#but who knows when that will actually be a thing

[rosesaints]

mystery of love

pairing: clark kent (superman 2025) x reader summary: clark is light in ways the world doesn’t always notice. he makes breakfast for dinner, reads to you when you’re sick, peels oranges like his mom used to, and sunbathes on the fire escape like a houseplant that loves way too hard. he doesn’t say “i love you” until the light is just right and you’re wrapped up in him like a second skin, but he shows it every day in the way he stays. inspired by the orange poem by wendy cope. (or alternatively: 4 times he showed you he loves you + 1 time he says it) listen to the playlist here. word count: 11.1 k. oops. i swear this was only supposed to be 8k words but unfortunately, i'm insane. content warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, established relationship, piv sex, character study, dom/sub undertones, switching (reader and clark take turns domming/subbing), marking kink, hair pulling, big soft men who are whipped for you, soft but kind of unhinged sex, size kink (clark picks up the reader/pins them down), nipple play, unprotected sex, oral (fem!receiving), outdoor sex (sex against a tree), face riding, public sex, use of pet names, tooth-rotting fluff, my love letter to midwest summers!

Your boyfriend photosynthesizes.

Well, that's the joke, anyway. 

You’ve said it so many times now it might as well be printed on a T-shirt. My Boyfriend Is Solar-Powered! in Comic Sans. Or maybe Papyrus. Whatever will annoy him the most. Haven't really decided yet.

It started out as a throwaway line, one of those things you kind of just say when you’re half-awake and fully-annoyed because he’s hogging the sunny spot in the kitchen again like a smug, six-foot-four housecat with insane shoulders and even more insane bedhead.

But the first time you said it—like, actually really said it—he was standing by the window, shirtless, holding his coffee in that chipped blue mug that says "My Son's a Smallville Elementary Grad!" and somehow survived a farm, a college dorm, three apartments, and a move cross-country. 

The light was doing that thing it loves to do in the morning, all golden and warm and syrupy, catching on his collarbones and the slope of his neck like he was painted by fucking Michelangelo. He had one hip braced against the counter, the other leg crooked, like someone told him to look as unintentionally hot as possible while waiting for the kettle filled with your guys' tea to boil.

You blinked at him, still clutching your own mug and not yet caffeinated enough to regulate your mouth, and said, “Do you ever feel like… like a plant?”

He raised an eyebrow. Blew on his coffee. You can see the way his breath fogs up slightly, that super breath of his doing just enough to cool down his coffee to the perfect temperature. “That a dig?”

“No. It’s just. You—" You waved vaguely in his direction. "Well, you just kinda look like you’re charging.”

That got a huff of a laugh. “What, like a phone?”

“No,” you said, and grinned into your mug. “Like I said, a plant. Like you're photosynthesizing.”

After that, it became a thing.

He always smiled when you said it. Looked down at himself, half-amused, half-embarrassed. “I mean,” he’d say, “you’re not wrong.” Or: “Someone’s gotta keep the plants company, y'know?"

But he never corrects you. Never laughs it off like it’s ridiculous.

Because it isn’t.

You’ve seen the truth of it, slow and subtle and layered in all the small things. The way he’s just a smidge lighter on his feet after a sunny day, how he runs warmer, more golden, like someone turned the saturation up to a hundred. The way his voice softens, deeper, when he’s been in the sun too long. The way the shadows under his eyes seem less sharp after just an afternoon spent lying on the roof, pretending he’s napping when you both know he’s just... breathing.

And the bruises. That’s the part he thinks you don’t see.

You do.

They heal so much faster when he’s been drenched in the sun. You’ve watched the inky blackish-purple fade to this sickly yellow in the span of a couple hours and tried really, really hard not to stare. 

You’ve said nothing when he limped into bed one night after a particularly difficult battle and rolled out of it the next morning like absolutely nothing had even happened. Sometimes he winces and pretends it’s nothing. Sometimes he… forgets to pretend.

And still, you never say that’s not normal out loud, even though it’s not. Because he isn’t. Not in the way that matters. Not in the ways that make you love him.

You love him like a long exhale. Like a secret that’s safe with you. Like the song you play on repeat in the car, the one you never get sick of, even though it makes your throat tighten every time.

Sometimes it’s peaceful, like when your ribs finally uncages and let someone else in for the first time in your life. But sometimes, sometimes it's just so fucking devastating. 

Because he’s Clark. And Superman. And most importantly, he's yours.

And it feels too big. Too fragile. Like trying to hold water in your hands. You want to keep him safe, but you also want to keep him. The real him. The him that leaves you sticky notes that say “eat something, please” and walks around humming old Mighty Crabjoys songs and insists you don’t have to fold my socks, seriously, who folds socks?

But you lie awake sometimes watching him breathe, thinking to yourself, How do I love someone that belongs to the world?

And the answer is: you just do. One day at a time. One morning at a time. One sunlit moment in the kitchen at a time.

That Monday morning, it’s the same as always.

You pad into the living room half-asleep, dragging your feet and wearing one of his T-shirts that hits you mid-thigh. He’s already up, standing barefoot by the window, coffee in hand, arms folded loosely across his chest like he’s holding himself together in case he gets pulled apart again later.

Pause in the doorway. Watch him for a second. The way the light pools around his ankles. The way his shoulders lift, just barely, when he hears your steps.

He doesn’t turn.

“Guess what,” you say.

He smiles, small and crooked. “Hmm?”

You cross the room. Slide your arms around his waist from behind and press your face between his shoulder blades, where the sun’s been warming him for at least half an hour.

“You’re glowing again,” you murmur. “Must be that high-potency sunlight. You hogging the sun again?”

He laughs, the sound low and warm. “You caught me.”

“You’re a danger to local crops,” you whisper. Feel the goosebumps rising underneath his skin. “The corn’s jealous.”

“Oh no. Not the corn.” He turns a little, just enough to look down at you. His eyes are so fucking blue at that moment. “Should I apologize to the corn?”

“Absolutely. It’s your fault they can’t compete. You're literally the reason why Iowa's GDP is going down.”

He leans in. Brushes a kiss to your temple. “I’ll draft a formal statement for them later.”

You stay like that for a minute. Him holding you. You pressing your nose into the slope of his back, breathing him in—sunshine and laundry and that faint green note that’s uniquely Clark. Like basil, or clean leaves. Like something still growing.

And you think: This is the part he doesn’t say out loud.

This is how he tells you.

Not with words. Not yet.

Your boyfriend photosynthesizes. And maybe it’s not the kind of love you can pin down, or explain, or protect. But it’s real. It’s alive.

And you love him.

And he, quietly, completely, loves you back.

(He hasn’t said it yet. But you don’t really need the words to know.)

.

Clark shows you he loves you in ways so small, they’d be easy to miss if you didn’t know how to look for them. 

But you do. You catch them in those quiet little corners of the day. 

The way he folds down the corner of your book before you can reach for a receipt or a pen. The way he touches your wrist, not yanking, just there, when you step into the street without looking. The way he makes a soft sound of protest—ahem, maybe more like politely exasperated—when you try to carry six grocery bags at once like you, too, are invincible.

And then there’s the orange.

You’re curled into the couch, one of his sweatshirts swallowed over your knees, watching—but not really, to be honest—some long-winded documentary about volcanoes or Icelandic horses or some other quietly majestic subject that definitely feels at odds with your mood. The narrator has this super calm, soothing British lilt and the lighting is very National Geographic: all muted blues and wide drone shots and crashing waves. You haven’t really spoken in close to at least half an hour.

Clark doesn’t push. Never does. 

He just lets you sit in it, whatever it is, as long as you need to. 

But eventually, he nudges your ankle with his socked foot, like a hello, and when you glance up, he’s setting something on the coffee table with a kind of shy precision.

An orange.

Already peeled.

Not just peeled. Sectioned. Arranged.

It’s kind of ridiculous, how careful it is. No torn rind, no mangled wedges. The peel’s just laid out like a ribbon, one continuous spiral that speaks of time and gentleness and someone who took this seriously. Each segment is placed on a napkin, still glistening with juice, like a little offering.

You blink at it.

Then at him.

He’s pretending to watch the TV, but his body betrays him. His shoulders just slightly angled toward you, eyes flicking sideways like he’s checking the weather.

“I didn’t know if you were hungry,” he says after a beat. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed to say more. “But it’s one of the sweet ones.”

Your throat does something stupid. You reach for a slice and hold it for a second, too long, then pop it into your mouth.

It’s still cold from the fridge. Bright, juicy, perfect. Like summer broke through the haze in your chest.

You make a noise you don’t mean to. Something between surprise and relief.

Clark shifts, trying to look casual, but you catch that familiar smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted one,” he says, still mostly facing the TV, his face painted in blue. “But you looked kind of… I don’t know. Stuck. So I figured I’d just do it.”

“You peeled it for me?”

He finally looks over at you, eyebrows lifted. “Well, yeah.”

And somehow that—that—is what catches in your chest. Not the orange, not the care. The way he says it like it’s obvious. Like of course he did. Like there’s a whole world of things he would do just for you without even needing to be asked.

You swallow. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says, shrugging a little. “But that's kind of the point.”

You don’t say anything for a minute. Just reach for another slice.

When you bite into it, something in you loosens. Maybe it’s the juice. Maybe it’s the tenderness.

Clark, watching out of the corner of his eye, shifts a little closer and says, voice low, “When I was a kid, my ma used to 'em for me.”

You glance over. He’s staring at the documentary again, but the way he says it, it’s not for the Icelandic horses on the screen.

“She knew I hated the sticky part,” he goes on. “Didn’t like having all that juice on my fingers. So she’d do it before school. Wrap ‘em up in plastic, tuck ‘em in the corner of my lunchbox next to whatever sandwich she made that day. Tuna on Fridays. Always with too much mayo.”

You smile, just a little. “You were a picky eater?”

“Not picky,” he says defensively. “Just—just particular. I didn’t like when my food touched.”

“Mhm.”

“I was seven!”

You laugh, and he finally looks at you, sheepish and warm.

“She used to write little notes sometimes too,” he adds. “On the napkin. Stuff like ‘remember your science quiz’ or ‘you’re stronger than you think.’” He scratches the back of his neck. “Sometimes just a heart. Sometimes that was enough.”

You watch him as he says it, and you think, Of course. Of course you grew up like that. With kindness taught into you like table manners. With love folded into your lunchboxes.

“And now,” you say, voice subtle, “you’re the one peeling oranges for someone else.”

He shrugs again. “Only for you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean it,” he says. “Everyone else can deal with the sticky fingers. You get the napkin and everything.”

You press a slice into his hand before you can talk yourself out of it.

He pauses, then leans forward and bites it from your fingers, playful but gentle. A little juice escapes down the corner of his mouth. He licks it away without breaking eye contact.

It shouldn’t make your heart ache. But it does.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“For the orange?”

“For the orange. And the napkin. And, you know. The general care and keeping of me.”

He smiles at that. Tilts his head toward you until your shoulders brush.“Well,” he says, “you’re pretty high-maintenance. Comes with the territory.”

You scoff, gently ebow him. “I am not.”

He raises his brows. “Okay. Yesterday, you made me reheat the tea because it was two degrees below your ideal sipping temperature.”

“That’s not high-maintenance. That’s just me having standards.”

“Sure,” he murmurs, bumping your knee with his. “And your standards include expertly peeled fruit on Tuesdays, apparently.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “I just mean…” You trail off, unsure how to say it without sounding too serious, too much. You chew your lip, watching the way the light hits his profile. “I hope,” you say softly, almost to yourself, “you never stop doing that.”

He leans his head against the back of the couch, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. “What, feeding you citrus?”

You huff out a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. Then he says, simple and sure, like the truth it is:

“I won’t.”

.

You don’t even really remember texting him. You think you might’ve. Maybe. Who knows. 

In the middle of your 2 a.m. sick delirium, burning up and freezing at the same time, with every single cell in your body screaming and staging some sort of mutiny, you vaguely remember opening your phone with bleary eyes and typing something half-coherent. 

A string of emojis. A sad face, a skull, a wilted flower. Vomit emoji. You might’ve hit send. You might’ve just passed out mid-thought.

Either way, Clark’s there when you come to.

He’s on the floor beside your bed, cross-legged, slouched a little in that way he always is when he’s trying to make himself smaller than he actually is. He’s doing this thing he does similar to when he's reading out his first drafts—voice low and even, a little scratchy like he hasn’t used it much today, or maybe just because it’s the middle of the night and the Metropolis is quiet for once and so is he.

You blink, once, twice, groggily, and he doesn’t even look up as he says:

“…and then I told Jimmy that if he was going to hide in the cafeteria instead of facing Eve, he should at least clean up after his brooding, because no one wants to sit next to a scone that’s been glared at for thirty minutes."

That's when you make a sound—half a groan, half a breath—and he glances up.

“Oh,” he says, smiling. “Hey. You’re awake.”

God, you swear your head's a pressure cooker. Your throat feels like someone lined it with sandpaper and regret. You’re pretty sure you’re covered in sweat, and not in a sexy, cinematic way, but more in a swampy, bedraggled, my skin might never be clean again kind of way. 

And yet here he is, reading from what you now realize is his work notebook. 

Not even a novel. Just… Clark, narrating his week.

“God,” you croak. “I think I’m dying.”

Clark shifts immediately, one knee bent, his hand brushing against your arm like he’s checking for tremors. “You’re not dying,” he says gently. “You’re just sick. Classic human stuff. I Googled it to make sure.”

“You Googled my flu?”

“Yeah. Also called my dad.”

Your lips twitch. “Of course you did.”

“He said tea, soup, and don't try to touch your toes.”

You blink at him slowly. “I wasn’t gonna—”

“I didn’t think you would. But he insisted.”

He presses a glass of water into your hand. Holds it there, actually, like you might forget what to do with it. You sip slowly, mostly because he’s watching you with the intensity of someone monitoring the nuclear launch codes. His hand stays curved behind your back the whole time, steady and warm, his thumb sweeping once over your shoulderblade.

“Still tastes like shit,” you mutter, grimacing.

“That’s just your fever lying to you,” he says. “Give it time. I brought supplies.”

Which is how, ten minutes later, you’re propped up like a limp marionette with three pillows, wearing one of his hoodies, while Clark, bless him, is rumbling around in your kitchen making the world’s most dramatic instant ramen.

He hums while he works, something mellow and vaguely twangy—something that sounds like wide-open spaces and Sunday mornings and the kind of radio stations that only exist halfway between here and Kansas.

When he brings the bowl back, he sits on the edge of the bed and feeds you, spoon by spoon, blowing on each bite first like he thinks you might scald your tongue.

You watch him through a fever-glazed blur. “You’re really committing to the bit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What bit?”

“The Florence Nightingale… Florence Kent thing.”

He grins, bashful. “It’s not a bit. I just… I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Your stomach flips. It has nothing to do with the soup.

“And also,” he adds, “I brought a book, thought you might like something to listen to in the background.”

You blink at him.

“I figured I’d read to you once the soup’s done. Unless you’d rather I make more toast. I could do toast. Or try. I mean, it’s technically one of the few things I can’t mess up.”

You take the spoon from his hand. “Baby.”

“Yeah?”

“Sit down before you vibrate out of your flannel.”

He obeys instantly, because Clark is nothing if not obedient when you sound just a tiny bit bossy and ill. You laugh a little. Then cough a lot.

When you stop hacking, there’s a glass of water in your hand again, and he's looking at you like he’s trying to mentally calculate your temperature based soely off your pupil dilation. You wave him off until he settles down again, until his work stories blur into white noise and you feel yourself drifting.

Later, when the room is dark except for the glow of the bedside lamp, and your fever’s burning lower, no longer trying to boil you alive but still leaving your limbs really heavy and wrung-out—you stir, blink groggily, and find him exactly where he’s been all day: back on the floor, this time leaning against the bed frame like he’s trying to become one with the carpet.

There's a book in his hands.

You squint. “Is that… Star Wars?”

He doesn’t look up right away. Just flips a page, calm and unbothered, like this is a completely normal Wednesday night activity. “Yeah. From a Certain Point of View.  It’s like… like—little side stories. People on the edges of the main stuff. Background characters getting the spotlight. I thought you might like it.”

You blink slowly. “You’re reading me Star Wars fanfiction.”

Clark glances up, grinning. “Not fanfiction. It’s licensed content.”

“Clark.”

“It’s from Jimmy.”

“Clark.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, it’s kind of sanctioned fanfic. But it’s good. There's one from the point of view of Obi-Wan’s ghost and it made me emotional.”

You try to snort, but it comes out more like a croak. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Says the person who cried over an R2-D2 Lego set last Christmas.”

“That was a very moving gift and you know it.”

Clark reaches over to adjust your blanket, tucking it up under your chin with careful fingers. “I just thought it might be nice. Something familiar. It’s kind of like comfort food, but for your brain.”

You look at him—really look at him—glasses askew, hair flattened on one side from the couch pillow, sweatshirt stretched over his broad chest like it was never meant to fit a man built like a brick wall—and feel that weird, awful feeling twist in your chest again. 

The one that always comes when he’s like this. Sweet and earnest and just slightly off-center in a way that makes your whole life feel gentler.

“Thank you,” you rasp, voice hoarse but sincere.

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Don’t mention it.”

Then, after a beat:

“I was gonna read the one about the cantina bartender next. He has some very strong feelings about the music.”

“. . . Okay yeah, you're weird.”

“Exactly.”

He closes the book for a moment and reaches for your hand under the blanket. His fingers wrap around yours, warm and firm and callused at the knuckles. He squeezes gently.

“I know I’m not good at this,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it. “The taking-care-of-people thing. Not like my dad was. He used to bring orange Jell-O and put those cold cloths on my head when I got sick. He'd sit with me and hum old country songs like that could fix it. And sometimes, it kinda did.”

You squeeze his fingers back. He looks at your joined hands like they’re something fragile.

“I don’t really even know all the right things,” he continues. “But I’m gonna stay right here until you feel good again.”

You swallow. Your throat aches. Your heart does, too, but in a different way.

“Clark,” you whisper. “You’re doing perfect.”

He gives you this look—hazy and overwhelmed, like maybe he needed to hear that more than he thought. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, cool and steady and grounding.

“I got you,” he murmurs. “Always.”

He reads until your breathing evens out again, then switches to humming—barely there, just a thread of melody tracing the shape of the room. He doesn’t move from his place beside your bed. 

You don’t think he even blinks when you stir, reaching a hand out for his. He’s just there. 

So you dream of a cantina bartender with strong feelings about the music. Of a man with dark hair and horrendous posture and the kindest eyes in the galaxy, carrying soup and picture books and the whole weight of your heart like it’s not heavy at all.

.

It was supposed to be a date.

Like, a real date. One with proper shoes and napkins that aren’t made of recycled drive-thru material. A night where neither of you had to sprint, lie, cover for the other, or show up late with leaves in your hair because someone, cough, got caught helping rescue a tour boat from sinking off the coast of Maine.

Just dinner. Just one Thursday evening. A normal, honest-to-god, pre-planned, mildly fancy dinner. 

You’d even made a reservation at that Italian place ou guys have been meaning to try.

Clark had combed his curls with what looked like actual intent and buttoned his shirt all the way to the top, then unbuttoned one (just one) like he’d read about the concept of casual in a book. You caught him practicing his posture in the hallway mirror before you left.

“Do I look like I own a belt?” he’d asked.

“You do own a belt.”

“Right, but do I look like I believe in it?”

You had rolled your eyes. He’d kissed your forehead. You’d both agreed, silently and aloud and silently again: This time, it’s gonna stick.

Just dinner.

Just you and him.

Just—

The sky, it turns out, had other ideas.

You’re only two blocks from the restaurant, your heels clicking rhythmically against the sidewalk. He’s saying something about dessert—about how he’s never actually had crème brûlée and how suspicious he is of any food that requires a blowtorch—and you’re about to tell him that he’s a coward and has terrible, horrible opinions when he—

Flinches.

Just slightly. A twitch, more than anything. Like someone tugged on the collar of his shirt from behind.

You stop. Narrow your eyes.

“Kent.”

He stills, then winces, and it’s over. The wind picks up just enough to ruffle his jacket and toss a strand of your hair across your lip.

“Baby,” you say, dragging out the vowels like you’re preparing to scold a dog who’s eyeing the Thanksgiving turkey.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know. I know. I just—there’s something happening in Hob’s Bay. I think it’s Parasite again.”

“Parasite?” you repeat, like that somehow makes it better. “The guy who eats energy and punches holes through cement walls like graham crackers?”

Clark winces again, guilt washing across his face like rain.

“I can take you home first,” he says quickly. “I’ll be fast. Twenty minutes. Tops.”

“You said that last time,” you remind him.

“Yes, but this time I mean it with—” he pauses, trying to sell it, “—I mean it. I've got improved time management skills. I’ve been working on it, I swear. I downloaded a calendar app.”

“Oh my god, Clark.”

“I even color-coded it!”

You cross your arms. “Clark.”

“I swear on my mom’s ceramic cow collection.”

“…The one on the microwave?”

“She dusts them twice a week.”

You sigh, but you’re already unhooking your arm from his. He’s practically vibrating now, trying to stand still. There’s a flash of green in the far-off clouds.

“I liked this dress,” you say.

“I love that dress,” he says, almost reverent. “I��m gonna come back and ruin it for you in much better ways.”

A beat. He realizes how that sounded. “I mean, like—because of pasta sauce. And maybe dancing? gosh, I’m terrible at this—”

You laugh despite yourself. Even as the first drops of rain start to hit your shoulders. “Go, Kansas.”

He kisses your cheek. Then the other. His hands linger against your face a half-second too long, his thumbs warm even through the chill.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, quiet now. “Promise.”

Then he’s gone.

“I know,” you reply to no one in particular, because you do.

You spend the next hour curled on the couch in the dress you never got to wear properly, the hem slightly damp from the rain and your eyeliner gently betraying you. The news cycles through static, then footage of Clark shielding a crowd with a dented bus stop sign like it’s a riot shield, eyes glowing faintly, shoulders squared. Calm. Measured. Still gentle, even in a fight. You eat a sleeve of saltines out of spite.

He texts you twice:

CLARKY <3: STILL FIGHTING THE SLIME GUY. HE’S YELLING ABOUT “THE SYSTEM” SO I THINK THIS IS POLITICALLY MOTIVATED. CLARKY <3: ALMOST DONE. PLEASE DON’T FALL ASLEEP. I OWE YOU SO MUCH CREME BRUILALAE 🍨

You don’t reply. He needs to focus. But you do leave the kitchen light on.

It's past ten when he gets back. He lands with a whisper on your fire escape—so quiet it takes you a second to realize he’s there. You’re already in pajamas at this point.

He taps gently on the window.

When you slide it open, he’s dripping. Suit ripped at the collar. A graze on his temple that’s already healing. Mud on his boots. Eyes wide and sheepish and a little desperate.

“You’re late,” you say.

“The Italian place was closed,” he says, holding up a crumpled brown paper bag like an offering. "But I brought dumplings?"

Your stomach betrays you with a loud growl. Fucking saltines. He smiles, relieved.

“They’re from that place you like,” he adds quickly. “The one with the crab rangoon that makes you make weird noises.”

You cross your arms. “You think you can just bribe me with steamed buns and flattery?”

“Yes?” he tries.

“…You’re not wrong.”

You step back to let him in. He shrugs off the cape, moving slower than usual. His shoulders dip lower. His steps drag a little. The exhaustion sits in him like weight.

“Sit down,” you say.

“I can—”

“Clark. Couch. Now.”

He obeys without question, settling into the cushions like a man unraveling. You grab a towel and a hoodie from your room—one of his—and toss both at him. Then you disappear into the kitchen.

After a beat, he calls after you: “I missed you, by the way.”

You don’t answer right away. Just finish plating the takeout, dividing the dumplings and the sticky rice and the rangoon with practiced ease. Your apartment smells like warm ginger and garlic. Familiar. Safe.

When you bring the food over, you find him curled sideways on the couch, legs too long, towel around his shoulders like a cape. He grins when he sees the plates.

“You forgive me?” he asks, hopeful.

You hand him a rangoon. “Chew before you talk.”

He does. Then says, with a mouthful of crab: “I really did want it to be a normal night.”

You look at him. At the tired, good man who flew across the city to keep someone else’s world from breaking. At the one who brought you dumplings and rainwater and apologies on the roof of his tongue.

“I know,” you say.

He finishes chewing, then leans forward, chin on your shoulder, voice curling around the edges. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

You snort. “You say that now that I’m in fleece pants with soup stains.”

“I stand by it,” he murmurs. “Always.”

You let him curl around you then, dinner plates on the coffee table, reruns of I Love Lucy playing low in the background. He eats with one arm around your waist. You steal his dumplings when he’s not looking.

Later, when you’re both too full and too warm and too tired to move, he says it again.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

You nudge his leg with your foot. “You already are.”

He hums, pleased but tired, and lets his head fall back against the cushions. “Still wish I hadn’t missed dinner. Not the food. Just—being there. With you.”

There’s a smear of sauce near his mouth when you glance over him. He’s so unbelievably warm around the edges like this—like the fight’s finally bled out of him and he’s just Clark again. Your Clark.

“You always say that,” you murmur.

“Because I always mean it.”

You reach up, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. He goes quiet. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

There’s a beat where neither of you speak. The kind that hums with the weight of something unspoken, blooming slow between you. Then, without moving your hand, you ask, “You gonna let me kiss you now, or are you still trying to be polite?”

That gets a smile. A real one. A little crooked, a little shy.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says. “You always could.”

So you lean in.

The kiss starts off like a warning.

Your mouth brushes his—brief, firm, no room for questions, not really—and then again, slower this time. He makes a noise, deep in his chest, something caught between relief and surrender.

When your fingers slide into his hair, he tilts into it instinctively. His hands stay right where they are, just one at your waist, one braced uselessly on the couch cushion like he’s reminding himself not to move unless you ask him to.

He huffs something like a laugh when you pull back for a breath. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

You smile. “Flatterer.”

His hand on your waist shifts slightly, pulling you in closer. Not rough. Not needy. Just—anchoring. Your knees bracket his hips and you kiss him again, open-mouthed this time, licking into his mouth like you’re starved and this is your first taste of real food.

And Clark lets you. 

He lets you kiss him with all the frustration of the ruined date and the tension of waiting and the affection that’s been building in your chest for weeks, maybe months. He meets you where you are—mouth pliant, eyes closed, his breathing slowly unraveling under your hands.

“You always come back like this,” you whisper, teeth grazing his jaw. “All apologies and those puppy dog blue eyes and your make-up take-out. Like I wouldn’t crawl across glass to have you.”

He exhales, sharp and shaky, like your words hit a nerve. His hands tense slightly at your thighs, just for a second, then relax again. He doesn’t try to flip you, doesn’t shift to take control. Just looks at you.

“I mean it,” you murmur, kissing just under his ear. “You come in, wrecked and kind and too damn good, and I’m supposed to what? Sit next to you like my skin isn’t trying to crawl off my bones just to get to yours?”

Clark swallows. “You—” His voice is rough, halting. “You can have me.”

He says it so quietly you almost miss it.

“You already do,” he adds. “You don’t have to prove anything. You—”

Your mouth is on his before he can finish. You kiss him like you’re trying to breathe him in, to memorize the way his ribs rise under your hands. His lips part on a gasp, and you take it as invitation. He lets you tilt his head back even further, lets you set the rhythm—his hands gripping the couch cushions like they’re the only things that can possibly ground him.

You pull back, just enough to see his face. His hair’s still damp, starting to curl at the edges, his cheeks flushed. His glasses are askew, so you reach up, slow, deliberate, and slide them off. Set them gently on the side table. His eyes don’t leave yours for a second.

"Stand up," you say, and he does, wordless, chest rising fast under the hoodie. He's got the towel instead of the cape draped around his shoulders, like he's still half in hero mode. You take that off.

Your fingers go to the hem of the hoodie next, lifting it slow. He raises his arms obediently, eyes half-lidded, focused. He’s still in the bottom half of the suit, and your breath catches—because even now, even like this, he wears it like a second skin.

But you want the man. Not the symbol.

“Off,” you say, fingers brushing the slick, faintly scorched fabric of the suit’s torso. “I want you, not him.”

He nods. It’s so damn slight, like he’s not so sure his voice will work. His hands go to the hidden seams and he peels the suit down, exposing inch after inch of bare skin beneath—toned and marked from the night, faint purple bruises already turning gold where his healing has started. You trail your fingers and follow him down, down, down his sternum, then lower, across his ribs.

The suit hits the floor in a gentle whisper. Boots, too. The cape’s already been discarded—somewhere between the fire escape and your front door—and now he’s just standing there in front of you, bare and breathless and completely yours.

“Come closer,” you say. "It's my turn."

He goes to help you, but you stop him. Eyebrows raised. "Eyes up here. I'll do it myself."

Clark watches you the whole time, not rushing, not leading. His expression open, undone. His bottom lip's caught between his teeth, eyes trained on every single one of your painstaking actions. Peeling your shirt off, your ratty fleece pants, your bra, all of it. He's enjoying this way more than he should, those eyes of his glinting in the light, but that's the intoxicating part of it. 

When you're done, he finally speaks up, voice reduced to a hush. Wills himself to look away from your body and just look into your eyes. "How do you want me?"

You hum, turning on your feet, pretending to think it over. Really, it's just an excuse to have him look at your bare body. Tempt him a little bit. It drives him insane. Still, he doesn't break eye contact. 

"I think," you purse your lips. "I want you underneath me tonight."

He nods. Serious. "Of course."

You lead him back to the bedroom slowly. Not because he needs help walking, but because there’s something in you that just wants to savor the walk. He lets you guide him backward, his legs bumping against the edge of the bed.

He sits.

Then waits.

Clark just looks so… perfect like this. 

Hard, aching, weeping, cheeks pink and pupils dilated. Hands, those goddamn hands, politely by his sides. Does nothing but lay down on the mattress, just waiting for whatever you feel like doing to him. The knowing—the seeing, does more to you than you'd like to admit.

You crawl, slowly, over his body. Fingers skirting over the freckles of his body, the light dusting of hair across his torso, the goosebumps that rise there. Anything but pay attention to his cock that's begging for you, until you're close to straddling his face, hovering there.

A pause. Those baby blue eyes, the cause of so many of your little deaths. His lips, pink and wet as his tongue swipes over them. A hint of a smile. You brush a curl away from his forehead, fingers slow and thoughtful.

"Okay."

Once you give him the go-ahead, he's all instinct, steady hands pulling your thighs more snug over his shoulders with all of the skill and quiet confidence of a man who's been breaking you down and laying you out for a long time. 

It's so easy—so easy to lose yourself in it. So easy when you're on top of the world.

Clark knows. You've genuinely never met a guy who enjoys eating someone out more than him. He knows all the ways to make your legs shake and your head vibrate out of its skull, all the little skills and patterns and consistencies to get you to cum within minutes, but from the way he takes his time, mouth roaming everywhere—your thighs, your legs, the back of your knees—

He means to torture you. Make you eat your words. But you're gonna have the last say tonight.

You squeeze your legs around his face, bringing his attention to you, all blue-eyed innocence glancing up to you. Little shit. "Hey," you will your voice into something vaguely commanding. "How many times do you think you can make me cum tonight?"

All you get is a lopsided smile. "As many times 's you want."

"Ball park?"

He strums his fingers along your thigh. Pretends to think about it. Looking up at the corner of his eyes like he's doing mental math. "How about we start with five or six and go from there?"

"Perfect. Delightful, Kent. Alright, procee—"

His arms tighten around your thighs, and that's all the warning you get before he dives right in, parting your lips with his tongue and tasting all that you've got to offer, and god, if that doesn't make the slick accumulate even more in between your thighs, gushing, eyes falling closed. 

A trooper always, Clark's mouth is warm, forming into a smile. "Baby, you taste so good. Needed this."

There's desperation in it, the way he sucks on your clit, two fingers finding themselves rocking against your cunt so that you feel nothing but full, boundless pleasure. You're so wet that his digits are sliding effortlessly, even more so as he licks you through it.

All you can do is whimper and whine, hands coming to rest up against the headboard. "Clark, Clark, so good. Don't stop. Please."

The mattress shakes around you as he grinds up into the air, barely concealed want and need and everything he hasn't said before, teeth gently scraping at your cunt. You can hear it too, the way his mouth works against you, his moans rising above it all. And god, the tension—the fucking strength of this man—the fact that he's letting you ride his face like there's no tomorrow.

Then his tongue sweeps hot across your clit, his two fingers curling inside you at the exact moment you squeeze. And fuck, you pulse hard and come until you've got nothing left to give, just a mantra of his name—"Clark, Clark, baby—"

He licks and sucks you through the aftershocks, shuddering through it all, and then it's back down to earth.

You fall down on the bed next to him, legs unable to hold you up. The only way to describe how you feel now is just—pure, fucking, boneless glee. And then you look over, and god, if that's not the best view in the world—Clark. The bottom of his face glistening, smiling in that stupid, boyish way of his, curls in his eyes and a twinkle there like he just won the lottery. 

"What are you smiling about?"

Clark shakes his head, shrugging and looking up at the ceiling like it has the answers. "Oh, nothin'. Just happy."

This hunger, this love for him—you don't think it'll ever go away. You don't think you could ever get sick of it, you don't think you can ever get your fill of him.  You're going to want him this badly for the rest of your life. 

But before you could spiral down that terrifying staircase of thoughts, you're brought out your stupor with one large hand trailing up your thigh. Clark's shifted so that you're beneath him, world turned upside down. He's going back down for more.

"We've got at least four more to go, sweet girl. Made you a promise, remember?"

.

It’s honestly the quiet that gets you, at first. 

That slow, rolling kind that doesn’t sit heavy so much as drape itself across everything like an old quilt. The kind of quiet that has its own rhythm. Space between sounds. 

Not silence, never that, but it's more akin to a hush. A pause you didn’t know your life had been missing.

There are birds, sure. A lot of them, actually. There’s the wind, too, rattling through those wheat-colored fields, whistling past the house's warped slats like it’s trying to remember a song it used to know. But underneath it all is stillness. 

A kind of breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, now slowly, slowly letting out.

Smallville wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

You’d pictured something more… stylized. Romanticized. 

A little more soap opera meets Hallmark original—maybe some mysterious family feuds and charming small-town antics. Some lingering drama about a pie contest. You fully expected someone with an old-timey name to pour you coffee at the local diner you guys stopped at and mention she “hasn’t seen Clark Kent around these parts in a while.”

Instead, you got: rooster at 5:30. Floorboard in the kitchen that creaks like it’s about to file a complaint against you just for exisiting. A guest room that smells faintly like wood polish and wheat. You got Clark, elbow-deep in chicken feed at seven a.m., wearing a white t-shirt that’s hanging on by a thread but you're not complaining.

You’re house-sitting for the Kents while Jonathan and Martha are on a cruise—a cruise, of all things. Clark’s voice had been thick with disbelief when he told you. 

“Can you believe my dad packed four Hawaiian shirts?” Then later, when they called from the boat to say they’d already made friends with a retired couple from Branson and signed up for salsa dancing classes, Clark had stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed him.

“They deserve it,” he says eventually, a little quiet. “They’ve never done anything like this. I hope they stay gone the full two weeks.”

You’d kissed his shoulder and said, “Selfishly, me too.”

Because being here, just the two of you, it’s not glamorous. But it feels like something. Something good.

One morning, early on, you found yourself squinting into the haze of a Kansas dawn, clutching a cup of coffee that tasted like burnt hope, and whispering, half to yourself, “Do… do the cows have names?”

Clark, already in his work boots and wrist-deep in a feed bag, turns like you’d just offered to marry him.

“Of course they do!" he says, smug. “That’s Millie.” He points at a big black-and-white cow with the expression of someone who’d once gone on Twitter and got traumatized. “She’s real skittish when it rains but loves, absolutely loves cantaloupe rinds. That one’s Donnie—he’s dramatic. Moooos like he’s dying if you’re even five minutes late.”

You blink at him. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly,” he says, patting Millie with the same affection he uses on your lower back when you cook dinner barefoot. It makes you snort. “Also, we don’t call it breakfast here. It’s ‘morning feed.’”

You stare. “This is so not the rural romance novel I signed up for.”

He grins, boyish and crooked. “Let me guess. Thought it’d be Days of Our Lives  but make it cornfed?”

“Exactly. Where’s the murder mystery? The barn dance? The family rival who wears all linen and says ominous things like, ‘You’ll never take the south pasture from me, you bastard.’”

"You forget. It's the Midwest. We're not in the South," He scratches behind Donnie’s ear. “But there is a someone with drama kinda like that here. Name's Barb, I think,” he says. “She runs the Dairy Queen and once hit a deer with her truck and cried about it for a week.”

You pause. “…Okay. That’s actually kind of sad. But wholesome."

“See?”

The days fall into a rhythm, eventually. 

You weed the garden (poorly). He fixes the gate (obscenely well). You help collect eggs and try not to let on that the chickens genuinely unsettle you. Clark, that menace, just laughs every single time one flaps in your general direction and you flinch like it’s going to demand your wallet and keys and job.

One Friday afternoon, you find yourself washing strawberries at the sink while Clark scrubs paint off the porch railing—some old project Jonathan started and never finished. 

You glance up and he’s standing there in the sun, t-shirt stained, face flushed, humming some old country song under his breath, and your chest physically hurts from how much you love him.

“You wanna do something dumb?” you ask, voice louder than it needs to be, just to get his attention.

Clark looks up, squints against the light. “Always.”

It’s not fancy. 

Twenty minutes later, you’re both in the back pasture, far enough from the house that it’s just you and the cows and the sound of summer in every direction. 

There’s a plastic grocery bag between you full of things neither of you should technically call lunch. Two kinds of chips (barbecue for you, cheddar for him). A Diet Dr. Pepper, sweating in the heat. One sad gas station brownie. And a couple of oranges, wrapped carefully in plastic wrap.

You lift an eyebrow as you start to unpack. “You know we have actual food, right?”

He shrugs, pulling the chips open. “The grocery store’s like forty minutes away,” he says, like that explains everything. “Didn’t wanna leave you.”

Your mouth opens, ready to toss something casual back—something about sandwiches, or homemade pasta salad, or literally anything with protein—but then you see how gently he’d wrapped the oranges. How he packed napkins, remembered your favorite chips, brought two plastic forks for the brownie like it was a birthday cake.

So instead, you say, “...I like barbecue,” and your voice is quieter than you mean it to be.

He glances over, chin on his shoulder, smiling like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I know.”

You eat like kids. Cross-legged on the blanket, crumbs everywhere, licking orange juice off your thumbs. You wipe your hands on your pants. He stretches out on his side, elbow propped, watching the clouds like they’re moving too slow. His knee brushes yours and doesn’t move away. 

You think you feel a mosquito bite. You don’t really care anymore.

“I forgot what this feels like,” you say at one point, picking salt from the corners of your lips. “Just… doing nothing. On purpose.”

He hums. “It’s good for you. Stillness.”

“You sound like your mom.”

“She’s smarter than I am.”

“You said that last night when I told you to take a nap.”

“See? Pattern holds.”

You lean back on your elbows and look at him, really look. The way the light gets caught in his lashes. He’s watching you, too, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Like the world could ask for him and he’d still choose to stay here, sweaty and dumb and mosquito-bitten and happy beside you.

He peels another orange with a practiced hand, splitting it down the middle and handing you the sweeter half.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Sometimes I miss this, y'know?” he says, around a bite of an orange.

You glance over.

“Not the chicken poop or the mosquito bites,” he adds, “but the...quiet. The not-having-to-be-everything-all-the-time. Out here, you’re just...you. You fix the fence. You make a mess. You listen to cicadas and complain about the humidity and your ma yells at you for tracking dirt inside.”

You tilt your head. “You ever think about staying? Settling down here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just plucks a blade of grass and spins it between his fingers.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “But then I think—this is what shaped me. But it’s not all I am. The world’s loud, and it’s messy, and it needs things. But this…” He looks at you. “This is what I miss when I’m out there.”

You nod. Reduced to speechlessness, because it's so tender and perfect and so him that it hurts.

Clark finishes the orange. Wipes his fingers on a napkin, then on his jeans when that doesn’t do the trick. You lie back on the blanket with a quiet sigh, letting the sun press into your skin, the breeze lift the sweat at your temples.

It could’ve ended there. Could’ve been just a quiet kind of golden. But then you nudge his ankle with yours.

“Bet I could outrun you,” you say lazily, like you’re not poking a bear.

Clark huffs. Turns his head toward you, amused. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” you say, stretching. “You’ve been slacking. Porch paint and chicken duty’s got you soft.”

He squints at you. “You really wanna start this?”

“You said yourself, Kansas. Nothing to do out here but complain about the heat and cause a little trouble.”

He smiles slowly. The kind of smile that curls at the corners. Dangerous in the way only someone so gentle and kind can be.

“Alright then,” he says, sitting up. “You get a ten-second head start.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wait, really—”

“Nine,” he says, already grinning, already counting.

You scramble to your feet. “Oh my god, you are not serious—”

“Eight.”

You bolt.

The grass is taller in some spots and it catches at your ankles, slows you down. The air is thick with sun and the hum of everything living. You turn left, laughing, hair sticking to the back of your neck, and glance behind you just in time to see him loping after you, easy and unhurried, like he’s letting you win.

Which is worse. Infuriating. Fucking ass.

“KENT!” you shout over your shoulder. “I swear if you let me win I’m gonna trip myself just to spite you—”

“Then you better run faster!” he calls back, but he’s laughing too, bright and open and young in a way he doesn’t always let himself be in the city.

You make it halfway to the barn before he catches you, just a hand on your waist, barely a tug. You spin with the momentum and half-collapse against him, breathless, wheezing from the run and the heat and the sheer absurdity of it all.

“You cheated,” you gasp.

“I didn’t even use my powers.”

“That’s worse.”

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, both of you flushed and sweating and smiling like idiots.

“You’re fast,” he murmurs, voice low. “But I know how you move.”

You roll your eyes, still catching your breath. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you wanna get kissed.”

“Maybe I do,” he says, quiet now.

Oh, if that doesn't make you wanna ruin him. When you lean in, he tastes like oranges and sweat and something warm you can’t name.

“You’re always holding back,” you murmur against his mouth. “Let me have you.”

Clark’s breathing stutters.

“You have me,” he says, like it’s a promise. Like it’s been true since the first day you met.

Your teeth graze his lip, just enough to make him gasp. “Then act like it.”

Now that—that—does something to him.

His hands slip quickly under your sundress, palms mapping the curve of your back, hungry and greedy all at once. Your head tips back when his mouth finds your neck again, hot and open and just a little bit wild. His teeth scrape the spot just beneath your ear and your fingers clench in his curls, hard.

The bark digs into your shoulder blades. You can faintly feel the ground disappearing from under you. Grass sticks to the backs of your calves. The sky overhead is lazy and blue, clouds like pulled cotton, and none of it, absolutely none of it, matters. 

Not the cows, not the heat, not the fact that you're pressed up against a pecan tree in the middle of a Kansas pasture—just this. Just him.

It doesn't take long for it to escalate. 

You're not normally a fan of this—quickies, anyway, you'd rather take your time, break him down methodically, piece by piece, but you think you'd actually combust if you don't have him right there, right at that second. And damn it, you will. 

You will. 

Your hands scramble to wrench his shirt off, a mad dash to get as close to his skin as possible. He helps you, your pretty boy, your sweetheart, your sunshine—chuckling when the fabric inevitably gets caught between his head and shoulders. 

"Clark—" you glare at him, not really annoyed with him but his stupid, stupid shirt. "Get it—please, get it off—"

"So impatient," He grins. He helps you anyway, giving you that final push to get the shirt off his head. And then ou're like a moth drawn to a flame, nipping at his skin, sucking little love bites that you know he adores into his chest. "Baby, sweetheart—"

"Sweetheart, baby—" You kiss his collarbone, hands going to undo his belt, the metal clinking from your actions. "Need you now."

Clark nods vigorously at that. "Yeah, yeah—okay."

He readjusts, free now from his belt, jeans dropping low, and he's scooping your thighs up so you're flush against the tree for leverage. The bark of the tree's rough and it'll leave some truly horrendous marks later, but he's pushing your dress up around your waist, cock situated and ready at your entrance. 

A breath. A look between you. And then he sinks you down, no prep, no foreplay, just him and the burn of taking all of him bare.

You make an embarrassing noise when he bottoms out, yelping and wrapping your arms around his neck. Clark slows down, pressing kisses on your forehead and muttering small little praises. "You're doing so good. You feel amazing, baby, you just let me know when, I'll wait—"

Fuck, that turns you on more than it should've. You clench around him, mouth parting in a quiet moan. "Now, I'm ready now. Move, Kent."

His hand hitches your leg up higher for a better angle, and—yeah, if that's not the hottest thing in the world. The tenderness mixed with the way you know he's about to utterly destroy you. He rolls his hips, once, twice, until he sets a punishing rhythm.

He moves, hard and deep inside of you, always a stretch widthwise. Always feels like a rearrangement. Every single vein, every twitch, every agonizing inch as he gets to work fucking you like your life depends on it.

And the tree shakes—it fucking shakes, leaves falling all around you—when his pace gets punishing and relentless. All you can do is take it, legs shivering and hands scrambling to hold on to something, anything.

The strap of your dress has fallen down your shoulder at this point, and Clark takes the opportunity to wrap his hot mouth around your exposed nipple, eyes falling closed. "Tastes like heaven."

"Clark—" You shudder, his ruts turning more and more shallow. "Need more, I need—need help, please—"

He nods against your skin, letting go of your nipple with one wet pop. A hand skirts down between you, wordless, and rubs hard circles against your clit, never twisting, just a constant, almost vibrating pressure that wrenches more desperate gasps out of you.

You love him.

It hits you the hardest at that moment, when he grins and you can feel those tell-tale signs of your orgasm shuddering closer, so impossibly close that it makes your knees weak. Like your body can’t hold the thought anymore. 

Months of this, this agonizing need to tell him, to show him. And suddenly it’s all you can feel—this pressure behind your teeth, this wild, unspooling thing clawing to get out. You didn’t plan on it. You don't meant to. But it’s already there, clawing its way up your throat with a kind of ferocity that feels unstoppable.

You pull back a breath. Just enough to get the words free. Try to get lucid fast.

“I—”

But then his hand’s on your cheek.

Soft. Certain.

“Wait,” he says, and it’s gentle, but firm enough to stop you.

You freeze, stunned. Like someone hit pause on your entire brain.

“W–W–What?” you whisper, barely breathing. His pace doesn't break. Still pounding into you like he doesn't see right through you. His eyes flicker between yours—quiet, careful, like he sees exactly where you were going. Like he caught the words mid-flight.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Not like this, baby. Not while I'm—not against a tree.”

“I don't—I don't mind,” you whine. 

He laughs under his breath. "No.”

You must've pouted, must've frowned, or… or something, because Clark's expression goes soft. He tugs you closer, hips going deeper this time until your head falls back, like an apology. 

You're so close, so goddamn close, and fuck, if he's not determined to make it up to you. Focus redirected to the sole goal of making you finish harder than you ever have before. Another broken moan slips out of you.

And you're still overtaken by this need to say something, something to encapsulate this feeling inside of you. So instead, you say the next best thing, “You’re mine,” you say, fierce and true and sure.

Clark nods. “Yours,” he echoes, like it’s gospel.

You come around him like that, muscles wound up tight, him working himself into you faster—faster, until he pulses inside you. It's all warmth, his shoulders shaking like a leaf, you holding onto him like the old tire swing on a tree. Chests heaving. Sweat pooling underneath your knees. But he doesn't let go.

He pulls back just a tad, just enough to rest his head against the crook of your neck. His curls tickle your skin, just slightly. "Hold me tighter?"

You're still quivering, traitorous legs twitching, but you do. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze until he sighs, relaxed and spent and all the things that you let go unsaid. 

The cows, thankfully, have the decency not to interrupt.

.

He’s on the fire escape again.

You don’t see him at first—just the corner of his shirt sleeve through the window screen, fluttering gently in the breeze like a flag someone planted in a place they want to stay.

You step closer.

And there he is.

Sitting on the metal grate, knees drawn up, socked feet tucked against the warm steel, one arm draped loosely over the railing like he forgot the rest of the world exists. His head's tilted back against the sun, eyes closed, face subdued in that way it only gets when no one’s watching. 

Or maybe just when you are.

His shirt—some washed-out old thing from Central Kansas A&M—is rumpled and crooked on his frame like he pulled it out of the laundry basket and shrugged it on without thinking. One sleeve's shoved all the way to his elbow, exposing the freckles on his forearm.

You’re barefoot, cradling a sweating glass of lemonade in your palm, still in sleep shorts and one of his too-big sweaters again. You hadn’t meant to come looking for him. You just woke up and felt the space beside you was empty, not in a sad way, just… hollow. Cool. 

You followed the pull of it until it led you here.

He doesn’t move when you open the window. Doesn’t speak. But his eyes blink open, lashes catching the light. He looks at you, and that alone does something to your insides.

It’s the kind of look that hits low and blooms slow.

Not a spark, but a sunrise.

His smile when he sees you is small. A little crooked, like maybe he’s not so sure it’s okay to be this happy about something so simple. 

Like you just standing there, sleepy and squinting and probably still with pillow creases and hints of drool on your cheek, is his favorite part of this whole Saturday.

He lifts a hand and stretches it toward you.

Palm up.

Fingertips flexing.

“C’mere,” he says, voice warm from disuse. “It’s nice.”

You don’t hesitate. 

You climb carefully, your lemonade forgotten on the windowsill, and ease down between his legs. The fire escape creaks beneath you but holds. Of course it does. He shifts to make room for you like he already knew exactly how this would fit—your back against his chest, his knees bracketing yours, arms folding around you like second nature.

And you just sit like that, folded into him.

His chin hooks over your shoulder. His breath brushes your neck. One of his hands rests against your stomach, just above the hem of your sweater, warm through the fabric. The other finds your thigh, fingers drumming lazily against the denim there.

And you breathe. In and out. Slowly. Like maybe you forgot how before this.

“You been out here long?” you murmur.

He shrugs behind you. “I dunno. Long enough, maybe.”

You lean back into him, let your head fall onto his shoulder. “Get what you needed?”

There’s a long pause. Not like he’s unsure, just like he’s letting the quiet fill in some blanks first.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I think I did.”

You let the silence stretch after that. It’s not awkward. It’s just… Clark. 

Which is to say: it’s safe.

The sunlight spills golden across the alley, catching in the curls at his temple. Today, he smells like clean cotton and cedar and whatever fancy soap he borrowed from your shower. His skin's warm. 

You rest your hand over his where it sits on your stomach. His thumb traces a lazy circle just under your ribs, like he’s mapping out the shape of you in his mind.

“I used to sit like this back home,” he says after a while, voice soft. “Not on a fire escape, obviously. We had a roof. And a swing. My dad always left it out a little too long, so in the summer it was warm to the touch by the time I got to it.”

You hum, eyes slipping closed.

“He used to say it was good for me. Sunlight. Said I always looked like a weed after a storm when I stayed inside too long. Pale and strung out and grumpy.”

“Grumpy?” you smile, turning your face a little to glance at him. “You?”

“Oh yeah,” he grins. “Pouty little farm boy, hair sticking up, refusing to eat my vegetables unless they were corn.”

“Let me guess,” you say. “Martha snuck green beans into casseroles when you weren’t looking.”

He makes a pleased noise. “Bingo. Said it was her secret weapon for keeping me out of trouble.”

“That and the swing?”

“That and the swing.”

You settle again, your cheek to his shoulder, the metal warm beneath your thighs. You wonder if this is what he felt like, back then—sitting outside in the golden quiet, the weight of the sky pressing gentle on his shoulders, like a blanket he didn’t know he needed.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” he says suddenly, like it just occurred to him.

And it is.

But it would’ve been, anyway.

You twist slightly, enough to catch the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose. He’s not glowing. Not exactly. But something in him is bright. 

And you—you love him so goddamn fiercely in that moment it feels like your ribs might crack from the inside. Like your heart is blooming against them, stubborn and wild and wholly his.

You lace your fingers with his where they’re still resting against your chest. His grip tightens. Not possessive. Just… sure.

He’s quiet a long time.

Then, like he’s been trying to time it right: “I love you.”

Just that.

Just the words, tucked into your collarbone. No fanfare. No build. Just truth. It roots into you like sunlight in soil. You don’t speak for a long moment, trying to get your lungs to work again. Your body. Everything else. Because it’s a simple sentence, but it feels like something tectonic and holy.

Eventually, you turn, slow and sure.

“I love you too.”

His head drops forward until his forehead presses to yours. You feel him exhale, shaky but smiling.

“I kept trying to find the right time,” he says. “I didn’t want it to feel like… I don’t know. A checkpoint. Like I had to say it because it was next on the list.”

You smile, thumb still brushing his skin. “So you went with the middle of the fire escape, during golden hour, while I’m in your hoodie and haven’t showered since last night?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Felt right.”

You sit like that for a while, sun on your skin, his breath on your neck. The world feels quieter with him this close. Still.

Eventually, when the light starts to dip low, painting the fire escape in rust and gold, you shift to get up.

He doesn’t let go. Not immediately. His hands stay at your waist, his fingers patient where they rest at your sides. Anchoring you.

“You look good in this light,” you murmur. “Like—too good. It’s kind of rude, honestly.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Like you belong in it.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something intimate and private in his eyes.

Then, “You’re not wrong.”

You tilt your head. “What, that you photosynthesize?”

But he just shakes his head, slow.

“No. Just… I think it���s you,” he says, almost like he’s surprising himself. “You make everything brighter.”

And it’s stupid, and it’s a little embarrassing, and you kiss him anyway. Because he’s warm and real and saying the kind of thing that would make anyone else roll their eyes—but with him, it just lands.

Tastes like the last light of the day and something sweet and earthy beneath it. Like coming home.

[teaboot]

I was discussing the topic of trans people in sports with someone today when the conversation turned to trans women in women’s spaces crept in, as it always seems to, and the lady I was talking to said something that I thought was interesting

What they said was, to the best of my recollection, “Women have had to work damn hard for a long time to get what little we have…. …and I don’t like the idea of someone who’s had all the privileges of being a man their whole life saying they know what it’s like to grow up as a girl…. …[and] I don’t like them using resources allocated to [cisgender] women.”

Now, there’s a lot to unpack there, but specifically that bit in the middle- the statement of, “I think trans women have benefitted from the patriarchy as men in their formative years, and then grow up to become competition for limited resources dedicated to cisgender women, who I think are more deserving because they’ve been victims of the patriarchy longer”

And I think that- interestingly- this makes a slight bit of sense to me. I don’t AGREE by any means, but I can follow the thread of logic and see how she came to this conclusion.

But I think the thing here- the vital thing, the difference between our two conflicting conclusions- is that SHE saw it as, “trans women deserve resources, yes, but they shouldn’t receive them from the same facilities or programs as cis women”, and the way I see it is, “women at large need enough support that they don’t see their own sisters as competition” and “no amount of past suffering is a higher priority than current suffering, and so current aid should be distributed according to current need”

And yes, it’s exhausting that this is always where the conversation seems to go- to the caricature of trans women specifically being invaders- but every time it does, it feels like I learn a little bit more about the person speaking

Which may be as I suspect in this particular case, at the risk of reading too deeply into it with not enough hard fact, “my experiences as a young girl were traumatic”, “I yearn for security and reassurance that I never got and I am now envious of others who do”, “I’m afraid of scarcity”, and “I tie my current identity so strongly to my own trauma and negative experiences that I tie some amount of any person’s identity or value by how much they’ve suffered”

Which again, really has nothing much to do with trans people at all, actually, does it

[satoruined]

18+

best friend!satoru who eats you out for the first time as your second birthday gift. you’d joked about needing a second dessert after cake and he’d shrugged, carried you bridal style to the couch, pinned your thighs over his shoulders and said, “you want me to put frosting on it or nah?” you thought he was kidding. you learned he was not.

best friend!satoru who gets painfully hard when you wear his clothes, but doesn’t bother to hide it.

best friend!satoru who lets you borrow anything from his closet, and steals from yours constantly. “mutual property. yours is mine, mine is yours. if you see me decked out in your miniskirt, i don’t want to hear a word,” and he means it—full on struts past you one morning in your crop top, showing off his slutty waist like it’s his god-given right, looking back only to say: “you left it on the floor. you forfeited ownership.”

best friend!satoru who’s your lingerie consultant. even when you’re dating someone else, he always insists on helping you “rate” the pieces you wear for The Other Guy. “7.5. makes your tits look great, but you’re gonna waste that on him?” weeks later, you realize half those sets went missing.

best friend!satoru who feeds you fries off his plate. dips them in sauce and holds them up to your lips. always pretends to miss your mouth so he can press his greasy fingers against your bottom lip and go “oops, messy girl.” and chuckles when you lick or bite his fingers in retaliation.

best friend!satoru who lets you use his card when you’re sad. doesn’t ask what for, just sends you a selfie of him pouting with a “buy smth pretty so you don’t cry” caption. if you don’t spend at least $300, he gets personally offended.

best friend!satoru who showers with you “to save the environment,” but spends more time helping you exfoliate your back and rinse your conditioner out than actually washing himself. you turn around once and catch him palming himself lazily under the stream. “oh,” he says, blinking. “you can keep singing, don’t mind me.”

best friend!satoru who has zero boundaries when it comes to your body. he adjusts your straps, straightens your necklaces, zips you into dresses from behind with such painstaking care that should not be so casual.

best friend!satoru who hasn’t fucked you, but has definitely slept curled around you like a body pillow on many occasions. who dry humps you during cuddles—not even always consciously. sometimes it’s in the middle of a movie, arms wrapped around you, hips rocking languidly against your ass while you eat popcorn. other times he full-on moans in his sleep.

best friend!satoru who is that annoying best friend who accidentally walks in while you’re changing.

best friend!satoru who kisses your forehead chastely. who holds your hand walking through crowds. who likes to pull you into his chest and rest his chin on the top of your head

best friend!satoru who gets hard watching you cry over your ex. not out of cruelty—he hates seeing you hurt, truly—but you’re sobbing into his chest, voice wobbling through half-formed sentences, and it does something to him. part of him wants to cheer you up with takeout and movies. the other part wants to fuck you so good you forget that asshole’s name entirely.

best friend!satoru who keeps saying “it’s not sexual unless you cum” like that’s a rule in the friend handbook.

best friend!satoru who never asks you to be his, because he knows the second you say yes, he’s compromised. you’ll become the one thing he can’t afford to lose. he keeps you close, but not close enough that someone could make you a target. as the strongest, he’s spent his whole life being selfless for the sake of everyone else. but he’s just not sure he’d know how to be selfless with you.

[amplexadversary]

Honestly, sums up the whole fan wank about "talking about male characters in a space for female characters" and "screwing around with gender" that I can't seem to fucking escape no matter how many times I go into the notes on one of those posts and block every damn person who takes the argument seriously.

Do I sometimes wish people would be more tactful/thought-out in how they choose to portray characters I like? Yes, because I'd love to see better-written fanworks, or at least more people having the introspection to go "I have no reason for [whatever] besides personal appeal, here there be [whatever], read if you care."

Does it fucking matter at the end of the day? NO, because the people being excited and/or horny on the internet are not the catalyst for fixing fucking sexism, their behavior changing would not have far-reaching consequences the way a shift in the behavior of published authors has, downstream, on fandom spaces on the internet.

“hes a woman to me” IS HE? or are you equating women with submissive character traits you've arbitrarily put on a random man

[guliexe]

━━━RAGE QUIT 18+

Gamer!Lee Heeseung x Gamer!Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: slow burn, gaming buddies, video game terms, texting, sexting, soft dom!heeseung, shy!reader, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, pet names (princess, baby), praising, dry humping, oral (f & m rec), cum eating, unprotected sex, p in v, confessing, reader is down bad for heeseung, fluff

♡ you started as friends who played games at night—now he’s the one making you moan into his pillow.

.ᐟwc: 15.9k (no proofread)

It’s been a year since Heeseung joined the friend group. Some random guy Jungwon brought into the server one night for a last-minute League match, and who never really left. Every night like clockwork, your group piles into Discord: Valorant, League of Legends, horror co-ops that get you all screaming in sync. Most nights end in swearing, laughing, or someone rage quitting, usually Heeseung, and sometimes everyone. He’s sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and stupidly good at every game he touches. A little cocky, kind of a menace, and unfortunately for you, exactly your type.

You’ve had a crush on him almost as long as you’ve known him. Actually no, you’ve been in love with him, not that he’d ever guess. Or maybe he would. He teases you like he knows you’ll blush, throws in little pet names and innuendos like he’s testing you for a reaction. But you always brush it off as just another part of the bit. You’re just the girl he likes to mess with during late-night ranked queues. It doesn’t mean anything. Even if your heart does this weird flutter thing whenever he says your name.

“Where’s my duo?” you ask the second you join voice chat, headset sliding over your ears. “You bitches better not have started without me.” A chorus of greetings erupts, Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and two others you recognize from another Discord server. Everyone’s already in the Valorant lobby, bouncing around agents and bantering over voice chat. “Calm down,” Sunghoon laughs. “You’re only, like, twenty minutes late.” You correct him, “Fashionably.” Then his voice comes through. Lazier, deeper, more smug than usual. “Nice of you to show up, princess.” You roll your eyes even as your stomach flutters. “Sorry, didn’t realize I had to run my schedule by you.” you shoot back. Heeseung hums in your ear like he’s unbothered. “You do when you keep dodging games just to avoid being carried.” You scoff. “Carried? Please. You’re always the first to die.” Jay cuts in, laughing. “Here we go again.” It’s always like this, bickering that toes the line between hostile and flirtatious, drawing amused reactions from everyone else in the group. It’s part of the rhythm now. You give Heeseung shit, he throws it right back, and everyone else acts like it’s some kind of soap opera they’ve been watching for seasons. “Bet she top frags this round.” Jungwon says, grinning. “She won’t,” Heeseung says at the exact same time. Then adds, “If she does, it’s because I softened them up first.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, snorting a laugh. “Cope harder.” You lock in Clove. Heeseung picks Jett. Predictable. The match loads in, and everyone starts joking over vc while you check your loadout. Your team takes the first site, and somehow the round is over in seconds, three clean shots from you, one assist, and Heeseung’s kill coming in dead last. “Damn, she’s actually carrying.” Jay says with mock awe. “Say thank you.” you say sweetly. “Thank you, queen.” Then someone else, a guy you vaguely know named Kai, who’s only been playing with the group for a week or two, speaks up. “Carry me again like that and I’ll eat your pussy, mama.” You freeze for half a second, just long enough for your brain to register what he said, and then you giggle. Not because you’re actually into it, but because it’s so fucking unhinged. “Yeah?” you say, leaning into the joke. “Say less.” The whole call erupts in laughter. “Bro.” Jay wheezes.“You’re wild for that.” Sunghoon says.

“Don’t test me.” Kai says again, voice still flirty. And then Heeseung speaks. Calm. Too calm. “Jesus Christ, can you not be a pain in the ass for, like, one game?” The laughter stops for a second. You glance at the chat window instinctively, it’s like the air shifted. He didn’t sound like he was joking. Kai lets out an awkward laugh. “Relax, man. It’s a joke.” Heeseung hums, dry. “Then try making a funny one.” It goes quiet again, not dead silence, but that weird kind of pause where everyone’s pretending not to notice the tension. You hear someone’s keyboard clack in the background. In-game footsteps echo in your ears. “You good, Hee?” You speak up carefully. “I’m great,” he says, “Just bored of hearing you flirt with losers.” Your heart stutters. That one didn’t sound like a joke either. Even Jay seems caught off guard. “Yo, that sounded personal.” “It’s not,” Heeseung says immediately. Too quickly. “Let’s just win the round.”

And he does exactly that, goes full sweat mode for the rest of the match. Dashes into sites solo, gets two aces in a row, doesn’t speak unless it’s a callout. The rest of the group fills the silence with jokes and teasing, but you don’t miss the shift. Heeseung always plays aggressive, but tonight it feels pointed. Like he’s got something to prove. To you. Or to someone else, you’re not sure, but your stomach is buzzing.

The match ends with a win, somehow, Heeseung top frags, of course, and Kai logs off without saying goodbye. The group starts leaving one by one. “Alright, I’m out.” Sunghoon yawns. “GGs.” “Same.” Jay says. “I can’t feel my eyes.” “Goodnight, lovebirds.” Jungwon mutters under his breath before he leaves. You scoff. “Shut up.” Heeseung doesn’t say anything. Eventually, it’s just the two of you. Still in voice chat. The lobby music looping softly in the background. You think about leaving, but your hand hovers over the disconnect button and never quite clicks. Heeseung exhales. You hear the soft creak of his chair. Then, “How come you’re not leaving?” You blink at your screen. His voice is different now, low and quiet, not teasing. “I don’t know,” you say. “Didn’t want to so early.” He hums. “Guess that means I scared everyone off.” You smile faintly, chewing on your lip. “You kinda went off on that guy.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. “Yeah. I didn’t like what he said.” You tilt your head. “Because it was gross or…?” There’s a pause. “Because it was you.” he says.vYour breath catches. You wish you could see his face, but all you have is the green ring around his icon lighting up. “…Oh.” Another pause. It stretches long enough to border on awkward, until he cuts the silence with a sudden, dry little mutter, “God, don’t make me say something corny at 3AM. I’ll literally throw myself out the window.” You laugh, soft and surprised. “There it is,” he says, pleased. “I was waiting for that.” You raise a brow. “For what?” you ask. “You always laugh like that when you’re trying not to.” You protest, “i do not.” But your voice is too light, too amused to sound serious. “You do,” he says, and you can hear the grin behind his words. “It’s cute.” Your stomach flips. “Are you flirting with me, Heeseung?” you ask, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it comes out breathy, shy. He lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t know. Are you gonna flirt back this time or just ignore it like always?” You go quiet. Then, “You notice that?”

“Course I notice that,” he says. “I notice everything when it comes to you.” Your cheeks go warm. You look away from your screen, heart thudding stupidly. “…You’re not as smooth as you think,” you mumble. He yawns, loud, exaggerated. “Mmm. Still made you laugh. Still made you stay in call.” You roll your eyes, “You’re impossible.” and smile. “Yeah, but you like me.” You want to say something back. Something playful or clever. But instead, you just go quiet. He doesn’t push. After a beat, he says, softer this time, “You sound tired.” You lean back on your chair. “Mm. Kinda am,” you admit. “But comfy.” “Yeah?” he says. “Stay a little longer?” You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “Okay.” There’s a long pause where neither of you talk, just the sound of keyboard clicking as he hovers around his screen, maybe checking stats, maybe just filling the silence. Then, quietly, “You know I wasn’t just teasing, right?” Your eyes flick to your monitor. “About what?”

“Earlier. The guy. The flirting.��� His voice drops an octave, a little husky now. “I don’t like hearing other guys talk to you like that. Even if it’s a joke.” You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy staring at your screen like it’s going to tell you what to say. “I didn’t think you cared.” you admit. He laughs again, gentler. “I’ve been caring for a while, princess.” Your heart stumbles. You bite your lip. “…I kinda like when you call me that,” you whisper. He hums, satisfied. “I know.” You giggle, sleepy and flustered and way too warm all of a sudden. He lets out a soft sigh, then mutters, “If we were on cam, you’d be blushing, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“That a yes?”

“Shut up, Heeseung.”

He laughs, warm, lazy. “Sleepy girl.”

You giggle softly, cheeks already warm. “You’re so corny, Hee.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “You love it though.” You pause, just a second too long. “Mmm… kinda.” He chuckles, just this soft, fond sound that sinks right into your skin. “Cute.” Your heart skips. You don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile to yourself, suddenly way too aware of how quiet it is now, just you, him, and that little green ring lighting up every time he speaks. Neither of you says much after that. You just sit there in the silence, not awkward, not heavy, just full of something unspoken. Your eyes start to flutter closed. You think you hear him shift in his chair. Maybe yawn. You don’t log off. Neither does he.

It’s almost midnight by the time everyone’s in the lobby again. League this time, ranked. You’ve got your hoodie on, cup of something warm on your desk, legs curled up in your chair. Your screen lights up with everyone’s icons, voices overlapping in Discord. “Why are we doing this to ourselves.” Jay groans as he hovers over his champion. “Because,” you reply sweetly, “we have no self respect.” Then, “Speak for yourself,” Heeseung mutters. “I’m here to carry.” You roll your eyes, “You wish.” smiling already. “Oh my god,” Sunghoon groans. “You two start the exact same way every game.”

“Wait until she dies in lane,” Heeseung says. “Then she’ll blame me like usual.”

“Because you gank at level six like a coward.”

You hear him snort. “Don’t need to gank when you feed their mid laner for me.”

The game loads in. You settle into your rhythm fast, poking, last-hitting, barely listening to the chaos on comms. But every time Heeseung’s voice filters through your headset, you feel it, that lingering buzz from last night. The way he called you cute. The way you didn’t want to leave the call. You don’t know if it meant something. But you feel different now. Every time he says your name, it lands heavier than before. Fifteen minutes in, you’ve got your third kill, and Heeseung’s still climbing his way up in the jungle. You start pushing your lane harder, greedy. “Damn,” Kai says over comms. “She’s actually carrying again?”

“She does that,” Sunghoon says. “Every once in a while.”

Kai laughs. “Shit. If I play support next round, will you reward me, mama?”

You groan, already bracing yourself. “I mean damn,” he adds, “I’d let you leash me any day.”

The call explodes with groans. You groan too, out of habit, “You’re actually insane, dude.”

“You like it,” he says, clearly proud of himself.

You don’t reply, clicking back to lane. You’re not even thinking about it really. Until you hear…nothing. Heeseung’s gone silent. Not muted. Not disconnected. Just quiet. Then your phone buzzes. You glance at it out of instinct, brows furrowing.

Heeseung [12:16am]

tell your little fanboy to chill lol

You glance at the screen, smirking a little. You don’t reply , just keep farming, like your heart isn’t suddenly going crazy.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

kinda annoying hearing him talk to u like that tbh

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

doesn’t even say it right

if anyone’s gonna call you mama it should be me

You choke on your own breath. Your mouse stutters for a second. One of your minions dies.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

jk

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

unless u like it

Your skin is burning. You tuck your phone away without replying, biting back a smile. Across your headset, the match keeps going—Kai’s talking again, but his voice barely registers. You’re not listening to him anymore. You’re only hearing Heeseung. You don’t reply to his messages. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to. Your fingers are still shaky on the keyboard as the match rolls on. Heeseung’s acting normal again in vc, throwing out short callouts, occasionally bickering with Sunghoon, playing it cool like he didn’t just imply he wants to call you mama.

Your phone buzzes again once, but you ignore it this time. Your lane’s pushing, and your team is moving toward Baron. You focus. You click fast. And when Kai dies again, whining about being “baited,” you’re already ready to kill. You slide in, ult ready, and drop three of them before they can react, smooth, clean, and so fast that Jay literally yells through his mic. “OH MY GOD—okay, she’s cracked tonight.”

“Bro, what was that?” Sunghoon laughs. “Are you sweating?”

You’re already smiling to yourself when you hear it. Low. Offhanded. Just one beat late.

“Good job, baby.”

Everything stops. No one else reacts. But you hear it. Loud and clear. Your brain scrambles. You don’t know if anyone else caught it, maybe he was leaning too close to his mic, maybe it just blended in with the chaos, but your stomach drops. In a good way. In a terrifying way. You go quiet for a few seconds, and then, “…What’d you just call me?” There’s a beat of silence. Then Heeseung’s voice, smooth as ever, “Hm? I said good job.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Might’ve added something,” he says casually. “You complaining?”

You hate that your face is hot. You hate it more that you smile.

“…You’re annoying,” you mumble, half-giggling.

“Still blushing though.” he replies, grinning into his mic.

Sunghoon: “What did I miss?”

Jay: “I knew something was going on with you two.”

You groan, tugging your hoodie over your mouth. “Play the damn game,” you mutter, but your voice is way too giddy to be taken seriously. And even though everyone goes back to screaming over objectives and team fights, your head’s somewhere else completely. Still stuck on that word. Baby.

It’s the next night. Everyone’s in voice chat again—same group, same vibe. But now you know what he said last time. He knows you heard it. And he hasn’t brought it up since. He’s acting normal again, but you’re not letting him off the hook that easily. The match is halfway through. You’ve just landed a perfect kill steal on Heeseung’s target, claiming the bounty right out from under him. He groans dramatically. “You seriously just took that?” You smirk, leaning into your mic. “Mhm. Had to show off for you, baby.” Silence. Total, absolute, silence.

Jay wheezes. “Wait.”

Sunghoon: “Did she just—?”

You don’t say anything else.

But you can feel Heeseung scrambling on the other side of his headset. He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, which, for him, is a lot. Then he clears his throat. “You trying to start something, princess?” You smile. “Just matching energy.” He lets out a low laugh, little breathless, a little impressed. “Dangerous game,” he mutters. “Careful or I might start taking you seriously.” You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Maybe I want you to.” He doesn’t respond right away. And when he does, his voice is quieter. “…Noted.”

You’re walking behind Heeseung in-game, flashlight beam jittering as you peek into dark hallways. You are playing Phasmaphobia, already regretting letting the boys talk you into this. “Is that—? No, okay, that’s just a shadow.” you mumble, heart racing. Heeseung laughs softly through the mic. “You alright back there?”

“No,” you whisper, sticking close. “Why do you sound so calm?”

“‘Cause I’m brave,” he says casually, like it’s obvious. “You’re the scaredy cat .”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“You are,” he continues, voice smooth. “Cute though. I like it.”

Your stomach flips. You keep your eyes on the screen, trying to act unfazed. “Not my fault you’re so bad at protecting me.” you murmur. He pauses for half a second.

Then, “Oh, that’s how we’re playing tonight?”

You smile, shy but satisfied. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Mm. You didn’t have to.”

Jay’s voice cuts in on voice chat, “Guys? Where the hell are you two?”

“Clearing the hallway,” Heeseung answers smoothly. “She’s being brave.”

You don’t say anything, but you know he hears your quiet giggle, even through your mic.

It’s almost 3AM when the final round ends. Everyone’s laughing, still on edge from that last chase. Jay’s cackling over some glitch, Sunghoon’s threatening to uninstall the game, and you’re still trying to slow your heartbeat. Then Heeseung’s voice cuts in, calm and lazy through the mic. “Alright, I’m out. I need to shower before I crash.” You blink at your screen, suddenly still. “Damn, it’s that serious?” Jay says, yawning. “Alright, night bro.”

“Night, losers,” Heeseung says with a smirk in his voice. “Later, princess.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a reply, his little green Discord ring goes gray. Gone. You try not to pout. The call slowly empties, one by one, goodnights echoing into silence until it’s just you. Alone in the lobby, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, still hoping he’d maybe rejoin. But he doesn’t. So you log off too. Toss your headphones aside, get up and do your skincare, brush your teeth, your hair, fluff your pillows. But you don’t feel sleepy yet. You’re scrolling aimlessly on your phone, tucked under your blanket, when it lights up suddenly.

Incoming call: Heeseung

Your breath catches. He’s calling you. At 3:27AM. You stare at it for half a second, then answer. “Hello?” you say, voice soft and a little surprised. “Hey.” His voice is warm, low, a little rough. You can tell he’s laying down too. “I thought you were going to sleep,” you murmur. “I was,” he says, quieter now. “Shower helped, but… I don’t know. Something felt off.” You wait, heartbeat picking up. “Didn’t get to talk to you.” Your lips curve into the softest smile.

“I was waiting for you to stay.”

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to.”

Then there’s a pause, intimate, quiet. “You comfy now?” he asks. “Mhm. Just got in bed.” Another pause. “Wish I could see you.”

You bite your lip. “You’re sweet tonight.” you whisper. He chuckles. “You make me sweet.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a few seconds. Then, casually, “You played good tonight.” You blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Carried my ass a couple times.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I always do.” He chuckles too, low and warm. “You’re not gonna let me be nice, huh?”

“Mm, maybe not.”

There’s a pause, not awkward, just weighted.

“You ever think about playing just us?” he asks, voice a little softer. Your heart stutters. “Like duo by ourselves?” you say quickly, trying to play it cool. He hums. “Something like that.” You bite your lip, smiling into the darkness. “Maybe.” He doesn’t push it. Just lets the silence stretch again. “You sleepy?” he asks gently. You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah. You?”

“Mhm.” A beat. “Didn’t wanna sleep without hearing you again.” You go quiet, your heart going crazy. “…You’re sweet,” you whisper. He breathes a little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone.” You smile. “Secret’s safe with me.” There’s one last pause, so full of things neither of you say. Then finally, he says, “Sleep well, princess.”

“Goodnight, Hee.”

He hangs up. But you don’t sleep for a long time.

Discord is chaotic as always—half the team is yelling over each other mid-match, someone’s mic is echoing, and Sunghoon’s pretending to AFK just to piss people off. You’re trying to focus, but your mind’s a little too full of Heeseung. Ever since that late-night call, everything feels shifted. More intense. Every time he talks in call, your chest gets tight. And when his icon lights up just to say your name, it’s worse. “Okay, Saturday—Heeseung’s place?” Jake says. “Yeah, I’m in,” Sunghoon says. “Someone bring snacks.” Then Heeseung, smooth as ever, “You coming, princess?” You blink. Swallow the flutter in your chest. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” you say quickly, trying to sound casual. But barely a beat later, your screen lights up with a DM.

Heeseung [11:45 pm]

u don’t sound excited

Your lips twitch.

You [11:45 pm]

i am

Heeseung [11:46 pm]

lol?

that’s all i get?

You shake your head, smiling to yourself.

You [11:46 pm]

focus on the game hee

There’s a short pause.

Heeseung [11:47 pm]

not when you say my name like that

You bite your lip.

But before you can answer, Heeseung suddenly says in vc, “Yo—who just stole my red buff? I swear to god.” Everyone starts yelling again. The moment breaks, but not completely. It lingers underneath the noise, quiet and warm.

It’s almost 2:30 a.m. when your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, scrolling aimlessly, already half-asleep. The soft glow of your screen lights up your dark room.

Heeseung [2:28 am]

u still up?

You blink at the message, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

You [2:28 am]

barely

was abt to sleep

Heeseung [2:28 am]

wait

look at this

A photo comes through. It loads slowly, thanks to your shitty Wi-Fi, but when it does, your breath catches. Heeseung, shirtless. Pyjama pants slung low on his hips, just enough to tease, the band of his boxers peeking out. And right in the center of the frame, curled up perfectly in his lap, his small, fluffy kitty, fast asleep.

Heeseung [2:30 am]

isn’t she cute :)

You swallow, staring at the picture a little too long.

You [2:31 am]

so cute

must be comfy there too

The typing bubble appears almost immediately.

Heeseung [2:31 am]

yeah?

u jealous princess?

You grin at your screen, heart racing.

You [2:31 am]

hmm

maybe a lil :3

He doesn’t respond right away. You wonder if you went too far, until your phone vibrates again.

Heeseung [2:33 am]

could make room for u too

You stare at the words, pulse jumping.

You [2:33 am]

bold

Heeseung [2:34 am]

not bold if it’s true

u always look tired after carrying me anyway

You let out a soft laugh, trying to hide the way your cheeks are burning.

You [2:34 am]

i hate u

Heeseung [2:34 am]

no u don’t

you like me too much

You don’t reply right away. Instead, you bite your lip, heart pounding in the quiet dark.

You [2:35 am]

maybe :>

Heeseung [2:35 am]

see you saturday bby

sleep tight

You set your phone down on your chest and stare at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot. No shot you’re sleeping now.

You hadn’t seen Heeseung in two weeks, not in person, at least, but the late-night texts and flirty voice chats had kept him pressed into your mind like a fingerprint. Every time he called you “princess” every teasing message he sent before bed, made you blush behind your screen like some lovesick idiot. So yeah, now that you were about to see him again, you were nervous. Stupidly nervous. You stood in front of your mirror for way too long that afternoon, picking out something cute but not obvious, landing on a short, flowy dress that made you feel pretty. It felt casual enough not to raise eyebrows, but still, you hoped he’d notice. You wanted him to.

You met up with the others at the corner near Heeseung’s place. Everyone was buzzing with energy, talking about what games they’d play, what movies they’d watch, how long they were gonna stay. You tried to laugh along and act normal, but your heart beat louder with every step closer to his house. And then, you were there. One of the guys knocked on Heeseung’s door, you held your breath. A few seconds later, it swung open. He was standing there in a black hoodie and gray sweats, hair a little messy like he’d just run a hand through it before opening up. His eyes skimmed lazily over the group, and then landed on you. They didn’t move for a moment. Neither did yours. “Yo.” one of the others greeted him. Heeseung smirked. “You guys are late.” Then, to you, voice a little quieter, a little warmer, “You coming in, princess?” Your stomach flipped. “Uh, Yeah.” You tried to play it cool, stepping past him like your skin wasn’t already prickling from just hearing his voice up close.

You walk into the apartment, your eyes adjusting to the soft orange glow spilling across the living room. It was warm in there, literally and figuratively, the kind of cozy that made you want to curl into a blanket and never leave. Lamps instead of overhead lights, a couple of pillows tossed lazily across the couch, the faint scent of something like vanilla and laundry detergent lingering in the air. You quietly took a seat on the couch, smoothing your dress under your thighs. The fabric felt short when you sat, but you kept your expression neutral, pretending like you weren’t already hyper-aware of Heeseung moving around behind you. He dropped down into the armchair across from you, spreading his legs slightly, elbows on his knees. The hoodie he wore was unzipped, the edge of a plain white t-shirt barely clinging to his collarbones. He caught your eye for a second, just a second, and gave you a small smile. You looked away first.

The rest of the group slowly filtered into the living room, loud and casual like always. One of them kicked off their shoes and flopped dramatically onto the rug. “So,” someone said, clapping their hands together. “Are we being normal and playing something like Monopoly, or are we ruining friendships tonight with Uno?”

“Uno,” Heeseung said immediately, leaning back in his chair. “No mercy.”

“I’m voting for Mario Kart,” someone else chimed in from the floor. “Get on later and let me kick your ass, Lee.”

“Bro, last time you said that, I fucking stepped on you.”

Laughter erupted across the room. You giggled quietly, tucking your hands into your lap. It was easy being here. Loud, chaotic, but safe, like always. The way it always had been. Except…Except now Heeseung looked at you differently. They eventually settled on starting with a few board games, pushing aside the clutter on the coffee table and pulling out the boxes. Sunghoon opened the food delivery app and started taking orders—half the group wanted ramen, the other half wanted pizza. You stayed mostly quiet, watching it all unfold with a small smile, your knee gently bouncing on the couch. Every now and then, Heeseung’s eyes flicked toward you. When they did, he didn’t look away. He just watched, like he was content to see you sitting there, finally within reach again.

The living room had grown quieter since earlier, the post-game, post-food lull settling into everyone. Someone had queued up a movie, someone sprawled out across the couch and floor with blankets, while the others argued over what snacks were left and who was going to eat them. You slipped away quietly, rising from your seat and heading into the kitchen with an empty soda can in hand. The orange glow from under the cabinets bathed the room in a soft warmth, the hum of the fridge buzzing steadily behind you. You opened it, pretending to look for something, even though you weren’t really hungry. Your heart was beating too fast anyway. You closed the door and turned around, only to find Heeseung standing in the doorway. He wasn’t looking for snacks.

His hands were stuffed casually into the front pocket of his hoodie, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The laughter from the living room felt distant, muffled by the walls between you. He stepped inside slowly, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Been looking at you all night.” he said, voice low. You blinked, caught off guard. “What?” His eyes dropped, just for a second, to your dress—the way it clung softly to your waist before fluttering down your thighs. “That little dress,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?” You scoffed softly, trying to hide the way your stomach turned. “Shut up.” He tilted his head, amused. “What? I’m wrong?” You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. Not touching you yet, just close enough that you could smell the fabric softener clinging to his hoodie.

“You look so pretty, princess.” he said gently. Your breath hitched. The nickname sounded different when he said it here, alone, with the world gone quiet around you. No Discord call. No other people. Just him—tall and warm and real in front of you. “You’re gonna make me blush.” you whispered, glancing up at him through your lashes. He smiled. “That’s kind of the point.”

His hand rose slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you, and he touched your cheek. Fingers warm against your skin. You leaned into it without thinking, eyes fluttering shut. And then he kissed you. Soft and slow. Just enough pressure to make your knees feel a little unsteady. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for a while. And you kissed him back. Your hand came up to rest against the curve of his chest, clutching the fabric of his hoodie like you were afraid to let go. His thumb brushed your cheek. You sighed into him, and he pressed his forehead to yours for a second before pulling back slightly.

Before either of you could say anything, a voice echoed faintly from the other room, “I’ll go grab a beer, y’all want something?” You both froze, then stifled a laugh. Heeseung’s hand lingered on your face a moment longer before slipping away. “You should go,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Before someone comes in here and ruins it.” You smiled, breathless. “Yeah…” But neither of you moved.

You were the first to step back into the living room. No one looked up, the movie was too loud, and everyone else was too busy bickering over what just happened in the plot. You sank back into your spot on the couch, heartbeat still trying to even out, trying to act normal. Like Heeseung’s mouth hadn’t just been on yours. A few seconds later, he came in too, casually, like he’d just gone to the bathroom or gotten a drink or something. But instead of dropping into his old seat across the room, he sat beside you.

Right beside you. No one said anything. No one noticed. But you did. You were hyper-aware of every shift—the way the cushion dipped slightly under his weight, the warmth of his thigh brushing yours. You didn’t even dare look at him at first. You just stared ahead, pretending to focus on the screen. Then, his hand landed on your thigh. Your breath caught, but it wasn’t like that. It was soft, subtle. Just a palm resting over the fabric of your dress like it belonged there.

He didn’t move it. Didn’t squeeze, didn’t tease. He just…let it be there. And somehow, that was even worse. Eventually, the others started yelling at the TV again, someone shouting “YOU IDIOT WHY WOULD YOU GO INTO THE BASEMENT ALONE?” and the whole room dissolved into laughter. Heeseung’s hand slid away. But only to settle beside your thigh, knuckles just barely brushing the hem of your dress. You hesitated, heart thudding, before you let your pinky drop, feather-light, against his.

And he hooked it, like it was nothing. Like it was everything. You finally looked up at him, hust briefly. His gaze was already on you. He didn’t smile, not quite. But his expression softened, like he was memorizing this, keeping it tucked away somewhere quiet just for him. Your cheeks burned, you looked away, but you didn’t pull your hand back.

It was late when everyone finally started gathering their things. The movie had long since ended, and the energy in the room was quiet and warm, a buzz of satisfied laughter and sleepy goodbyes. Shoes were slipped on, jackets thrown over shoulders, as one by one, people trickled toward the front door. You were the last to follow. Dragging your steps a little, pretending you were still putting your phone in your bag, but really, you were just hoping he’d say something. Do something. And he did.

As you reached the door, Heeseung caught your wrist gently. Just for a second. Just enough to make you stop and glance back at him. He stepped closer, leaning down just slightly. And before you could even say anything, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. So casual, but not casual at all. His lips lingered for just a second before pulling back. “Goodnight, princess.” he murmured. Your chest fluttered. You tried to respond, but your words caught somewhere between your throat and your racing heart. All you could do was smile, cheeks burning, as you stepped out into the night. You didn’t even remember saying goodbye to the others. You just kept touching your cheek where his mouth had been.

Another night, another game. Everyone was online, the Discord call full of laughing and yelling as you all loaded into a League match. But it felt different this time. You could feel it immediately, even before Heeseung joined. Your heart jumped a little when his icon lit up green. “Yo.” he said, like always. “Hi.” you replied softly. He hummed, low and warm. “Miss me already?” Someone snorted in the background, Kai probably, but you didn’t even flinch. “Maybe a little,” you said, light and teasing. “Don’t let it get to your head.” He chuckled. “Too late, princess.” Nobody commented. Nobody knew. But you could hear the grin in his voice, and the sound made something tug low in your stomach. You played League. You laughed with the others. The usual trash talk flew back and forth, but the way Heeseung talked to you now? It wasn’t the same.

When you stole a kill from him, he groaned dramatically. “Wow. Can’t believe my own girlfriend would do me like that.” You choked. “Heeseung—!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Still pending, I guess.”

Kai laughed. “Damn, she’s got you whipped.”

Heeseung only hummed again. “Can you blame me?”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. You just pushed your mic away a little, smiled at your screen, and kept playing.

You were mid-game, headset on, pretending to be fully focused, but your phone kept lighting up beside you. You shouldn’t have looked.

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

u looked really pretty yesterday btw

Your fingers stuttered on the keyboard.

You [11:26 pm]

heeseung please focus i’m literally dying in mid rn

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

how am i supposed to focus when u looked like that in that dress

unfair tbh

Your face was burning. You typed quickly, glancing at your minimap.

You [11:26 pm]

stop distracting me :(

Heeseung [11:27 pm]

can’t help it

u get all shy when i text u and it’s cute asf

You tried so hard to keep a straight face. Then, right when you were getting pushed under tower, Heeseung’s champion appeared in lane. Ganked clean. You got the kill. “Nice!” you said out loud, a little breathless. And then you heard it through the headset. “That’s my girl,” Heeseung murmured. You giggled. Couldn’t even help it. The call exploded.

“Kill me already,” Sunghoon groaned. “Get a room.”

“I’m gonna uninstall.” someone else muttered.

You pressed a hand over your smile, pretending to focus again, but your phone lit up once more:

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

u liked that baby?

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh again. The match was still going, your screen full of chaos, but all you could think about was the heat spreading over your cheeks.

You [11:30 pm]

maybe i didd

The typing bubble popped up right away.

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

yeah?

bet you’d like it even more if i whispered it in ur ear while u were on my lap

Your stomach flipped, pulse thudding deep in your chest. You squeezed your knees together under your desk and stared at your screen, barely registering the game anymore.

You [11:31 pm]

hee.

stoppp that’s not fair :(

Heeseung [11:31 pm]

aww baby’s getting all shy now?

cute

You didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t need you to. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. And when he pinged on the map again to come help you in lane, you swear your hands were trembling.

It was past 2 a.m. now. The group was deep into another League match, your sixth of the night. And the fourth loss. Everyone was tilted. Half-joking, swearing under their breath. But Heeseung…Heeseung was seething. You could hear it in the way he was clicking. Rapid, furious, sharp. His voice had dropped into this low, tight drawl as he muttered, “This jungler’s a bot. Actually brainless.” You shouldn’t have found it attractive. But the heat in his voice, the frustration curling behind every breath, it made your stomach flutter. But then his mic went quiet. You knew that silence. The kind that was dangerous. “Bro, this is unplayable,” Heeseung muttered suddenly. His voice sounded a bit raspy and tired. “I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m out.” Disconnect.

The call fell into stunned silence for a second. Then Sunghoon sighed. “Yikes.” Your heart dropped. You stared at your screen for a long second, your fingers frozen over your keyboard. You hadn’t even typed “gg.” You stayed quiet. Just tried to blink back the weird sting that hit you way too fast. “I’m gonna switch to Valorant,” Jay said. “Anyone else?”

“I’m in,” you mumbled, a little too quickly. You didn’t want to log off. Not yet. Not if he texted. So you launched the game, joined a party, and tried to laugh along with the others, but every second that passed, your eyes flicked down to your phone. Still nothing.

It was almost 4 a.m. by the time you logged off. You barely said goodbye, too drained from the string of losses, but more so from the ache in your chest that had settled there after Heeseung left the call. He didn’t text. Not once. You went through your usual motions anyway. Washed your face, pulled on an oversized tee, got under the covers with your phone still in hand, brightness low, just mindlessly scrolling. Checking Instagram, discord, his profile—more than once. Still nothing. Your screen dimmed. You stared at the faint glow on your ceiling, curled under your blanket, and tried not to overthink it. You told yourself he was just mad at the game, not at you. Your phone eventually slipped from your hand onto the pillow beside you. And sometime after, you drifted off, eyes closed, heart a little too heavy for sleep to come easy.

Buzz.

Your screen lit up softly in the dark. You squinted one eye open.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

sry abt that

Your heart thumped. You reached for your phone with a sleepy hand, your fingers a little clumsy as you unlocked it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

wasn’t mad at u or anything

And then, after a moment:

Heeseung [4:23 am]

missed ur voice tbh

Your breath caught. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, your chest warm, a smile curling on your lips as you looked at the screen.

You [4:24 am]

it was boring without u :(

There was barely a pause before your phone buzzed again.

Heeseung [4:24 am]

yeah baby?

That one made your breath hitch. You turned onto your back, screen hovering above your face now, your lips pressing together to contain the smile threatening to break free.

You [4:24 am]

mhm

wanted u there

The typing bubble appeared again. Stopped. Then came back.

Heeseung [4:25 am]

wanted to be there too

but u know how i get with that game lol

You giggled softly.

You [4:25 am]

i do

but u still sounded hot all pissed off like that

You waited, then cringed a little, your heart racing like ‘shit why did i say that’. A second later:

Heeseung [4:26 am]

oh yeah?

u like when i’m mad baby?

should’ve seen me after i logged off

was thinking abt u

Your heart stilled.

Heeseung [4:26 am]

couldn’t stop thinking abt ur thighs

Your hand went to your chest like you could calm the thunder in your heart.

You [4:26 am]

hee.

you can’t say stuff like that rn

Heeseung [4:27 am]

why not?

no one’s around

just me n my sleepy girl

You [4:27 am]

hmm

u like my thighs? :3

Heeseung [4:27 am]

i love them baby

You stared at his last message, your pulse loud in your ears. You swallowed. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before you typed.

You [4:28 am]

u love them?

Heeseung [4:28 am]

mmhmm

love how soft they looked when u sat next to me

kept thinking abt how warm u’d feel on my lap

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, breath catching. You hesitated. Then, slowly, like some part of you needed him to see, you pushed the blanket down. Your legs were folded up, thighs squished slightly together. Your tiny shorts clung to you, barely covering the top of your legs. With one hand, you tugged your shirt up just enough to show a sliver of your tummy, skin warm and soft under the low light of your phone screen. Your finger trembled as you tapped the shutter. You stared at the photo for a long moment. You didn’t look perfect, not posed like other girls might be. But something about it felt so real. So you sent it anyway.

You [4:30 am]

here :)

Three seconds passed. Then five.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

jesus baby

you’re gonna kill me

so fucking pretty

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

can’t stop looking

want u so bad right now

Your body was warm all over. You stared at his words with your bottom lip between your teeth, your legs slowly stretching under the blanket again, your heart racing faster than it had all night. You type with shaky fingers.

You [4:31 am]

want u too :(

miss u

You don’t even care how needy it sounds, because it’s true. You miss the way he looked at you when no one else was watching. You miss the warmth of his hand next to yours. You miss how soft his lips were on yours.

Heeseung [4:31 am]

fuck baby

wish i could sneak into ur bed rn

kiss u slow n make u feel good

You bite your lip hard. Your whole body feels electric , flushed with adrenaline and want. You prop your phone up for a moment, your hand slipping under your oversized shirt. Your palm covers your left tit, squeezing softly. Your thighs shift and spread slightly as you angle the camera, lifting your shirt a little, enough to show a peek of tummy, the curve of your waist, the swell of your thighs pressed together in the low light. You snap the photo, heart hammering. And before you can change your mind, you send it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

holy fuck

look at u baby…

can’t believe u sent this to me

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

ur unreal

my pretty girl

all mine yeah?

Your legs curl up under the blanket again, warmth spreading between your thighs as you try to calm your breathing, but it’s impossible now, he’s everywhere, in your head, under your skin.

You [4:34 am]

mhm! only urs

want u so bad :((

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you shift on the bed, tugging your shirt higher. You take your shorts off, leaving your panties on, the cotton clinging to your pussy, soaked through, and you let your legs fall open. One hand moves to squeeze your tit, fingers covering your nipple, the curve of your breast spilling out just enough. Your shirt’s bunched under your chin, tummy soft and exposed. You lift your phone, and take a picture. You stare at it for a moment. You feel sick with nerves. Then:

You [4:35 am]

see? :(

You send the photo and immediately regret it. Not because you don’t want him to see it—you do, so badly—but because now there’s nothing. No reply. You stare at your screen, chewing your bottom lip. One minute passes. Then two. Then three. Your stomach twists, nerves bubbling up like soda fizz under your skin. Was it too much? Did you freak him out? You reach for your phone again just as the screen lights up.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

….

Your breath catches.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

princess i’m so fucking hard rn…

You bite down on your lip, heart pounding, legs still spread. His message replays in your head again and again. You can’t help yourself.

You [4:40 am]

proof? :3

The typing bubble appears instantly. Then disappears. Then it’s still again for a moment, until your screen lights up with a photo. He’s shirtless, skin flushed, abs tight. His hand is cupping his bulge through soft gray sweats, and the outline is obscene. Big. Thick. Heavy. You swear you let out the softest gasp, your thighs instinctively rubbing together. He’s huge. You press your phone to your chest, eyes wide, heart fluttering out of rhythm.

You [4:40 am]

ugh hee this is so unfair :((

Heeseung [4:41 am]

wanna make it fair baby

want u to touch yourself for me

You don’t even think. Your fingers are already slipping under the waistband of your panties before you start typing, your other hand barely steady.

You [4:41 am]

i’m already touching myself hee :( can’t stop

Your cheeks burn, your breath shaky as you press down, wet, aching, throbbing for him.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

fuck princess

wish i was there

i’d take care of u so good

you’d be shaking on my fingers

Your head falls back against your pillow as you whimper, reading and rereading his messages. He’s so good with his words, you feel them in your chest, between your legs, everywhere.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

how are u touching yourself baby?

You can’t even think straight anymore. His messages have your body burning, soaked and aching, and your fingers are moving slow, desperate circles over your clit, and all you can think about is him. The weight of his hand. The sound of his voice. His lips saying “that’s my girl.” You need him to see you like this. You pull the covers back just a little, breathing shaky as you lift your phone. One hand slips back under the waistband of your panties, your fingers teasing just enough to make your thighs twitch. You snap a photo. Your hand between your legs. Your panties slightly tugged down. Your thighs soft and parted. You’re trembling when you hit send.

You [4:43 am]

…

Seconds feel like hours.

Heeseung [4:43 am]

jesus fucking christ

look at you

fuck

keep touching yourself just like that

pretend it’s me

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, the other hand still moving—slow, desperate circles on your clit, slick and messy. You’re so close already it’s dizzying.

You [4:43 am]

i always pretend it’s u hee :(

You hit send, barely able to see straight. It takes him a moment.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

fuck baby

you’re driving me insane

wish i could hear u right now

whimpering all soft and needy

Another sharp flick of your wrist and you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. You are whimpering, broken, breathy sounds you try to muffle into your pillow.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

keep rubbing that pretty little pussy for me

slow circles baby just like i’d do it

make yourself cum for me yeah?

You [4:44 am]

mhm :((

are u touching yourself too?

You send it while circling your clit just the way he told you to—slow, trembling, and wet. You can barely keep your hand steady, your thighs twitching at every glide. A second later, his response lights up your screen.

Heeseung [4:45 am]

yes baby

can’t help it

your pictures, your little sounds in my head

i’m so hard it hurts

That does it. You rub harder, faster, the heat coiling deep in your belly, your hips stuttering into your hand as you let out a tiny gasp, cheeks flushed, lip caught between your teeth. You need more, and he knows it.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

baby

put ur fingers inside for me

pretend it’s my fingers deep inside u

You whimper at the message, already sliding your fingers down lower, slipping them in without resistance. You’re so wet, they glide in easily, your head tilting back at the stretch, the heat, the ache.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

god i wish it was me

wish i could feel how tight you are

i’d fuck u nice and slow

You moan into your pillow, fingers curling, fucking yourself just like he would—thinking about his voice in your ear, his breath on your skin, the way he’d whisper praises in your ear while kissing your neck. It hits hard, your orgasm ripping through you in waves, thighs trembling around your hand, lips parted in a silent cry. You stay like that for a moment, ruined and flushed, before managing to pull your hand away. Still breathless, you lift your phone with shaky fingers and take another photo—your soaked fingers, a glossy string of cum stretched between them.

You [4:48 am]

made a mess for u hee :)

Heeseung [4:48am]

fuck…

fuck princess

i’m gonna cum

You’re still catching your breath when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [4:50 am]

you’re unreal baby

so pretty

so good for me

my perfect girl

You smile, cheeks hot, curled beneath your blanket now, the ache between your legs softening into warmth. You type slowly, eyes heavy with sleep.

You [4:50 am]

hee

u make me feel so good :(

want u here

wanna fall asleep on your chest

Heeseung [4:51 am]

i’d hold u so close princess

kiss ur forehead

play with ur hair til u fall asleep

You let out a soft, sleepy giggle into your pillow.

You [4:51 am]

mm that sounds perfect

goodnight hee <3

Heeseung [4:51 am]

goodnight baby

dream of me yeah?

<33

You tuck your phone under your pillow, smile still lingering on your lips as your eyes flutter shut, his words wrapped around you like a blanket.

You wake up to the soft buzz of your phone against your sheets, light from the screen spilling across your pillow.

27 new messages.

Your stomach flips. The group chat is blowing up and your name is all over it.

Sunoo

okay so it’s settled?? Heeseung’s place again??

Jungwon

yup tonight

Sunghoon

y/n don’t forget your controller

Jay

does she even know what’s happening rn

You stare at the screen, frozen. Heeseung’s place. Your cheeks burn as last night flashes in your mind, his voice, his texts, your fingers between your thighs. The pictures you sent. The ones he sent. And now… this? What if it’s weird now? What if it was just fun for him in the moment, but he doesn’t actually want you? What if he regrets it, and you’re showing up like a fool? You’re overthinking. Still, your fingers hover above the keyboard, hesitation burning in your chest. Then a new message pops up.

Heeseung

y/n are u in?

Three words. That’s all it takes to make your heart skip. You wait, ten seconds, twenty, trying not to read too much into it. Then, finally, you reply.

You

yeah :)

You stare at the little smiley face, hoping it doesn’t look too nervous. Hoping he sees it and hears the ‘please still want me’ in your head. Your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [1:27 pm] (privately)

morning princess

missed u already

You [1:27 pm]

morning hee

missed u too <3

You send it before you can overthink, then hide your face in your pillow, kicking your legs. Your stomach is still tight with nerves, but his reply melts them just enough to let a smile creep in.

You’re staring at your reflection again. For the third time. Your skirt is short, but not too short, you tell yourself, sitting perfectly on your waist. The soft grey cardigan you picked out earlier clings to your frame just enough to show it off, the top buttons left undone so collarbones and chest show. You’re wearing perfume, a subtle one, the same one you wore last time at his place. You look cute. You know you do. You just hope he notices. Hope he wants you still. Hope none of what happened the other night has changed the way he looks at you.

Your phone buzzes again.

Sunoo

on our way! be there in 10

You grab your bag, swipe on a little extra lip balm, and head out. Fast-forward to Heeseung’s front door, everyone’s already inside laughing and talking as you step in. The same cozy orange light glows through the living room, voices echoing through the apartment. And then you see him, sitting on the edge of the couch in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair slightly messy like always, exactly how you like it. He turns his head the second you walk in. And you swear his eyes trail down your body, slow and shameless.

“Hey.” he says, voice low, lips lifting into the slightest smirk. “Hey.” you mumble, already feeling your cheeks warm. “You look cute.” he says simply. Like it’s just a fact. You barely manage a quiet “thank you.” before Sunghoon yells something about Mario Kart and the moment is gone. But not really, because you can feel his gaze on you even when you’re looking away.

The night has that same warm, familiar glow as last time—soft lights casting a gentle hue over Heeseung’s living room, the TV humming low as the next movie rolls. Everyone’s sprawled around the room now, Sunghoon’s half-asleep already with a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest, Jay and Sunoo are arguing playfully about which horror movie is better, and Heeseung’s legs are stretched out in front of the couch where you’re curled up on one end, hugging a fluffy pillow. Your skirt’s ruffled from how you’ve been shifting to get comfy, the neckline of your cardigan dipping slightly as you sink deeper into the cushions. You feel his gaze again, subtle but heavy. You glance up just in time to catch it, and he doesn’t even look away. He just smirks a little. You flush. Again.

Trying to act casual, you tuck your legs under yourself, tugging the hem of your skirt down just a little more. The warmth of the room, the quiet chatter, the way Heeseung hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in, it’s all making you drowsy. By the time the third movie starts playing, your head is dipped against the couch, your cheek pressed to your arm. You fight it for a bit, blinking slow, barely following the plot, but your body is already giving in. Your breathing slows, your limbs go still, and eventually…you fall asleep. Heeseung notices immediately. At first, he just glances over, ready to make a comment, maybe tease you, but the words never come out. Instead, his expression softens. The curve of your lashes against your cheek, the way your lips part ever so slightly when you exhale, it’s enough to make his heart stutter.

He shifts, propping his elbow on the couch, letting his fingers curl against his cheek, watching you in silence while everyone else reacts to whatever’s happening on screen. You’re practically glowing under the dim light, blanket half falling off your thighs, cardigan slipping off one shoulder just enough to make him swallow hard. A while passes like that. Quiet. Intimate. Like it’s just the two of you in the room. Then Jay says something about it being past 3AM, and someone stands, stretching with a dramatic groan. “Should we bounce?” Sunghoon asks, rubbing his eyes. Jay nods. “Yeah, i’m dead. Heeseung, all good?” Heeseung tears his eyes away from you for the first time in a while. “Yeah.” Someone notices you next. “She’s out cold.” Jay leans in, whispering loudly. “You want us to wake her?”

Heeseung shakes his head, protective without even realizing it. “No. Don’t. She’s fine.” And just like that, they gather their things. Shoes are slipped on, phones grabbed off chargers, quiet goodbyes are mumbled, but Heeseung stays seated beside you, gaze still locked on your sleeping form. When the door finally closes and the apartment is quiet again, he stays still. His living room is bathed in that same soft orange glow, the credits roll on the TV, and you’re still there, breathing slow and peaceful, curled up with your lashes fluttering faintly, as if even in your sleep, you know he’s watching. He shifts just a little closer. You stir slightly when you feel the couch dip beside you, your body still heavy with sleep. “Hey, princess,” a voice murmurs, soft and warm near your ear. “Everyone left.” You blink up at him, slow and disoriented, eyes adjusting to the dim light. “Oh…I fell asleep?” Heeseung’s face is close, framed by the golden hue of the room, his smile gentle and just a little smug.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing a thumb lightly over your cheek. “You looked too cute to wake up.” You bite back a flustered smile, pulling the blanket tighter around your body. “You could’ve at least nudged me…” He shrugs, still looking at you like you hung the stars. “Didn’t want to. You looked peaceful.”

Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as your sleepiness starts to fade. He doesn’t move away, his face is still close, his hand resting beside your waist. The room feels warmer than it did earlier, quieter. Like everything outside of this couch doesn’t matter right now. You shift a little, your voice still a bit hushed. “So…it’s just us now?” Heeseung hums, tilting his head. “Yeah.” A pause.“You wanna stay a bit longer?” he adds. “Just us?” And the look he gives you isn’t teasing, not this time. It’s curious and hopeful.

You nod, still wrapped in the blanket, and sit up a little. A quiet yawn slips out before you bring your hand up to rub your eyes, still groggy, still warm from sleep. When you look up at him again, Heeseung’s already watching you, so closely, his gaze soft and heavy, like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. His lips are slightly parted, his expression unreadable but so full of something you’ve never seen from him before, not like this. Your heart stutters. Maybe it’s the quiet of the room. Maybe it’s the way he hasn’t looked away from you once. Maybe it’s the leftover warmth from your late-night texts, from the ache you haven’t been able to shake since. But something makes you reach out, slow and uncertain, your fingers brushing against his cheek before settling there gently. His skin is warm under your touch, and his lashes flutter just slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t move away.

Heeseung leans into your hand just the tiniest bit. And then, before you can overthink it, before you can get too scared, you lean in. Your lips press softly against his, barely there at first, just enough to feel the way he exhales sharply through his nose. His hand brushes lightly against your knee under the blanket, but he doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t rush it. He just lets you kiss him, lets you decide. When you slowly pull back, your breath catching in your throat, you meet his eyes again. He’s smiling, soft, in awe, and he whispers, “Hey.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, bashful and sweet. “Hi.” You don’t say anything else for a second, both of you just sitting there in the glow of the room. And something in the way he’s looking at you, so soft, so wanting, makes the nerves dissolve into something deeper, heavier, needier. So you kiss him again.

This time with more pressure, more feeling, like all the nights of tension are finally spilling out through your lips. Your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his head, threading into his hair gently, and you feel him breathe in sharply when you do. His hands grip your waist and pull you effortlessly into his lap, and you melt against him, thighs bracketing his hips as his touch slides down to caress them slowly, reverently. You sigh softly into his mouth, and he hums in response, the sound low and satisfied. His fingers squeeze just above your knees, coaxing you closer until there’s nothing between you but heat and fabric.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair as the kiss deepens, grows hungrier, but still soft around the edges. His lips break from yours for only a moment, breath shaky against your cheek. “Could kiss you forever.” he whispers, voice rough and thick. Your lips are still barely touching when you whisper it—quiet, breathless, almost like a confession. “I missed you.” He pauses, eyes searching yours, hands still resting on your waist like he’s afraid to let go. His voice is gentler when he replies, like he’s matching your softness.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along the hem of your cardigan. “I missed you too, princess. So much.” You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away, not this time. Not when he’s holding you like that, not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. A shaky breath escapes you before you murmur, “You have no idea how much I thought about you.” Heeseung tilts his head, his thumb tracing slow circles on your waist. “Yeah, baby?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to hope. “Tell me.” You press your lips together for a moment before whispering, “I couldn’t stop replaying everything…the way you looked at me, the way you talked to me last night. I couldn’t sleep.” He lets out the faintest exhale, something between a sigh and a groan, like your words hit him right in the chest. “I know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve been in my head ever since i met you.” You look up at him again, shy and aching. “I was scared maybe you changed your mind.”

“Not even close,” he says without hesitation. “You don’t get it…I haven’t wanted someone like this, ever.” Your fingers curl into his hoodie, heart thudding. His lips find yours again, slower, more sure. His hands cradle you like he can’t believe you’re real. “I want you, Heeseung.” For a second, he just stares at you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Then he leans in, lips brushing yours, voice dropping into something husky and warm, so low it shoots straight through your spine. “Show me how much, baby.” You don’t hesitate. You crash your lips to his in a filthy, needy kiss—nothing like the soft ones you shared before. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body presses flush against his. He groans into your mouth, both arms wrapping around you, dragging you further onto his lap. His fingers slide up beneath your cardigan, caressing the soft skin of your waist, and your hips roll instinctively. Heeseung’s lips move feverishly against yours, and everything about him feels hot and overwhelming, like he’s been holding himself back for far too long. “You drive me crazy.” he mutters against your lips, breathless. You only kiss him harder in response, fingers clutching the sides of his jaw like you never want to let go.

His hands drift lower, until they slip beneath the hem of your skirt. You gasp softly into the kiss when his palms find the soft flesh of your thighs, then higher, until he’s gripping your ass with both hands, squeezing gently but possessively. “You’re so cute, baby.” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice thick with need and affection. You whimper, biting down softly on your lower lip as you pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, hooded, roaming over your face like he’s trying to memorize every little expression. Your cheeks flush, your hands stay tangled in his hair, your body warm and trembling in his lap. “You make me feel so…” you whisper, unsure how to finish the sentence with how full your chest feels. Heeseung leans in again, kissing you slower this time, his thumbs tracing soft circles over your skin. “I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Without even thinking, your hips begin to move , slow, subtle rolls against his lap, just seeking friction, something to ease the ache building between your thighs. You don’t even realize what you’re doing at first, too lost in the feeling of him, the way his hands are holding you, the way his lips feel on yours. But the second you hear him exhale, a deep, shuddering breath, you freeze. “Princess…” he murmurs, his voice all rough and low, like he’s holding back. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your cheeks burning. “Hee…” you whisper, flustered, your fingers gripping his shoulders for balance. “I didn’t mean to—” His hands slide up your back slowly, soothing. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, and you feel him smile softly against your temple. “Keep going, baby.” Your breath catches, and you nod slowly, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. Your hips keep moving against him, soft and needy, your fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you. “Hee…” you breathe, your voice trembling as your lips brush against the warm skin of his neck. “You feel so good…”

Your soft moan spills out before you can stop it—quiet, breathy, but it sends a sharp jolt through Heeseung. His grip on your waist tightens as his cock throbs beneath you, straining against his sweats. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, his voice rough and low. “You sound so good—gonna make me lose my mind.” You shiver at his words. You try to bury your face even deeper into his neck, cheeks burning. “Stop…” you whisper shyly, squirming in his lap, but not enough to actually get away. “Don’t say stuff like that…” He laughs softly, the sound husky and fond as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Why not?” he murmurs. “It’s true. You’re so fucking cute when you’re like this…all needy and shy in my lap.”

Your body moves again, hips rolling against him with a little more need, a little more desperation. Each soft moan and whimper that escapes your lips only fuels him more, your breath catching every time your clothed core drags along the thick bulge in his sweats. “Ngh…” you whimper, clinging to him. “Mmh—just like that, baby…” Heeseung groans, deep and low, his hands sliding down your waist until they’re gripping your ass again, squeezing it firmly. His fingers dig in just a little as he helps guide your movements, encouraging you to grind harder against him, a soft moan leaving your mouth. “Yeah?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “That what you want, princess?” You nod quickly, too dizzy to speak. He chuckles under his breath, hands keeping you steady as he rocks you against him, the pressure sending sparks through your whole body. “So pretty—so fucking soft—can’t get enough of you…”

His hands slip beneath your cardigan slowly, warm palms cupping your breasts over your bra, and the soft moan that escapes you only makes his breath hitch. “Fuck…” he murmurs, voice low and strained as he palms at you, thumbing over the fabric. You’re trembling, but still, you find the courage to sit back just enough to slowly shrug your cardigan off, cheeks burning as it falls to the couch behind you. You look up at him with wide, shy eyes, your chest rising and falling. His jaw drops slightly. “Holy fuck…” he breathes, eyes glued to the way your breasts spill against the bra, soft and full. He wastes no time, hands grabbing them over the fabric, squeezing them in his palms. “You like them, Hee?” you whisper shyly, barely able to meet his eyes.

He lets out a soft, strained laugh, eyes dark. “Princess,” he groans, “I’m so fucking hard right now, what do you think?” Your whole face flushes hot, lips parted slightly. Still, you manage a soft, almost breathless, “You can take it off…if you wanna,” your voice fragile, and your eyes impossibly big and trusting. He stares at you like you just gave him the universe. Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you for a moment, barely holding himself together. Then, slowly, he leans in. His lips find your neck, soft and warm, pressing kisses down the delicate skin like he’s savoring you. Each one slower than the last, trailing lower with every breath you take. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers threading back into his hair as a shaky sigh slips from your lips.

His hands move with purpose, sliding behind you, and you feel the gentle tug as his fingers find the clasp of your bra. With one flick, it comes undone. The straps fall loose against your arms, and he pulls back slightly, eyes meeting yours. You give him a small nod, cheeks burning. He pushes the straps off your shoulders and lets the bra fall between you. Then his hands return to your chest, palms warm and reverent as he cups you fully now, skin to skin. He groans softly, like he can’t help it, like the feel of you is too much. “So soft,” he mutters, squeezing you gently. “So fucking perfect…” Your head tilts slightly with a quiet whimper, lips parted, body buzzing with heat as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, teasing and slow. “You’re driving me insane, princess,” he breathes, voice thick and low. “You’re too pretty for your own good.”

You lean in just a little, shy but needy, and Heeseung catches on instantly. His hands slide up your sides again, and he brings his mouth to your chest, kissing over the soft swell before wrapping his lips around one nipple. He sucks gently, warm tongue flicking, lips tugging just enough to make you gasp. One of his hands squeezes the other breast while his mouth works you, slow and purposeful. You whimper, back arching instinctively, and your hips begin to move again, grinding softly against the bulge straining beneath you. He switches sides, his mouth now on your other breast, sucking, licking, groaning low in his throat like he can’t get enough of you. “You like it, princess?” he murmurs between kisses, breath warm against your skin. “mhm” you whine softly, your eyes shut tight as you let the pleasure wash over you. He chuckles, proud and a little breathless himself. “Yeah? Then keep going, baby.” he murmurs, voice thick. His hands settle on your hips, helping guide your rhythm as you rock against him. “Just like that.”

His mouth returns to your chest, and the room fills with quiet whimpers, heavy breathing, and the soft sound of his lips on your skin. Your fingers tug gently at the hem of his shirt, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hee…” Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, he pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion and tosses it aside, and you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes your lips. Your eyes roam his toned chest, the sharp lines of his abs catching the dim light. You bite your lip, hands instinctively rising to trace along the ridges, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your trembling fingertips. Still grinding against him, you lean forward slowly, pressing soft kisses to the side of his neck. One after another, each one deeper, needier. His breath catches when your lips suck gently, leaving behind faint red marks, proof of how badly you want him.

He groans, low and raspy, and his hands return to your ass, squeezing hard, pulling you closer as your grinding becomes more desperate. “Fuck, baby.” he whispers, voice thick and strained, his head falling back just slightly as your mouth moves along his neck. His grip on your ass tightens as he helps guide your hips faster, harder—grinding down on the thick bulge straining beneath you. Every drag of him against your clothed cunt sends sparks through your body, his cock catching perfectly on your clit, the pressure unbearable in the best way. Your moans come out higher now, breathy and helpless, and it only spurs him on. He groans low, “You’re gonna cum, princess?” You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, hips rocking with desperate rhythm. “Please…Hee, please—”

He doesn’t make you beg more than that. One of his hands slips down between your bodies, under your skirt, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. He rubs small, fast circles on your clit, syncing with your grinding, the friction making you cry out. “Shit, you’re so wet.” he breathes, watching you fall apart on top of him. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” And you can only nod again, whimpering, as your orgasm builds sharp and fast in your gut—his voice in your ear, his hands on your body, everything pushing you closer and closer. You tremble as the wave crashes over you, tugging on his hair as your orgasm hits—your soft, broken whimpers filling his ears as you finish, your body melting in his arms. Heeseung wraps you up, his hand stroking gently up and down your back as he whispers, “Good girl…so good for me.”

Still catching your breath, you lift your head, take his face in both your hands, and kiss him deeply, slow and messy and full of all the want that had been simmering between you for weeks. When you finally pull back, your lips are kiss-swollen, your cheeks flushed, your eyes shy, but burning with something he can’t look away from. You shift off his lap, still trembling a little, and settle down between his legs instead. Sitting back on your knees, you look up at him through your lashes, arms resting against his thighs, pressing your soft chest together just a little. “Fuck.” he breathes, his voice raspier now, his eyes dark as they rake over you. His cock is twitching in his pants, straining, aching, just from the way you’re looking at him. Just from you. “Princess…” he says low, barely holding himself back. Your voice comes out breathy and shy, but so full of want it makes his head spin. “I wanna make you feel good, Hee…”

Heeseung’s eyes drop to your hands as they move gently over the hard bulge in his pants, slow and curious, your fingers tentative but so eager. He swears under his breath, biting down on his lip, the way you look up at him so innocent while touching him nearly making him lose his mind. “Shit, baby…” he groans, hips twitching slightly into your touch. “You’re driving me crazy.” You blink up at him, a soft smile tugging on your lips as your hands press a little firmer, rubbing him through the fabric. “Let me?” you ask quietly, so sweet, so soft, like you’re asking for permission to ruin him. He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your skin, voice low and wrecked. “You can do anything you want to me, princess.” You give him the softest kiss on the cheek, your lips lingering just a second longer, like a promise.

Then, slowly, with trembling fingers, you tug down his sweatpants and boxers, your breath catching when his cock springs free—big, leaking, heavy against his stomach. Your thighs instinctively press together at the sight, and your lips part slightly, like you’re already imagining how he might taste. “God…” Heeseung exhales, his head tipping back as he watches you through lidded eyes. You wrap both hands around him delicately, like you’re handling something precious, and lean in, placing a soft, innocent kiss right on the tip. Your eyes flick up to meet his as you do, wide, shimmering, so sweet it makes his jaw clench. “You’re so pretty, Hee…” you whisper, kissing him again, lips brushing lightly down the side of his shaft.

He twitches in your hand, groaning low. “You’re the one that’s pretty, princess,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “So fucking pretty…down on your knees for me.” He cups the back of your head gently, fingers threading into your hair as you continue kissing along his length, so slow, so teasing, savoring every second. Your tongue flicks out slowly, tasting the tip, salty and warm. You kiss it again, before dragging your tongue just a little lower, teasing the underside as you hear Heeseung’s breath hitch above you. “Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, his grip on your hair tightening just slightly.

You kiss him again, and then finally part your lips and sink down just a little, taking him into your mouth, the warmth and weight of him making you shiver. The second he’s inside, even just barely, a soft moan escapes you, quiet, involuntary, but enough to make him groan. “You like it, baby?” he breathes, his voice low and ruined. You hum around him in response, sending vibrations up his shaft, and it makes him curse again. You pull back slightly, your lips wet and shiny, looking up at him with that same innocent gaze. Heeseung’s jaw clenches as he watches you. “God, you’re so fucking perfect, princess…” You wrap your lips fully around him, taking him deeper this time, your mouth warm and wet as you start to suck with more confidence. Your hand tightens its grip around his shaft, fingers sliding smoothly as you bob your head up and down, eyes locked on his dark, intense gaze.

A thin strand of drool escapes the corner of your mouth, dripping down his length, but you don’t care, your focus is on him, on the way his breath hitches and his body tenses under your touch. Heeseung groans, one hand curling around your cheek, thumb brushing softly over your skin while the other finds your hair, guiding your movements like a gentle command. “Fuck, baby,” he rasps, voice rough and desperate. “Just like that—keep going.” You obey without hesitation, the rhythm steady and slow, savoring every moment, every reaction from him. You take him a little deeper, the sudden stretch making you gag softly. Your eyes water, tears gathering at the corners, but you don’t stop, driven by the way Heeseung’s low moan vibrates through you. Pulling back just enough to catch your breath, you look up at him with wide, glistening eyes and ask in a quiet, tender voice, “Does it feel good, baby?”

The moment the word leaves your lips, his composure shatters. His grip tightens, jaw clenches, and a guttural growl escapes him.“Fuck…,” he rasps, voice thick with want and disbelief. “You calling me that…I’m losing it.” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you gently but firmly back down as his hips shift, desperate for more. Heeseung’s hands grip your hair firmly, guiding your head up and down faster now. Your soft moans fill the room, the vibrations sending shivers straight through him. He growls low, voice strained with need. “Shit—I’m gonna cum, princess.” he warns, breath hitching. You pull back just enough, lips parted and tongue sliding out to trace the length of him one last time. Your hands move eagerly up and down his shaft, keeping the pace as you wait for him to let go. His hips jerk forward suddenly, and he curses, fingers tangling tighter in your hair as he shudders, spilling hot and heavy into your mouth. You swallow it all and then lean in, lips parted, tongue peeking out to show him it’s all gone—clean, obedient, just for him.

His eyes darken as he exhales shakily. “Holy shit, baby…you’re fucking unreal.” You giggle softly, cheeks flushed, and crawl back onto his lap. Your lips meet his for a tender kiss, sweet and slow, but he kisses you back harder, possessive now, hands sliding over your hips before squeezing your ass firmly. The sudden smack he lands on it makes you whimper against his lips, body jolting slightly. Then, with barely a second to catch your breath, he flips you over on the couch, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thud, his body hovering over yours. He kisses you hungrily, like he can’t get enough, mouth trailing down your neck, your collarbones, teeth grazing, lips sucking until you know there’ll be marks. You whimper beneath him, arching into his touch, needing more.

He pulls your skirt down slowly, followed by your panties, dragging the soft fabric down your thighs with careful hands, like he’s unwrapping something precious. His breath catches when you’re bare for him, eyes darkening as he settles between your legs. His fingers gently part you, slow and deliberate, and he swipes through your slick with a quiet exhale. “So pretty…” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Embarrassment flutters in your chest and you instinctively cover your face with your hands, cheeks burning. He chuckles softly, voice low and warm. “Why are you hiding from me, baby?”

You don’t answer, you can’t, not when he leans in and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to you, licking a slow stripe that has your back arching. You gasp, your fingers reaching down to grab at his hair. He keeps going, licking, kissing, sucking, slow at first, then faster, more purposeful. You whimper his name, thighs trembling as he keeps you open with one arm wrapped around your hip. And then, his fingers. One sliding in, then another, curling just right as his mouth never lets up. The combination makes your toes curl, your moans growing softer but needier, your grip on his hair tighter with every flick of his tongue. “Hee…” you whine, breathless.

He groans against you in response, like he could stay there forever, completely lost in you. His fingers are working you open, curling and thrusting in a rhythm that’s already overwhelming. His tongue moves with practiced precision, flicking and sucking at your clit until your thighs are trembling around his head. And then suddenly, his fingers slip out, replaced by both of his arms wrapping firmly around your waist, tugging you closer to his mouth. His hands slide up your body and cup your tits, squeezing gently at first, then harder when you moan. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending jolts of heat straight through your core. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans between licks, his breath warm and ragged against you. “Could stay here all night, baby. You’re so sweet…so wet just for me.”

You let out a choked sound, high and breathy, your hands flying to cover his on your chest, needing to feel him, hold him, ground yourself. Your hips twitch helplessly as his mouth drags another moan from your lips. “So sensitive,” he mumbles, sucking your clit just right. “So fucking good for me. Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You whimper, eyes squeezed shut, fingers squeezing his tighter. “Please…Baby—don’t stop.” you whine. He moans against your cunt, sucking harder now, his fingers rolling your nipples as your body writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure building like a storm. Your whole body’s trembling, thighs tightening around his head, your hips bucking up into his mouth without you even realizing. “Hee—” you whimper, breath hitching. “I’m—I’m cumming—”

Your hands clutch his over your chest, knuckles white, your back arching as your voice gets higher. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, voice muffled against your soaked cunt. “Cum for me, baby. All over my fucking mouth.” And you do. A broken, high-pitched moan escapes you as your release crashes through your body, your hips stuttering against his face, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He groans again at the feeling, his tongue still working you through it, drinking every last bit of it up like he needs it to live. Your thighs tremble around him, your whole body going warm and overstimulated, but he’s still kissing the inside of your thigh, murmuring softly, “That’s my good girl…”

He pulls back from between your thighs, lips shiny, eyes dark and hungry. Still catching your breath, you reach up with shaky arms and hook them behind his neck, tugging him down into a messy, desperate kiss. You moan softly into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into the kiss, hands sliding under you, one under your back, the other under your thighs, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. You gasp, arms tightening around his shoulders, your forehead resting against his. He carries you through the quiet of his room, the only sound your shallow breathing and the soft creak of the floor beneath his feet. His eyes stay locked on yours, so intense it makes your stomach flutter.

And when he reaches the edge of the bed, he lays you down gently, hands never leaving your body, and whispers, “You’re so perfect like this, princess…” He crawls over you slowly, eyes raking over every inch of your bare body, like he can’t believe you’re really here, like this, under him. His hands trail down your waist, squeezing gently before gliding to your hips, your thighs, your ass. He lowers his head to your neck, kissing and sucking softly, then down to your chest, lingering there, murmuring sweet nothings between kisses.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he whispers against your skin, voice low and rough. You nod, already breathless, lips parting into a pout. “Please, baby…” you whine, fingers slipping through his hair, playing with it softly. His eyes flicker between yours as he pushes his sweatpants down, his voice low and breathless. “My sweet little girlfriend, yeah?” he murmurs, gaze heavy with want, but also something softer. You gasp, heart pounding, but you nod quickly, eagerly. “Yes, baby… please. Wanna be yours, Hee.” He groans under his breath, palming himself through his boxers. “Fuck…” Then he slips them off, his cock springing free once again. He positions himself between your thighs, stroking himself slowly as he looks down at you, completely bare and trembling beneath him. “All mine,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, “Gonna take care of you.”

He finds your hand beside your head and gently intertwines his fingers with yours, grounding you, holding you close. “Got you, baby.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. Then he slowly starts to push inside, inch by inch, his breath stuttering. “God…you’re so tight, princess. Love this pretty pussy…” You whimper, brows furrowed as you cling to his hand, squeezing it tightly. The stretch burns a little, making you wince, your thighs trembling around his waist. He pauses, his free hand stroking your cheek, eyes locked with yours. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice laced with care. You nod shyly, breathless. “Y-Yeah… just go slow, baby.”

As he inches in the rest of the way, your mouth parts in a sharp gasp from the stretch, but before the sound can fully escape, Heeseung leans in and kisses you, swallowing the noise and grounding you with his lips. “Doing so good for me.” he murmurs against your mouth. He stays there, buried deep, holding still, giving you time, kissing your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your lips. You squeeze his hand tighter, chest rising and falling as you adjust to the size of him. “Y-You can move…Hee.” you whisper shyly, blinking up at him with watery eyes. He nods, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Okay, baby. I’ll be gentle.” And then he starts to move, slow and careful, dragging his hips back and rolling them forward again. He keeps holding your hand, his other brushing down your side. Every thrust melts the ache into something warmer, deeper, and you whimper softly beneath him, each sound making his heart clench. “That’s it,” he breathes, kissing your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Feels good now, doesn’t it?”

You nod quickly, lips parted, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Mhm…feels so good…” Heeseung leans closer, voice rough and low in your ear. “Been thinking about you like this since the first time I saw you…” You gasp, your back arching at his words. “All wet and shy…wrapped around my cock like this.” His thrusts get slower, deeper, savoring every second. “Fuck, you feel like a dream, princess.” Your hands cling to his shoulders, lips brushing against his ear as you pant, your voice trembling but honest, too far gone to hold back now. “I touch myself to your voice…” you whisper, so shy but so desperate.“Every time you spoke, I’d get so wet.” You whine, tightening around him. “So wet for you, Hee… always.” His hips falter at the confession, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, voice rough with desire, and then he thrusts harder, faster, trying to reach deeper just from your words alone.

“You’ve been mine this whole time, hm?” he breathes against your lips. “Getting off to my voice, fuck—dirty little thing.” You whimper, completely unraveling, and he’s loving every second of it. “Please, Hee…wanna ride you, please.” Your voice is all breathy and sweet. He groans low, twitching inside you, the tip of his cock nudging that spot that makes your thighs tremble. “Fuck…yeah, baby,” he breathes. “C’mere.” He pulls out gently, lays flat on the bed, eyes burning into yours as he guides you up. “Come ride your man.” You’re quick to move, desperate, aching. You straddle him with shaky thighs and grab his cock, lining him up and slowly sinking down, whining as he stretches you open again. Your hands splay on his abs for balance, your head falling back at the fullness. “So deep…” you breathe. “F-fuck, Heeseung…” He watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, thumbs brushing under your breasts. “That’s it, baby… take what you need,” he says, voice low and full of want. “Look at you…riding me so good already.”

You start bouncing on him, slow at first, then faster, the wet sound of you taking him again and again filling the room, making his breath catch in his throat. Your head tilts to the side a little as soft, high-pitched moans spill from your lips, your eyes fluttering with every drag of him deep inside. “Holy shit…” Heeseung groans, eyes roaming all over you—your flushed skin, your bouncing tits, the way your stomach tightens every time you sink back down on him. His hands move up to your chest, squeezing your tits in his palms, thumbs brushing over your nipples just to hear you whine again. Then down, caressing the curve of your waist, trailing lower until they find your ass, gripping it hard, pulling you deeper on his cock, then suddenly landing a sharp slap to one cheek.

You gasp, a broken moan leaving your throat as your hips stutter. He smirks, rubbing the spot he slapped. “So fucking cute when you sound like that, princess.” Then his hands slide down your thighs, fingers dragging over the soft skin, admiring the way they tense as you keep moving. “Feel so good riding me, baby.” he says, voice breathless.

Your rhythm turns desperate, bouncing faster and harder as your hands cling to his abs, nails digging slightly into his skin. “Want you—so bad, Hee—need you,” you pant, voice high and breathless, “Need to be—under your skin…” He lets out a soft chuckle, the need in your voice making his cock twitch deep inside you. “God, baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down to rub tight, fast circles on your clit. “You’re so fucking needy…” You nod, crying out as his fingers work you harder, your thighs trembling. “Hee—Hee, I love you—love you so much—ahh!” His hips twitch beneath you, and he sits up just enough to pull you in for a kiss, messy and deep, all tongue and breath. “I love you too, princess,” he whispers against your lips, “I’ll always take care of you—my sweet, perfect baby.” You nod frantically, fingers tangling in his hair, overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion. “I’m gonna cum—gonna cum for you, Hee!”

“Cum for me, baby.” he groans, fingers still circling your clit as you crash into your orgasm, moaning loud, hips stuttering. He holds you through it, eyes fixed on your face, utterly in love. Then, with a low curse, he lifts you just enough to slide out of you, stroking himself fast and desperate before finishing all over your belly with a strangled moan, his hand trembling from the force of it. You both stay still for a moment, catching your breath, your skin warm and glowing, his cum sticky on you, his arms still wrapped around you as you sit on his lap. He’s pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your hips. “Was that okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and hoarse. You nod slowly, leaning your head against his. “It was perfect.” He smiles, nuzzling your neck, “You’re perfect.”

After a moment, he shifts gently, reaching for a tissue from the nightstand and cleaning you up carefully, his touch tender, eyes always flickering up to check if you’re okay. You just watch him, dazed and dreamy and completely in love. He tosses the tissue aside and pulls you into his chest. You tuck yourself under his chin, your fingers playing softly with his hair. His heartbeat’s still a little fast. “I still can’t believe i did this to you.” he whispers. You smile against his skin. “I always wanted you to do it.” You lie there like that for a while, tangled up, warm and soft, only the sound of your breathing filling the room.

His hand finds yours again, fingers interlacing without thought. Then, very quietly, you murmur against his chest, “Want you to fuck me again, Heeseung.” He freezes. Blinks. Tilts his head to look at you, his eyes wide. “W-What? Now?” You look up at him innocently, smiling, eyes wide and full of mischief. “Mhm!” He groans, dragging a hand down his face as the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Princess…you’re gonna kill me.” You giggle, tugging at his hair and pulling him back down for a sweet kiss.

a/n: got lazy at the end. also left a sneaky easter egg whoever finds it gets a kiss :p idk how this got so long sry if it was annoying

© guliexe

[monstersholygrail]

Bull Hybrid bf who brought you to the rodeo as a joke. Thinking it would be funny and fun play on part of who he is.

But now the longer you two spend there and the longer your attention rests so intently on those other bulls, the more jealous he gets. He stares at you as you watch the rodeo in awe, wondering when was the last time you looked at him that way with a pout.

He knows it’s a ridiculous thing to be jealous about. He knows! He’s also completely aware that he and the bulls in the show are entirely different given that they’re actual bulls and he’s mostly human.

Yet he can’t help the jealousy that rises within him as he watches you not watching him. He wants your attention and he’s willing to fuck you in front of this whole stadium in order to get it. That’ll show those dumb bulls. He’ll give the people here a real show.

“You rode me so much better than those cowboys, remember? If you need a refresher I’m always down to prove it again to you,” your bf murmurs in your ear.

Your eyes go wide and a blush quickly overtakes your features. Before you know it, Bull Hybrid bf is scooping up your plush frame in his muscular arms and slamming your back against the stadium wall.

All thoughts of the rodeo you’re missing and the acts you aren’t gonna see go flying out of your head the moment your bf’s cock sinks into your tight little hole. His giant girth stretching out your core and giving you no time to adjust as he starts fucking up into you.

And he doesn’t plan on stopping until the only thought in your pretty little head is him and the only name on your addictive lips is his…

[arabellapost]

Hate him or love him?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: You are not a very big fan of Superman like the other people in Metropolis, but who could guess that the man you dislike that much was your lovely boyfriend? 

Word count: ~ 1.9k ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

Tags: Sexual content, very dom!clark, sub!reader, rough sex, slapping kink, masturbation!fingering (reader receiving),size kink, mentions of threesome, praising, making out, piv.

Clark hates every article that you write and publish. And it wasn’t because your writing is terrible, but because he hated the fact that you– his girlfriend – were writing an article that destroyed Superman's reputation.

(How ironic is it that you both love and hate your boyfriend?)

You never pass up an opportunity when something involving Superman happens, and even less if there’s a bonus opportunity on your deadline. ‘Thank you, Jimmy, for giving me the opportunity of the month– if not year,’ you think as your fingers move rapidly on the keyboard of your laptop that rests on your lap. 

Recently, Superman has been facing a lot of backlash about the way he saves people. He can save all the people he wants, but never thinks about the thousands of people affected by all the destruction that he causes– a prime example being that he accidentally cracked the walls of the already old apartment building after you tried to interview him. Your apartment building. 

It’s why you are cuddled on his couch, typing furiously on your article that’s set to be published in the next week or so. 

“What are you writing about this time? How are the new factories affecting the air quality in the Metropolis ?” Clark asks teasingly as he sits down with two glasses of red wine in his hands before putting them aside to peek at the bright screen.

You grab the glass of wine and take a small sip before putting it down again. “I wrote that yesterday. It’s done and being reviewed. I'm currently writing about how Superman is just ruining the city instead of actually helping the city.” 

He stays quiet for a few moments, his hand tightening around his wine glass, and before he can reply, you keep talking.  “I am not against the fact that he saves people. He does. The only thing that I downright hate is the fact that while he knows how to save people, he does so by destroying everything else around him.” You rant.

“Buildings are ruined, and now people have to find a place to stay, and they might not have the possibility to afford to go somewhere else. Public Transportation gets destroyed almost every time he fights someone. Not to mention that ever since he came to Metropolis, we have been in constant danger thanks to him.”

Clark flinches a little, not that you would have noticed. Your words are poison that sickened his fragile heart and pierced through his soul. 

“I know you are very good friends with him,” you soothe and smile at him. “Maybe you can talk to him and tell him to be more careful. We aren’t all rich like Bruce Wayne.”

“I…He is not… We are not friends.” Clark stares at your laptop before looking at you with his blue eyes. He decides to close your laptop gently. “You should rest. You will damage your vision if you keep going at it.” 

Your head shakes quickly. “Let me just finish this paragraph, and I am all yours.” 

You see his hand move away, trembling slightly, but it’s barely noticeable.

“And is he not your friend?” You snort, trying not to lose the focus that you kept. “He only accepts interviews from you; it’s easier to acquire an interview with Lex Luther than to have a quick interview with Superman. Which I did. Receive an interview with Lex Luther.”

“What?” Clark whispers, “You- You are going to interview Lex Luthor?” his voice deepens.

You nod as you close your laptop. “Well, yeah. Superman doesn't let anyone interview him, so I will go for the guy who has time for an interview. Besides, he agrees with most of my article.” You smile slightly at your boyfriends. 

Clark finishes his glass of wine, trying to see if the alcohol could calm him down– it’s useless, of course, seeing as he is immune to alcohol. “It's a very bad idea. Horrible Idea”

“I know”

“Then why-”

You cut him off as you put your laptop away. “Unless you give me an interview with Superman, I will interview Lex, especially since I already have the appointment for tomorrow.”

Clark stays quiet; the hand out of your vision is in a fist. He is feeling a lot of emotions, but mostly jealousy; hot, angry jealousy. 

He knew it would be a horrible idea to put you in the same room as Superman, with him being Superman and all. 

He cups your face all of a sudden “I will talk with Superman and try to make an appointment for an interview, okay? Just cancel the interview with Lex.” His voice trembles with anger and jealousy.

“Are you jealous?” You tease him, trying not to laugh “Maybe the alcohol is dumbing your brain down, but let me make it very clear. Lex Luther is not my type. You are.”

“That not- ugh Im not jealous.” His hand moves to your hips. “I know I’m your type.” 

You smile and get closer to him, kissing his neck. “Then why are you getting all of a sudden angry? It's just work.”

“Oh, well, maybe because you hate Superman.”

The words got out of his mouth before he knew it, fuck, he isn’t even thinking about what he’s saying.

Your chuckle calms him down a little bit. “And you say that Superman and you arents friends? Yeah, right.” 

Your lips find his lips, and you kiss him deeply. 

Clark grips your hips and pulls you closer to him, leaning in closer, kissing you passionately and possessively. “We’re not,” he disagrees without breaking away from you.

“Whatever you say, big boy.” 

His hand grabs your hair and pulls you away harshly, so your head is in front of him. You love that he treats you harshly before and during sex. You need it. You grave it.  

His lips make their way to your neck, trying to find the sweet spot to mark you as his. His and his alone, just as he is yours. He marks you possessively,

With his right hand, he rips your shirt open while the left one still holds a tight grip on your hair.  “Don't get close to Lex Luthor.” His voice husky and demanding; hungry to feel your tightness again. Hungry to remind you that only his cock satisfies you.

“What if I do-” He spanks your full ass hard. It stings just the way that you love. His lips never leave your neck, his sucking becomes even harsher as he colors your neck that beautiful red that will turn blue and purple as the week goes on. An unmistakable claim on you.

His patience snaps suddenly. He pulls up and, quicker than you can blink, rips your bra off– he will be replacing it, of course. 

“If you want to keep your jeans functional, take them off. " His voice was full of authority that you didn’t bother arguing against him.

You slowly unbutton the jeans and take them off, showing off the lacey black thong. You enjoy it, the dark gaze that roams over your body.

It warms you, makes you excited. You need him. You need his body on yours, his strong arms caging yours so that you wouldn’t be able to escape him– not that you want to.

He grabs your body and moves you in a way that your ass is facing him while you hold yourself up in all fours. “Don’t you look pretty for me,” he groans and softly moves the thong to the side. “Look at you being all wet for me when I haven’t even touched you yet. Just like you should.”

You lick your lips and moan. His hand roams on your ass, and he starts hitting and spanking you, enjoying the redness that starts colouring your ass. At one point, he got naked. You didn’t know when, and you didn’t care either. Your mind is focused on the sting that Clark’s hand gave up.

You whimpered, arching your back further to him, “Baby, please.” You don’t know what you are begging for. Did you want him to go slower, have mercy on you? No, you surprisingly didn’t want him to slow down his already furious spanks.

Clark’s rough with you, both of you know it, but he never slapped your ass this hard before; maybe it was the alcohol. It needs to be the alcohol.

Another slap, harder this time. Merciless. “I need you to focus, my pretty little thing. Answer me, don’t you think me and Superman look alike?”

You bite your lip so hard, blood might have started to drip out. You didn’t care. You stop caring and only focus on the pleasure he gives you. You didn’t answer him. You don’t want to answer him. His hands stop the spanking, and you whimper. 

His fingers went to your dripping pussy. “You’re this wet huh? Thinking about how he and I have the same features,” He pushes you closer to the couch as he continues to finger you hard. It’s not foreplay. He fingers you like a madman. He’s reminding you that you belong to him. All. Of. Him.

Your whole body shakes when he finds your G-spot, and the orgasm presents itself suddenly and intensely.

“Push that ass out… just like that.” He slaps it again, and you scream, not caring if his neighbours can hear your ecstasy.

He continues to open you with his fingers while he moves closer to your ear. His hardened member is touching your heated skin.

 “Imagine me being Superman. Imagine that is him fingering you while you take it so obediently.” Your pussy clenches once again with every word that spills from his mouth. Clark chuckles, “You’re pussy tightened. I wonder why that is? Didn’t you say you hated Superman?”

“Clark,” your voice came in a whimpering mess, another orgasm starting to present itself again. “I need you,” you look back as he takes his finger off you.

His long fingers are covered in your juices, and instead of licking them, he puts them closer to your mouth. You lick them, tasting yourself.

You focus on licking his fingers clean and don’t notice when he aligns his cock to your entrance. He grabs your arms, never once moving your position, and pulls you to him, hard and ruthless. His erect cock splits you in half, and you have no choice but to let the orgasm take over your body. Oh, you love him using your body.

“Do you think Superman's dick is as big as mine? Imagine being fuck by the two men you obsess over.” Clark groans as he fucks you deeper, his hand moving to your hips. 

Both of your hips started to move. This is heaven.

“Both of our dicks inside of this tight little pussy”, he groans as he drives deeper inside of you.

Your eyes roll back as he finds the spot again and hits it over and over and over again.

“Oh, please,” you moan. “Please, Clark, I want that. I want to feel both cocks inside of me.” The words spill out of your mouth without you knowing what you were moaning about. You didn’t care. Not while being cock-drunk.

Mid trust Clark groans darkly. He looks at your face, which is a canvas of naked pleasure. He felt a dark, twisted, vindictive feeling inside of him as he thrust in and out of your body.

“How do you like Superman dick inside of you right now?”

You’re vision goes white as you cum.

Author note: im still working on my tag list, so please comment if you want to be added!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. Masterlist

[learningfromlosing]

how it feels to grow up as a white american

why do you hate white people so much

aside from all the, like, racism?

well, because having been born a white mormon at the imperial core of the world, and then realizing that every facet of my "heritage" ive ever interfaced with has existed for less than some living turtles, is defined by hatred and theft, resulting in my disillusionment from the myths i was fed leading me float along in an existence with so little tangible identity that it's driven me at some points to literal medical psychosis, kind of makes me mad.

[lunescore]

Sevika training shy, quiet reader not to be so quiet during sex (saying "yes, mommy" to her and generally being louder)

SPELLBOUND

BULLY!SEVIKA X TUTOR!READER—

CONTENT: mommy kink, strap, virginity loss, virgin!reader, mating press, spitting, mentions of tearing, handcuffs, sex with plot, size kink, very slight corruption kink, aftercare included

WORD COUNT: 1.7k words

Her heart was thumping, she didn't expect her tutor to come in looking like a complete snack. It was you— the topper in Sevika's class during high school and she bullied you to bits for it. You didn't hate her, you knew how annoying you probably sounded answering all of the teacher’s questions ahead of your peers and always getting a perfect score. You were bound to have haters. This is exactly what made you even more insufferable to Sevika.

You were supposed to be pissed at her, but instead you accepted her behaviour and torment for the years you were in high school. Unbelievable.

“Oh, it's you.” Your voice snapped Sevika out of her daze.

She gathered her books defensively. “I'm guessin’ this is the moment you rub it on my face, that I'm beneath you because I'm bad with math or somethin’?”

You blinked innocently, those glossed pink lips parting as if you'd deny it all, and you did. Of course, you did. You were the epitome of perfection. Innocence. Feminine. “I don't know what you're talking about,” you fiddled with the chain of your purse, “But if you'd rather have a different tutor I can—”

“Don't bother,” Sevika said flatly, her ears red, “Sit.”

It irked Sevika how prime and proper you were. You were dainty, naïve, beautiful. The ideal kind of girl any man would crave attention from. You spoke in a soft tone, always so measured, so calculated. And your posture was always good too. It was like there was not a single thing anyone could criticise about you. Your eyes glanced up, catching Sevika's stare.

“You're not listening,” you stated. You didn't ask.

Sevika shifted in her chair, the legs of it dragging as she scooted closer. “Yeah, sorry, you were saying?”

Sevika didn't know why your softness and purity made her loath you so much. Why did she bully you in highschool? She wasn't jealous of you. That wasn't the case. But then why did it bother her so much? Your eyelashes fluttered beautifully as you reached forward and uncapped your pen, the nib of it dragging across the page smoothly as you drew out graphs to make her understand better. Sevika's mind was elsewhere— your delicacy was still something that triggered an itch in Sevika. An itch she didn't know how to scratch.

If only she could kiss you. Claim you and mark you. Your skin would look so good marked with her hickeys and lovebites. If only. It was a fantasy she'd had since high school and she was ashamed of it. She never allowed herself to act on it. She didn't want to be fucking ‘the nerd girl who had everyone wrapped around her pinky finger’.

Her train of thoughts broke with a small sound of your throat clearing, “Sevika, you're not paying attention.”

“I'm sorry, excuse me,” she got up so fast, her chair dragged back with an annoying screech of its legs scratching the floor beneath, “I’ll be right back.”

And she left.

You sat there bewildered before you focused back at the graphs, Sevika was still as weird as you thought she was since high school. You didn't know Sevika thought of spreading your legs and fucking you silly. You didn't know that she stayed up fantasizing about making those blush covered cheeks flush red from emotion when she'd get you flowers. You didn't know Sevika had a thing for you.

A very big thing actually.

Time was moving so slow, you glanced at the clock and tapped your foot against the ground.

“Where is she?” You muttered to yourself.

You decided you'd text her to come back or you were leaving. But where was your phone?

You shifted the heavy book out of the way, reaching under the stack of notes to grab your phone. The book tilted and something fluttered out, falling to the floor limply. Your eyes caught sight of it, it was a sketch. You picked it up to put it back into Sevika's book right where it was. You didn't want to see it. It wasn't your business. But then you saw it. It was a drawing of you and Sevika together. Your eyes widened.

“Hey, I'm back—”

You shoved the paper away under your copy, Sevika gave you a tight lipped smile, unaware. Sevika sat down next to you again, your knees grazing hers slightly. “A-are you free on— uh— Sunday?” You asked.

Sevika's cheeks tinted. “Yeah, of course. Yeah, I am.” She blurted out.

“Great,” you swallowed, “Can I take you— uhhh… do you wanna go out on Sunday?” You asked, your bottom lip quivering. You didn't know how this asking out thing worked.

“Oh…” Sevika's mouth parted silently for a second before she smiled and nodded.

It began with a small date, then you told her how you grew up so sheltered and controlled by your parents that you'd never experienced a normal dating life. Sevika only smiled and listened on. You were an innocent pretty thing for her to ruin. It turned her on, imagining your pretty self in her bed, tangled in her sheets as moaned for her not to stop.

It wasn't long until one day you agreed to get in bed with her although you said, “I might not be really impressive in bed but I excel in other things.”

“Oh, I know, princess,” Sevika kissed your cheek and opened the door, “Don't worry about it, leave it to mommy, yeah?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Mommy.” You repeated, your thighs squeezing together as Sevika led you to the huge bed, you laid down, legs dangling off the edge and you watched Sevika reaching away to close the door, lock it and draw the curtains.

“You're mine,” Sevika growled, basically pouncing on you.

“I am,” you breathed, your legs spreading out already. Eager.

Sevika leaned in between your legs, “My pretty little thing,” her fingers felt the way your panties were damp, she grabbed the hem, glancing at you. You nodded. Your panties were tugged down and away, skirt bunched up. “You look delicious.” Sevika held your hips, squeezing it gently.

Sevika stripped you, then herself. She took out her strap from the drawer and clicked it in place, eyes locked on you. You had a dreamy look on your face, something about letting her take full dominance over your small self was so arousing.

“Be gentle with me?” You whispered.

Sevika nodded, “You're a virgin, aren't you?” She grinned, “This pussy’s all mine.”

Her strap was at the entrance of your pussy, slowly pushing in and stretching you out making you whimper and throw your head from one side to another. You looked beautiful, dazzling.

“Mommy! Mommy, you're so thick!” You moaned into her neck as she thrusted harder, pounding into your smaller body. “Mmm…”

Sevika grabbed the undersides of your thighs, her nails digging into your flesh as she shoved your legs to fold against your chest, your knees touched your breasts and squished as she slipped back inside. Her hips pistoned almost violently causing your body to tremble and low whines filled the air. You heard her faint grunt every time her clit bumped with the base of the strap.

“Sev, mommy—” your head lolled to the side, “Please, give me all of you. Fuck me like a fuck toy.”

Sevika paused in her tracks and took a deep breath, her nipples perked against the cold air of the room. She slowly moved back, slipping out of you with a pop before she picked up a pair of purple cuffs, they matched her strap, she held them up for you to see. The pink fuzz of the handcuffs caught in the light. She leaned down and kissed you— heated and it made you crave more of her. The cuffs clicked in place with a satisfying click before Sevika pushed back up, strap glistening with your juices.

You were so wet she easily pushed inside, you moaned, wrists tugging against the restraint faintly.

“Mommy, please,” you gasped, “t-too much,” your body tensed as she folded you with ease and started ramming into you.

Every thrust was calculated but rough, the air filled with the scent of sex and the loud constant schlik schlik of her relentless cock slipping in and out of your sore pussy.

You didn't want her to stop though, Sevika backed up and spat right there on your cunt. Warm spit dripped down on your cunt and into your slit— she pushed back inside.

“Mommy! Fuck!” Your hips bucked.

You didn't really need her to lubricate you further with her spit but it made her pace sloppy and you liked that. Her muscles flexed, abs taut as she pulled back and slammed back inside.

“You like it?” her bigger hand found your nipple, twisting it slightly and tugging.

“I feel like I'm gonna rip, I'm gonna break,” you babbled mindlessly as she continued ramming into you.

Your mouth was open, but barely a sound left it. You took it like a good little girl. Your pussy clenched one last time— feeble. Then you came undone. Sevika helped you ride out your orgasm and stretched it out as much as she could before pulling out, slapping the shaft against your inner thigh. You grinned at her, messed up. But you were a beautiful mess.

“You did so good for me, princess.” Sevika pulled your legs down and kissed you. This time it was gentle and she took her time exploring your mouth. Sevika was really one of a kind.

“Mommy, I'm so tired,” you pouted your spit-glossed lips at her, making her chuckle before she undid the harness and picked you up. Sevika took you to the bathroom.

It was moderately spacious, she sat you at the edge of the bath as she turned it on and made sure the water was a decent temperature before lowering you inside. She bathed you with utmost care and love before drying you up and taking you back to the bedroom.

She laid you out and dressed you up in comfortable nightwear, which actually was just her t-shirt which was huge on your tiny frame.

“I wish you knew how beautiful you looked in my eyes, in my bed, under me, taking my dick.” Sevika brushed your hair, being as gentle and slow as possible.

You giggled and basked in her attention all night. She never failed in making you feel loved.

Never.

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

the dint

summary: when clark kent stumbles into a 24 hour vet clinic with his unconscious side-kick, the last thing he expects to find is maybe the only person in metropolis who can handle krypto. It’s an extra bonus that she’s beautiful too.

warnings: swearing, fluff

notes: I loved this movie and I loved this version of clark kent. and I totally ran away with this idea. please enjoy <3

*yn* always liked the clinic at night.

The phone barely rang, the waiting room wasn't flooded with neurotic purse dogs yapping at anything that moved, no owners complaining that she couldn't magically click her fingers and make their beloved fur babies well-trained.

It gave her time to focus on what she really cared about. The animals.

Working nights at a 24 hour vet clinic also meant that usually anyone who stepped through the front door, was dealing with an emergency.

She liked it though. The pressure. The adrenaline. Feeling like she's actually made a difference when she manages to bring an animal back from the brink.

Tonight was not one of those nights. It had been quiet. The only person who'd come through the door was a tourist asking for directions to Metropolis City Hall.

She stared at her computer screen. Cupcake's intake form stared back at her.

Chihuahua. 3 years old. Overweight. Biting warning. Aggressive. Reactive. Overdue for almost every vaccination. She scrolled through the checklist, checking off each box in turn. Her pointer finger hit the mouse just a fraction harder everytime she clicked off a box.

"Isn't there medication you can give her or something? To calm her down?" "Ma'am, Cupcake isn't suffering from anxiety. She just needs some training so she learns not to bark at everyone that walks past her." "So what, now I can't control my dog?" "Ma'am-" "You know what, I think I'll take Cupcake to that new vet that's opened up down the block. Take her to someone who actually cares about helping animals."

*yn* leant back in her chair, the interaction from earlier that afternoon playing over in her head on a loop.

"Fucking idiot." She muttered.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall. The paw shaped clock hand ticked slowly.

It was nearly quarter to twelve.

Almost time for her to clock off.

She tried to focus back on the soft blue light of the computer screen in front of her. She couldn't leave for the day until she finished typing up her shift report , but her mind kept wandering.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

Running late sorry. Had to evacuate the subway again - metahuman flooded the station! :(

A sigh escaped her lips. Lucy was meant to be here at eleven thirty so they could do the shift handover before the next vet tech on shift got here at midnight.

*yn* had already sent Will, the vet tech on her shift, home for the night. It meant that she'd be manning the fort on her own for at least another thirty minutes.

She responded to Lucy letting her know it was fine and not to stress before placing her phone back down.

She rubbed her temples as she felt a headache begin to creep up the back of her skull. The last twelve hours were starting to take its toll.

She pushed out of the chair, stretching her stiff limbs.

Tea. She needed tea.

The sound of her sneakers squeaking on the laminate bounced off the walls. A car honked in the distance.

It was so quiet that she could hear the tiny huffs and snorings emanating from the animals being kept overnight in observation.

Her hand wrapped around the handle of the rusting kettle.

A sharp series of rapid knocks made her jump and jerk her hand back, causing the kettle to topple off the counter. The lid swung open halfway on its journey to the floor, causing water to soak her front.

"Fuck!" She cursed as the kettle crashed loudly on the ground.

If the water had been boiled, she'd have been taking a very urgent trip to the ER.

"I'm coming - shit!" She hissed as she tried to clumsily ring her scrubs out.

The knocking continued as she hurried out into the waiting area.

They always locked the front door after hours. The locals knew there were drugs galore in here. *yn* had very quickly learnt that they weren't particularly fussy about whether they were intended for humans or not.

There was a man standing at the door. It was hard to make out his features in the dark. What she could tell was that he was huge, his imposing frame nearly engulfing the whole glass panel.

As she got closer to the door, she realised he was holding a bundle of white fur. Almost blinding so. Like it had been carved from fresh snow.

She paused for a split second.

She was acutely aware that she was alone in here. And it wouldn't be the first time that someone had tried to use a stray to get inside.

"Please! You have to help us!" The man's voice was muted as it tried to pierce through the thick glass.

*yn* glanced back down at the bundle in his arms. It was unmoving.

That made her decision for her.

She slid the deadbolt out of the latch and stepped aside, allowing the man to tumble in.

The fluorescent light allowed *yn* to finally get a look at him. A mass of black curls on top of his head, a face framed by thick glasses that were sitting lopsided on the bridge of his nose.

That was all she took note of before she focused her attention on the animal in his arms.

A dog.

"Thank you - I just- I came home and I didn't know what to do and I just googled the closest emergency vet and I-"

"Follow me. What happened?" *yn* asked him as she crossed the waiting room to open the door that led to the consultation rooms.

"I-I don't know I just came home and he was unconscious, I tried to rouse him but nothing was working."

"Just put him here." She gestured to the table in the middle of the small room.

"He's breathing, I could hear- I checked his pulse." The man continued as he placed the dog down gently.

"Well, that's a good first step." *yn* ripped two fresh gloves out of the dispenser.

"He couldn't have eaten anything? Chocolate? Medicine left out?"

"No." He shook his head adamantly. The sticky thwack of the gloves encasing her hands rung out through the room.

"Ok. That's good." She nodded as she rounded the table.

Her heart was beating fast, but she was calm. The headache had dissipated. The adrenaline that she was addicted too had taken hold.

"I'm going to have to ask you to step out while I take a look at him sir." She instructed without looking up as she began to press her hands against the dog's ribs.

"What- no I can't-"

"Sir." She cut him off firmly. "I'm not asking."

"But-"

"Sir-"

"It's Clark."

She glanced up at him, noting the expression on his features. She'd seen that look a thousand times before.

Pure fear. Panic. Confusion. The guilt that he might have been the one to cause this.

"Clark." She softened her tone. "I'm *yn*. And I understand how you must feel right now. But in order to give your dog the best medical attention that I can, I need to be a hundred percent focused and I can't do that with you in the room."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but promptly shut it and nodded.

"Ok." She nodded back. "What's his name?"

"It's uh-" Her brow furrowed, peering up at him through her lashes when he paused. "It's Dog."

She nodded, unphased.

"I've heard a lot worse, trust me."

She remembered to shoot him a small smile, hoping it would somehow ease his worry.

"Dog is in safe hands. I promise."

Clark jiggled his leg up and down. The fluorescent light hummed above him.

It had felt like hours had passed since he'd crammed himself into the small waiting chair.

He could hear the vet, *yn* she'd said her name was, moving around in the room behind him.

His ears picked up her soothing voice.

"You're very handsome, has anyone told you that before?"

He leant his head back against the plaster, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to calm himself down.

"You're going to be just fine, gorgeous boy. I'm going to take very good care of you."

His heart warmed. Krypto was indeed in very safe hands, he could tell already.

After what felt like an eternity, he could hear the squeaking sound of *yn*'s sneakers getting louder. Clark shot up out of the chair the second the door swung open.

"How is he?"

Now that she wasn't in sink or swim mode, she could finally look at the owner of her patient properly.

The thick frames that she identified earlier were covering kind, blue eyes. The glasses were still crooked, sliding down the bridge of his nose like they were trying to escape. The black mass of curls were perfectly tendrilled, flopping down over his forehead.

His body was wrapped in a jacket. There was a tuft of red material poking out of the left pocket.

His frame seemed even bigger than she remembered. His thighs looked like they could be the size of her torso, his biceps the size of her head.

He was stupidly good looking, she quickly realised.

The tense look on his face made her snap back into reality.

She cleared her throat, "So far, Dog seems completely fine."

Clark let out an audible sigh of relief.

"I did an ultrasound and a physical and couldn't detect anything abnormal, apart from some bruising that's starting to form around his skull." She placed her stethescope around her neck.

"I did a quick scan, there's some slight swelling around the brain but nothing that seems to be of any concern. Looks like he might have taken a bump to the head."

Clark frowned. "I don't understand."

"I've seen it happen before. Dogs get a bit too excited, run into a tree chasing a ball or a coffee table or something and stun themselves."

"Are you- are you saying that he knocked himself out?" Clark queried in disbelief.

*yn* shoved her hands into the pockets of her scrubs. "Until I run a few more tests and get the results of the bloods back, that's my best guess right now. Yeah."

"I guess that explains the dint in the- wall." He pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a groan. "What the hay, dog." He mumbled to himself.

*yn* raised a brow in amusement. "Did you just say 'what the hay' unironically?"

Clark blinked. Now that he knew Krypto was ok, he looked at her. Really looked at her.

Covered head to toe in pink scrubs adorned with dog bone shapes. Scrubs that were soaked through the front, clinging to her skin. Hair scraped back. Dark rings under eyes that seemed to sparkle. Lips twisted in a bemused smirk.

Beautiful.

"What can I say, you uh- you can take the boy out of Kansas, but can't take Kansas out of the boy?"

That elicited a small chuckle from her. The mood lightened between the two.

"Well if you grew up in Kansas, you must know a thing or two about animals." She answered as she crossed the waiting area to the reception desk.

"You mean I must know a thing or two about cows, right?"

"I wasn't going to say it but..." She shrugged innocently as she opened a fresh intake form on the computer.

"I can't talk though, I've lived in Metropolis my whole life so I guess that makes me an expert in what...rats and squirrels?"

Clark chuckled at that. He pushed his glasses back up the slope of his nose.

"I've given Dog just a little something for the pain and a shot to try and rouse him." *yn* explained, slipping back into vet mode as she typed out Dog's symptoms.

"Thanks. How much is the bill for all this?"

*yn* swotted his question away with her hand. "Don't worry about it."

Clark frowned. "I insist."

"It's fine, honestly. I didn't have to do much. I'm just glad he's ok."

Clark smiled at her. "Thank you, that's very kind of you."

"It's nothing." She dismissed him, feeling herself growing slightly nervous under his gaze. "If it's ok with you though, I'd like to keep him overnight in observation, just to make sure it's nothing more sinister."

"Oh uh-" Clark cut himself off as he tried to think of an excuse. The last thing he needed was Krypto waking up and tearing this place apart.

*yn* glanced up at him over the computer screen.

"I think I'd rather just take him home, he can get a bit antsy. He's not very well trained."

"Trust me, we'll be fine. Our whole lives here are pretty much spent dealing with untrained pets."

"I appreciate that it's just- um- well he's- how do I put this-"

A loud crash echoed down the hallway. Clark didn't need super hearing to know what room it came from.

"What the-" *yn* sprung into action, hurrying down the hallway. Clark was hot on her heels.

She yanked open the door to the consultation room. *yn*'s jaw dropped. Clark nearly collided into her back as she stopped short of breaching the entryway.

Floating a few inches off the table, was Dog.

He was still groggy, but most definitely awake. He was swaying slightly from side to side in the air.

*yn* glanced down at the floor. The surgical light had been knocked over.

"Ok." She swallowed as she inched into the room. "Guess I'll need to add 'flying' to his patient chart."

"I can explain-"

Clark however, did not get a chance to explain.

The second he spoke, Dog's face jerked up. It was like Clark's voice were smelling salts, shocking him into consciousness.

*yn* noticed that one of his ears was permanently flapped up.

A ball of white shot across the room. *yn* yelped, jumping out of the way before he could crash into her. Clark however, wasn't so lucky.

Dog barrelled into him, knocking him clean off his feet. He landed with a loud thud on his back. *yn* twisted around to see Dog jumping up and down on Clark's chest, his tail wagging so fast it was like a windshield wiper on steroids.

"Krypto - stop! Down! Down! Ow!" Clark protested, barely able to get the words out as Dog covered his face with licks.

"Krypto?" *yn* queried as she rose to her full height.

At the sound of his name, Krypto turned to look at her. He tilted his head, his big eyes locked on her. He stepped off Clark's chest and took a few steps towards her.

Luckily, that was enough of a distraction for Clark to lunge forward and scoop him up in his arms.

"Stop it, hey settle dog, please." Clark begged as Krypto struggled against his steel like grip.

*yn* had to do something, if he got loose she didn't want to know what kind of carnage he could wreak in here.

"Hey, it's ok." *yn* spoke calmly, closing the gap between her and Clark. If this didn't work, it was going to have to be a tranquilliser.

"I'm not going to hurt you." She reassured him. Dog stopped struggling as she slowly extended a hand out. He watched it curiously, but didn't squirm away, as it came to rest on his spine.

She began to run soothing strokes down his back. Clark felt Krypto relax in his arms.

"I know, the vet is a scary place huh?" Krypto licked her hand in acknowledgment.

Clark looked up at her in disbelief. It was pretty much impossible to control this dog, and she'd somehow managed to subdue him in less than thirty seconds.

Once she was sure that Dog, or Krypto, was calm, she fixed her attention on Clark.

"So, you wanna explain to me how you managed to get ahold of Superman's dog?"

Clark swallowed. "It's kind of a....foster situation."

*yn*'s brow quirked up, indicating that explanation wasn't going to exactly cut it.

Clark paused, debating whether or not to say anything, before finally relenting. "I know Superman, sort of. I'm a reporter for the Daily Planet."

"Oh." The name rung a bell. "You're Clark Kent?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. I know you, I've read your articles. You interview him a lot."

"Yeah, I guess I'm just lucky." He laughed awkwardly, shoving his glasses back up his nose again. "Anyway Superman is a busy guy y'know? Always out saving the day. I babysit Krypto sometimes when he's out doing all that awesome hero stuff."

Krypto looked up at him at that. He let out a small growl. Clark shot him a warning look, which *yn* luckily didn't notice.

*yn* glanced back down at Krypto. "Well, that's very kind of you." She moved her hand to scratch under his chin.

"Maybe next time you see Superman you can ask him if Krypto's up to date with all his shots. If he's not, tell him to bring him in." She glanced up at Clark through her lashes.

"If dogs from outer space even need them." She tacked on quickly. "They're a bit beyond my expertise I'm afraid. Shockingly, we didn't learn about superdogs in vet school."

Clark let out a chuckle and nodded shyly.

"I'll be sure to ask him."

“Ok, good.” She nodded. A heartbeat of silence passed between them.

"So when you said before 'that explains the dint in the wall', you actually meant the-"

"The ceiling mmhmm. Yep." Clark nodded.

He glanced down at her wet scrubs. *yn* caught his gaze before he could look away.

"Don't ask."

"Wasn't going to." His brows quirked up.

She folded her arms, "let's just say, it can be added to the list of Krypto's casualties alongside the lamp and your ceiling."

Their mouths simultaneously quivered before bursting into laughter.

A fortnight or so had gone by since the whole 'flying dog in the middle of the night' incident.

While her mind every so often wandered to thoughts of the chaotic duo, it was always quickly dragged back to the all consuming reality of her patients, customers and staff.

The longer time ticked on, the more that *yn* was starting to convince herself that the whole experience had been some sort of a hallucination as a result of severe sleep deprivation.

"Hey, you ok if I duck out and grab something to eat?"

*yn* looked up from the bandage she was currently redressing on a grumpy Persian, Tuna, to see Will standing at the door. "Yeah of course, take thirty."

It was only early evening and the start of their night shift, *yn* wasn't expecting it to pick up until a bit later on.

"Awesome, thanks *yn*."

"Oh grab me a redbull while you're out and you can make it forty!" She called out after him.

She heard him shout back an acknowledgment as she focused her attention back on Tuna who was begin to squirm in her arms. "Nearly done buddy." She muttered.

She had just placed Tuna back in his cage when she heard the shrill bell of the front door opening.

"Will, you can beg all you want but you're not getting the company card." She teased as she came out into the front area.

"Not Will, I'm afraid." A deep, amused voice answered.

Clark's gorgeous smile greeted her near the desk. She tried to ignore the way her stomach flipped.

Nope, definitely not Will the gangly freckled vet tech.

"Nice to see you coming in here conscious this time buddy." *yn*'s eyes lit up at the sight of Krypto in his arms. His tail started wagging at the sight of her.

"Not for lack of trying, believe me." Clark answered her as she closed the distance between them to give Krypto a scratch behind the ears.

*yn* seemed more excited to see Krypto than him. Clark kind of loved it.

"I hope you don't mind us dropping in. Krypto has been limping a bit on his front right leg."

Concern flashed across her features.

"I was wondering if you could take a look?"

"Yeah of course, I can take a look now."

Clark followed her through to the same consultation room. He noticed that the lamp had been fixed since they'd last been here.

Clark had only just placed Krypto down onto the table when the front door chime rang out again.

She withheld a sigh. Maybe it was going to be a long night.

"Sorry, I'll just be a moment." She shot him an apologetic look.

"No problem, take your time."

"Try not to take out the lamp again." She teased Krypto before heading back out into the corridor.

Clark's eyes followed her the whole way there.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she made her way out into the waiting area.

The very familiar yapping of a certain chihuahua filled her ears. Shit. It was indeed going to be a long night.

Sure enough, the lady from a few weeks prior stood in the middle of the room. Cupcake's yapping only increased when she spotted *yn*.

Maybe they needed to implement a 24 hour locked door protocol.

*yn* painted on a fake smile. "Hi ma'am, how can I help you?"

The lady's lips curled up into a snear.

"Exactly the vet I was hoping to see."

"Is everything alright with Cupcake?"

The lady scoffed. "Don't pretend to care about my dog now."

*yn*'s smile dropped. If she got accused of not caring about her human customers, she'd probably shrug her shoulders and agree. Humans could definitely suck.

But she always cared about the animals. Always. Even if they were misbehaved, it was always due to trauma inflicted by humans or lack of training.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. I went to the other vet and when I tried to claim the bill through my insurance they told me I couldn't because I'd already come to see you."

"Ma'am it was your decision to go get a second opinion-"

"I only had to get a second opinion because you refused to help me." The lady's cheeks were going pink with anger. "The other vet was more than happy to help me."

*yn* resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew that vet from veterinary school. He'd do just about anything an owner asked of him if it meant it made him money, even if it wasn't in the best interests of the animal.

"And now I'm four thousand dollars out of pocket because of you."

*yn*'s eyes nearly bulged out of her head as she focused back in on the woman's ranting. Four thousand fucking dollars? She bit her tongue to stop herself from asking if he'd prescribed medication dipped in gold.

"While I'm very glad that you've found a solution for Cupcake, I'm not sure what you want from me exactly."

The woman let out a bitter laugh. "What I want is for your clinic to cover the cost. It's your incompetence that caused all of this."

*yn* gritted her teeth. It was becoming harder by the second to stay professional. "I'm afraid that's not possible ma'am."

"Well that's just not good enough. I want to speak to your manager."

*yn* cocked her head and gestured to herself. "You're speaking to her."

The woman's neck was turning a concerning shade of purple.

"Is this some kind of joke? What sort of joint are you running here? Scamming people out of there hard earned money and taking advantage of their love for their animals. It's a disgrace. You shouldn't be allowed to call yourself a vet-"

"Is everything ok out here?"

*yn* turned around at the sound of Clark's voice. He looked different. His back was stiff, his chest puffed. He somehow looked even taller than usual.

He stood beside her. His eyes ran over *yn* briefly. Assessing. He noted the way her face was taught, like she was trying to hide the impact the words were having on her.

He turned to look at the woman. His face was stony. Hard set.

Cupcake stopped barking at the lady's feet.

"Nothing that's any of your business. Although, word of advice - go to a different vet clinic while you can."

"No, I don't think I will." Clark answered, his tone clipped. "I think *yn* is an excellent vet. Probably the best in Metropolis. She cares deeply about animals and loves her job. It's a shame that you can't see that."

*yn* looked up at Clark in shock.

The lady's face soured even further. If that was possible.

"If she loved animals she would have helped Cupcake-"

"I was trying to." *yn* cut her off, the restraints around her tongue finally loosening free. "It's not my fault that you can't be bothered to train her. But hey, go ahead and drug her up with some meds that she doesn't need and might give her heart failure to make your life easier. Cause you're the one who loves her, right?"

"How dare you-"

"I think you should leave." Clark cut her off firmly. His eyes were blazing with unspoken emotions.

*yn* didn't even think it was possible for Clark to get angry. He came across so gentle. Clearly she was wrong.

The lady opened her mouth to respond but seemed to possess enough common sense realise it was a fight that she wasn't going to win.

"I will be leaving a very honest google review of this place." She snapped. "Come on Cupcake, let's go."

"Looking forward to it." *yn* shot her a sarcastic smile, watching as the lady tugged on Cupcake's leash harshly, dragging her out into the cool spring air.

*yn* released a breath that she didn’t know she was holding as the door rattled shut. She turned to Clark.

“I’m sorry about that.”

Clark looked down at her, his brow furrowed. Humans could be so strange sometimes.

“Why are you apologising? She was awful to you.”

“I’ve copped worse.” *yn* let out a somewhat strangled laugh. Her attempt to lighten the mood crashed and burned.

Clark’s frown lines deepened. “Are you ok? That was horrible. You didn't deserve that.” Clark placed a hand just above her elbow.

*yn* tried to ignore the way her skin seemed to ignite under his touch.

"Yeah I'm fine."

“I hope you know that nothing she said was true.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“For all the things you said.” She clarified when she saw confusion flash across his features.

“I was just telling the truth. You are an incredible vet. That lady would have been lucky to have you look after her dog.” He said it so matter-of-factly. So confidently. Like he was explaining that the sky was blue.

The compliments made her squirm. She'd never been good at taking them. She folded her arms over her torso.

"Well thank you. Really."

Clark noticed how closed off she became at his words. Did she really not see how brilliant she was?

"Although, I'm kind of glad I didn't have to. Cupcake was a bit of a nightmare."

Clark let out a throaty laugh.

"Yeah I know a thing or two about that." He glanced down the hallway to where he had left Krypto, after practically begging him to stay put.

"Speaking of, let's see if we can figure out what is wrong with that paw of his."

The mood lightened as *yn* slipped back into her comfort zone. She opened up again, both physically and emotionally as Clark followed her back into the consultation room.

Clark watched her as she picked up Krypto's paw and gently felt it with her gloved thumbs.

"Your friend is having a bit of a rough time at the moment, isn't he?" *yn* spoke after a few moments.

"My friend?"

*yn* looked up at him, her brows threaded together. "Superman?"

"Oh right." Clark blinked furiously. "Yes, him."

"I feel for him. The trolling online is fucked. Although, the hashtag supershit is kind of funny... but don't tell him I said that."

Clark's fists balled at his side. "Really? I think that one is particularly stupid."

*yn* glanced up at him at the sound of his tone. She raised a brow at the sight of his clenched jaw. "Ok, no mention of hashtag supershit, got it."

"Anyway, he's just trying to do the right thing. I don't know how anyone can have a problem with him."

Clark's annoyance melted away.

"I mean I saw him save a squirrel once for gods sake. The guy doesn't have a bad bone in his body. He's just trying to make the world a better place."

*yn* continued talking, completely unaware of the way Clark was looking at her.

"Ah, I see what's wrong." *yn* announced before Clark had to think of a response, all thoughts of Superman flying out of her head.

"It's a splinter."

"Really? I swear that was the first thing I checked for."

"It's pretty small and it's buried in the crevice of one of his paw pads. Don't worry I wouldn't have spotted it if I didn't know what I was looking for." *yn* reassured him as she crouched down, tweezers in her hand.

"And all done!" She announced seconds later, standing up to reveal a splinter the size of a small thumb tack pinched in between the arms of the tweezer.

"Try that Krypto."

At her words, Krypto tentatively placed his paw down on the surface. Testing it. His tail started to wag furiously when he realised he could put his full weight on it.

Clark couldn't ignore the disappointment that unfurled in his stomach. Not that he'd ever wish pain on Krypto, but a part of him hoped it would have taken a bit longer for *yn* to fix him.

"Now you can go back to putting dints in things." *yn* shot Clark a grin as Krypto leapt off the table and circled Clark excitedly.

He then hurled towards *yn*. He jumped up on her excitedly, his paws pressing against her torso. Not knowing his own strength, the force of him leaping up onto her made her fall back.

*yn* swore that one second Clark was across the table from her and then she blinked and his firm chest was behind her. His hands wrapped around her arms, stopped her from falling flat on her back.

His cologne invaded her senses. Lemon, violet - a hint of cedarwood. This man was going to be the death of her.

"Krypto." Clark scolded.

Krypto sat at *yn*'s feet, looking up innocently.

"Sorry." He helped her straighten up.

"It's ok." She swallowed.

He studied her. His hands lingered for a moment too long to be considered innocuous.

"At least we know his paw is ok." She laughed breathlessly.

He smiled and nodded. *yn* felt the absence of his chest against her back as he stepped away.

"*yn* I'm back! There's a redbull with your name on it in the fridge." Will's voice from the back made the pair pull away from each other.

"Thanks Will!" *yn* called back. She looked over at Clark, whose eyes were still fixed on her.

"I should get going." Clark spoke. "I won't keep you from your redbull."

"Good idea. I get real mean uncaffinated." She teased.

"Somehow, I doubt that." Clark smiled softly, which she returned. "Oh how much do I owe-

"Ah ah no." *yn* shook her head firmly. "I'm not taking your money."

"But-"

"But nothing. Superman and Krypto do so much for us. It's my way of saying thank you."

He couldn't get rid of the smile on his face, even as he accepted defeat.

If he hadn't been certain that he was in trouble already, he most definitely was now.

*yn* sat on her sofa. A half eaten pad thai was in her lap. A coke zero can was in one hand, the tv remote in the other.

She flicked through the channels. She really needed to just pay her Netflix subscription. Her finger hovered over the change channel button as she flicked onto one of the news channels.

Some sort of giant axolotl looking creature was running rampant downtown. Nothing that out of the ordinary for Metropolis. She watched as the camera zoomed in on Superman barreling towards the creature.

Her heart rate jumped when she spied a streak of white and red beside him.

She sat up, her eyes glued to the screen as she watched the pair take on the creature.

She placed the coke can down before she inevitably spilt it. Her nails dug into the couch as the creature whipped around and smacked Superman with it's tail. He went flying straight into the ground.

Somehow, the camera managed to find where he had landed. He'd created a massive path of broken concrete and bricks, leading straight to where his body lay motionless amongst the rubble.

*yn* bit the inside of her cheek as he raised his head and let out a groan. She watched as Krypto appeared, leaping on top of him. He began to jump up and down on his chest, his tail wagging, kind of like he did with Clark.

"Krypto - stop! Down! Down! Ow!" The camera picked up Superman's muffled voice.

*yn* froze. That voice. It sounded exactly like-

She continued to watch Krypto and realised the way he was jumping up and down wasn't just kind of like how he jumped on Clark. It was how he jumped on Clark.

The puzzle pieces all slotted together in her mind. The weird reaction anytime she brought up Superman, the unexplainable speed, the fact he literally had his dog.

"Holy shit."

*yn* glanced down at her coffee table. Yesterday's edition of the Daily Planet, riddled with coffee stains, was still sitting there. She gripped it tightly and flipped to the fourth page where she knew she'd find the latest article that Clark had written.

She scanned through it again. She read the parts where Superman answered Clark's questions. Superman responded to things exactly how she'd imagine Clark responding. Because he was. He was interviewing himself.

Realisation hit her. "Fuck."

She'd called him supershit to his face.

It had been a month since she'd last seen Clark and Krypto. Since she'd figured out who Clark really was.

There were some terrible things happening in Jarhanpur and Boravia, and Clark - Superman - was copping the brunt of it.

She hadn't expected to see them again for a while, maybe even ever.

That didn't stop her thinking about them. About Clark's kind eyes and soft smile. About Krypto's floppy ear and whirring tail.

So, one evening when the clinic phone rang, she got quite a shock when she heard Clark's voice on the other end.

"Clark?" "Hi." He sounded nervous. "Is everything ok? Is Krypto alright?" "Oh he's ok. I mean- it's just his paw. He's limping again. I was wondering if you had time for me to come in later and have a look?" "Yeah of course. Come in whenever. You don't need to call in advance next time, someone will always be here to help." "I know." There was a pause on the other end of the line. Like he was debating his next words. "I just wanted to make sure we saw you."

Now, here they were. Back in the same room, with *yn* examining the same paw.

Expect this time, she harboured the knowledge that the man standing across from her was the most powerful being on the planet.

She tried to relax as she looked at Kyrpto's paw. Her heart was beating firmly against her ribcage. She needed to try and act normal, but she was worried that if she tried too hard to act normal, it would be suspicious.

Should she tell Clark she knew? Maybe he already knew. Could Superman read minds? She couldn't remember.

"That lady hasn't come back has she?"

Clark's voice broke her out of her spiral. She looked up at him. His face was pinched with concern.

"The one giving you grief about Cupcake the yappy chihuahua." He must have taken her lack of response as a sign she didn't remember who he was talking about.

But of course she remembered. She was just surprised that he did.

"No, thankfully." She swallowed and glanced back down at Krypto.

He'd managed to learn to stay still while she was examining him. Like he knew she was trying to help him. It made her heart warm.

"Well let me know if she does. I can talk to my friends in the force if there's anything they can do."

His voice was laced with worry and care. She suddenly felt very stupid about being so nervous. Yes, he was Superman. But most importantly, he was Clark, the guy who'd come barraging through here in the middle of the night worried sick about his best friend. Who remembered all the little things she told him. Who wanted to make sure she was ok.

She felt herself begin to calm. "I will, thank you."

"I just want to make sure you're safe and can focus on your job."

Her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. How was it possible for someone to be so thoughtful?

She had the sudden urge then to ask for his number. She quickly supressed it. Clark radiated kindness. Of course he'd offer to do something like that. It didn't mean he was interested in her.

She tried to push thoughts of Clark out of her mind as she looked back down at Krypto's paw.

She didn't understand. There was definitely no splinter. She'd triple checked. But he'd certainly been limping when Clark had brought him in, even worse than last time.

She pressed down on his paw, trying to identify the source of the pain. Krypto's tail thudded on the sterile surface happily.

Her frown deepened.

"Have you figured out what's wrong? Is it another splinter?" Clark asked after a few moments. She looked up at him. He was the perfect picture of concern.

She glanced down at Krypto again, who was looking up at Clark expectantly. Like he was waiting for a pat.

"I think so." She stood up as it dawned on her.

"There's no splinter." She peeled her gloves off and chucked them in the trash can.

"Then what is it?"

She glanced down at Krypto and shook her head, an amused smile on her features.

"There's something wrong with Krypto, but it's not physical."

Clark's lashes brushed the lenses of his glasses as he blinked.

"He's faking it." She explained.

Clark looked down at Krypto. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I pressed down on his paw and he showed no sign of discomfort. And I bet you if I do this-"

She picked Krypto up and placed him on the floor. She turned around to the cabinet and grabbed a dog treat from one of the cupboards.

"Do you want a treat, Krypto?" She dangled the treat in front of him.

Sure enough, Krypto began to jump up, his jaw snapping as he tried to grab the treat. He bounced happily on all four paws.

"No limp." Clark observed.

"No limp." *yn* confirmed as she finally gave Krypto the treat, who inhaled it in a flash.

"He's figured out that if he fakes an injury he'll get attention."

"Or he knew that I wanted to see you."

*yn*'s eyes shot up to Clark's face at his words. A smirk was twisted up on his lips. Was he flirting with her?

She felt her cheeks heat up. She forced a smirk on her lips to mirror Clark's. She needed to try and act unphased.

"Or he's missing Superman." She countered.

God, she was pathetic. He'd given her the perfect opportunity there and she'd completely fumbled. No wonder she was eternally single.

"He is away a lot." Clark admitted, the smirk sliding off his lips.

Shit. Now she'd made him feel bad.

"I didn't mean to imply Superman was neglecting him." She reassured him hastily.

"He's going through a lot right now. I'm sure he's doing the best he can given the circumstances."

Clark's facade faltered.

"You think so?" His tone had softened.

"I do." She nodded. She moved around from her side of the table to lean her hip against it as she studied him.

"He made the right decision. With the whole Jarhanpur thing. He saved a lot of people." She eyed him intently.

"I hope he knows that."

His eyes were moving over her facial features. Analysing.

She'd thrown a line out, giving him an opportunity to reach out and pull her in if he wanted to. Or he could ignore it, play dumb. The choice was his.

"I don't know if he does." His voice cracked ever so slightly.

The energy had shifted in the room. It was like the whole world around them had gone quiet.

Even Krypto sat silently in between them. Watching. Waiting to see who would break first.

"He should. He's a good man. A great one, actually. The world needs more people like him."

Clark couldn't tear his eyes off her. He knew. She knew. They both knew.

Clark reached forward and grabbed the line. He tugged her in.

"How'd you figure it out?" He finally spoke, his voice was so soft that *yn* was lucky to catch it.

She cleared her throat. "I saw you on the TV the other day. Fighting some metahuman. I watched Krypto jump up and down on your chest. The way he reacted when he saw you." She shook her head.

"I just knew."

Clark nodded in understanding.

"Dog's are a pretty good judge of character." As he spoke, Krypto nuzzled into *yn*'s leg.

"Which explains why he likes you so much."

*yn* blushed, leaning down to pat Krypto affectionally. "Yeah well, feeling's mutual."

"Is it?" She looked up at him to see him studying her intently. She had a feeling that he wasn't talking about Krypto. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

"Yeah." She nodded lightly. "It is."

The pair smiled at each other.

"I'm reserving the right to tease you later about the fact that you've been interviewing yourself this whole time, by the way."

"What can I say, it's nice not having to remind myself everything I say is on the record."

They both laughed. *yn* studied him for a few moments as they slipped back into silence.

"I hope you know that your secret is very much safe with me."

"I never had any doubts." He responded instantly, making her smile widen.

"And if you ever need a petsitter, I'm always here."

Clark winced. "I don't know if I'm ready to put you through that yet. Even I struggle to keep him contained."

"Well, in that case, I do behavioural training classes on Thursday nights at 7pm. You're welcome to come along."

It was in that moment that Krypto spotted the treat jar behind *yn*, perched up on the top shelf of the cabinet. He leapt up into the air, ready to crash straight into it.

Clark's reflexes kicked in, grabbing him by the collar before he could get more than 5 inches off the ground.

A vision of Krypto flying around in a room full of reactive dogs flashed before her. It made her feel slightly ill.

"On second thought, maybe private lessons would be better."

"I think that would be wise." Clark grimaced as he gently pushed Krypto back onto the floor. Krypto let out a whine in protest.

"Alright." *yn* sighed, turning around to grab him another treat.

"I know you're not going to let me pay for these sessions, but I want you to let me repay you in another way."

"And what way would that be?" *yn* asked as she gave Krypto another treat.

Clark sucked in a breath, working up the courage to do what he'd been wanting to do since the first time they'd met.

"Let me take you to dinner."

The blush that had never really left *yn*'s cheeks, reemerged on her face with a vengeance.

She tried to calm her nerves. If he could be confident, so could she.

"That depends." Her tone was light, teasing.

Clark raised a brow. "On?"

"Would this dinner be a-"

"A date." Clark cut her off. He exhaled a breath as he looked at her. "Definitely a date."

She smiled.

"Good. Because that was the only way I was going to say yes."

Clark couldn't wipe the grin off his face the entire time he flew to Antarctica.

He watched as the shards of ice crystallised out of the snow, shooting up towards the cloudless sky.

He whistled a tune as the S emblem split open.

"Good job boy." Clark ruffled Krypto's head for what must have been the sixth time since they'd left the vet clinic as they made their way inside.

Number four turned around from his work station, his blue robotic eye widening.

"Ah Superman! Welcome home. How did everything go?"

"Perfectly. Thank you for helping me train Krypto, number four. The little hop was an excellent touch."

"You're welcome. I thought it might add to the authenticity of it. If I had the emotional intelligence of a human, I'd have thought it was real."

Clark had always intended to ask *yn* on a date. He just needed an excuse to come and see her. To give him a chance to work up the courage to actually do it. There wasn't really anything wrong with faking Krypto's injury, was there?

Clark glanced down at Krypto. As if on cue, Krypto raised his paw and began to limp. He looked up at Clark and wagged his tail, clearly waiting for the treat that usually followed.

"Maybe we trained him too well." Clark frowned.

"Is it possible for you to untrain a dog, number four?"

"I am not sure. I will have to investigate. Or you could ask your friend that you were telling us about. The veterinarian, *yn*. She would likely know given her studies."

Clark winced. Looks like he might have some explaining to do.

I LOVED SUPERMAN SM SO HAPPY TO BE WRITING FOR BBY CLARK x As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here x

Tip me! 🤍

[suiana]

YANDERE COSPLAYER WHO DRESSES UP AS UR FAVOURITE CHARACTERS SO YOU GOON TO HIM INSTEAD OF 2D PORN OF THEM!!!!

Ur a GOONER LOSER and jerk off to your favourite fictional characters every single day. Meanwhile there's, uh, your... Classmate? You think? Someone asked you out on a date but you were too busy thinking about your fictional boyfriend to care about his words that you ended up blurting out this:

"I only date guys like my fictional boyfriend. Goodbye 🙂"

"Wait-!"

"Goodbye 🙂"

You don't know and don't really care. Don't even bat an eyelash when he tries to latch onto your arm and beg you to listen to reason. Something about how he's real and your fictional boyfriend isn't. Whatever, he wouldn't understand the bond you and your hubby shares!

All you want is to get out of this blasted school as soon as possible and get straight home to that sweet SWEET gooncave of yours.

Unfortunately the second you lay down, all cozy and ready to open r34 or something... Your online friend (also a gooner btw) sends you a link to some random adult creator? What the hell! She knows you don't touch your thing to real people! That's so weird!

But instead, she only says that 'you'll like it' and that 'he's ur type'. Whatever, you're sure you won't spend more than 1 minutes scrolling his account-

"Holy shit, is that my favourite character?"

Oh yes it is.

You end up spending way longer than just 1 minutes on his account. What? He just so happened to be cosplaying ALL of your favourite characters! And they all happened to be filmed in such a way that you like! With all your favourite kinks... And scenarios...

You can't even chalk it up to coincidence because like, you didn't realize it.

You're thinking with your ass not your head, stupid.

Anyway! What happens is he ends up becoming your go-to porn from now on. Fuck anything else, he's... He's perfect! Weeks pass by of you jerking off in sync with his homemade porn and fuck, maybe real guys are good..? Also forgot to mention how that annoying classmate keeps trying to confess. You ignore him if course, he could never be like your wonderful porn creator who cosplays as your husband!

Your wonderful husband who could do no wrong... With that beautiful mole of his and sweet moans. You could recognize his vein pattern anywhere!

Save for the fact that you started realizing his posts are getting too specific.

Like, you get trying to dirty talk your followers and shit but this? Why is he acting like he's talking to you specifically?

"I'll wear his skin so you can love me too."

That's the caption of his latest video. For once in your godforsaken life you actually snap out of it and pause. Isn't it weird how this guy looks a lot like the guy who tried confessing to you? Forget the makeup and the cosplay, doesn't that mole on his face look familiar?

You sure as hell weren't paying attention to the guy but you know how to spot a distinctive feature or two.

Also why did you friend send you his account in the first place? Probably to goon tbh and maybe she just wanted to be nice but like-

Wait, she?

Did your online friend ever tell you that she was a girl? Or did you just assume it?

You quickly run to your social media, tapping at your screen with shaky hands. No way, how could you overlook such a small detail? And there it is, the account did in fact not say she/her but he/him pronouns.

Your online friend was a gooner, not a goonette.

And worse of it all, was the tiny link under his bio. You didn't want to believe it, how could such a plot twist happen? All this time, the bonding over goon sessions, kink, favourite fictional guys, and sharing of porn wasn't a #girlhood moment but an attempt to... To get you?

The twitter link stares at you, daring you to open Pandora's box secrets. Shit shit shit, you really don't want to believe it. So you've actually been jerking off to your online friend who happens to be your favourite porn character? A notification suddenly pops up and you swear you feel your heart drop.

deletefrance1000: Will you date me now?

[emmanation]

regardless, i've already got x / i've already shifted, your golden ticket

let's chat shifting and loa, and my best "hack" for either of those things for a sec.

now, i'm sure you've all heard a thousand and one explanations, but let me break it down easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

so, as well all know, shifting your reality or manifesting your desires all boils down to your consciousness (sounds fancy, i know), but it's just your awareness choosing a lane on a road with, give or take, a gazillion exits.

think about it as if you are having your pick of the litter for your future outcomes.

your consciousness is practically hopping into one of these countless potential futures, so there's no big mystery here going behind the curtains, it's just selecting a different apple to pluck, nothing more and nothing less.

let me steer away from that a bit and talk about why people fail?

the simplest way to put it is this: their awareness never really leaves their current reality. and yes, sure, they might be saying the right things, but inside they're still checking every little box in the 3d, still checking the scoreboard, still measuring whether it's working.

and when you do that, what occurs is that your awareness stays stuck on the version of reality where your desire isn't there.

they never truly handed over the reins to the desired version, and so their consciousness keeps circling back to the present version, to what's missing or how long it's taking.

and if your internal focus is sitting in the version where nothing's changed, then that's the version you keep experiencing, simply because that's how awareness works. it stabilises whatever you keep feeding it, so if you want to know why something isn't shifting, start by asking:

where has your awareness actually been living?

because if it's been camping out in your cr, then yes, it's no surprise you keep waking up there.

and it makes sense, your cr is like right up in your face, breathing down your neck, impossible to ignore.

it's as if someone screaming at the top of their lungs next to you, and you can't exactly pretend you don't hear them. people always ask me, how do i ignore the 3d? how do i pretend xyz isn't happening? and look, i'll be honest, ignoring your current reality is a bit of a tall order.

it's something akin to trying to pretend the elephant in the room isn't knocking over your favourite vase.

but hey, you don't actually have to ignore your 3d completely.

now! hear me out, because doubts are totally normal.

feeling unsure, getting hit by circumstances, it's part and parcel of being human.

life throws curveballs, and sometimes they're a doozy.

so, rather than fighting tooth and nail to block out reality completely (which is exhausting, trust me, i've been there), you kinda just..... roll with it. acknowledge it. but then just shift your attention away.

shifting your awareness, your consciousness, even a little bit, does the trick more than giving all of your weight back to your cr / 3d.

and that's exactly where the phrase regardless, i've already shifted or regardless, i've already got xyz becomes your best buddy.

why does this little phrase work so well, you may ask, to which i delightfully reply, because it steers your awareness back to the reality you've chosen, without you having to beat yourself up for noticing the current one.

the second you shift your consciousness, even slightly, you've already moved into a different outcome. holding onto your cr (which, even then, is ever shifting) or obsessing over what you see right now is like replaying the same old record, you're gonna keep hearing the same old tune.

but when you say regardless, you're getting yourself a get-out-of-jail-free card, and then it's simple as that.

i know god of your reality-ism can feel a little dramatic, but it's actually very simple, and it'd still wouldn't hurt for me to explain it to those who might still be a bit confused by it.

your consciousness, your awareness, your focus, your dominant inner story, is what selects which version of reality you shift into.

you're shifting into the version where your desire is already real.

so let's say you want to be in your dr, or you want to be in a reality where your desire is fulfilled.

you don't have to build it from scratch, (simply because that reality already exists, and now) your only job is to shift your awareness toward it.

your words will help you do that, because every time you say something, especially something like i already have this or i've already shifted, you're literally directing your focus, your awareness, toward a specific version of a future outcome.

that's why saying regardless, i've already got it works, it's a directional statement, akin to a little compass that points you back toward the version of reality where you already have what you want.

and every time you say it, you're reinforcing your alignment with that outcome.

the logistics are honestly this: the moment your awareness rests in the reality where you already have what you want, you've already shifted.

you're choosing. and your choice gets honoured, because that's how awareness works. it moves you.

so, every single time you gently remind yourself regardless, i've already shifted, you're choosing to live the experience you've picked out from those countless possibilities.

you don't have to pretend things aren't bothering you.

and you most definitely don't have to lie to yourself or go full ostrich escue with your head buried deep in the sand.

instead, you'd be, simply, steering your consciousness back to where you actually wanna be.

so.

next time doubts creep in or your cr feels too messy, remind yourself regardless, i've already got it. regardless, i've already shifted.

because that, my friends, is how easy shifting your consciousness can actually be.

[azzinator3000]

pure sweet smut after a argument

Camping is supposed to be fun, remember that?

Warning: Minors DNI (Smut)

Okay guys, this is my attempt at writing smut, no idea how yall are gonna take it LOL

The tent was almost bigger than Paige's dorm room, an ample room with a big inflatable bed and enough screens to run an entire streaming service. It was the kind of "camping" only two people who spend their lives traveling for basketball could ever conceive of. It was supposed to be perfect.

It was not.

The day had started with tension that had quickly escalated. Azzi, in her usual way, had thrown her clothes in a pile by her side of the air mattress, leaving Paige to silently and angrily organize her own things into neat piles.

“Your clothes are all over the place,” Paige said, her voice tight and unable to hide her frustration.

Azzi, who was setting up a portable speaker, just shrugged. “Yeah. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” Paige shot back, “is that this is a small space. And your things are everywhere. And it’s...just a mess”

Azzi turned, a playful smirk on her face, leaning against the speaker. “Mess? You're the one who eats chips in the tent and gets crumbs all over our bed.”

“Those are not the same thing,” Paige huffed, crossing her arms, irritation building with the back-and-forth. It was stupid and she knew it was stupid,but when Azzi got messy, something in Paige’s intensely organized brain just short-circuited.

So the day had been a series of these little arguments, little verbal punches that left them both a little bruised. They’d never lived together for real, never had to navigate each other’s messiness, and the constant arguments were wearing on Paige. She was tensed up, frustrated, and retreated into a stubborn and super quiet fury that drove Azzi crazy.

It was late now, the tent illuminated by a small, battery-powered lantern that cast a soft, yellow glow over their makeshift home. Paige was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, her arms crossed over her chest, as Azzi fiddled with her phone beside her. 

The light, of course, was on. Azzi couldn't sleep unless a light was on (and Paige, of course, couldn't sleep unless it was pitch black)

“Are you bothered?” Azzi finally asked, her voice soft.

Paige grunted. “I’m not bothered.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You know what? Now I am, because you keep asking.”

Azzi sighed, “I just want to know what’s wrong, Paige. You’ve been quiet all day. I want to talk about it.”

“I don’t think you understand, Azzi. When I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to talk”

“But I want to talk to you because you’re annoyed, but you don’t talk to me about the things that are annoying you.” Azzi’s voice was pleading

Paige, in her tensed-up state, just let it all spill out. “I’m bothered because you’re messy. There you go. I’m also bothered because you don’t take me seriously sometimes”

“Well, you don’t take me seriously!” Azzi shot back. “I asked you to leave your iPad on the charger, and now it’s almost dead. It’s a two-way street, Paige.”

Paige sat up and crossed her arms, her biceps flexing, a defensive posture that she knew well. “Do you see me as a responsible adult?” she asked, her voice sharp. “Because I’m the responsible adult here. I’m older than you.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “No,” she said. “I don’t see you as a responsible adult. Actually, sometimes I feel like I’m older than you.”

Paige’s breath hitched. A tense silence filled the space between them. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice tight. 

She was still sitting there, arms crossed, muscles flexing, looking serious and angry and, to Azzi, impossibly hot. She could see Azzi’s eyes, in the low light, lingering on her arms, on her mouth, on the fierce set of her jaw.

 Azzi was getting distracted, and Paige suddenly realized she was too.

Paige’s voice dropped to a lower, the argument slipping away, replaced by a challenge she couldn’t resist. “So you’re a big girl, right? You’re a big, responsible girl who doesn’t need my help, and I’m not a responsible adult. Okay. So what are you going to do if I turn off the light right now?”

Azzi blinked, her eyes wide. “Paige, don’t—”

But Paige had already reached out, her fingers finding the switch.

The tent went pitch black.

The air mattress shifts, and suddenly there’s a warm weight on top of her and soft lips covering hers.

Their faces bump together slightly as Paige’s arms jostle the bed, and it’s dark, so Paige actually kisses somewhere closer to her chin the first time. 

But in the few seconds after, when their breaths are mingling and Paige’s eyes are still closed, her body seems to realize exactly what’s happening. Every nerve comes to life, urging her to pull Paige closer and not let her go, so she slips a hand around to the base of Paige’s neck, puts her knee up to bracket Paige’s hips, and pulls her back down.

The second kiss is magic.

Paige’s hair falls around them, blocking out what little moonlight is diffusing through the tent, and she’s surrounded by the sweet smell of her. Paige presses perfectly against her, a hipbone hitting the most wonderful spot as their chests rub together, and her lips. Her lips. 

They part for air, and Azzi arches up to eliminate the space between their bodies, and Paige lets out a tiny, broken whimper.

“Oh,” She breathes and Azzi drinks it in, tilting her head to deepen their kisses, and then Paige engulfs her like a wildfire.

Like a switch has been flipped, Paige is everywhere at once. Their kisses become hot and open, her hips starting up a steady grind, and she props herself up with one arm while gripping Azzi’s hip with the other.

It’s overwhelming, and suddenly the tent is stiflingly hot. The shower she took earlier did very little to wash off the grossness of being in the woods for the weekend, but Paige somehow still smells amazing, and she tastes so good, and instead of worrying about how thoroughly she’s washed, Azzi loses herself to the rocking motion of their bodies.

She pulls Paige back down, wrapping a leg around her waist, and leaves it up to the universe.

There are moments that are awkward, the mattress is so bouncy that their faces bump together sometimes, and it’s hard for Paige to hold back her strength not having as much muscle mass as Azzi, but it’s so, so good. 

Paige doesn’t even take the time to try to remove their clothes and Azzi’s shirt gets rucked up over her breasts and her bra is pulled down unceremoniously so that Paige can play with her nipples, and she’s eager and a little bit clumsy but it’s more than enough.

When she finally pulls down Azzi’s pyjamas enough to slip her hand inside, Azzi can hear the slick sounds her fingers make as they make contact with her cunt. She’s so wet that she can hear it, and she knows that Paige can hear it, and Paige is whimpering before she’s even been inside her, oh god, Paige is going to be inside her, and it’s all so much 

“Tell me how you want it baby” Paige pants into her neck, slipping two fingers through the wetness between her thighs with little finesse but a lot of enthusiasm. “Tell me” They slip over Azzi’s clit by accident, and she twitches like a live wire. Paige does it again, rubbing broad strokes, and Azzi is pretty sure she’s not going to need much instruction at this rate.

“Two fingers inside, and your thumb fuck!”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, because suddenly there are two long digits nestled inside her and Paige’s thumb is resting against her clit.

“Like this?” She whispers, her voice trembling, and Azzi whines.

“God, yes,  move your hand”

Eager to please, Paige obeys. 

Her fingers slip out almost all the way before plunging back in, and it’s good, but it’s just slightly off, the darkness taking a tool on their effectiveness. Normally Azzi would be quieter, let her partner figure it out on their own, but Paige seems to crave the direction. So she pants into Paige’s ear, adjusting her hips.

“Not like..don’t pull out so much, do shallow – fuck, yes, just like that!” She gasps, tangling a hand in Paige’s hair and tugging hard as Paige switches to shorter, deeper thrusts. At Azzi’s enthusiastic response she speeds up, her hand like a piston, every harsh movement bringing her closer, and Azzi can barely think past how good it feels.

Paige is also very clearly enjoying this as much as Azzi. She’s whining in little puffs of air against Azzi’s collar as she fucks her, and Azzi wants to touch her so badly, but she doesn’t want to startle her into losing control when she’s clearly so close to losing it as it is.

And it’s clear that she is, every muscle is tense, one hand working magic inside Azzi and the other tightly clenching a pillow above her head. She makes desperate noises, whispers things into Azzi’s skin that are intoxicating.

 She murmurs about how beautiful Azzi is, how it feels to be making her feel good, how she can’t wait until –

“Can’t wait until what?” She pants, her voice high and breathy, and Paige groans, speeding her hand up.

“Until I can’t wait until –“

“Tell me.” Azzi demands, and Paige breaks.

“I can’t wait until you come for me, Azzi, I want to feel it, on my hand, on - on my fingers”

And that, apparently, is all it takes. Paige leaves a few circles over her nipple and keeps up her savage pace, and her words hit Azzi at the core of her, down to the quick. That tight, simmering feeling starts to expand, and Azzi’s toes curl in the flannel fabric of the blankets as her back arches.

When she comes, it’s with Paige’s fingers curling sweetly inside her and Paige’s voice in her ear, the salty taste of her skin on Azzi’s tongue and the smell of her hair surrounding them. It draws out longer than usual, Paige still moving her hand with intent, but finally Azzi has to tap out.

“Stop, stop, fuck, I can’t –“ She gasps, tugging Paige’s tangled hair. Paige stops immediately, propping herself up and peering down at her.

“Enjoy yourself mama?”

The question is absolutely absurd, from her side of things.

“You have no idea.” She manages to groan, slinging an arm over her face. It’s partially to give her a few moments to collect herself, and partly because Paige’s gaze is too intense.

Instead she slides a hand down to Paige’s waistband, pulling at it with questing fingers.

“Can I touch you?”

“Go easy” She asks, and Azzi nods.

“Nice and easy, and can you tell me if it’s too much?”

Swallowing, Paige agrees. “Okay.” Immediately Azzi pushes on Paige’s chest gently, until she follows her lead and rolls over onto her back.

“I’m going to take your pants off, okay?” She warns, and Paige nods vigorously, lifting her hips.

Bare. Paige isn’t wearing underwear, and Azzi is staring at the shiny wetness that’s smeared across her thighs, wetness caused by Azzi, she’s wet because of me, and suddenly, the only important thought in her head is taste. Spreading Paige’s legs slowly, she wiggles down the mattress until she’s inches from her clit.

“Is this okay?” She murmurs, reining in the almost overwhelming instinct to have her mouth on Paige right now to make sure she’s feeling comfortable. Paige’s eyes are wide, her mouth open, her chest heaving. Her hand twitches, and she anchors it to her own abdomen.

“Just, slow?”

She nods, lowering her head.

Azzi doesn’t go for her clit right away, she kisses and nips at her thighs, tasting the slick there and trying to keep her pathetic moans at the flavour to a minimum. She makes her way closer to Paige’s center, swirling her tongue slowly all the way, until she finally spreads her open slightly with her fingers.

It’s dark, but she can still see everything she needs to, she runs her tongue around the edges of it, into every fold, tasting and teasing softly. She dips inside her a few times, reveling in the still-abundant wetness there.

Paige’s hips twitch and quiver, but she stays in control of her movements. It doesn't take long until Paige taps on the mattress.

“I’m close“ She gasps, starting to close her legs. The tent is filled with a symphony of both their moans, Paige arches up, her voice cracking as she chokes out Azzi’s name.

As Paige comes back down to earth, catching her breath and almost dropping Azzi from the mattress as she flops back from her arched position.

As they lay together, their bodies slowly cooling and Paige stroking her shoulder, Azzi hears a loud voice in the distance. It comes from a few sites over, at least, probably one of the teenagers they passed yesterday, by the pitch of her voice.

“Finally! For god’s sake, get a room!”

In her post-coital high, rather than being embarrassing, the clear indication that they’ve disrupted half the campground with their romp just makes her laugh. She starts to giggle, and she feels Paige’s chest rumble underneath her as well.

Azzi’s bra is still askew, and her pants are nowhere to be found, and Paige is in a similar state of sweaty disarray, and it’s pretty much perfect.

“Your clothes are still all over the place” Paige says again playfully 

“And whose fault is that, huh Bueckers?”

[stargazsblog]

I CAN SEE YOU ──꒰✉️꒱ ❞ ‧₊˚

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ clark kent x fem!reader

꣑ৎ you and clark have been secretly dating for three months. no touching, barley talking at work. so why does it feel like everyone knows?

꣑ৎ now playing - i can see you by taylor swift

tag/warnings: fluff, swearing, making out

note: KITCHEN SCENE!!!!! i know i am a little late on this but i just watched superman a week ago and oh my god i love it sm

Working with Clark is probably the most stressful thing ever. Not because he’s difficult—he’s actually the sweetest person in the office. Always kind, always helpful, always handsome.

Which makes it even worse.

Because you’re dating him. Secretly.

And if you told anyone that, no one would believe you. You two barely even look at each other during work hours. He treats you like any other coworker—polite, distant, professional. And you’ve gotten pretty good at pretending you don’t stare every time he rolls up his sleeves or adjusts his glasses.

But now? Now it’s been three months. Three months of pretending you don’t notice him when he walks past your desk with his tie slightly loosened and a coffee in each hand—only placing one on Lois’s desk.

Three months of pretending you’re not dating the guy who texts you goodnight with terrible emojis and kisses your forehead like he’s scared he’ll break you.

And somehow, it still feels like everyone knows.

Maybe it’s the way Jimmy gives you a look every time Clark walks by. Or how Lois asked—very casually—if there’s someone special in your life. Or how Clark, bless him, keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one’s looking.

Working with Clark Kent is exhausting.

You don’t see Clark, but you know he’s late. Again.

You’re standing by the printer near his desk, waiting for your files to finish printing. It’s the closest you’ve been to his chair all week, and it still feels too close. He’s usually already here by now—tie straight, glasses slightly fogged from the rush in. But today, his desk is empty.

Or… it was.

While you’re focused on the machine slowly spitting out paper, you don’t notice him quietly slipping in behind you. You only hear the sound of his bag hitting the floor.

“So this guy flew into Midtown and started attacking people, demanding Superman show up?” Lois says, her voice sharp and curious.

You freeze, your hand hovering over the warm stack of papers. You don’t turn around. You can’t. You already know exactly what they’re talking about. Clark had come to you right after—scuffed up, hair messy, eyes tired. He held you for a long time and whispered, “I’m okay.”

Now he’s here, in clean clothes and calm glasses, like none of it happened.

“Yeah,” Clark replies easily. “It’s all there in my article.”

You can’t help it—your lips twitch into a small smile. His voice is warm, smooth, and steady. Totally unbothered. Like he hadn’t just saved the world again.

You force your attention back to your papers, trying to ignore the twist of jealousy in your stomach. Lois is always talking to him. Laughing with him. She has no idea.

You’ve just collected the last page when you hear someone call your name.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn instinctively—and freeze.

Jimmy’s smiling at you from across the room. So is Lois. And so is Clark.

All three of them are watching you, but it’s Clark’s eyes you notice first. There’s a flicker of something behind his glasses. That soft, familiar look he gives you when no one else is around. The one that says, I see you.

You swallow hard, cheeks warming. You pray no one notices.

“Uh—yeah?” you say, pretending like your heart isn’t racing.

Jimmy grins and waves you over. “We were just talking about the Superman situation. You saw it, right?”

You nod slowly, trying not to look at Clark. “Yeah. I saw some stuff online this morning.”

“Total chaos,” Lois adds, crossing her arms. “Guy shows up out of nowhere, starts attacking people.”

Jimmy leans forward, eyes lighting up. “So what do you think of him, Y/N? Superman, I mean.”

Your brain short-circuits. You know they’re just making conversation, but suddenly it feels like the room is too bright, too quiet, like Clark’s staring straight through you.

What do you think of Superman?

You think he’s brave. You think he’s gentle. You think he makes you pancakes at 2 a.m. and wraps you in his arms like you’re the most important person in the universe.

But you can’t say any of that.

So you shrug, and hope your smile doesn’t look as nervous as it feels.

“I mean, he’s cool. I guess?” you say, casually, maybe too casually.

Clark lets out a soft chuckle behind you. Just one little laugh—but you hear it loud and clear.

“Just cool?” Jimmy raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this.

You blink, flustered. “I mean—do you want me to stand here and praise him for what he does?” you say, half-laughing. “He’s Superman. He’s already got enough fan clubs.”

Lois smirks. “So you’re not a fan?”

“I didn’t say that!” you rush to add. “I just—he’s fine. He does good things. Very… heroic.”

You feel Clark’s eyes on you. You know he’s trying not to smile.

Jimmy grins like he’s cracked some secret code. “You’re totally hiding a crush.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No. Nope. Not at all.”

“Okay, okay,” Lois says, waving it off, “let her live. We’ve all got our opinions.”

You mutter something about needing to get back to work and shuffle away, heat blooming across your cheeks. You don’t dare look at Clark as you pass him—but he leans in just slightly as you go by and murmurs, barely audible:

“Just cool, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. But your smile gives you away.

Your hair’s a mess, your shirt’s half-unbuttoned, and your bag is slipping off your arm. You don’t even bother turning on the lights as you shut the door behind you with your foot and toss your keys somewhere near the counter.

You drag yourself into the kitchen, already reaching for the fridge.

You let out a loud scream.

“Holy shit, Clark!”

Because there he is. In your kitchen. Like it’s totally normal. Shirt sleeves rolled up, glasses off, standing barefoot in front of the stove like he hasn’t just scared ten years off your life.

He glances over his shoulder, completely calm. “Hey.”

“Babe, next time text me you’re coming,” you say, hand still pressed to your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says as he turns off the stove and walks toward you, warm and soft in every movement. “I just know how stressed you’ve been lately, so I wanted to make your favorite—breakfast for dinner.”

You set your bag down and walk toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“That’s your favorite,” you reply.

He grins, dimples and all—those dimples.

“No… last time I checked, you love breakfast for dinner,” he teases, slipping his arms around your waist.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders with a quiet laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re adorable,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you, soft and slow like he has all the time in the world.

Then, without warning, he picks you up effortlessly and sets you on the kitchen counter. You squeak a little, grinning against his lips.

“I thought you were tired,” he says, voice low and amused.

“I was. Then you showed up looking like this,” you tease, tugging playfully at his rolled sleeves.

Clark lets out a hum and starts kissing your neck, slow and deliberate, like he has nowhere else to be but here with you.

“You know,” he whispers between kisses, his lips brushing just under your jaw, “I think we’re doing pretty good at hiding our relationship.”

“You think?” you breathe out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Pretty sure your friends have been looking at me weird.”

He smiles against your skin. “Let them look.”

His hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming your waist. “They don’t know anything.”

You tilt your head back slightly, giving him more access, your voice barely a whisper. “They know something.”

Clark pulls back just enough to meet your eyes—dark, soft, and burning with something heavy. “Do you want to stop?”

Your pulse stutters. “No.”

His mouth meets yours, deeper this time, and when he lifts you off the counter and starts walking you toward the bedroom, you forget about Jimmy, Lois,—everything except him.

The newsroom hums with the usual clatter — phones ringing, typing, someone arguing near the printers. You step off the elevator, pretending like everything’s normal. Like you didn’t spend the night in Clark’s arms. Like your shirt doesn’t still smell faintly like his cologne.

Clark walks in behind you, a minute later. Casual. Professional. His tie’s slightly crooked.

You brush past each other in the hallway. Barely. Not even enough for anyone to notice—

Except Jimmy.

Jimmy, sitting at his desk with a half-eaten bagel, tracks the interaction like he’s watching a spy movie. His eyes squint. He leans over toward Lois, lowering his voice like he’s about to break the biggest story of the year.

“How long have they been dating?” he asks.

Lois doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even glance away from her computer.

“Three months.”

Jimmy chokes on his bite. “Wait, what?! You knew?!”

Lois finally looks up, unimpressed. “Jimmy. Please. Clark literally smiles now. He’s writing down his so-called funny jokes and he’s wearing cologne. You think he does that for himself?”

Jimmy blinks, stunned. “I thought he was just… glowing.”

Lois rolls her eyes and goes back to typing. “He’s in love, not radioactive.”

[matt-murdockk]

HEYYY!! Godspeed on your semester <33!! You got this. 🫶🏼

Fic idea: Reader is Reid’s roommate and is pretty laid-back (easily mistaken for a slacker because they don’t take on rigorous tasks often) and stumbles across a stumped Reid who’s trying to solve a case. Very casually Reader makes an insane prediction, and Reid learns that they’re basically a genius… who doesn’t really know they’re a genius?? (Because when they think “genius” the reader usually thinks of nerdy and scrawny people like Reid)

I hope that makes sense vro 💔💔

Baby you have been in my inbox for a MONTH i am so sorry i hope you like it 🥀

Lazy

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader words: 1.2k warnings: Language summary: You, a chronically underachieving genius accidentally solve an active FBI case over takeout and crime scene photos. Spencer Reid blurts out an "I love you" before sprinting out the door in mismatched socks. a/n: fluffity fluff in the end for a little bit hehe <3

Truth be told, you hated that word. Lazy. You preferred efficient. Your 9-to-5 was soul sucking, much like any other 9-to-5, so you did the only thing you could to make sure this job doesn't eat you alive— the bare fucking minimum.

A report due by 5? Alright, it'll be on the desk at 5, not a minute sooner, and not a minute later. A task needs doing? Oh, it'll be done. Flawlessly, in fact. But that's it. No fanfare, no extras, exactly what is required, nothing more. Meetings? You speak only when necessary. Deadlines? Met to the second. No matter how convoluted the problem or the task, you found the cleanest, simplest way through.

You did just the right amount, never showed your true potential, and it never raised any questions. If you asked your coworkers, they'd say you were a joy to be around. With your social capital? You were never getting fired. It was the perfect ruse.

But when you reached home with takeout, took your shoes off at the end of the day, you left your job along with them at the doorstep of your house. 5-to-9 is your time. And no one was taking that away from you. Alright, maybe one person was taking that away from you. But truth be told, you didn't really complain.

Spencer Reid was an enigma. Living with him was never dull, be it because he was actually, quite literally, the best flatmate a person could ask for in all thinkable ways, or because he challenged you the way you liked best— intellectually. Today was apparently a latter kind of day.

"Reid-o. What's got you all worked up?"

"Reid-o?" he asked, looking up from the papers strewn about his desk.

"Term of endearment. You didn't answer my question."

The first thing you noticed after coming home was the pair of Converse that were clearly taken off in a hurry and left there haphazardly. The living room smelled of the strongest espresso in all of land, like a truck of coffee had decided to explode in your house, of all places. The room was relatively dark, except for the lamp burning over the desk where he was huddled over. He was so engrossed in whatever he was doing that he hadn't even noticed you come home. Ergo, he was stressed.

A heavy sigh, one hand running through his hair. You made a mental note of his stress level: medium-high. A few more hours of this and he’d either fall asleep at his desk or start quoting obscure philosophers.

"It's this case," he admitted finally, his voice sounding almost defeated. "I have been poring over the case files and the crime scene photos, and the interviews for hours, and I have basically no pattern or connection between any of the victims. So, how was your day?"

"Better than yours," you scoffed, "Can I have a look?"

“I thought you hated this stuff.”

“I hate paperwork and bureaucracy. Big difference.”

He hesitated, then pushed the files toward you, still half sceptical. “They’re all women, different ages, different occupations. Killed two days apart. Same method, no evidence left behind, nothing to tie them together. We’re missing something.”

You skimmed through the reports, flipping through pages with zero urgency. You tapped your finger on the crime scene photos, brows slightly furrowed at the gore; they were crime scene photos, after all. But you kept your focus on just the crime scene. Just the way it was staged. You tapped your finger on the last photo, humming thoughtfully.

“How did he get in?” you asked.

Spencer sighed again. “We don’t know. That’s part of the problem. No signs of forced entry, no tampering, no secondary footprints, nothing on any of the security footage. Just the victims entering their homes alone, like normal.”

“No delivery men, no dates, no door dash?”

“Nothing. Clean. Like no one else was ever there.”

You tilted your head, squinting at the arrangement of one of the living rooms. “Alright. So, let’s say the footage is legit, no one else enters or leaves the premises. The simplest explanation?”

He gave you a look. “Occam’s Razor?”

“Exactly. The simplest explanation is that no one entered because they were already inside.”

He blinked. “You’re saying the unsub was—”

“Already in the house. Yeah.”

“That would mean... he snuck in before the victims got home. Hid. Waited. Killed them. Then left... somehow.”

“Without triggering a single alarm or camera. Meaning either the cameras were looped at just the right time— which you’re saying they weren’t— or he never walked past them to begin with.”

Spencer stood now, pacing a little. “But how? Every entry point was covered.”

You leaned back into the couch, arms crossed. “Then maybe we’re not thinking three-dimensionally enough. You need to look at the architectural plans. House blueprints. Vents, crawlspaces, dumbwaiters, hell, even hollow walls. If he’s getting in and out without being seen, it’s because he’s not using the doors. Or windows.”

Spencer froze mid-step, then slowly turned to you, eyes wide.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “Oh my god.”

“What? Did you get something?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Spencer blinked, still stunned, like the gears in his mind had just snapped into overdrive.

“The houses, every single one of the victims’ homes, were renovated within the last year,” he said, more to himself than to you, “That’s why we didn’t consider construction anomalies. We assumed standard layouts, but what if— what if they all used the same contractor?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think the unsub is the person who remodeled their houses?”

“Or someone connected to the company. Maybe he installed hidden access points, crawlspaces, false walls, and vent systems wide enough to move through. Places where someone could hide for days.”

He rushed back to the files, flipping through them like a man possessed. “This would explain everything— the lack of evidence, the absence of footage, the precision in timing...”

He looked up suddenly, eyes shining like the sun just rose inside his skull.

“Did you know you’re a genius?”

You smirked, stretching your arms behind your head. “I have my days.”

“No, no, I’m serious.” He was talking fast now, gathering files, tugging his coat from the back of his chair. “You just cracked the entire case with, like, three questions.”

"Guess I've lived with you long enough for it to rub off on me, huh?"

He laughed at that, face serious for a split second. “You’re incredible.”

That actually made your stomach flip. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

“I gotta go,” he muttered suddenly, stuffing folders into his messenger bag hurriedly like he was trying to stop them from escaping, “Hotch needs to see this now. But, oh my god, I love you so much right now.”

And before you could even react, he leaned over, pressed a quick, distracted kiss to your cheek, and bolted out the door, his shoes half on.

You sat there, stunned.

“…Cool,” you mumbled, touching your cheek where his lips had been a moment ago.

[astonmartinii]

let me at em' | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem albon reader

alex’s sister goes on love island and has a horrible time… good thing there’s someone waiting who knows how to treat her

MASTERLIST | OSCAR PIASTRI MASTERLIST

loveisland

liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 302,099 others

tagged: yourusername

loveisland: meet another one of the new islanders! y/n albon is a fashion designer from london… and yes she is the baby sister of formula one driver alex albon!

view all comments

user1: finally some good fucking casting for love island

user2: i mean she looks good but like is she going to be good tv?

user3: i’ve just deepdived on her tiktok and it seems like she makes her brother’s life hell when he’s with her

user4: f1 fans know she’s an icon and a menace

alexalbon: take care of my baby sister itv or else

alexalbon: i’d threaten you with lawyers but i’m the broke f1 driver

maxverstappen1: you can have mine!

alexalbon: thank you max

alexalbon: let any crusty man fuck with my sister and you’ll have max verstappen’s lawyers to deal with

user5: can the f1 fans like fill us in on her personality and stuff!!!!

user6: she’s very much like alex in that she’s very playful but also very sarcastic - she’s close to a lot of the grid, having known a lot of them for a very very long time!

user7: oh she’s such a lovergirl it’s insane

user8: her last relationship was so cute on her side, like she’s very much a gift giving person and puts everything into the relationship - you can tell because she was destroyed by the breakup

user9: ^^ this makes me a little scared because love island do not have a good track record with men who treat women right

user10: i am not looking forward to them fumbling her - especially when they find out who she’s connected to

user11: i hope she keeps her brother to herself so none of the boys try and take advantage

alexalbon: can yall stop you’re freaking me THE FUCK OUT

alexalbon

liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 520,045 others

tagged: yourusername

alexalbon: me watching crusty, dusty and musty men treat my sister like trash

view all comments

user16: we need a PROPER gentleman bombshell in there right fucking now

user17: i feel so bad watching her cry… i can’t imagine how it feels with her being your actual family

user18: production need to be doing WAY more in my opinion

georgerussell63: it’s nearly over alex, don’t worry

alexalbon: IT SHOULD BE OVER NOW

alexalbon: she should legally be allowed to beat their asses

alexalbon: if i see one of them laughing about her while she’s crying again i WILL lose my shit

georgerussell63: let’s go back to the dart board buddy

user19: the … DARTS BOARD?

georgerussell63: he’s got a darts board set up with print outs of the the boys fucking with y/n and he’s been throwing darts at their faces for hours

user20: anyone else think this is a bit too far?

alexalbon: they deserve worse for what they’ve done to y/n

lando: slay

oscarpiastri: speak on it

lando: why are you in family business?

oscarpiastri: can i not be angry on y/n’s behalf?

lando: angry for y/n or angry at the boys for having a chance with her?

oscarpiastri: ERM?

lando: shut up we all know you’ve got a big fat crush on her

oscarpiastri: LANDO THIS IS NOT ALEX’S PRIVATE ACCOUNT???

lando: i know!

alexalbon: honestly can mclaren lend you to itv???

oscarpiastri: kinda have a world championship to win?

alexalbon: oh so you don’t want a chance with y/n?

oscarpiastri: i’ll let her make her decision

user21: too much happened in this comment section

user22: and yet i need even more

loveislandnews

liked by user23, user24 and 31,049 others

tagged: yourusername & loveisland

loveislandnews: there were over 48,000 complaints to ofcom last night over the treatment of y/n albon in the love island villa. since arriving in the villa, y/n has been verbally picked at by all of the male contestants, has been manipulated in a love triangle and has been isolated from nearly all of the girls and in the last couple of episodes has only been shown crying and being alone.

view all comments

user25: the producers have really let her down this season

user26: all the fuss about them being better since the past and they’ve let this bullying go all season

user27: kinda crazy since y/n brought such a big audience this season

user28: i say we let ALL of the albon pets in for family day so they can BITE THEIR ANKLES

albon_pets: don’t give us an idea

user29: i think it’s fair game after the boys laughed at the names of you guys

user30: we should’ve known they were bad news at the first old cat lady joke

user31: i mean is it really that deep because a load of f1 drivers make that joke about her all the time and she gladly laughs then

user32: baby girl it’s all about intention - they love her love for her cats, these boys genuinely couldn’t give a fuck

this comment was liked by oscarpiastri

user33: i’m sorry why is oscar piastri lurking in love island news instagram comments

lando: he’s checking in on his boo thang

oscarpiastri: she’s not my boo thang?!

user34: but if you hadn’t have been a pussy she would’ve been and NONE OF THIS NONSENSE WOULDVE HAPPENED

alexalbon: they make a compelling point oscar

alexalbon: that’s it you’re being added to the darts board

oscarpiastri: ???? WHY ???

oscarpiastri: you guys are all saying this like it was a done deal she doesn’t even like me hence why she WENT ON LOVE ISLAND

user35: tbf even i know that’s bullshit because that girl LIGHTS up when she talks about oscar - even on love island

alexalbon: see !!!!

oscarpiastri: i am really not comfortable with you guys all speaking for y/n - it’s her place to reject me not you guys

oscarpiastri: now can we all please delete these comments PR are blowing up my phone

user36: how can we do the tweet challenge just with this whole exchange

user37: i know ian stirling has the NASTIEST joke lined up for this situation

user38: don’t let this tomfoolery distract you from the fact that these men have absolutely destroyed this girl - i don’t think we’ve seen her smile in episodes

oscarpiastri: they need to die

user39: i thought PR was on your ass

oscarpiastri: but this needed to be said

oscarpiastri: they can’t silence the TRUTH

f1

liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 1,983,920 others

tagged: yourusername & alexalbon

f1: a hot new bombshell has hit the paddock

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user41: oh look how she’s GLOWING already

user42: it really was them and NOT her

user43: we been known

user44: the way oscar was in the likes before me… does he just have a sixth sense for y/n content

alexalbon: idk does he ? @ oscar piastri

oscarpiastri: woah it was bad enough baiting me out when she had no access to her phone but i know she’s back to at least 14 hours of screentime

yourusername: is it allowed when most of the hours were on facetime to you?

alexalbon: exsqueeze me

yourusername: we had to catch up on the hot gossip

lando: they were shit talking me real loud

oscarpiastri: no ?

yourusername: and fucking what

lando: nothing!

yourusername: exactlyyyyyyy

user45: she’s making fun of lando again she’s got her spark back

user46: she looked very, very happy to be by the mclaren garage

alexalbon: she’s such a loser omg

user47: so how is this any different to what the boys in the villa said?

yourusername: that’s my brother bozo not a random electrician with a hair transplant and misogyny problems

maxverstappen1: i’m bored and the car is shit so like oscar can you make a move i wanna watch something 🍿

oscarpiastri: MAX?

maxverstappen1: bro that girl is just as pathetic as you

maxverstappen1: she basically went on a dating show just to get your attention

yourusername: THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED?

maxverstappen1: but you were pining once you were in there and you realised that 99% of the male population are not as good as oscar piastri

oscarpiastri: i am right here!

yourusername: you guys are both meant to be getting ready to get in the car???

maxverstappen1: you can’t avoid this forever….

user48: why am i in the same trenches as max rn

alexalbon: they’re freakishly bonded… they’ve got a 700 day streak on duolingo and she treats their text thread like a diary

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, maxverstappen1 and 1,458,304 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: i heard that i had an admirer on the outside

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user49: OMG THEY’RE SO CUTE

user50: why did i have to suffer through her being tortured on love fucking island if we knew the whole time these idiots liked each other

alexalbon: THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING

yourusername: have you guys considered i needed to kiss a couple frogs to get my prince

alexalbon: gross

oscarpiastri: my patience payed off - i’ve got myself a queen :3

loveislandboy: rude?

oscarpiastri: i actually think you should cease to exist

loveislandboy: excuse me?

yourusername: gosh that’s so hot

maxverstappen1: i am so happy for you guys… they grow up so fast

georgerussell63: idk who you think you are max but as her other brother i am HAPPIER for her

oscarpiastri: and not me?

georgerussell63: be quiet oscar, max and i are arguing here

maxverstappen1: put your duolingo streak on the table bozo

georgerussell63: well only one of us were asked to go in for the family and friends episode

maxverstappen1: oh he doesn’t know…

yourusername: max don’t !!!!!!!

georgerussell63: what?

maxverstappen1: there never was an invite

georgerussell63: i can literally show you the email rn

alexalbon: max….

maxverstappen1: it’s not real LOL

maxverstappen1: alex, oscar and i got asked and we didn’t want you to get your feelings hurt

georgerussell63: BLASPHEMY

user52: i’m crying - y/n was going through psychological torture but they had to fabricate an email to placate george

alexalbon: let’s just say both i and itv were glad when y/n tapped out before the episode

oscarpiastri: anyway…

oscarpiastri: i do admire you… a lot… too much

oscarpiastri: actually i don’t think i can admire you TOO much

yourusername: you’re the cutest ever omg

yourusername: i admire you too

yourusername: if my ramblings weren’t making me obvious enough

oscarpiastri: dinner after the race…?

yourusername: only if i get dessert afterwards

alexalbon: GRIM.

oscarpiastri

liked by alexalbon, maxverstappen1 and 3,209,493 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: get your ‘i told you so’s out now i’ve got a date with a girl who’s just my type on paper

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user53: bro getting all big for his boots now he got gentle-parent-ed to asking out a girl

user54: he’s such a virgin loser

yourusername: gOOD

yourusername: i don’t want anyone else to have touched him

oscarpiastri: yes ma’am

user55: oh so he really as pathetic as they said

yourusername: i didn’t lie when i said my type was pathetic on love island

lando: you gonna take that bro?

oscarpiastri: yes? highest compliment in my opinion

alexalbon: i think i’m allowed to say i told you so for the rest of my life

alexalbon: even during a best man speech…

logansargeant: woah … stealing my car that one time wasn’t enough for you? you gotta steal being best man too?

oscarpiastri: we’re talking weddings already?

yourusername: you don’t want to marry me?

oscarpiastri: I DO !!!!!!!

yourusername: say the words baby

alexalbon: gosh you guys are gross

yourusername: bruv i saw the pics of you crying over how i was treated in the villa… i know you’re happy really

alexalbon: i am!!! but like surely me and lily aren’t this annoying …

yourusername: whatever you wanna hear babe

lando: bro my culture is not your costume

yourusername: i knew you got a hair transplant

lando: no ???

oscarpiastri: so that’s why you’re always ‘exploring a connection’

lando: why has he started talking back to me?

oscarpiastri: i fought the love island demons - i can fight you too

yourusername: let me be your ring girl xxxx

user56: so they’ve just always been like this? and they kept it from us?

yourusername: it’s called we were both horribly pining and didn’t want to embarrass ourselves… so i went on love island and embarrassed myself

oscarpiastri: no - you’re the purest of heart and they didn’t deserve you - thank god

yourusername: UGH I LOVE YOU

oscarpiastri: i love you too :3

user56: way to flex on me thanks guys

fin.

note: it be like that... i'm celebrating summer break :((((