, your eyes were dark with want.

"This is going to be a very good birthday," Lewis said, his voice rough.

"The best," you agreed, and then your voice dropped to something softer, more vulnerable. "Lewis, I want... I want you to use me however you want tonight. It's your birthday, and I want to make you feel good."

Something shifted in Lewis's expression at your words. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating until they were nearly black, filled with a hunger that made your breath catch. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips – that cocky expression that always made your knees weak.

You and Lewis had always been exploratory in the bedroom, open about what you wanted, what felt good. But for you to explicitly tell him to use your body any way he saw fit? Yeah, he was going to fuck you into next year. No doubt.

"Is that what you want, baby?" His voice was even rougher now, commanding in a way that sent heat straight to your core. "You want to be good for me tonight?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Words, sweetheart. I need to hear you say it."

"Yes," you breathed. "I want to be good for you. I want you to tell me what you need."

Lewis's hands came up to frame your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he studied you with those dark eyes. "You sure about this? Because once we start..."

"I'm sure," you said firmly. "I trust you."

The smile that crossed his face was devastating. "Good girl. Now, first thing – this shirt needs to go."

His hands found the hem of his t-shirt you were wearing, lifting it slowly over your head until you were bare before him. The cool air made you shiver, but the heat in his gaze warmed you from the inside out.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his hands skimming down your sides. "So fucking beautiful. Now, I want you on your knees for me, yeah?"

Your breath caught, but you nodded, sinking down onto the plush carpet beside the bed. Lewis settled on the edge of the mattress in front of you, legs spread just enough, and the sight of him like this – powerful, in control, but looking at you with such tender hunger – made your mouth go dry.

"Look at me," he said softly, and when you met his eyes, he leaned down toward you. "Open up, sweetheart."

You parted your lips without question, and Lewis leaned closer, letting a long strand of saliva drop into your mouth. The intimate act made you moan softly, your body responding to his dominance.

"Swallow for me," he instructed, his voice gentle but firm.

You did as he asked, maintaining eye contact the whole time, and the pleased sound he made sent warmth flooding through you.

"That's my good girl," he praised, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Now show me how much you want to make me feel good."

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his joggers and dragged them down, inch by inch. His dick sprang free—thick, flushed deep and red at the tip, glistening with pre-cum. The kind of hardness that made your pulse quicken and your mouth go dry. But Lewis? He was watching you—how your lips parted, how your chest rose, how your fingers twitched like you were aching to touch.

His jaw flexed. That was the only warning you got before his hand slid into your hair, fingers curling at the base of your skull.

“I’m not gonna be gentle tonight,” he said, voice low and rough. “You sure you want this?”

You looked up at him, heart pounding. “I want everything.”

His grip in your hair tightened just enough to make your scalp tingle.

“Good girl.”

That did something to you—those words in his voice.

You leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe from the base of his shaft to the tip. His entire body tensed, thighs twitching under your touch. You circled your tongue around the head, tasting salt and heat and Lewis, and hummed as you took him into your mouth.

His breath hitched. “Fuck.”

You went slow, taking him in inch by inch until your lips were flush with your hand, your throat stretching around him. He groaned, low and guttural, his fingers flexing against your scalp.

“Eyes on me,” he said.

You looked up, blinking through your lashes, and the way he stared back—jaw clenched, eyes molten—made your thighs clench together. His hips shifted, a shallow thrust into your mouth, and then he steadied himself with a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “That’s it. Look at you, baby. Fuck, you look good like this.”

You moaned around him, letting the vibration carry through your throat, pressing your tongue along every thick vein. You hollowed your cheeks, your hand working the base in tandem with your mouth. Lewis groaned again—low and controlled—but you could feel it in him, the tight coil of tension, the way his thighs flexed like he was holding back.

“Hold still,” he ordered. “I want to fuck your mouth just the way I like it.”

You obeyed, staying steady as he started to thrust—slow, deliberate, each movement precise. He held your head, guiding the rhythm, controlling the depth. Every inch of him filled your mouth, and still, he wanted more.

“You’re taking it so well,” he gritted. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as your throat fluttered around him, spit leaking from your lips, but you stayed with him. You wanted this—every inch of him, every word, every sound. He pulled back slightly, letting you catch a breath, then pushed in again, groaning at the way your lips stretched around him.

“Shit—just like that. You feel so good. So perfect.”

You choked once, and his hand slid up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin.

“Breathe through your nose, baby. You got it.”

You nodded as best you could, and he fucked into your mouth again, deeper this time, slow and steady like he could live here—in your throat, in your mouth, in this exact moment. The heat between your legs was unbearable now. You were soaked, and he hadn’t even touched you there yet.

When he pulled back with a wet pop, your lips were swollen and slick. You sat back on your heels, dazed and breathless.

“C’mere,” he said, reaching for you.

You let him guide you closer, and he looked at you like he was trying not to lose it. He dragged his thumb across your bottom lip, then slipped it between your lips. You sucked without hesitation.

And then he removed his thumb, and he kissed you after—deep and messy, like he didn’t care he’d just been in your mouth. Like he wanted to taste himself on your tongue.

“Still with me?” he whispered, foreheads pressed together.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “Still yours.”

Lewis smirked, slow and dangerous, brushing your hair away from your face. “Damn right you are. And I’m not even close to finished.”

He stood then, towering over you. His dick was still hard, slick with your spit, and his body radiated heat—bare chest rising with every breath, abs flexing with every movement. He offered his hand. You took it.

He pulled you in, kissed you again, slower this time, and murmured against your lips, “Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

You climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, your skin buzzing. You positioned yourself just like he asked, hands planted, back arched, breath caught somewhere in your chest. You felt exposed, vulnerable—and yet, so wanted. The sound of Lewis behind you—his quiet grunt, the rustle of sheets, the low curse—only added to the anticipation.

He slid his hands up the backs of your thighs, gripping the swell of your ass. “You’re dripping,” he muttered. “Did sucking my cock get you this wet?”

You nodded, whimpering when he pressed a finger against your folds, teasing you.

“Look at you,” he said. “Fucking soaked. All for me.”

He leaned over you, his chest brushing your back, mouth at your ear. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Gonna take my time and ruin you properly.”

He pressed in slowly, inch by inch, letting youfeel every part of him. Your breath caught, hands fisting the sheets. Lewis stilled once he was fully inside, letting you adjust, his hands now gripping your waist.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he rasped, pulling back slightly before driving in again, harder.

The first thrust knocked a moan from your throat. The second made your back arch even deeper.

He set a rhythm—deep, measured strokes that made the bed creak and your breath stutter. He watched the ripple of your body as he moved, sweat beginning to gather at the back of his neck.

Then he leaned forward, his chest pressing to your back, one hand sliding up, wrapping around her throat—not tight, but just enough to make you gasp. Just enough for you to feel it.

“You okay?” he whispered, his lips at your ear.

You nodded quickly, your voice nothing but a breath. “Yes… please don’t stop.”

That’s all he needed.

His other hand tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make your back arch farther for him. He thrust harder now, hips snapping into yours, the slap of skin filling the room. Your moans grew louder, breathier.

“You like that?” he muttered. “Like when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes, Lewis… fuck, yes.”

He smacked your ass once—sharp, quick—earning a whimper from you. Then again, slower this time, watching your skin flush under the sting.

“You take me so well,” he growled. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

You were unraveling, he could feel it in the way your inner muscles clenched around him, in the tremble of your thighs.

“Stay right there,” he ordered.

But he needed to see your face.

Lewis pulled out slowly and flipped you over before you could even think. He didn’t let you go far—grabbed her thighs and dragged her to the edge of the bed. Your eyes met his, dazed and glassy.

“Lewis—”

“I got you.”

He hooked your legs around his waist, lined himself up again, and thrust back in. The angle made you cry out, head falling back.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

You did. Barely. But you did.

He fucked you deep, his thumb brushing your clit in circles that had your eyes rolling back and your hips jerking against his.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me.”

You came hard—legs shaking, back arching, mouth open in a silent moan. He kept going, chasing his own release, watching you fall apart again and again.

Lewis was close. So close. He grabbed your thighs, pushed them higher, and gave a few more thrusts, faster now, rougher. His body tensed, heat curling low in his spine.

“Fuck—gonna come,” he gritted. “Gonna come inside you, baby.”

“Do it,” you whispered, still breathless. “Come in me.”

That was it.

He groaned, head falling to your shoulder as he spilled into her, hips still moving in short, stuttering strokes. He stayed there for a moment, panting, skin slick with sweat, heart thundering. Your scent—sex and sweetness and something just hers—filled his lungs. He kissed your neck, then her shoulder, his hands smoothing up your sides.

“Fuck,” he whispered, a little hoarse. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hummed lazily in response, lips curved in a sleepy smile as you nuzzled closer.

Lewis slowly pulled out, careful, watching the way you twitched from the oversensitivity. A lazy trail of cum followed, thick and wet, and then—

You shifted down the bed, easing yourself between his thighs before he could even ask what you were doing. Then you leaned in, eyes locked on his, and ran your tongue along the head of his dick—licking up the mix of him and yourself like it was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted.

“Jesus,” Lewis breathed, voice punched out of him.

Your tongue was slow, teasing, deliberate. You licked the length of him, cleaning every drop of his come, humming softly.

“Look at you…” he said, watching you with a stunned half-laugh. “You’re so nasty.”

You pulled back just enough to smile. “You love it.”

He did. God, he did.

He stared down at you—his girl, still flushed and glowing from everything you two had just done—and the sight of you like that, licking him clean without a second thought, made his dick twitch with interest again, already stirring back to life.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, brushing a hand over his face. “You tryna put me in a coma tonight?”

You grinned, smug, and crawled back up into his lap, straddling him, pressing your chest to his. Your skin was still warm, your lips soft as you kissed him again—deep and slow and messy.

Lewis groaned into your mouth. “You’re unreal.”

You shifted against him, clearly feeling the way he was hardening again, and gave him a knowing look.

“I thought this was your birthday,” she teased.

“It is,” he said, gripping your hips. “And I’m starting to think you’re tryna give me a heart attack as a gift.”

You laughed, but Lewis wasn’t playing now. He kissed you again—this time softer, gentler, like he needed to slow it all down or risk combusting.

When he pulled back, he cradled your face in his hands, thumb stroking your cheek. You nestled into his chest, your fingers tracing the outline of his tattoos.

You lay like that for a few long moments, the room quiet except for the slow beat of your breath syncing back together.

Then Lewis tilted your chin up and smirked. “You know, only way this birthday gets any better…”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

He kissed the tip of your nose. “Is if you give me a baby next year.”

You blinked, stunned silent.

“I’m kidding,” he said, but the way he looked at you—it didn’t feel like a joke. His smile turned sly. “Mostly.”

You shoved his shoulder, laughing despite yourself.

“Lewis!”

“What?” he grinned. “You’d look sexy as hell carrying my kid. Sore all the time, moody… needy.”

You groaned, burying your face deeper in his chest. “Stop.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. “But you should know, this was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You looked up, all swollen lips, and smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, pressing another kiss to your temple.