#or when they have to go back and fix things

[plumadesatada]

there is new math to learn! more physics! more chemistry! science is poetry!

ANYONE!! QUICK GIMME A REASON YOU LIKE BEING ALIVE :3

[tojisteddy]

What More Can I Say?

“You’re hurting me baby, you don’t know what it feels like.”

or: Simon is overly stressed from the everyday pressures of life and accidentally lets it out on you.

cw: 4.8k words, 18+ mdni, angst then fluff, no use of y/n, encounter with ex (not bad), fight with Simon, established relationship, miscommunication, cursing, reader! doubts themselves/ retreats into themselves, Simon being an asshole, meanie!simon, (if you squint) very lite dd/lg themes, inspo songs.

a/n: I’ve been working on this request since May, going back and forth on this. this is my final submission.

You are, in every singular way imaginable, the one person on this planet Simon cherishes the most.

And it’s not like you tried your hardest to get in his good graces. you just, fell from Heaven. You must have. A stray who looked up at him with such alluring eyes, the only option was to take you in. Learn to love just how a man should.

He hadn’t properly cared about anyone, not since his younger brother Tommy died. Of course, he cared for the other members in the 141, John was like a father to him, a proper mentor. And Johnny and Kyle were like having two twin brothers who got into mischief.

But there was something about you, something that made him want to take care of you, love you for exactly what you are— his lovely doll and his alone. His baby girl.

Couldnt get enough of you, had to have you in arms length if you went out, and the man knew you loved to dance. He wouldn’t stop you, just needed to feel you once, feel your tension roll away, melt in his arms. Even if he babied you in your tipsy state.

Or maybe when your talked about your favorite movie or artists, rambled on and on about the new winter/fall collections you liked, you’d stop mid conversation, see if he was there because you were used to people drowning you out when you got boring. But his hand would come to caress your nape, gently caressing it with his thumb, that look in low look in his brown eyes that made you feel like you could move mountains single handedly, “Keep goin,” he’d murmur, all but fixated on your pretty face, your eloquent voice, the little stutters from your heart pounding here and there.

And it always does the trick, knowing hes there for you. The little encouragement even when he didn’t talk as much as your past partners, that sweet look of admiration that swirled in his warm brown eyes as he looked at you, making you dinner, taking his large hand in yours and kissing it, using any excuse to see you on his lunch break. “I had a bit ‘f time ‘s all.”

Yeah, sure. Just to see that unconvinced beautiful smile, leaning against the wall of your work place and taking the lunch he ordered for you.

You weren’t a stressor, you were everything to Simon.

It’s just— life can be a pain in the ass. Maybe too much of a pain in the ass. So much so it created a tension under the Riley household.

A big mixture of everything— the stress of his job and the lower ranks lacking on missions, the leak in the roof he didn’t have time to get up there and fix, the floorboard that kept squeaking every time Simon would step into the dogs room on the base floor, he’d replaced it once before and yet it still squeaked. Then you, His loveable Angel, you. Through the mess of it all, he just wasn’t seeing eye to eye with you. Unable to see you through the fog of bullshit. And maybe the irritation of the things he couldn't control in the moment poured into the situation, into your loving home.

He wasn’t one for many words, always been that way. A nod is sufficient enough some days, clean cut direction is better on others, a dad joke on the easiest (or worst) days. And the blonde always made the biggest effort to be clear but gentle with you, even if the words came out more harsh than he meant to. You could understand the gist of it.

But lately, he doesn’t know what to say, or maybe he’s tired of all of the words he needs to be using. And you’re no mind reader, he knows that. Maybe it’d be clear to him if he started fucking acting like it.

It’s not like you or him meant for it to get to this point.

It’s just a quick storm passing through, just rain. But one slick comment lead to another, and a sarcastic reply to follow.

A yelling match.

It’s not just a breeze or drizzle, it’s the tornado, a whirlwind of anger and frustration. It’s annoyance and lack of communication.

Simon’s voice was loud, deep and yet, it’s the lightning. It strikes and pains even when it has no knowledge of it doing so, and hits every nook and cranny of the walls of the room. You are the thunder, furious and wild, willing to get loud if need me, raise your voice louder than you thought you could. Trying to understand where it went wrong, where it could be fixed. If it could be fixed. Pointing two fingers at him from where you sat at the kitchen table like a gun, saying some rebuttal you couldn’t even bother to remember, because it was stupid for him to yell at you like some- like some-

“If you want to bitch all night about the fucking laundry, go do that fucking else where! There are thousands of bitches that would give enough of a fuck about that, I’m so sure Simon!”

“It’s not just the fuckin laundry [+]-“

“—Then I should wait on you hand and foot to find out, on my knees and ask you word for word what you want-“

“— It’s like you’re ignorin the things I’m fucking sayin and purposely forgetting. ‘M asking you bare minimum. Don’t you realize I have my own shit to take care of?”

“So do I, but I’m not being so damn self centered about it! I’m trying to understand. But you don’t even wanna talk about it—“ You shake your head, sarcastic chuckle leaving your throat, “this fucking stupid, this is stupid.”

It only makes him more angry, bitter, “Me putting up with your shit is stupid. Me having to play your therapist when you can’t control yourself for once is stupid!”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not a fucking child Simon. I’m asking for you to be in a relationship with me! Care about the simple shit with me! Why can’t I get a little grace, just like I give you?!”

And he snaps, more than before, he yells, “So I have to look after you every second of the day? Are a fuckin needy bitch [+]?! Is that it!?” He stops for a beat, lightning striking, and it lands— “It’s never just one thing, it piles on to your bullshit. Fuck me, you can never do shit for yourself, can you?”

Maybe that’s what hurt, above all the other shit said tonight, that’s what takes you back. Makes you feel much smaller than you actually are, what you try to present yourself to be. Back to your ex’s, back to being the child who wanted to prove something to everyone in the family- to your siblings, to your mother— your deadbeat father.

It’s a late reaction but you flinch, shoulders slouching, defeated.

“It’s needy for me to want you to not ignore me?” Your voice is shaky, it’s practically a squeak. A question asked in disbelief.

“O-Or ask you for your opinion for the things that go on in my life? Or wanting to confide in you or wanting you to be able to confide in me?”

You want to laugh, but you don’t have the room for it, the strength for it. And you search in Simons eyes for something, anything. Maybe you’re too fast, looking away from him so fast that you can’t see the remorse as he stands where the tornado of your fight once was. In the broken pieces— Clarity. And that seeing the mess hes created pains him.

You nod, tears brimming your eyes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that was me pushing it. I’ll watch myself from now on. Sure to not bother you.” And you walk around him, almost recoiling when he goes to grab your arm, A silent plea, that the words that fell from his lips he truly didn’t mean. But you dodge his touch, running up the steps, the dogs following quickly behind with the clanging of their collars.

But Simon’s throat is stuck even in stage painful quiet, it’s closed, the words never come out when he needs them to. He rubs his face, letting out a heavy sigh.

Leaving him alone in that quiet, dimly lit kitchen.

The faucet left dripping.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・୨୧

You didn’t remember your apartment feeling so- so barren.

When’s the last time you slept over here though? A month? No, 3 months ago? You didn’t have a need to be here. Where you could still hear cars honking and passing in the early morning and late nights. You always just grabbed a couple things and scurried back to the car so Simon could take you back to his house.

You’d turned it into a proper home, the two of you. Your CD’s and records were in the bookshelf alongside his plethora of dvd’s and vhs’. The living room decorated to your liking, kitchen more simple yet homey. Both the dogs with getting new adorable dog beds in the shape of an egg and the other green with white flowers on it. Pictures of the two of you hung on the newly painted walls, mostly of you but that’s how he wanted it, little knickknacks and artwork filling up different spaces, plants filling in corners.

Something told you, you’d need an escape plan one way or another. Just in case. You plopped down on your bed after a long day of work with a huff, the few stuffed animals left here plopping around to the side along your pillows. You wanted to drown in your comforters.

And maybe this was good for you, a snap back to reality. Right? This- break? break up?- was a good thing. That’s what you needed. You’d been clinging onto Simon too much already, you forgot the girl you once were.

Independent, fierce, unflinching.

Finding solace in your aloneness.

Or this was just bound to happen, what karma had laid out for you in a past life. People get tired of you quickly, it’s a simple fact. It’s something you’ve felt your whole life. Maybe you stress them out, or you’re too boring, or don’t talk enough, and you’ve changed and changed as much as you could and it always leads to nothing. Always leads to wanting to crawl into yourself and fix whatever switches are “wrong” with you. This is just another reminder to keep people at their distance. Even people you love.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

You cried and cried yourself to sleep, puffy eyes in the morning, breakfast missed and in a dash to get to work. Had a headache by lunch, ate the frozen meal for dinner. Washed it down with a nice bowl of ice cream, stared at the two missed calls from Simon for an hour before passing out on the couch.

You wouldn’t call him back, what for?

You couldn’t rely on that man forever. Or maybe not be as needy. Time apart is necessary. Not like this. Perfect for a time like this. Right?

Simon didn’t think you’d answer the first time, maybe not even the forth. But he called, even though it wasn’t like him. Once just to see if you answered at the top of the day. Another at the end of the day just for his sanity, to hear your voice through your voicemail.

Everything felt empty without you.

Even the dogs kept circling the door waiting for you, an evening filled with whines from Fish, his favorite toy in his mouth while Slugger laid down in the entry way, just waiting.

But you weren’t coming home. Not anytime soon.

It hurt to see your keys not where they usually were, or how you shuffled around the house his shirt with tired eyes from the day. Or the sound of your voice as you took a call, peaking your head out the bathroom to give him a wave, mid skin care routine, the roll of your eyes and middle finger when he teased and said you looked messy. How you ran your fingers through his locks in the middle of the night when all he wanted to do was just be, but with you.

How was he gonna fix it? What more could he say to get through to you? The anger and frustration ceased to exist, even at work it showed, nothing was worse than silence. And the men under him thought the worst was bound to come to them. Maybe they did fuck up that bad. But it was the opposite.

“You alright mate?” Kyle asked as they sat in the mess hall for lunch, Simon was mid bite of his food. Barely hearing any of the prior conversation.

“ ‘M fine.” He grunted, swallowing his food.

Kyle and Johnny gave each other a knowing look, “Ye don’t look fine.” Johnny raised a brow. “Know yer a quiet lad but you’ve got the wee babies thinkin yer gonna kill ‘em. Just think- well I think—”

“—Fuck do you want me to say?” Simon bit, louder than he intended to, the table looked over tat them wondering what was going on. He tensed, eyes growing weary from his own actions.

Kyle gave a reassuring smile, “Just sayin we’re here for ya man, if you need to talk. That’s all. John too.”

“Yeah…” he nodded, standing from his seat and walking away. And he knew that, that people are there for him during the hard times— that you would be there for him during those hard times. It’s just sometimes, something in his brain would over react or just wouldn’t remember it.

Well, maybe it’s not his boys he needs to talk to.

It’s his therapist.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・୨୧

Five days, since your fight with Simon.

Five days of dreading getting off work and going home alone.

Five days of trying to pick up the pieces only to be left with cuts on your hands.

As long as you could make it to the weekend, is what you thought. You were practically flouting your way home as you walked through the streets of the city. It was busy with rush hour traffic, pedestrians just trying to get, home or to the pub.

Your hands shoved in your pockets mc trying to keep warm, you heard a yell from behind you and turned to see what was happening. You rocked on your heals as if you didn’t hear it, then you heard another yell over the music blaring from your headphones. You snatched them off, a confused look on your face till you met his gaze.

Issac, an ex who was probably the most ridiculous man you’ve been with. Ridiculously sweet yet too fucking silly, a cheater. But he was fun to be with. But truly he was not who you wanted to see right now. He’d be the exact person to flaunt their happiness in your misery stricken face without realizing it.

Not right now.

But you couldn’t slip away in time, giving him a tight lipped smile as he waltzed his was toward you in the crowd, gleefully saying your name as he wrapped you in a hug.

“Long time no fucking see. Damn, it’s been ages, hasn’t it?”

You shrug, “Perfect timing I think, you got on my last nerve the last time I saw you.”

“We had a little fight.” He muses, letting you lead the way, no problem with walking you to wherever you were going even if it was in the opposite direction. Catching up wouldn’t hurt.

“You picked up your shit with a gnarly attitude. I wasn’t the problem.” You scoff, pointing at yourself.

Issac shoo’s the idea away, “What’s in the past, is in the past,” he looks across the street your both about to cross and then towards you, your baggy eyes, “What’s up with you? How’s life? You look a little…”

“Tired?”

“Shit, actually.”

“Thanks for rubbing it in! That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.” You said sarcastically.

“Sorry,” he gave you an apologetic look, “Just thought you were living it up since you looked so good on Instagram.”

“I always look good on Instagram,” you remind him.

“ ‘s that right?” He teases, pulling about a joint from his pocket to light. You can’t help but chuckle in annoyance, this little shit.

“Just- got in a fight with my boyfriend is all.” You finally confess. It’s no point in lying, at one point you two were close friends, before the relationship. But things change.

“Ahhh, tale as old as time.” He hums, “About?”

You sigh, brushing your braids out of your face, you decide with the simple answer, “The laundry.”

Issac bursts into laughter, almost dropping the lit joint in between his fingers. People around you give you questionable looks but continue walking.

“Oh fuck off! Never mind me, what about you? What are you up to?”

He thinks for a moment, gently bumping shoulder with you, “Modeling gigs, goofing off. Not much else, I’m living the single life.”

“For once.” You snicker.

“And only this once. I hate going home and the house is fucking empty, it’s boring all holed up even if it’s for a bit!” He groans but you wince. Did it really feel like that? So dreary?

No. Yes. Shut up.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, noticing the little silence, but your shrug, “You’re good.” You take the joint from his fingers, taking a drag, “It’s a tax.”

“My ass… but your boyfriend and you, fightin over something so simple…” he clicks his tongue, taking the joint back and smoking, “Damn, we’ve fought over less. The way I walk, was it, one time?”

And fuck did it make you feel like shit back then, but it makes you laugh now, how silly you two were, “We were young, we were trying.”

“Trying too hard. Least I was.” He shook his head, muttering that last bit. You cock an eyebrow but he doesn’t repeat himself. “But at least you’re thinking about it, making up. We used to fight and that would be it.”

And it’s true, maybe you two were too similar, you would fight, break up for a month and make up, especially he cheated. He wanted to make it work, something like his parents. Ignore the major flaw that shifted your entire relationship. But your gut would turn every time he went out. Acne flares, holing yourself in more than you were now.

Thank god you two broke up.

“I wouldn’t wanna break up with the guy I’m with anyway,” you glance over at Issac, trying to make up for the tiniest uncertainty in your own words, you smirk, “He’s taller than you.”

“Oh come on, I still got this gun show.” And he flexes his muscles, at least tries to, under his trench coat.

“And he’s definitely stronger than you, he’s in the military” you giggle, genuine this time. And the thought of Simon wrapping you up in his warm embrace swarms you, you bite your lip, but your words tumble out, nothing but love spilling out life water overfilling a glass. “But overall he’s just good for me. He understands me, or at least he tries his best to. And he takes care of everything when I’m in my head too much. And he has funnier jokes than you, a little rough around the edges but warm at his core. Makes me feel like I can do anything. He takes his time with me.”

You sigh, walking down the steps, to get to the station, “A-And I want to take my time with him. Just— shit, I don’t know. It’s one of those times we’re having a hard time listening to each other.”

“Well, all's settled right? You should be able to hear each other out now that you’re both not so angry.” He asks, tapping his pass.

You shake your head, tapping your pass and following behind him, “He’s probably just calling to see if I’m alive or not. Nothing serious.”

You’re so used to giving up, and maybe part of it is on you. You’re used to every game in this life being winner take all, and you being left with nothing, picking up the pieces. Hell, even Issac “won” at the end of your relationship. You would rather fold, with the little dignity you have left, go back to your ways. Free and searching for a new feeling.

But it’s never a new feeling, is it?

You just so desperately want to be wanted, the want to be needed. Even if it’s for a little while, it’s something you craved your whole life. Oh, you’d dance in the sunshine if you could get that feeling.

But it leads you to be so dependent and needy, right?

“—How will you know if you don’t try? You said you like him right? And if he’s trying to reach out, he must like you some kind’ve way.”

And it makes your heart leap up, a shiver rolling down your spine. It’s silly really, that thought of that brute having you on his mind makes you want to spin around and smell the Daisys. You bite the inside of your mouth, rocking on your heals as you stand in place. “And if it’s not worth it?” You mutter.

Issac bumps into your shoulder again, he clicks his tongue, “Fuck, you just said he was the man of your dreams didn’t you? Why would you run away from that? You gotta fight for what ya want!”

Fight for what you want? And what did you want more than anything right now? At this exact moment?

To see Simon.

And maybe the weight lifts off your shoulders, noticeably so. You shove your hands further into your pockets, you’d try. Just this one time, you’d try.

The ends of Isaac’s lip curves up, “I know, I know, I’m such an amazing guy for helping you out. It’s the reason the ladies love me”

“Yeah fuckin right.” The train begins the pull in, more people crowding around the entrances of the public transportation. The doors open, the train conductor calling out the station.

“You ever think we could get back together? Or made it work?” He calls out as you step onto the train. And it’s probably the most genuine he's been since you started this conversation.

You suck in a breath, but you can’t help the corners of your lips curving upward, heat rising on your cheeks, heart pounding faster, “Not a chance.” You take him in one last time, he’s completely changed since the last time you saw him. Long curly hair now short into a fade, looking refreshed and at ease, in business casual which he used to hate. You both had changed, and for the better.

And if that meant not seeing each other ever again, so be it.

“And honestly, I’ve probably fallin more in love with that guy just from talking about him with you.”

And with that, the doors to the train close. Issac takes a step back on the platform, gives you a waves with a solemn look on his face. Disappearing into the crowd as the train rolls away.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・୨୧

If Simon would’ve known you would reply to his one singular text before his calls he would’ve texted you sooner.

He built up the courage to talk to you, find the words he needed to apologize. And he didn’t know if they would come out right, as if they ever did, but he was more than willing to try.

He sat on the bench, inside of the park next to the train station closest to his place. The sun was peaking through the clouds, and the sound of children giggling a little bit aways. Simon’s knee bounced in anticipation, tired eyes moving around the open space till he found you, still beautiful as ever. In a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that was almost wearing you. Braids in a claw clip, you made his heart jump.

He doesn’t say anything when you finally get in front of him, just stands, avoiding your deep mocha eyes, that shy but uncertain look that’s written on your face. He hands you the warm cup of tea that he ordered at the coffee shop before coming here. “Just how you like.” His voice is ragged. Taking a sip of his own tea to relax himself, 3 sugars, a drop of milk, but it’s just barely helping.

He nods for you two to walk down the path, but it’s awkward, both of you don’t know what to say or how to act. The birds are tweeting, there are people riding their bikes— it’s serene.

Simon clears his throat, deciding to push his nerves away, “[+], I’m sorry.”

And he feels silly, he doesn’t even remember the last time he apologized like this. Raw and scared, and unknowing what reaction he’d get. You can apologize to superiors with a ‘sorry sir’, let them berate you until they’ve got the anger out or just sigh and wave you off, you’d sort out the problem some way, somehow. But it’s the silence that comes from you that makes him worried. That makes the 6’4 brute want to sink and hide deep inside his shoes.

You rub at your neck, you can try too [+]. Try to make it work. If it meant to change— “It's okay. I could’ve listened and controlled myself but I didn’t and—“

You cut yourself off when you look over at Simon, he’s frowning— almost scowling, “No lovie, god no. I- shit.” He curses a couple times to himself, running his fingers through his short blonde hair, stops in his tracks to face you and gently takes your free hand in his. It’s warm compared to his, it’s enough to feel you, know that you’re really there in the moment.

“I shouldn’t’ve talked to you like that. Or made you feel like that. Ever. This isn’t your fault.” He shakes his head. “ ‘Nd ‘m not just saying things you want to hear, I thought about it properly, even wrote down what I wanted to say, talked about in my group.”

“Group?” You ask.

“Therapy.” He clarifies, swallowing his pride, “I went after too long, I’ve been needing to sort some things out.”

“And I want you to rely on me. ‘Nd talk to me about anything. You’re not too clingy or needy, and even if you were I’d still want you to be that way with me because- I love you. I love takin care of you ‘nd bein there for you when you need me.” He breaths out, searching your eyes, “I know it’s no excuse for me to be- to be stressed from work and take it out on you by being some daft dick head who suddenly gives a shit about when the laundry is done. Or calling you out your name just because you want to talk properly. Shit, I’m just not used to it, expressing myself to you, or anyone. And I’d just- fuckin hell- I’d hate for you to feel annoyed by my own shit.”

You take a second to take in everything he's said, and that he’s being more than sincere in his words, the somber look on his face. You bite your lip, hesitant, “But that’s what a relationship is. To lean on your partner when you need them most. And I’d hate to sound repetitive, but I’m here for you. Whenever. It’s not just you taking care of me.”

“I-I know, I learned that these past couple days. And I promise, I’m going work on talking it out with you, instead of talking at you.” And he takes a step closer, entering your space, kissing your hand, “I need you more than anything in this life, [+]. Home doesn’t even feel right when you're not there. And Fish just won’t stop crying for you.”

“Can you forgive me? Please come home kitten. Please?” He pleads, looking down at you with those pretty brown eyes.

Your cheeks heat up, heart swelling, you give him a slow nod. Relief fills his eyes, gently tugging you into his arms and holding you like you’re the last person on earth. And you hug him back too, your eyes closing just at the feel of him.

“I missed you baby, god, I fuckin missed you.” And he breaths you in, the sweet smell of your shampoo filling his nose and he kisses the top of your head. The weight of his shoulders finally falling off.

He grunts, lifting you off your feet making you squeal, “Gonna take you home,” he mutters, continuously kissing all over your face, kissing your lips a few times for good measure. “ ‘nd take a nap. I’m exhausted, can never sleep a wink without you kitten.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck,

“Same here Si, same here.”

a/n: this post is all over the place with plot holes and has lore that literally won’t make any fucking sense to any one but me. I know. Trust me, I know. And I know it might sound drastic for Simon to go to therapy just over an argument, but my hc is that meanie!simon (specifically) has past anger issues and sometimes he forgets the steps to regulate/properly express himself and his emotions. I know this isn’t what ppl wanted out of me after so long, I just haven’t been confident in my writing as of late but I really gave it my all with this post (I’m really not used/good at writing angst but wanted to try). Sorry for this long authors note. Much love.

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[ilyasorokinn]

good taste , clark kent

note, okay, guys wow you really enjoyed the last little thing i wrote. i love you all, thank you so much!! i've now seen the movie, so expect more stuff!! pair, clark kent / superman (2025) x reader summary, clark can't get drunk, so whenever you go out with friends, he's always there to make sure you're okay. warnings, drinking, alcohol, getting drunk word count, 1024 words (sorry it’s shorter)

(gif not mine)

The cup in his hand was beginning to get slippery as the ice melted. He set it down, wiping his hand on the napkin before his eyes went back to the dance floor.

This was not how Clark imagined his Friday would go. He wanted to get home, put his feet up, throw a pizza in the oven, or order if you were feeling fancy, watch movies still you fell asleep, and that would be his night.

Instead, he found himself sitting in the back of some bar, drinking a lukewarm cup of whatever, watching you to make sure no one got too close to you or your friends.

He didn't have to come; in fact, he invited himself.

When you walked through the door with Clark trailing behind, your friends moaned and groaned because it was supposed to be a girls' night. But, Clark managed to convince them to let him stay with the promise of driving everyone home. And how could they say no to a Clark Kent smile?

So, he sat in the back of the bar, sipping a lukewarm drink, eating some stale chips, and watching you. He couldn't help the smile that was growing as he watched you dance freely with your friends.

He straightened up in his seat as you headed over to the bar. You greeted the bartender with a polite smile, ordering your drink, then going back to your friends.

He deflated when you got back safely, going back to his stale chips. With all his attention on you, he totally missed the girl walking over to his table until she put her hand on his shoulder.

He flinched, almost jumping out of his seat as he whipped around to her. He stared at her with wide eyes, "Hiya, hotstuff." Clark winced at her bad pickup line, trying to push her hands off of him.

"Ma'am." He nodded, trying to find you in the crowd. He cursed to himself when he couldn't find you.

"Who're you looking for?" The girl pushed her hands onto his shoulders, messing around with his shirt.

Clark ignored her, pushing her hands off and standing to his full height. He fixed his glasses and straightened out his shirt before walking away from the table he had been sitting at and leaving the girl behind.

"What the hell?" The girl outraged, running back to her friends. He could hear her complaining about what a douchebag he was, but he didn't care about any of it.

His eyes moved around the bar, trying to find you. He was losing hope, and honestly, he was beginning to panic. He looked away for maybe 5 seconds, and he managed to lose you.

"Clark?" He heard a familiar voice, and suddenly, calm washed over him, and everything returned to normal.

When he turned around to your confused and worried face, he let out a relieved noise and wrapped his arms around you. You let out a noise in surprise when he picked you up and lifted you off the ground.

"Oh!" You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him, "Are you okay? You looked kinda worried." You pulled away and looked into his eyes.

"'S nothing." He shook his head, "Just happy you're here." He hummed happily.

"All right," You were still confused, "I got you a shot, though. I was trying to find you, but you weren't at the table."

"Yeah..." He scratched the back of his neck, pulling away from the hug and setting you back down on the ground. "Just needed to stretch my legs." He didn't want to bring up the girl because while he might have been nice about it, you wouldn't be if you had found out.

"Huh." You nodded, raising a brow and studying him, but letting it go, "Here you go." You handed him the shot.

He shot it back, putting on a show of wincing before looking back to you, "So, do you girls think you'll be done anytime soon?"

"Why? Don't tell me you're getting tired on me, Clark." You joked, crossing your arms with a teasing smile.

"No, ma'am." He shook his head with an equally teasing smile, "Just wondering when I'm gonna have the become the chauffeur." He joked.

"Soon, probably." You reassured, glancing back at your friends who barely even noticed you were gone, "They're all sort of far gone." You could feel a buzz in your head, but you weren't fully drunk yet.

"All right, I'll wait over at that table." He pointed to a different table in the opposite corner.

"Did something happen at the other table that I should know about, Clark?" You raised a curious brow.

"No," He shook his head, "Go have fun." He kissed your head, sending you on your way back to your friends.

He took a seat on the empty stool that would give him the best view of you. People probably thought he was a creep, just sitting there and watching you, but he didn't mind.

His smile brightened when you made your way over and plopped yourself onto a stool right next to him. "Tired of dancing?" He asked.

"My feet hurt." You moaned in pain, lifting your foot up and taking off your shoes. He reached down wordlessly, lifting one of your feet into his lap and helping you take your shoe off.

"So, what happened at the other table?" You leaned your head into the palm of your hand and looked at him.

"Nothing." He shook his head.

"Clark, I know you." You tilted your head to the side, "What happened?"

He took a breath, beginning to rub your foot that was in his lap, "There was a girl." You nodded. "I ignored her, and that's why I moved tables." He shrugged.

"Okay," You nodded.

"Okay?" He looked surprised. "That's all you have to say?"

"Clark, you sat here all night watching me and my friends, and now you're rubbing my feet. I think we're pretty stuck together." You joked, leaning forward and cupping his chin, "But, I have to admit, she has good taste." He rolled his eyes.

-

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[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: Simon POV (mostly)

“Riley, hold up.”

There’s a fat horse fly on Molly’s flank, twitching as she trots along beside you on the well worn path. She turns in the saddle.

“What?”

“Swat that fly.” You point to where it sits, wings vibrating, no doubt waiting to bite. It’s not that you don’t trust Molly, you do. She’s always been a good mare, confident and comfortable and pretty unflappable, but you’re not sure how she’ll react to getting bitten, and you don’t want to find out while Riley’s on her back.

“What fly?”

“The fly, down there behind the saddle pad.” She leans back to wave her hand around and it buzzes off, and relief settles your stomach.

“Shoo fly!” You laugh.

“Good job you got it.” It’s beautiful today. Sunny, breezy, and full of Riley smiles. You’re plodding along the trail that winds along the pasture, up the hill and then dips into the woods for some shade, the one Tess carved out right after they bought the land. It’s easy to feel close to her out here, easy for Riley to get to know her mom this way, riding the same path Tess made and hoped to share with her one day. Watching Riley on Mabel’s daughter, hair shining in the sun, these are the weightless moments, the ones that will stick to your bones forever. The ones you never want to let go, the ones that are worth everything, all of it.

You’re just about to tell Riley how much she looks like her mom when that fly lands on Molly again, except this time it doesn’t just sit there.

It bites.

The chat window pops up at the same time as the alert.

John: Get down here.

Simon frowns, and thumbs over the blinking red dot in the corner of the tablet.

It’s a patient notification, an automatic alert for whenever one of his kids is checked in at the hospital.

His stomach flips when he sees who it is.

Riley.

All he sees is you.

Not the child on the gurney with her helmet knocked askew and her arm bent at an odd angle, not Alex Keller talking to her in low tones or the nurses taking her boots off, but you, off to the side, shell shocked, rattling with fear.

You, his strong, brave girl, still trying to stand when everything is crumbling.

He allows himself a second to take you in, look you over. You’re not hurt that he can see, just covered in dust, standing stiffly at John’s side as he rubs your shoulder.

He wants to reach for you, hold you, tell you it’s going to be okay. He’s going to fix it.

But his focus needs to shift, for now.

Alex cocks his head as the doors slide closed. “What can I do for you Simon?”

“Personal interest.” He steps in beside the pediatrician as he works, and smiles down at the trembling little girl. “Hey Riley.”

“H-hi.” She hiccups.

“Heard you took a bit of a fall today.” He glances at the monitor. “We have anything on board for pain control?” Alex carefully unbuckles her helmet and lifts it off.

“Yeah. One of yours?” He nods, and then crouches so he’s eye level with her.

“We have the same name, that’s cool right?”

“We do?” She’s squeaky from crying, and he squeezes her good hand.

“We do. I’m Doctor Riley, and you’re Riley. Must mean we’re meant to be friends.” Her lower lip trembles.

“Uh huh.” Poor thing.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re doing great, and we’re going to get you all fixed up.” Big tears gather at the corners of her eyes and spill over, and Keller smiles to reassure her.

“Okay we’re going to bring a machine in here to take a picture of the inside of your arm now, alright?” Her lower lip quivers. “X-rays okay mom? Anything we should know?” Simon turns to you, and while your throat bobs, there’s no reply. “Is there-”

“X-rays are fine, right Daisy?” He cuts Keller off, and you blink in surprise, finally seeing him, noticing him in the room. He gives you an encouraging nod, one you follow.

“X-rays are fine.” Riley holds perfectly still like a champ, and once a fracture is confirmed Alex moves on.

“Daisy right?” You nod again, and he gives you his best ‘try not to freak the parent out’ smile. “We’re going to get her arm stabilized and then I want to take Riley for a CT, just in case. Everything looks good but we like to be extra thorough when it comes to head injuries in children. She’ll be evaluated by orthopedics right after to see where we are with the arm.”

“Okay.” There’s no emotion in your voice. It’s hollow, and his stomach twists.

“Someone will bring you the consent forms while we take her upstairs, and then you can wait for her in-”

“I have to go with her.” Alex opens his mouth to give you the standard spiel, but you cut him off. “No. I have to go with her.”

“Unfortunately you can’t. We’ll take a good care of her, I promise. I know it’s scary, but she’s in great hands.”

“I- she needs me.” Simon shifts, blocks your line of sight and lowers his voice.

“Daisy.” Nothing. It’s like he never spoke. “Daisy. Look at me.” No reaction, so he takes a chance, tucks two fingers under your chin and tilts your face to his to find your eyes. “Go tell Riley everything’s okay and you’ll see her as soon as she’s done.”

“You don’t understand.” You whisper hoarsely, and your pained expression is so desperate, so scared.

“I do, you know I do.” Riley is in a gown now, bed rails in place, and Keller is giving him an odd, impatient look. Simon holds up a finger. “This patient is your family and you’re off the clock. If the roles were reversed, you’d be saying the same thing as Keller.” Your face crumples, almost shatters, before you reign it back in. You’re so, so close to cracking, and he hates that this is what’s going to do it, this is what will shatter your control. “Now take a deep breath, go give Riley a kiss, and tell her you’ll see soon. We don’t want her to be even more stressed, right?” You bite down on your bottom lip to smother something, some outburst of emotion that’s trying to claw free, and nod.

“Right.”

“Seems like you’ve coddled her enough already.” There’s a ripple that starts from your mouth upwards, a feeling trying to fight its way out, but you shut it down immediately and stare silently at the elevator doors.

When they open and you bolt, John growls.

“Aresehole. She needs-”

“I know what she needs,” he snaps, turning on his friend. He can still smell you in the elevator, warm leather and honeysuckle. It’s been lingering in the halls, haunting him. Taunting him. “I’m trying to give it to her, and I can’t treat her differently than anyone else just starting in the unit. You know I weed them out.” John’s skepticism is clear.

“You’re making a mess of it.” He knows he’s been harsh and heavy handed, but you’re not just going to roll over for him. It’s hard for John to reconcile considering he’s been handling you with a soft touch for the last few years, but he doesn’t know what Simon knows. He doesn’t understand how it’s not just the weight of the responsibility on your back, it’s grief. For your sister, for Riley, for yourself. It’s overwhelming loss that doesn’t just go away, gaping wounds you’ll never truly heal. The stress, the money, these things compound it, they make it harder to process, to accept the loss and move forward. It jams everything up and turns it to rot.

Simon would know.

So he won’t stop pushing you, and every time you give him nothing, he’ll continue to give more right back. He won’t cow you, but he will set you right. He will fix it, and you’ll let him.

“You’re making it harder on her than it needs to be.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He doesn’t need advice or guidance with this. With you. The line between too much and too little can only be determined by him, and he doesn’t care about anyone else’s opinion.

You will walk it.

Whether it be of your own choosing or by his hand, you will do it either way.

“She’s drowning, John. It’s worse than you know, and there’s no time to handle her with kid gloves.” The elevator comes to a stop, and John steps out with a parting glance.

“Just be careful, Simon.”

You haven’t moved in two minutes. Frozen in place with your back to him, shoulders tight under your ears, ribcage occasionally deflating with an exhale until you’re taking another breath and holding it hostage.

You didn’t even notice when John left the room, pulled the doors closed to ensure no one would come in.

He grits his teeth. It’s going to be difficult.

The room crackles with the promise of a fight, rolling thunder and lightning electrifying the very foundation you stand on, shaking it to its core.

But he knows you won’t let it crumble. Not so easily, anyway.

“It’s going to be okay.” You don’t answer, you don’t turn to face him. “She’s in good hands, she-”

“I know.” It’s not your normal edge, your insistence. It’s more raw, precarious, and he circles you, ignoring the way you refuse to look at him. For now.

“Her CT will come back clear, and her arm needs a screw or two at most. She’ll be in a cast for six weeks, maybe eight. It’s-”

“I know.” You’re a stone wall, staring straight ahead, but he sees the cracks and splinters them wider when he takes your hand, holding you firmly in place when you try to tug free.

“Peds has a great-”

“I know!” You rip out of his grasp, and for a second, a split second, you look at him in horror. Gut wrenching terror, like you’re desperately trying to climb onto a life raft and you keep slipping off, reaching out for something to pull yourself up with, something to save you, though it’s not there.

Like you’ve just figured out what he’s been planning all along.

You know what’s happening.

When the first tear falls, it comes with an anguished noise that rips from your throat so brutally he has to steady himself.

“It’s okay, Daisy.” The palm you’ve flung forward does nothing to stop him snaking an arm around your back as you frantically shake your head and trip backwards, trying and failing to escape. “Everything’s okay.” He goes for the kill, pulls you into his body, reels you in, unsurprised when you thrash on the line, cheeks wet and gasping for air.

“Let me go!” You push, but you’re no match for him, not even close. You fight anyway, just as he knew you would, just like you’ve been fighting him at every turn, just like you’ve been fighting every day since your sister died.

It’s what you know, it’s how you’ve survived. You’re scarred and bruised but battle tested, and you’re not going down without fight.

John was convinced you needed a soft hand, told him as much. “Can’t tame a wild horse without some sugar cubes Simon.” Whatever the bloody hell that meant.

Simon knew better.

You can’t tame a wild horse. You have to break them.

“Fuck- get off me!” You twist and try to push off, but he holds you through it, holds you as you hiss and scratch and beat on him, holds you as you cuss at him, scream at him. It’s your last line of defense, the final pieces of armor falling away. “Let go, let go.”

“No.” You try to throw yourself out of his arms so violently he has to dig his hooks in, press your face into his chest, cupping the back of your head. “Stop, Daisy. Stop.”

“I can’t, I-” You try, desperately, to hold onto your rage, your mask, the control on which your life is built around, but your softening muscles and panicked breaths tell him its all slipping through your fingers. Come on sweetheart, let me see you. “This- I-”

The last tether snaps, you collapse into him and your vitriol slips away.

In its place is pain.

So much pain. It comes pouring out of you like a flood, one that would wash you away if he wasn’t holding you, and your sobs are gut wrenching, so vicious he’s worried you’ll make yourself sick. “Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I c-can’t, I tried-”

“I know, I know.” You’ve been so brave, he wants to say, kiss the salt from your cheeks, you’ve done so well. You won’t have to do it alone anymore.

“This is m-my fault, I- I did this.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I’m supposed- supposed to- to-” your words are sticky, soaked with tears and mucus and garbled, “keep her s-safe and I c-can’t, I didn’t-” He takes your face into his hands.

“You do keep her safe, Daisy. You do take care of her. This was an accident, accidents happen.” You struggle for air and he rubs your back. “Breathe, just breathe. Nice and deep, there- that’s it-” The fight is gone. Drained dry, you follow his instructions, carefully drawing air in through your nose and out through your mouth until the heaving of your diaphragm is somewhat slower.

“I’m supposed to take care of her.” He wipes your cheeks.

“You do-”

“I can’t. I’m supposed to and I can’t and I’m failing, I’m failing and- and the insurance, oh my god.” Your eyes widen, anxiety peaking all over again, muscles and lungs locking up. He smothers his confusion.

“Insurance?”

“I messed up, I messed up so bad. I changed plans to that new one because it would be better for Riley but I didn’t… I didn’t read the instructions clearly or I wasn’t paying attention and I thought she would just roll over with me but she didn’t and now she won’t have insurance and I don’t know what to do, I-”

“Okay, okay. Slow down.” What a gift. He’s never been more grateful for America’s dumpster fire health insurance system. “Let’s focus on what’s in front of us right now.” Us. It’s natural on his tongue, easy like it should have been there all along.

“I…” your shoulders slump, completely void of all resistance. “Okay.”

“She tell ye yet?” He shakes his head.

“I think she’s too nervous.”

“She thinks he doesn’t recognize her.��� Price grumbles. “And he hasn’t told her otherwise.” Kyle rolls his eyes.

“You should just tell her. You know, rip the bandaid off an’ all that. It’s probably turning her into knots.” Kyle reaches for Johnny’s beer and tips it back, which earns him a scoff.

“Ach, get yer own.” He grins devilishly at his partner.

“What’s yours is mine.”

“I want her to do it on her own.” He’s not surprised you haven’t brought it up yet. Riley is special, but to you, she’s your world and your weight, and you need time. “It means more to her than Riley just being my patient.”

“She wasn’t just your patient though, she’s the hallmark of your success. She’s your legacy.” Laswell circles the rim of her drink and watches him thoughtfully. “You invented a procedure for her, her case is published. She means more to you, too.” He opens his mouth to respond but a dimple appears at the corner of his vision, and his eyes swing.

You’re smiling.

Johnny whistles low. “Christ ye’ve got it bad.”

“Fuck off.” His chest is tight. He’s never seen you truly smile outside of the polite frozen ones you’re usually giving at work. This one is real. It’s genuine and so beautiful, so bright. You’re a star born in the night sky, a brilliant spot exploding in an endless spiral of darkness, and he’s too greedy to look away. He drinks up every second of it, trying to memorize the curve of your lips and the shine in your eyes in case he never sees it again. He wants to bottle it up, put it away high on a shelf so it’s only for him.

“She’s lovely.” Laswell says kindly, softly, and he nods. His throat is dry.

“She is.”

“How is she?” Price peers through the room’s glass window and crosses his arms. Rocks on his heels.

“Fine. CT is clear, arm only needed one screw.” You’re both asleep, Riley peacefully in the bed, and you fitfully on the recliner at her side.

“And Daisy?”

“Exhausted.”

“You break ‘er?” He nods, but not in victory. It’s progress, that’s all, and it’s painful. It hurts him, as it hurts you, as it has been hurting him since the day he saw you, grey rocking from behind a fortress.

“Won’t last.” Simon rubs his hand over his face. “By sunrise, it will be like most of it never happened.” Most of it. He won’t be starting from scratch, but it will be a long time before he gets you that exposed again.

You toss, sending the thin blanket to the floor, twitching when your skin is exposed to the cool hospital air. John claps him on his back. “Good luck.” Simon grunts.

“Thanks. Gonna need it.”

Your lashes flutter as the blanket is tucked in around your shoulders, and you peer up at him, bleary and and barely conscious. “Riley?”

“Right over there.” He murmurs and points to where she sleeps, her freshly cast arm propped on a pillow. “She’s okay, still asleep.”

“Is it morning?” You slur, trying to open your eyes, but he stills you with a hand on your shoulder.

“No, it’s the middle of the night. You can rest.”

“Yeah,” you agree and tuck your hands under your chin, mumbling incoherent nonsense. “Okay.” Your brow furrows briefly before the little wrinkle smooths and you nod insistently. “I’ll be here when she wakes up.”

“You will, don’t worry.” He brushes his fingers across your cheek, soaking in the warmth of your skin. He’d stay, if he thought you could handle it but he knows tomorrow the status quo will be mostly back in place. It’s a long road, but at least he’s on it now. You twitch and shudder, but he settles you, stretches his hand wide between your shoulder blades and works in long strokes, eases you into a deeper sleep, satisfied only when your breathing evens out. He doesn’t need you to tell him your dreams do not give you peace, that the world is not quiet between your ears, he already knows. He’ll fix it. He’ll crack you open again and again, break your control, and fix it all.

He’ll give you the world. He just needs to teach you how to take it.

[blushhbambi]

clark kent/superman and cutie news anchor gf 😭😭

LITTLE THINGS ABOUT CLARK + NEWSANCHOR!READERᝰ.ᐟ

domestic fluff, kisses n cuddles, established relationship, clark being a dork... . ༉‧₊˚.

౨ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖﹒rushed mornings of both of you getting ready for work, fixing his tie and straightening his glasses while he zips up your dress, trying to sneak in a few last kisses before you're both off.

sometimes he'll keep the news on at work just to see you presenting or interviewing, he's not even focused on what you're talking about let alone his own work. only thinking about getting to go home to you later and whether he should cook you a warm dinner or treat you to a movie night (spoiler he'll do both) .

one time you presented one of his articles on tv and he was beyond giddy. getting teased by his colleagues as his ears flush hot red and he swivelled in his chair all flustered and proud.

"yeah that's my girl..", he'll smile with pride while sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

and my god do his parents love you, like girl get ready be ON those daily calls. his mama's accent will be honey thick as she tells you stories from when he was younger and, somehow, clumsier, or she's got you rushing to note down a classic southern recipe. or his daddy's rambling on about how he saw you on the morning news, giving you a silly dad joke about how you should come down to report on the local country bustle.

clark is a country boy through and through, don't you dare think he'll be any less of a gentleman just because you're dating. he's still soft and well mannered as ever, never forgetting a please or thank you, pulling out your chair at dinner first, making sure you walk on the inside of the pavement while his hand stays on the small of your back.

your little apartment's filled to the brim with books and scribbled notes, you always have to make sure to replace his chewed pens, and when he finds a new book he'll read a few pages to you before bed while you curl into his side. late night dinners will be sweet and quiet, he cooks and you clean that's just how it always is.

sometimes you're both still in work mode. this means a couple hours of sleep and surviving off of coffee while he's hunched over his desk trying to finish an article before his deadline and you're muttering your morning presentation to yourself, pacing behind him.

on the occasion you're too exhausted from work, clark will buy your favourite take out and let you lay ontop of him lazily while you rabble about how long the day was having to report on this new superman guy. he'll hide his wince and distract you with long kisses while his big hands trail down your skin or brush through your hair as he whispers sweet compliments into your ears. . ༉‧₊˚.

© written by blushhbambi— do not steal or claim as ur own ᝰ.ᐟ

[rooksamoris]

Oh, you should have taken a picture of this sight, Jade Leech, looking like a disheveled mess.

He stood on the porch of Ramshackle dorm, drenched, blazer messy, tie crooked, and hair all over the place. In his left hand was a wet cardboard gift box which had to have been beautiful before the rain assaulted it, and a bouquet with missing leaves and petals. He was smiling politely, like always, but it was strained. His eyebrows were just one more minor inconvenience away from a twitch.

You grinned, “Oho? Jade, a mess? Who could have seen this coming?” 

He chuckled, though it was laced with something bitter. Tonight was supposed to be your first date together, but everything seemed to go wrong. When he had told Azul and Floyd of his initial plans were to take you on a hike up in the mountains so he could show you his favorite flora or to take you on a midnight walk near a river where he found some interesting moss, Azul told him that those were ridiculous ideas. Sure, Jade was known for trying to pull all sorts of unpleasant reactions, but he still did need to woo you, so his plans changed. He decided he would pick you up for dinner instead. 

So, he had his clothes pressed and prepared a gift and some flowers for you. However, Floyd decided to have the mother of all meltdowns after losing his favorite pair of shoes and insisted that Jade let him borrow his. Jade refused, as he was planning to wear them for your date. A fight ensued, and Jade barely managed to get out of it. Then, as he began to make his way to Ramshackle, the storm gods decided it should rain. Now he was sopping wet, messy, and almost pathetic.

“Perhaps it is a reflection of how my devotion to you throws me off balance,” he said smoothly, before handing you his tokens of affection.

You took them and then set them down on the table near the door, before turning back to your date who stood outside. It was clear you did not believe him, hand on your hip as you giggled, “Or maybe it’s the remains of a brawl with your brother,” you teased, reaching up to fix his tie for him. 

His brow twitched.

You smiled. 

“You look lovely,” he said, opting to change the topic before he was a victim of teasing. That was his job, to tease and prod at you, making you puff your cheeks and scoff and curse. He was telling the truth, though, you looked beautiful. All dressed up for him, looking as radiant as the moon, which the sun would envy for getting to see you like this. Pretty for his hands to drag over your hips if this date went well, and you let him take things further than just a kiss. 

“And you look messy,” you replied, before pausing, “But dashing as ever. Don’t worry.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Jade sighed, before offering his arm, “Shall we?”

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[moondustbaby]

Just Our Luck

blue collar!Rafe x sahm!Reader

cw: smut, oral (f. rec), piv, unprotected sex, interrupted sexy time

mdni 18+

summary: It’s Saturday night, and after a long day with the kids, you and Rafe are desperate for each other. But just when things heat up in the bedroom, a tiny pair of feet comes pattering down the hallway…

⸻

It had been one of those Saturdays.

The kind where the hours blurred together in a mess of half-eaten chicken nuggets, toy explosions across the living room, and Mia having at least three separate meltdowns over the wrong color cup. Jace had been wild all afternoon — not naughty, just full of energy that neither of you could quite match — and Rafe had been counting down the minutes till bedtime since lunch.

Not that he said anything. He never did. Just gave you quiet looks across the kitchen while holding a squirming toddler on one hip, mouthing “You okay?” or “Almost there.”

But the real reason he was looking forward to bedtime?

You.

You, in that little tank top that clung to your body. You, wearing those tiny cotton shorts that hugged your hips and made him sweat. You, brushing past him every so often, the edge of your ass grazing his thigh. And every time, he’d grunt quietly and adjust himself, jaw tight.

He’d been aching for it all day. So had you.

But the kids came first. Always.

So when bedtime finally rolled around, and both Jace and Mia were tucked in, you felt like collapsing. But Rafe had other plans. You caught the way he looked at you as you stood at the sink, rinsing the last sippy cup. His eyes dragged down your back, jaw twitching, his hand gripping the counter behind you.

“Come to bed,” he said lowly.

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

⸻

The bedroom door shut behind you, and you barely made it three steps before Rafe’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind. His mouth was at your neck, hot and hungry, his stubble scratching just right.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he muttered, his hand sliding up under your tank top, cupping one of your breasts, thumb brushing over your nipple.

You gasped, tilting your head for him. “Rafe…”

“I know, baby. I know.” He was already walking you backward toward the bed, already tugging your shorts down. “You looked so fuckin’ good at breakfast… all sleepy and soft, sittin’ there with your legs tucked under you, rubbin’ your eyes like a good girl.”

“Shut up,” you whined, shivering at how easily he could get you going.

“You wanted it too,” he said smugly, kissing down your shoulder. “I saw it. You were starin’ at me when I fixed that leaky pipe under the sink. Actin’ like you weren’t watchin’. You wanted this just as bad.”

You were on your back now, legs spread, Rafe kneeling between them. His palms smoothed up your thighs, thumbs grazing the creases where they met your hips. His eyes softened as he looked at you — flushed cheeks, swollen lips, your chest already rising and falling in anticipation.

“Gonna make it real good for you, sweetheart,” he promised.

And then his mouth was on you — hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed to your thighs, working his way in, teasing. His nose brushed your clit as he groaned, spreading you wider.

“God, you’re soaked.”

You whimpered, hips twitching.

He licked a slow stripe up your center and moaned like it hurt him, like the taste of you knocked the air out of his lungs. “You fuckin’ sweet thing… this pussy’s been beggin’ all day, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Ray, please—”

He didn’t make you beg. He dove back in, hungry and shameless, mouth sloppy and perfect, tongue flicking fast, focused right on your clit. His fingers spread you apart, and he groaned like a man starved.

You came fast, thighs shaking around his head, fingers buried in his hair.

But he wasn’t done.

He climbed up over you, cock heavy and hard as he dragged it through your slick folds. You reached down, wrapped your hand around him, and he gasped — hips jerking.

“Jesus. You’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

“Need you,” you whispered, pulling him closer.

“Yeah?” he rasped, rubbing himself against your soaked entrance. “Need this cock, mama?”

You nodded desperately. “Please, baby. I’m so—oh, fuck.”

He slid in deep, bottoming out in one slow thrust. Your eyes rolled back. He groaned into your neck, teeth scraping skin.

“Goddamn. You’re squeezin’ me so tight.” His hand gripped your hip, grounding himself. “You feel that? That’s how much this pretty pussy missed me.”

You moaned, clinging to him.

He started moving — slow, deep strokes that punched the breath from your lungs. Every drag of his cock hit perfectly, his pelvis grinding against your clit on every thrust.

“You were made for me,” he groaned. “This pussy was fuckin’ made for me.”

You could barely breathe. Barely think. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you climbed again, so close—

Then—

Pitter patter. Quiet footsteps down the hall. A sleepy little voice.

“…Mama?”

Your whole body froze.

Rafe went still inside you, both of you panting, staring wide-eyed toward the bedroom door.

Another soft knock. “Mama, I wanna sleep with you.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing — or crying.

Rafe groaned, forehead falling to your shoulder. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

You bit your lip, whispering, “It’s Jace.”

“I know it’s Jace,” he hissed. “I can hear his little feet.”

You giggled, shoving at his chest. “Get off, Rafe! He’ll open the door!”

Grumbling, he pulled out of you with a wet pop, muttering all kinds of expletives under his breath as you quickly yanked the blankets over your chest and called out:

“One second, baby!”

Rafe grabbed his boxers off the floor and yanked them on in record time, running a hand through his hair before swinging the door open.

There stood your sweet boy, cheeks flushed and hair rumpled, clutching his favorite stuffed tiger.

“Hi, Daddy,” he mumbled sleepily.

Rafe tried to smile through the pain. “Hey, bud. What’s up?”

“I had a dream about a shark,” Jace whispered, eyes wide.

“Oh no.” You softened immediately. “Wanna come sleep with us for a little?”

He nodded and padded into the room. Rafe scooped him up effortlessly, kissing his hair before laying him down in the middle of the bed.

“I’ll get him settled,” Rafe said under his breath as you scooted over, heart melting.

Jace curled into you immediately, head tucked under your arm. “I love you, Mama.”

You stroked his hair. “I love you too, baby.”

Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples like he was in physical pain. You smirked.

“You okay, Daddy?”

He gave you a look. “I was balls deep, babe.”

You stifled a laugh, covering Jace’s ears. “Don’t say balls near our child.”

“I was,” he whispered harshly. “I was about to make you scream my name and now I’m gonna be cuddlin’ a four-year-old till sunrise.”

“Welcome to parenthood.”

He sighed dramatically and collapsed beside you, tugging the blanket up. “Just our luck.”

a/n: this is just… their life now 😭 when the babies are little, there’s barely any time to be alone, they’re constantly putting their love on pause for sticky fingers, bad dreams, and bedtime routines. and even when they try to sneak a moment, someone’s always knocking at the door (or waddling in with a stuffed animal 😭). poor rafe was just tryna give his wife the night she deserved… balls deep one second, bedtime cuddles the next 💀 welcome to the parenting era!!!

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@lolabunnyworldss @superlegend216 @bonjourjiminie @rafesbabygirlx @raineshua @wolfcin04 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @angelofcigs @maybankslover

[sereia4skz]

Hi!! Congrats on 2k followers! 🤩 I feel like I just followed you and you were just celebrating 1k. (Or maybe I just found that stuff first and followed then 😂)

Can I request a drabble or a one-shot of Changbin x f!reader? He starts feeling attracted to her but is so worried he may hurt her because of his strength, that he makes sure to never mention it. And maybe it gets so bad that he leaves the room/area if she is also there and just he can't ignore the urges, maybe even starts to actively avoid her. Until she corners him and (gently) demands why, thinking she accidentally did something to offend him and wants to fix whatever went wrong. And when she finally figures it out, she still offers to help relieve some of that tension 😏 you know, since she's there to help take care of them and all...

And maybe one of the others almost catches them just because Changbin is just so dang loud 😅

Thank you hon! And congratulations again!!

-⚡️anon (hopefully no one else has taken that emoji yet)

2k Followers Event | too much, too big?

pairing: changbin x fem!reader

synopsis: big, strong oni scared of hurting his princess with his affections

warnings: oni!changbin, soft smut, hurt/comfort, size kink, little voyeur (hyunjin)

event masterlist: #2kShootingStars

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AN: that emoji works heheh

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Changbin has stopped sitting beside you. You notice it slowly, like the ache after a bruise blooms. A shift in shadows. A lack of warmth at your shoulder when the nights grow cold.

He still laughs too loudly in the communal space. Still chops wood like it insulted him. Still gets sulky when Jeongin hides his favorite mug. But if you enter a den, he leaves it. If you ask him a question, he answers without looking up. If you catch his gaze, it drops to the floor. His hand never brushes yours anymore. His voice never dips into that private tone it used to save just for you.

At first you thought you’d imagined it. Now you think you made a mistake. Somehow.

He used to carve you little charms, clumsy and sweet, tucked under your tea cup or pillow, left by the door when you had hard days. You haven’t found one in weeks. It hurts more than it should. And it’s worse today.

You’re elbow-deep in the herb shed, re-shelving dried roots, when Changbin walks in with a crackle of heat and tension, and instantly goes still. You watch him. He watches the floor. And then, without a word, he turns and walks back out.

That’s it. You wipe your hands on your apron, march out after him, and catch him before he can vanish into the trees.

“Changbin.”

He stops. His shoulders rise with the breath he drags in, heavy and reluctant.

You catch up and step in front of him, planting yourself between him and his favorite escape path. 

“What is going on?” you demand, more gentle than angry, but still firm. “Did I do something? Say something wrong? Did I cross a line I didn’t see?”

His eyes finally meet yours. They’re burning. Not angry but wild, like fire that’s fought too long against damp wood.

“No,” he says, too quickly. “No. You didn’t. You’re fine.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

He doesn’t argue. That almost hurts more.

“I miss you, Binnie,” you whisper.

He winces. Actually winces.

“I’m too much,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”

Your breath catches. 

He lifts a hand and runs it over his horns, frustrated, ashamed. “I’m trying not to be. I’m trying to keep a distance. That’s all.”

“Why?” Your voice cracks. “Because you think you’ll hurt me?”

“I know I will.”

His voice is low. Raw. “You don’t understand. Every time you smile at me, I can barely breathe. Every time you touch me, I think about touching back, and I don’t know how to be gentle enough. I can punch through trees. I split a mountain open. I’m-I’m not built for soft things.”

“You are,” you say instantly. “You are soft. You’re gentle, and warm, and-”

“You make me want too much,” he says, choking on it. “And I can’t. I won’t risk it. You deserve someone who doesn’t have to hold back every second they’re near you just to keep from ruining everything.”

You reach up, cup his face. His breath stutters. His cheeks burn.

“Then don’t hold back,” you murmur. “Or if you have to… let me help you.”

His eyes widen.

“I’m here to take care of all of you,” you say, leaning in. “All your aches. All your tension. Even the ones you don’t ask for help with.”

His chest heaves. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I do,” you say. “And I want you.”

Something inside him snaps.

His hands, big, rough, trembling, catch your waist like you’re a lifeline, but he still hesitates.

You reach up, touching his jaw, and feel how tightly it’s clenched. “Binnie,” you whisper, “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” he breathes, but it’s not a threat, it’s a warning. A plea. He tries to step back.

You tug him closer. Your fingers trail down his arms, feeling the raw strength in them. His biceps jump beneath your touch. His hands twitch where they hover at your hips, like he doesn’t dare settle them there. But you guide him. Let him feel the way you arch into his grip, not away from it.

“You’ve never hurt me,” you say, softer now, lips brushing his. “Even when you wanted to.”

His breath stutters. His forehead drops to yours.

“I think about it too much,” he says, voice cracking. “How it would feel to have you under me. Wrapped around me. Crying because I’m too deep and you love it… Fuck, I think about it and I want to lose control,”

You’re already wet. You swallow and take his wrists, guiding his hands beneath your shirt. His fingers flex once, then still.

“Then lose it,” you murmur. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop. But I trust you.”

That’s what undoes him. He growls, low and guttural, and lifts you like you’re nothing, one arm under your thighs, the other tight around your back, and your spine presses into a tree as he mouths hungrily at your neck.

“Too soft,” he mutters between kisses. “Too small. You’re gonna break.”

“Then break me.” 

His claws dig into the bark behind your head. “Fuck.”

Your clothes come off in pieces, pulled and pushed and peeled away with a desperation that makes your head spin. His eyes drink in every new inch of skin like it’s proof you’re real, and really his.

He sinks to his knees again, this time without hesitation, huge shoulders parting your legs as he hooks one over his shoulder. You gasp at the sudden exposure. He breathes in deep and shudders.

“So fucking sweet,” he whispers. “You smell like want.” Then he drags his tongue up your slit in one long, filthy lick and groans.

Your fingers fly to his hair, tangling instinctively, and his claws grip your thighs to keep you steady. Even with one arm under your ass, he’s holding you up like it takes no effort at all. His tongue is thick and hot and relentless, circling your clit, dipping inside, then back to your clit again until your thighs are trembling and your eyes roll.

“You’re dripping,” he growls, voice muffled. “Fucking soaking for me.”

You choke on a moan. “I- fuckyes, yes, Binnie,”

He groans again. His horns press against your inner thighs now, spreading you open for him. His mouth is wild. He’s wild.

And still, every time your breath stutters too hard, or your hips jerk too much, he pauses, looks up like he’s checking if you’re okay.

You grab his face, desperate. “More.”

His restraint snaps. He stands again, mouth and chin soaked, and slams his lips to yours. You taste yourself on his tongue. His hand shoves between your legs, fingers thick and hot, spreading your slick as he presses one inside, and God, he’s big.

Your gasp turns into a high whine. His brow furrows. “Too much?”

“No!” You grind against his hand. “Just.. more.”

He adds another. Your jaw drops. His fingers stretch you wide and he’s not even trying. His thumb brushes your clit and you jerk in his arms.

“Shit,” he whispers, watching your face. “You feel so fucking good, look at you. Taking my fingers like you were made for them.”

His voice drops to a growl, right against your ear. “Think you can take my cock?”

You whimper. “Want it, need it.”

He groans like it hurts. You only realize how long he’s been hard when he finally frees himself, thick, flushed, massive in his palm. He strokes once, then lines himself up, panting against your throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says again. “But I can’t wait anymore.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper, “Then don’t wait.”

The stretch burns. He goes slow at first, inch by inch, burying his face in your neck and whimpering, the demon is whimpering, because you’re so tight, so hot, and trying so hard to take him.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel like heaven. Shit- Too much. Can’t stop-”

You’re sobbing by the time he bottoms out. Not from pain, not quite, but the overwhelming fullness. You’ve never felt like this before, so stretched, so completely owned by the weight and length of him.

“Tell me,” he pants, “tell me if it’s too much, I’ll pull out, I swear-”

Your voice is a wreck. “Don’t you dare.”

He makes a desperate, ruined sound, and fucks into you. The tree behind you shakes with every thrust. Your back scrapes bark, your moans turn ragged, and your legs are locked tight around his waist. He grinds deep, slow at first, then faster as your nails dig into his shoulders and you scream his name.

“Taking me so well,” he groans. “You’re so small, baby, look at you, stuffed full-”

Somewhere not far, closer than either of you realize, a low rustle of branches stills. Rooted behind a cluster of mossy ferns, the forest hears everything. 

He doesn’t even mean to look, but he catches one glimpse through the trees. You. Writhing. Arms around Changbin’s neck. A flash of teeth and sweat and flushed skin. Changbin’s back flexed, hips moving.

Hyunjin yelps. Out loud. Then bolts.

His foot snaps a branch as he crashes through the undergrowth like a deer in mating season.

Back in the clearing, Changbin freezes mid-thrust.

“…Did you hear that?” he pants.

You blink, dazed. “Don't stop…” you whine.

He grins. “Not planning to,” before picking up his movement again.

He presses a hand to your belly, eyes wide. “I can feel myself inside you. Holy fuck!”

You sob. Your orgasm crashes hard, suddenly, and shattering. Your body clenches so tight around him that he gasps, stutters, then slams deep again and cums, loud, brutal, holding you as his hips stutter and pulse.

Even after, he doesn’t move for a long time. He keeps you close. Keeps whispering that you’re okay, that he’s sorry, that he loves the way you feel, the way you held him, the way you looked falling apart.

Your thighs ache. Your pussy pulses, wrecked and overfilled. And you feel safer than you ever have.

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taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @bangchanspineapple @sunfk88 @sillyseob @rougegenshin @yaorzu-blog @babigriin @tricky-ritz

[preserve-or-raze]

for me, time blindness means that there are two times that exist: now and not now. for example, if i have to meet him for lunch at noon then i need to leave in 2 hours. but in my head that translates to “i do not need to leave now.” and since any time that isn’t now is not now, my brain treats this the same way it would “i need to leave in 6 months.” so now, i have to hope that in 2 hours, i remember that “it’s time to leave now.” (in this post i’m not going to get into the executive dysfunction that may or may not impede my actual leaving, but that’s a thing too.) if i remember too early, then we’re still in not now and i’m not leaving yet because other things need doing in the meantime. and obviously if i remember too late then i’m going to be late. relatedly, i also cannot seem to accurately judge how long it will take to leave; not to travel, but to get from “not traveling” to “traveling.” but again, that’s a separate issue.

now vs not now affects everything from deadlines to birthdays to bedtimes to cooking to getting places. anything that happens at a fixed time is subject to now vs not now and my remembering when now is at the right time.

it’s exhausting by the way. for sure because of the adrenaline that comes with remembering and quickly calculating if i’ve made a major mistake, but also because the only way to get remotely close to not forgetting something is by actively choosing to hold it in my memory. i must refuse to think about (and thus, do) anything else until the correct now arrives so that i don’t have to keep remembering anymore. if i let my mind go, it may not come back. this way of mentally holding on to something isn’t so bad if now will come in an hour or so. but the longer away it actually is, the less likely my brain is to keep its remembrance in the rotation. i’m sure i’ve made a post about how my memory works being like holding physical objects so i won’t go into it now, but my active memory is quite small, so the things that are closer to now (so i’m told) i try to bring across my memory more often.

i guess in that way my temporal organization depends more on how often i remember something than how soon it will become relevant. i equate how frequently i remember something with its importance; remembering something more often means i’m more likely to need that piece of info. it’s not so much that i need to do this now because it’s due tomorrow as it is i’ve remembered that it’s due not now four dozen times today, whereas next week’s thing only occurred to me 20 times and her birthday in 3 months i only remembered once (note: not to scale). that’s something i kinda only realized writing this post. huh.

The real thing with ADHD is not "I forgot", but that forgetting is this ongoing process. I remembered! And then I forgot.

At ten this (hypothetical) morning I remembered that I have a meeting at six. And then from 11 through 3 I worked on other stuff and had zero thoughts about that meeting. Maybe even thought about what I was gonna do with my evening at home. Got attached to the idea of taking the time to make a good dinner, maybe play some video games.

And then at three I said, "Oh! Fuck!" and remembered again, hopefully long enough to set an alarm. And then I went to the bathroom and remembered that I need to clean the counter and spent twenty minutes cleaning the bathroom and went to get a snack and then at five I said, "OH! FUCK!" and had to scramble to dress like a real adult and get out the door.

It isn't one clean forgetting. It's a constant process of forgetting and then, with an exhausting adrenaline spike, remembering. And then forgetting. Baby, I can forget the same thing more times in a day than you ever forgot your parents' anniversary.

[thatonegrimm]

How about a ai hoshino! reader from oshi no ko

She just as famous as the saja boys, and huntrix,

little idea that I came up with her dark eyes, her reflection of her demon powers, and she only feeds off the energy of the crowd instead of actually taking souls.

Basically, she takes the energy of the adrenaline within their souls. She doesn’t actually take them or eat them, but she feeds them like it’s energy and can actually taste them. It doesn’t really affect any of her fans. They just feel really drained and drowsy.

I got this inspiration by idol yoasobi

Literally, “your idol” and “idol” are kind of the same with the same beginnings and enchanting and all sorts of things, but when I was watching the video, I saw her kind of changed to a dark outfit version and I kind of thought

why not make her have a demon form because it would fit her And her eyes could shift a black eyes when she goes into a demon form which makes her unique

Basically, I just think both of the idol songs one from my movie. One from a anime show are kind of the same but this is basically what I want. I want them to meet the famous who is a half demon just like Rumi but she embraces her demon side. She still grows up with the same backstory, but she kind of embrace it when she sings her songs.

I could go on forever, but this would probably take too long to read so

Please do consider this as a future possibility if you cannot write it and thank you for taking the time to even read this and you can totally come up with how the boys would initially react to her whether or not the type is boyfriend girlfriend, etc. you come up with what they should be doing

 Thanks for your request! I hope it meets your expectations. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x ai hoshino!Reader

---------------------------

They call her a goddess onstage. A monster off it.

A half-demon idol with eyes darker than shadows and a smile bright enough to blind, she doesn’t take souls—she drinks the adrenaline right out of a crowd's chest.

Her voice wraps around people like silk. Her gaze holds like gravity. When she sings, her audience leaves not broken… but drained. Lightheaded. Emotionally spent. Like something inside them bloomed too fast and burned out.

But they always come back.

Because what she gives in return is unforgettable.

She doesn’t hide her demon half. She doesn't flinch from it. She performs with it. Becomes it. Every note, every move, every carefully crafted look down the bridge of her nose is a love letter to the chaos she was born from.

She isn’t cursed.

She’s chosen.

And now, she’s famous enough to stand next to the Saja Boys. Maybe even outshine them.

-----------------------

🧿 Jinu 

Jinu read your profile like he was preparing for a mission.

Stage clips, interviews, social media—all mental notes about power, presence, and possible risks.

Then he saw you in person during rehearsal, bathed in crimson light, eyelids heavy like you were carrying some secret pain.

And every plan he made evaporated.

“You… resonate strangely,” he said later, standing awkwardly outside your dressing room.

You tilted your head, eyes sharp.

“You’re the kind who tries to fix everyone,” you said softly. “I can taste that exhaustion.”

He blinked.

You smiled—soft but knowing.

Jinu cleared his throat and excused himself.

Later, he told the others, “It’s strategic to observe her from a distance.”

No one bought it.

-----------------------

💪 Abby 

Abby didn’t hesitate to approach you.

He shook your hand like you were old friends, eyes bright.

“Hey! You were incredible! That note? Felt it in my bones. You okay though? That kind of energy—do you need water?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how genuine he was.

“You’re… not intimidated?”

He grinned. “Why would I be? You’re strong. Cool, too. Also, your eyeliner? Perfect. Waterproof?”

You didn’t feed off fear, but Abby’s loyalty tasted like warm cinnamon and comfort.

He saved your signed photo in his phone, calling it “battle inspiration.”

He meant it.

-----------------------

📚 Mystery 

Mystery stood still the first time he saw you.

Backstage, you hummed softly in the shadows without looking up.

“You’re the one who stalks in shadows,” you said quietly.

He didn’t answer.

You smiled faintly.

“Your aura folds. I like that.”

His eyes narrowed, one hand twitching like it reached for a hidden blade.

You brushed past him, close enough to feel the cold.

“Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

“You don’t have to,” he murmured.

The air stayed cold after you left.

Later, you found a folded page in your makeup case—a poem in precise, strange script, unsigned:

“I saw you burn, and I stayed.”

You kept it.

-----------------------

💋 Romance

Romance met you at an industry showcase and decided it was fate.

You didn’t meet his gaze.

You didn’t have to.

On stage, you were both promise and threat, and he stared, mesmerized.

Later, at the bar, he cornered you with a flute and a grin that could wreck worlds.

“If you weren’t real, I’d have to invent you.”

You looked him over slowly.

“If you invented me, I’d still leave you on read.”

He nearly laughed. Not offended—delighted.

“I hope you do.”

The next day, he rewrote the bridge of a song just because your name rhymed with something interesting.

He calls you “his muse with fangs.”

Everyone else calls it a problem.

-----------------------

🔥 Baby

Baby watched your comeback from the wings, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Your voice wasn’t loud or flashy.

But you held the crowd in a chokehold.

He could feel their energy flow toward you like flipping a switch.

“She’s doing something,” he muttered.

No one listened.

Later, you passed him in the hallway, eyes drifting over him—lazy, curious.

“You run hot,” you said.

He didn’t blink.

“You should see me focused.”

You smirked. He didn’t.

But his ears flushed red.

The next time he trained, he snapped a sparring dummy in half.

Jinu said nothing. Just nodded.

Baby never flirted.

He never flinched.

But he never missed your live streams.

-----------------------

M-List

[codenamefalcon]

01. PLACES WE WERE MADE

Pairing: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1.6k Chapter Summary: No matter the distance, no matter the amount of time, no matter the stream of connection, you could never forget Clark even if you wanted to. But now he’s back, and he’s picking you up for dinner with his parents. Warnings: a little unedited, I used the Beanery from Smallville the show but in this series it doesn't suck, lmk if I missed anything! Note: I am of the many who saw Superman last week and immediately started writing. this is going to be a mini series of sorts so i hope you like it :)

Most people your age dreamt of getting out of Smallville, of finding their way to a big city where they could live their life to the fullest, but you? You loved it here. It was your home, your safety, the place you’d grown up, the source of all of your happiest memories. While others detested the closeness of the small town, you saw the beauty in how tight-knit everyone was. While they dreamt of skyscrapers and chain coffee shops, you reveled in the open sky and familiarity of the Beanery.

Though if you were being honest, the one downside to staying in the rural town was how limited the dating pool was. Everyone your age was either already married, had dated one of your friends, or was someone you had already gone on a failed date or two with. It didn’t help that any guy you crossed paths with was always unknowingly in competition with someone who had left Smallville years ago, and no one ever came even remotely close to him.

“Mornin’ sweetpea,” Martha sweetly greets you as she hovers near your seat, coffee cup and to-go sack in hand, “You workin’ today?”

“No, ma’am,” You give her a polite and warm smile, “I’m off for the next week.”

“Oh, are you goin’ on a little vacation,” She asks, nothing but sincerity and gentle kindness in her voice, “You deserve one after all those hours you work.”

“No vacation,” You shake your head with an light chuckle, “I’m just going to stay home and relax. Might try and fix up some things around the house that need to be done.”

You watch as something flickers in her eyes, almost like you can see the lightbulb lighting up with an idea so bright it shines throughout the entire shop. The coy smile that tugs at the corners of her lips is enough to tell you that she had thought of something, and whatever it was, you knew you wouldn’t be able to say no. You could never say to the Kent’s, not after everything they’ve done for you.

“If you aren’t busy this evenin’, you should come to the house for supper,” She starts off, though you can sense the subtle traces of some unspoken agenda, “Clark is in town, and I know he’d like to see ya.”

There it is.

The mention of her son sends an instant wave of warmth to your cheeks, a feeling of familiarity and comfort blossoming in your chest at the idea of seeing Clark again. It’s been so long since the two of you had last spoken, and even longer since you had last seen him, but the way you felt whenever he was brought up never swayed. Ever since the two of you were young, he brought out a feeling that you’d spent the better part of your days chasing after, yet you’ve never been able to replicate it with anyone else.

“I’ll be there,” You nod with finality, hoping she doesn’t notice the way your voice nearly trembles with nerves.

“Oh, good,” She gushes, delicately grasping your hand that’s on the table and giving it a squeeze, “I’ll send one of the boys to come pick ya up at five.”

You knew better than to argue against her, so you nod in agreement before she bids you goodbye and is out the door. The second she leaves, your nerves hit you in full force, and you’re sending panicked texts to your friends that they were having to decode as they fly in. They were trying to calm you down, telling you that you still had an entire day ahead of you to fill with distractions until the time came, but their attempts were practically fruitless. You were freaking out.

When you make it back to your house, you quickly began tearing through your closet in search of the appropriate outfit for dinner at the Kent’s. Of course, you weren’t going to wear anything too over the top, but you didn’t want to dress too plainly, either. Not if Clark was going to be there. With the help of your friends and a two hour long group FaceTime, you finally settled on something that was suitable and checked off your boxes. However, that still left you with nearly five hours to yourself, and a room full of clothes to put back on hangers.

“Are you sure this looks okay,” You ask as you twirl in front of the camera, “It’s not too boring?”

“Girl, you look great,” Mandy, the unfortunate recipient of yet another panicked call, reassures with a playful eye roll, “Those jeans make your ass look phenomenal. I wouldn’t be surprised if Clark took you up to his teenage boy bedroom and fu–”

“Oh my god,” You cut her off with a shriek, “Calm down, Amanda! That’s his parents' house.”

“So, you’re saying if his parents weren’t there,” She trails off into an amused laugh, ignoring the pointed glare you’re throwing her way, “All jokes, all jokes. My point is, you look fuckin’ good, you always do. That farm boy won’t know what hit him.”

“He’s been living in Metropolis for a while now,” You casually remind her, “He’s not really a farm boy anymore, is he?”

“Oh, please,” She lightly scoffs, “Clark Kent will always be a farm boy.”

You were trying to make sure that you had all of your stuff gathered in your bag, and the pie you had made was still warm and ready to take with you. It was nearing five, and you wanted to be sure that you were ready to go out the door the moment you heard the noticeable rumble of their truck. Of course, it was because you wanted to be punctual, and not because you wanted to see the Kent’s only son. That wasn’t it at all…

The sound of your doorbell ringing breaks your string of focus, which was you picking at your fingernails, and it makes your throat dry from nerves. You wipe your shaky hands off on the material of your jeans before you rise to your feet and make your way to the door. You contemplate peeking through the small hole in the door, but ultimately decide not to let yourself have the few extra seconds to stew in your own thoughts before you tug the door open.

“Clark,” You squeakily greet, ears burning and heat crawling up your neck at the sight of him.

Deep down, you knew it was him Martha was going to send to pick you up, but there wasn’t enough mental preparation in the world to ready you for the man in front of you. Clark had always been a taller, muscular boy, even in his youth, but now? Now he was huge. Not even with the large flannel covering his frame could hide how broad his shoulders were, how big his arms had gotten, how toned his chest was. And his hair? His curls were slightly mussed, almost as if he had run his hands through them over and over, but it looked good. He looked good.

If it weren’t for your grip on the frame of the door, you’re certain your knees might have given out.

“Hi,” He calls out, the sound of your name falling from his lips making your head spin, “Long time, no see.”

Deep dimples indented his cheeks in a way that throws you back to senior prom, Clark’s hands covering the expanse of your hips as he carefully sways to the music and listens to you ramble on about your dreams after high school. He didn’t stop smiling at you the entire night, and that was the first time you realized that maybe you felt something stronger for him. Maybe that feeling you’d spent years trying to tell yourself was normal was something much bigger than you thought. 

“Yeah, it has been a while,” You let out an airy chuckle, briefly glancing to the side to collect yourself, “Downsides of living in two completely different cities, you know?”

You don't miss the subtle downward twitch on his lips, or the way his shoulders fall just enough to be noticeable to you. No amount of separation would rid you of the ability to read Clark like you were always able to when you were in school. It was like second nature to you at this point. However, just because you could read him doesn’t mean you understood him, and you considered that to be one of your biggest faults.

“Yeah, I guess I should come back home more,” He sheepishly mumbles, his hand anxiously rubbing at the back of his neck as his ears turned a deep shade of red.

“Hey,” You instinctively reach out to take his hand in your own, sending a warm jolt from your fingertips to your toes, “The Daily Planet needs their best journalist, and Lord knows there's enough to cover up there. We’ll all be here waiting for you whenever you can make it back.”

The way Clark’s gaze softens as it slides between your eyes and your hands makes your stomach flip and your heart slam into your ribs. For as long as you can remember, he’s looked at you like that; Like you were the moon and he was the tide, ebbing and flowing at your will and call. For as long as you can remember, it confused you. It confused you because he’s always been the one to draw the line, to remind you how you were one of his most cherished friends, but friends don’t look at friends that way, do they?

“Ready to head to dinner?”

[bsturnzmtts]

Off limits p. 2 - Matt Sturniolo

Part 1 here

Pairing: older sisters bf!Matt x innocent!reader

Summary: You’ve always had a small crush on your sister’s boyfriend. But you never acted on it, not until this summer, after you found out some things that changed everything.

Warnings: long plot?, cheating (I don’t condone cheating this is all fiction), teasing, age gap (Matt is 22 reader 18), virgin!reader, oral, lowkey mean!sister, kissing, fingering, pet names, clit spanking, “just the tip”, outercourse sex, p in v, virginity loss, sneaking around, unprotected sex, etc…

You should regret it.

You really should.

He’s not just anyone…he’s your sister’s boyfriend. Completely off limits. The one person you were never supposed to want, let alone touch. But the way he looked at you… it’s burned into your memory. The softness in his eyes, the way his voice dropped when he said your name, the way his lips felt against yours, and the way his hands moved across your skin, all of it plays on a loop in your head as you lie awake in bed. You barely slept. Every time you closed your eyes, it came back. Not just what happened… but that you didn’t pull away.

You wake up to soft light spilling into your room. The events from last night swirl in your mind, making it hard to settle. Your throat feels dry, and your stomach twists nervously.

After a few deep breaths, you push yourself out of bed and quietly make your way downstairs, hoping a bit of normalcy will calm your racing thoughts.

As you reach the kitchen, you freeze at the doorway.

Matt and your sister are there, sitting close together at the table. Your sister’s hand rests gently on Matt’s arm, her tone unusually sweet as she says, “Hey, good morning! Look, we’re all good now.” She leans in and leaves a small kiss on Matt’s cheek.

Matt nods once, his face is serious, almost cold, and he quickly looks away. He doesn’t say a word, not meeting your sister’s gaze or yours.

You force a small smile, stepping fully into the room, though the air feels thick and hard to breathe. “Morning,” you mumble, reaching for a glass of water just to give yourself something to do. You can feel Matt’s eyes on you for a split second before he looks away again.

Your sister doesn’t seem to notice the tension. She’s all smiles, too cheerful. “I was thinking we could go to the lake later,” she says. “Take the boat out. It’ll be fun.”

You shake your head lightly. “I’m not really in the mood, you guys can go, I'll just stay here.”

Matt sets his coffee down. “Same. I’m not feeling it either.”

Your sister lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Ugh, you two are so boring,” she mutters with a half-laugh, trying to brush off the tension.

Matt doesn’t respond. You don’t either.

Whatever she thought this sweet morning act would fix… clearly didn’t.

Your sister rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “Ugh, fine.” She scoffs. “Some of my friends are staying at a cabin nearby. I’ll go hang out with them, at least they actually want to spend time with me.”

She stands up and heads to her room to get ready.

The house suddenly feels emptier without her. The silence settles heavy around you, making everything feel colder, more tense.

Later, Matt finds you alone in the living room. He hesitates for a moment, then sits down next to you.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly.

Before you can answer. Your sister walks in, eyes narrowing as she sees you two sitting close.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?” she asks Matt.

Matt's jaw tightens slightly at her question, his eyes flickering between you and your sister. "Nah, I'm actually not feeling great today," he says, his voice flat, maintaining his serious expression.

Your sister lingers, watching the space between you two. Her smile fades slightly. “Right…” The silence stretches. Her eyes narrow, just for a second. “Have fun doing nothing,” she says, voice clipped. Then she turns and disappears down the hall, her door slamming shut a second later.

The slam of her door leaves a hollow silence behind.

You and Matt just sit there. Neither of you says a word. The quiet stretches on, heavy and uncomfortable. You shift slightly in your seat, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. Matt stares straight ahead, jaw tense, leg bouncing.

It’s awkward. So much happened last night.

You finally break the silence.

“So… everything’s good with you guys now?”

Your voice is soft, but the question hangs sharp in the air. You don’t look at him when you ask it. You can’t.

Matt doesn’t answer right away. His jaw is locked tight. He stares straight ahead, like he’s trying to find the right words, or maybe just trying not to say the wrong ones.

Finally, he exhales, slow and shaky.

“No,” he says quietly. Then, after a beat, “That’s what she thinks.”

You nod slowly, unsure what to say. Your fingers keep fidgeting in your lap, and the silence between you feels too tight to breathe through.

Matt leans back slightly, dragging a hand through his hair. “She woke up this morning acting like everything was fixed,” he mutters, almost to himself.

You glance over at him. “And you just… went along with it?”

His eyes finally meet yours. “What was I supposed to do? I didn’t want to start another fight.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t forgive her. I just didn’t want to make a scene. Especially not with you there.”

You look away again, heart pounding harder than it should.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s complicated.”

You look at him, curious and a little frustrated. “Then why are you still with her? Why don’t you just break up?”

Matt’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “If I break up with her now… it means I have to leave the cabin and go home.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “And I wouldn’t get to see you.”

The words hang heavy between you. You don’t know what to say next.

You look away, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. “Matt…” you start, voice soft. “She’s your girlfriend. My sister. This is… it’s wrong.”

Matt leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. “I know,” he says, voice low but urgent. “I know it’s wrong.” He pauses, looking down at his hands before meeting your gaze again. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His confession hangs heavy between you, the words thick with implication. You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest. You should say something,anything… but the words stick in your throat. Matt leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re the only thing I want right now. Not her.”

You shake your head slightly, eyes stinging. “Don’t say that,” you whisper, even though part of you aches to hear it again.

Matt’s voice drops lower, filled with a rough edge. “I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

His words hang heavy in the air, stirring everything you’re trying to push down.

You swallow hard, cheeks burning. Your voice is soft, almost shaky. “Last night… it shouldn’t have happened.”

Matt’s eyes search yours, a small, teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Did you like it?” he asks quietly, his tone both playful and serious.

Your heart skips a beat. You hesitate, then nod barely noticeable, your breath catching in your throat.

Matt watches you closely, his smirk widening slightly. “Did you like my mouth between your legs?” His voice is low, almost unrecognizable, like he’s testing your reaction. Your cheeks burn hotter. You press your thighs together tightly.

"Did you like my fingers inside you?" He whispers the words directly into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. His hand moves to your thigh squeezing gently. "Because I loved it." His thumb traces patterns on your leg through your dress. "So much."

You whisper hoarsely, "Matt... stop." But your body betrays you by leaning into his touch instead of pulling away. Your hand covers his on your thigh, pushing it away slightly. Your eyes meet his intensely "This is wrong..." You remind him weakly.

Matt watches your body language carefully, how you push his hand away but spread your thighs slightly wider. He smirks slightly, knowing your denial doesn't match your actions. "You always say that," he mutters softly.

Your hand still rests lightly over his, not fully pushing him away anymore, but not pulling him closer either. Your breath trembles as you speak, voice barely above a whisper.

“What if… what if my sister finds out?”

The question hangs between you like a warning. Heavy. Real. The heat of the moment suddenly cooled by fear and guilt.

Matt’s eyes stay on yours, something unreadable flickering in them. He doesn’t answer right away.

Your question lingers in the silence, and when Matt doesn’t respond right away, something shifts inside you.

You slowly stand up, pulling your hand away from his. “I should go to my room,” you say softly, avoiding his eyes. Your voice wavers just enough to give you away.

The floor creaks under your steps. You feel his eyes on your back, but he doesn’t follow.

Matt stays there, alone in the quiet room, sinking back into the couch. He runs a hand down his face, mind racing.

Time passes. The house stays still, heavy with everything unsaid.

Then, the front door opens. Footsteps echo down the hallway.

Your sister’s voice calls out casually, “I’m back!”

Her footsteps head straight down the hall. A moment later, you hear her door open.

She’s back in the room with Matt.

You lie still in your bed.

Muted voices come from the other room. You can’t make out words, just the low murmur of your sister talking, and Matt answering every now and then, his voice quieter, duller.

You imagine her trying to cuddle up next to him, laughing, acting like everything’s normal.

Time drags. The house goes quiet again.

You’re just about to turn off your lamp to go to sleep when the door creaks open.

Matt steps in, quietly closing it behind him. His hair’s a mess, his face unreadable in the low light. He stands there for a second like he’s not sure what to say.

“Matt? What are you doing here?’ You ask in a whispering voice not wanting your sister to hear you.

"Shh," he whispers back, taking a careful step closer. His voice is thick with something you can't quite place - desire, regret, maybe both. "I can't fucking sleep knowing you're in here, next door." He runs a hand through his hair roughly, standing at the foot of your bed.

You swallow hard, watching him stand there in the moonlight streaming through your window. You're only wearing a thin tank top and shorts, your hair down and messy from sleep. Matt swallows hard too, watching you watch him. He takes another step closer. "Can I..." He pauses, clearing his throat.

You bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. "I… I don't know if it's a good idea." You whisper softly, pulling the covers up slightly to hide your body's reaction to him being here like this.

Matt nods slowly, like he expected that answer. But he doesn't leave. Instead, he takes another step closer until he's right at the edge of your bed. "I know," he whispers back softly. His eyes drop to where the blankets cover your chest briefly before snapping back up to your face.

Without another word, Matt carefully climbs into bed with you. He slides in behind you, pulling the blankets up over both of you. He's careful not to touch you, keeping a small gap between your bodies. But he's there. In your bed. His warmth seeping into your back despite the distance.

Matt leans in slowly, his breath warm on your neck. He pauses for a moment, giving you time to pull away if you want to. But you don't move. He takes that as a silent invitation and presses his lips gently against your neck, just below your ear.

His hand comes up to rest on your hip possessively as he kisses your neck again, this time opening his mouth slightly to suck gently. His fingers dig into your hip bone almost painfully. "Fuck..."

Matt's other hand reaches up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head to the side to give him better access to your neck. He starts to leave a trail of sucking kisses down your neck, his breathing growing heavier with each one.

Without warning, he turns you onto your back and captures your mouth with his, kissing you fiercely. His hand moves from your hip to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss is deep, passionate, the kind of kiss that makes you forget everything else.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw and neck again, his hands roaming over your body under the covers. His hand moves down to your tiny shorts, teasing you through the fabric. “Fuck, you’re not wearing any panties.”

You gasp softly at the sensation of his fingers pressing against you through your shorts. "Matt... we shouldn't," you whisper breathlessly, but your body arches into his touch despite your words.

Matt ignores your protest, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down in one swift motion. "Shh," he whispers against your ear, "You just gotta be quiet. She can't hear us… If you make any sound I’ll stop."

Matt's fingers find your center, slipping between your folds easily. He groans at how wet you already are. "Fuck, you're soaking." He starts to rub you slowly, his thumb pressing against your clit. His other hand covers your mouth, muffling any sounds that try to escape.

You bite down on his hand to keep from moaning as he adds a finger inside you, pumping it in and out slowly while his thumb circles your clit. He adds another finger, stretching you open as he kisses your neck harshly to distract you from any noise. "Shh..." He warns again.

His voice drops to a husky whisper near your ear, "You remember how good my mouth felt between your legs last time? Should I kiss you there again? Should I lick your sweet little pussy until you come all over my face?" He continues moving his fingers inside you while speaking, driving you crazy.

You whimper against his hand, your body shaking with need. You nod vigorously, your eyes pleading with him to do exactly as he suggested.

“But you gotta stay quiet, okay? You can’t make any noise.” Matt smirks against your neck before suddenly removing his fingers and sliding down between your thighs. He pushes your legs apart roughly but quietly before burying his face between them.

He starts licking you slowly, his tongue flat against your folds. He tastes you thoroughly, savoring the sweetness of your juices. His hands grip your thighs tightly, keeping your legs open as he eats you out like a starving man.

You try to keep quiet but your body betrays you when he finds your clit with his tongue and starts sucking it gently while flicking it rapidly. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth as muffled whimpers escape despite yourself.

Matt's muffled groans vibrate against you as he continues eating you out hungrily - licking, sucking, gently until suddenly two fingers enter you again while his tongue stays focused on your clit." Keep quiet baby," he whispers against you between licks."Don't wanna wake her up."

Your body tenses and shakes as he finger fucks you slowly while sucking and licking your clit. You bite down hard on your hand to keep from screaming out as the pleasure builds and builds. Tears start to stream down your face from the effort of staying quiet. But you can’t, some soft moans escape your mouth.

Matt pauses for a moment, looking up at you with a stern expression. Without warning, he slaps his wet fingers against your clit, making you jump and gasp in shock feeling a bit of pain and pleasure. “I told you to stay quiet, didn't I?”

He goes back to eating you out with renewed intensity, his fingers curling up inside you to hit that sensitive spot. Every few seconds, he pauses to slap your clit with his wet fingers or bites down gently, making you squeak and bite down harder on your hand. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

"Look at you," he whispers against your thigh, before licking up your arousal that's dripping down. "Dying to come while trying to stay quiet. Is it turning you on more that we could get caught by your sister?" He pushes his fingers deeper inside you, curling them perfectly.

You throw your head back against the pillow, tears streaming down your face from both pleasure and the strain of staying silent. Matt's words and actions push you closer to the edge.

"Come for me baby," he whispers against your clit before sucking it hard into his mouth again. His fingers pump faster inside you while he uses his tongue expertly on that sensitive spot. "Let go," he commands softly.

Your body obeys his command, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your hips buck against his face as you come hard, your muffled screams turning into choked sobs. Your body shakes slightly as he continues to lick and suck your clit gently through your orgasm.

As the last waves of your orgasm subside, Matt slowly pulls his fingers out of you and wipes his face with the back of his hand. He gives you a smug smile, clearly pleased with himself. "That's a good girl," he whispers before leaning in to kiss you deeply.

He kisses you deeply, letting you taste your own sweetness on his lips. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. "You did so well staying quiet," he says softly, running a hand through your hair. Then he takes off his pants, letting out his hard cock.

You get a bit nervous as you see his cock for the first time. “Matt…”

"Shh, it's okay," Matt interrupts you softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "I know you’re a virgin… just let me rub against you, okay? I don’t have to put it in.”

You swallow hard, nodding softly. Matt smirks slightly, clearly pleased with your trust. "Just spread your legs for me baby," he guides your legs apart gently. He settles between them, his hard length resting against your soaking wet folds without entering you. He starts to grind against you slowly, his length sliding between your lips and hitting your clit with each motion. "Fuck…"

He keeps grinding against you slowly, his cock sliding between your wet folds and hitting your clit with each thrust. The head of his cock hits your entrance but doesn't push in, just teasing you. He reaches down and spreads your legs wider apart to get better access, making soft groans in your ear.

You let out a soft whimper as he hits your clit perfectly with each grind. Your hands grip his arms tightly. "Matt... it feels so good," you whisper quietly, your hips starting to move slightly against him instinctively. He kisses you deeply to muffle any louder sounds you might make.

He groans into your mouth, his hips moving faster against you. "You feel so fucking good," he murmurs against your lips. "Your little pussy is so wet and warm."

He continues to grind against you for a few more moments before pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. His breath is ragged as he asks quietly between kisses: “Can I put just…the tip in?” He presses just slightly harder against your entrance without pushing inside yet.

You bite your lip nervously but nod slowly. "Okay..." you whisper softly. Matt gives you a gentle kiss before slowly pushing just the tip of his cock inside you. You gasp quietly at the sudden stretch and slight pain. He freezes immediately, giving you time to adjust.`"Shh..."

Matt leans down and whispers softly into your ear, "It's okay baby, it's just the tip... Fuck, you're so tight." He kisses you gently to distract you from any discomfort. He doesn't move any further inside you yet, letting you get used to the sensation of having him there.

You let out a soft sigh, relaxing slightly as the initial pain subsides. "It's okay," you whisper, "it feels... good." Matt smiles against your lips, clearly pleased with your response. He starts to move very slowly, pushing in just a fraction more but still only the tip.

Matt continues to move slowly, his hips moving in shallow thrusts.He keeps a close eye on your expression, making sure you're okay. "You're doing so well," he praises softly, his hand coming up to gently caress your cheek. "Such a good girl, taking me so well." Matt murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "You like that?"

"Mm-hmm," you whisper back, feeling a strange mix of pleasure and discomfort, feeling Matt's tip stretch you open. You're so wet and ready that he could probably push in deeper without much resistance.

Matt groans softly at your response, his hips moving in slightly deeper thrusts now. "Fuck, your little pussy is so fucking wet," he whispers against your lips. "It's pulling me in, trying to suck me deeper... Fuck."

Matt chuckles softly against your lips, his voice strained. "Shit, baby... I know I said only the tip, but fuck, you're so wet and ready for me... fuck, you're making it so hard to resist." Can I push in deeper? Just a little more?" He grinds against you harder, his cock throbbing at the thought of being deeper inside your tight pussy.

You bite your lip nervously, looking up at Matt with wide eyes. "Will... will it hurt if you go deeper?" you ask quietly, your voice shaking slightly. "I'm scared it might be too big..." You wrap your arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly.

Matt cups your face gently, kissing your forehead. "Baby, I promise, it might feel weird and a little uncomfortable at first, but I'll go really slow, okay? And if it hurts, I'll stop right away. I'd never hurt you, sweetheart." He kisses your forehead again.

Matt takes a deep breath and slowly pushes in a little deeper, his cock stretching your tight pussy. He pauses, giving you time to adjust. "You're doing so good," he whispers, his voice strained with desire. He starts to move slowly, inch by inch, pushing deeper inside you.

As he pushes deeper inside you, Matt leans down and whispers in your ear, "Remember baby... gotta stay quiet." He punctuates his words with a gentle thrust, making sure you feel him fully now. "Don't want your sister to hear us now do we?"

You whimper softly, biting your lip to muffle the sound as Matt fills you completely. It feels strange and a little uncomfortable at first, but it also feels good in a way you can't quite describe. You nod your head, understanding Matt's words.

Matt starts to move slowly, his hips rocking against yours. He kisses you deeply, swallowing any sounds that might escape your lips. "That's it," he whispers between kisses. "Just like that... fuck, your little pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock." His pace picks up slightly but remains gentle.

You feel a mix of sensations, the stretch and fullness of Matt's cock inside you, the gentle rocking of his hips against yours, and the pressure building in your lower belly. You're so turned on that you can barely think straight. The forbidden nature of it all makes it even more intense.

"You're taking me so well, baby..." he whispers, picking up the pace slightly. "Can you feel how deep I am inside you?" He grinds his hips, hitting a spot that makes you gasp silently, his hand quickly covering your mouth. "Shh... quiet."

He starts to thrust a bit faster, his cock sliding in and out of your tight pussy. He hits that spot over and over, his hand still covering your mouth to keep you quiet. He can feel you getting wetter and wetter around him, making it easier for him to move inside you.

Matt's breathing becomes heavier, his thrusts more urgent but still controlled. He leans down to kiss your neck softly, his voice low and husky in your ear. "I'm gonna fuck you harder now baby... but you gotta stay quiet." He pulls out slightly before pushing back in deeper than ever.

You nod against his shoulder, your arms wrapped tightly around him. He starts to fuck you harder, faster, his cock pounding into your pussy with each thrust. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room but Matt's hand over your mouth keeps any noise from escaping.

Matt's hips slam against yours, his cock driving into your tight pussy over and over again. He can feel the pressure building inside him but he wants you to come first. He reaches down with his free hand and starts rubbing your clit in circles while he fucks you.

You bite down hard on Matt's hand, a muffled cry escaping your lips as he fucks you harder and rubs your clit with just the right pressure. Your pussy clenches around his cock as you get closer and closer to the edge. "Mmmph”

Matt feels your pussy tightening around him and knows you're close. He leans down to whisper in your ear, "Come for me baby... I want to feel that tight little pussy squeeze my cock." He thrusts harder and faster, his fingers working your clit furiously.

Your body tenses as the waves of pleasure wash over you. You muffle your scream into Matt's hand, your pussy convulsing around his thick cock as you come harder than you ever have before. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, drawing it out as long as possible.

"That's it... fuck yes..." he groans quietly, feeling your orgasm pulse around his cock. He slows his thrusts but keeps moving, drawing out every last tremble of your climax. His own release is building rapidly, his balls tight against him.

With a final, deep thrust, he pulls out of your sensitive pussy and wraps his hand around his throbbing cock. He jerks himself off quickly, hot cum spilling out and coating your pussy and inner thighs.

Matt's breath is ragged as he finishes, coating your pussy and inner thighs with thick ropes of cum. He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms as he tries to catch his breath. His hand remains loosely over your mouth, even though no more sounds are escaping.

He kisses your neck softly before removing his hand from your mouth. "You were so fucking perfect baby... I've been wanting that for so long." He runs his fingers through your hair gently before pulling out a tissue to clean up some of the mess he made.

You look up at him with wide eyes, still catching your breath. "Really?" You whisper nervously.

Matt smiles down at you warmly, his fingers tracing your cheek. "Really... I've been wanting this for a long time." He leans in to kiss you softly before pulling back slightly. “I mean I’ve always found you prettier than you sister…” he says as he starts leaving little kisses all over your neck and face. “And… kinder” he says in between kisses. “sweeter… cuter” he keeps saying in between kisses as his hands move to your sides to tickle you slightly.

You giggle softly, not making a lot of noise, trying to squirm away from his tickling fingers. "Stop..." you say playfully, pushing against his chest. "So you've always thought that?" You look up at him with innocent eyes.

Matt's eyes sparkle with amusement as he continues to tickle you, loving the way you giggle and squirm. "Mhm... always." He says between kisses on your cheeks and nose. "You're just so fucking adorable, I can't help myself."

He finally stops tickling you and wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you close. "I think we should keep doing this... if you want."

You bite your lip nervously, your arms wrapping around his neck instead of pushing him away like you usually do when he gets too close. "What if my sister finds out?" You whisper softly, your voice barely audible. "She'll kill me..." You try to joke but it comes out shaky and nervous instead.

Matt chuckles softly, understanding your concern. He runs his fingers through your hair, trying to soothe your nerves. "She doesn't have to know." He leans in closer, his voice low and reassuring. "This can be our little secret."

Taglist pt 1:

@blahbel668 @bernardsbendystraws @sturnzsblog @deffonotjae @suyqa

@mattsturniololover1 @mattsturniolosgf @annsx03 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @strnzzvsp

@mattsfavbitchhh @yourenogoodforme-blog @mattshighway @lauren-222 @slvtformatts

@megamorgan44 @xaristhings @ariestrxsh @sucretwin @tisiablack

@nelxoxo14 @miasturn1ol0 @mattssslutbby @sophsturns @sturnberrys

@sturniololover69 @wakeupitschrizz @jessie-essie @freshlov3 @sturniolofreakk

@lydi2718 @chrisstvrns @le4hsblog @pip4444chris @chris-hallelujah

@esioleren @namelesssav @ilovemenwithlonghairr @ribread03 @valkatriee

@sturniolofreakk @izzylovesmatt @lolastrniolo @pip4444chris @idrk2292

@strnilolover @2prcntmilkluvr @chrissbows @chrissweetheart @strvnolin

[fagsystem]

This was actually the thing that I wasn't prepared for when I started. I was ready to fix my gender into a tiny acceptable box as someone who is visibly trans without clothing on. I was ready for transphobia. I was ready for hostility and safety risks. I was ready for the physical effort and strain and the emotional affects that kind of work can have.

I wasn't expecting the hardest part to be getting clients to fucking show up.

The site I run my ads on clearly shows people your ad the most right as it's about to expire, to encourage you to renew. And a bit at the beginning. And very little at the middle to encourage you to pay the premium to get it shown to more people.

So suddenly my success with getting clients where I had a lot of options dried up out of seemingly nowhere. I had a lot fewer options, and couldn't guarantee a client each day. I had to drop everything to take clients because I was homeless. If I didn't I couldn't afford the hotel for the night.

And I'd pay for the hotel after confirming with clients, only for them to completely ghost me. So not only was I not getting money, I was out of pocket $95. I once had 3 clients booked in a day and got an uber to the hotel because one of them wanted to meet up sooner than I could get there by bus.

He didn't show up. Neither did the other two.

The hardest part of it is the exact same as any other kind of freelance job. A lot of ex-sex workers I've met since then have said they'd go back to it if they had like an agent to do all that horrible heavy lifting.

The sex part of it isn't half as dehumanising as people not treating the work part with any respect. People not bothering with even a courtesy text that they don't want to meet up anymore, often times coming back days later and asking to meet up again. People are shocked and outraged I charge for photos, even though it's an incredibly low amount of money compared to any other parts of my service.

if you actually talk to sex workers in real life you realise they have a lot in common with literally any freelance profession. like obviously its a field that IS more ripe for explotation and abuse than something like a digital artist and i dont wanna erase that. but when i hear an escort lightheartedly roast clients that go silent when you mention payment or camgirls grumble about having to manage their social media when twitter sucks these days im like oh fuckin been there. we are all in the trenches in our own ways.

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 14

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.3k

cw: angst, questioning, grief, regret, cheesy nickname, crisis

Synopsis: You and Sylus visit Skyhaven.

author’s note: I need to stop posting things at four a.m. because I’m never sure if they’re good >_< anyways, I hope yall are ready for Em’s part next because I am super excited <3

taglist: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @xyzbeloved @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @myheartfollower @nightmarewasteland @feralwolfkat @junni-berry @chiikasevennn @lethalasylum @loudpiratepirate @sweetnightowl @rafaissance @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @iunse @asilaydead

Series Masterlist

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Sylus said, glancing over at you.

You took a deep breath, turning away to look out the car window. “I’ll be alright,” you finally muttered. “I’m stronger than you think.”

“I know you’re strong,” Sylus sighed. He tapped his finger against the steering wheel. “I just don’t want you to get in a situation you don’t want to be in.”

The car fell silent.

You knew Sylus was right, deep down. You just didn’t want to admit it. Why were you pushing yourself to do this?

To feel strong again, came the answer from the pit of your stomach.

It was another thing you didn’t want to admit; how weak you had felt since that day in Skyhaven. That feeling of helplessness hadn’t gone away. It was like when that bedroom door had locked, all your self-worth had been locked away with it. In the back of your mind, you were starting to wonder if maybe Em was right. Maybe you weren’t cut out for this, maybe it’d be better if you just kept quiet.

Going back to Skyhaven, back to that apartment, filled you with dread. But you felt like it was something you had to do. Something that could let you prove yourself.

Something that would put distance between you and the person that was crying in the guest bedroom with bloodied fists.

Sylus eyed you as he parked the car. “Say the word, little dove, and we go back home.”

Home.

Did you even have a home anymore?

The apartment was dark.

Lights off, curtains drawn. At first glance, everything looked perfect. Pristinely clean, sleek furniture, nothing out of place. Just like a showroom.

“Onychinus’s armory is more homey than this,” Sylus remarked. He paused as he picked up an apple plushie, wrinkled as though someone had squeezed it too hard.

Sylus cast it aside. “I never cared for apples.”

“Aren’t you a fruit vendor?” you asked. “Apples are a pretty basic fruit.”

“Well, I guess I simply don’t like ‘basic’ things.” He smirked.

You paced around the apartment, unease settling in your bones. “You’re sure Caleb will be here today?” you asked, glancing in the near-empty kitchen.

Sylus nodded. “He’s not scheduled for a mission with the Fleet. Unless some unforeseen incident arises, you should be able to have your chat with the Colonel with no interruptions.” He checked his phone. “From the looks of it, he should be arriving in a few minutes.”

Your fingers flexed. Leaving Sylus in the living room, you looked around the rest of the apartment, just the same as it had been when you’d arrived a few weeks ago. Startlingly empty, always leaving you feeling like there had to be more to see.

For the first time in a long time, you were reminded of Em’s eyes.

As you stood in the doorway of what was your bedroom for fourteen unbearable hours, you couldn’t feel any shock at its cleanliness. The door was fixed, all traces of your blood and Sylus’s gunshot, gone. The tiny divet in the floor-to-ceiling window where you tried to break it open, gone. The torn note, gone.

Any trace of you, of your agony, gone.

“What are you doing here?” A cold voice came from the living room.

You moved with a start, rushing to get back before things escalated too much.

“Believe it or not, seeing you isn’t how I wanted to spend my day.” Sylus frowned.

You skidded into the room with wide eyes, gripping an arm chair for balance.

Caleb’s mouth gaped as he took you in. “Sunshine?” he breathed. “Is it really you?”

Sylus quietly scoffed.

“Hey, Caleb.” You waved sheepishly. “How’s it going?” You shifted on your feet.

“Things are so much better now that you’re here. Are you alright, is anything—” Caleb stepped to get closer to you, but was quickly stopped by Sylus’s outstretched hand.

“Ah-ah, Colonel. Keep your distance,” Sylus chastised.

Caleb’s gaze hardened. “What is he doing here?” he asked you pointedly, ignoring Sylus altogether.

You took a deep breath.

“I’m here because I don’t trust you to not bring your little ‘sunshine’ back to Em like the lap dog you are,” Sylus said sharply.

Caleb deflated at that, slumping down into a chair. “No. No, I’m not going to do that,” he muttered. “I know that’s not the right thing to do now.”

You walked over to Sylus, standing just behind him as you watched Caleb. “When did you realize that?” you asked, voice more sour and shaking than you intended.

“Somewhere between the proposal to lock you in and the love confession.” Caleb looked everywhere but you. “I don’t know when, I don’t know how I didn’t notice… she was like a completely different person. And you… it hurt you so much. Nothing is worth that,” he said firmly, finally looking you in the eye.

You inched closer, feeling Sylus’s eyes on your back as you approached Caleb. You felt that same caution, that same dread as when you turned the knob on that locked door. But the regret in his eyes pulled you closer and you found yourself sitting on the coffee table across from Caleb.

“Why didn’t you do something before?” you asked after a few beats of silence. “Why didn’t you do something when it mattered?”

Caleb sighed. “I didn’t want to go against her,” he admitted. “Everything in my life was for her, to make her happy. When she asked me to do that to you, it was like I couldn’t say no.” He scooted closer to you, grabbing your hand in his. You saw his eyes flick to Sylus briefly, but his gaze quickly returned to you. “I know that was wrong of me. You were the one piece of happiness in my life that didn’t revolve around her. I shouldn’t have bent to her will so easily and let you get hurt.”

You scanned his face, trying to figure if this was genuine or just a way to earn your forgiveness. “You always insist on having your happiness ride on hers. Why is that? What can’t you let yourself be happy?”

Caleb was quiet for a while before he spoke, voice breaking. “I can’t find it in myself to do anything more than survive for myself. Em… she was always there, always this bright spot in my life. Soon, it was like I was living more for her than for myself. I don’t think—” his voice cracked. “I don’t think I would have made it this far if it wasn’t for her.” His hand tightened around your own. “But in all my talk of how she couldn’t see how I was, I didn’t see how she truly was. I don’t know how I missed it, how she hid something like that from me.”

He stared at the floor for a few minutes as you let the words settle between you, the realization that Caleb wasn’t so different from you. The struggle to live for yourself something all too familiar. Caleb swallowed. “Why did you come back?” he mumbled. “I don’t deserve to see you again.”

Sylus watched from behind you, watched as you empathized with the Colonel’s emotions, already forgiving his sins.

Sylus didn’t think he could ever forgive him, sob story or not.

“I needed to talk to you,” you explained quietly. You took your hand out of his grasp, not noticing how his own hand flinched back from the loss of your warmth as you rubbed your hands over your thighs. “I’m not from this world.” You tried to be as simple as you could, holding off on explaining the game just yet. Better to start with the Isekai situation, you figured.

Caleb’s brow furrowed. “From another world? Is this a deepspace anomaly?” He dragged his fingertips over his jaw. “But there wasn’t one the day you came here. And you would’ve already returned to your original world,” he murmured.

“There’s more,” you sighed, closing your eyes as you psyched yourself up. “I had this game, called Love and Deepspace.” You tried to be careful about explaining it all. But even by the fifth try, it was still clumsy and messy.

You were trying to be more mindful of how you addressed it all, thinking about how Zayne had broken you apart by showing you how your own emotions had clouded your judgment too much, though you weren’t sure how good of a job you did.

At the mention of the other Love Interests, Caleb tensed, eyes flicking to Sylus, but he didn’t look surprised.

Sylus was examining the Colonel with the eyes of a hawk as you went through the game mechanics. He observed the Colonel’s tight fists, clenched jaw, short breath. Calculated how fast he could pull you away if the Colonel snapped.

As your explanation came to an end, Caleb was silent.

“I knew she had other guys,” he whispered. “I just didn’t realize how important they were to her. How they were competition to our relationship, when we were best friends.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I guess I never realized how she was so much more important to me than I was to her.”

“Caleb,” you breathed. “I want you to be happy. I do. But that can’t always revolve around her. You need something else in your life to drive you, something else to give you purpose.” You motioned around his apartment. “I mean, look at how you live. It’s so empty without her. There’s nothing here that’s really just for you. Your home shouldn’t be like that, but especially not your life.”

He was silent again. “Do you know why I call you sunshine?” Caleb finally asked.

You shook your head.

A deep breath. “You were so warm, so welcoming. No stipulations. I didn’t have to prove my worth to be around you.” Caleb’s fingers stretched, itching to hold your hand again. “I decided I always wanted your light in my life. I didn’t think it would leave, for a while there. But then I messed everything up, and it’s been gray skies for weeks.” He reached out, hesitant and shaking, and took your hand. “I don’t want to lose my sunshine again.”

Sylus watched you. Watched the conflict in your eyes. He took a step forward, resting his hand on your shoulder. “Why don’t you take some time to think about it?” he asked you softly.

You nodded, standing up and picking your hand up out of Caleb’s grip. He only stared at his now empty hand. “Goodbye, Caleb,” you said. “I hope you can be happy.”

“Goodbye, sunshine,” he replied as the door unceremoniously shut.

The apartment was dark.

Caleb sat in the midst of it all, the full weight of regret nearly pushing him to collapse on the floor. “I’m sorry, sunshine,” he whispered.

Sylus brought you back to the Onychinus base quietly. You’d need time to sort through your conversation with Caleb, he knew, and he was more than willing to give that to you.

It surprised him, then, when you spoke as he helped you out of the car. “I don’t think I can ever trust him,” you said. “I’d like to forgive him, though.”

He nodded. “That’s always your decision.” His face turned sour. “I, personally, will never trust that Colonel.”

You chuckled. “You know, that entire time I was talking with him, I thought you were going to kill him.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“I could feel the murder glare you were giving him,” you laughed.

“Enlighten me, little dove, what exactly is a ‘murder glare?’” A grin teased the corners of his lips.

“You know what I mean!” You waved him off. “That death stare you give to people you don’t like. I think you’re the definition of ‘if looks could kill.’”

Sylus chuckled as he watched your unbridled laughter, a sense of relief washing over him. As long as he could keep you this happy and this carefree, he thought, he would be satisfied.

Walking through the base’s door together, the comforting feeling of home settling, you made a beeline for the kitchen. “I’m hungry,” you announced, turning to Sylus and giving him a saccharine sweet smile. “Cook me something?”

Sylus smirked, crossing his arms. “And just when did I become your personal chef, dove?”

You tapped your chin, pretending to think about it. “Hmm… since I said so! Now, chop, chop!” You grinned.

He shook his head, walking towards the kitchen in defeat. “Such a bossy dove.”

You flinched as Luke and Kieran burst through the door, something not gone unnoticed by Sylus. “Slow down,” he said sharply.

“Sorry, boss,” Luke panted.

“We just got some news,” Kieran said.

Sylus stiffened. “What happened?”

“A break in. One of your safe houses. Sounds like whoever it is has a lot of information on you now,” Kieran explained quickly.

“And you don’t know who it is?” Sylus asked.

“Not yet, boss.” Luke frowned.

“They said something about Little Boss,” Kieran whispered to Sylus so you couldn’t hear.

Sylus’s entire body went rigid with a tension you hadn’t seen before. “I see.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to go deal with this, little dove,” Sylus sighed. “Will you be alright on your own?”

“Of course, go take care of that, I’ll be okay.” You smiled softly.

Sylus mustered up a smile to return, but he couldn’t help the deep-rooted dread as he left the base with Luke and Kieran.

“Everything will be fine,” you’d assured him. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Sylus muttered. “I’ll leave Mephisto with you. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be here as soon as possible.”

“You worry too much,” you chuckled.

Sylus pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I just want my little dove to be safe.”

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

[nomoredying]

HII!! can you pretty please write a sevika x reader where the reader is the same age as Vi and she likes sevika but sevika tries to ignore reader because of their huge age gap. Then there comes a day where sevika finally comes to her senses and liked the reader back. YOU CAN DECIDE IF IT'LL BE SMUT OR FLUFF HIIHIHIHIHI. Love your works btw 💞

handle with care

alt! mechanic!sevika x apprentice!reader

tags: age gap (26/41), workshop setting, teasing, dirty talk, rough sex, reader absolutely wins a/n: please enjoy it! english is not my first language — please feel free to correct me, thank you

the air in the workshop always smells like burnt copper.

not the sharp bite of a real fire, but something quieter. like heat that’s been humming for hours. it clings to your skin. seeps into your clothes. everything here has that smell — the benches, the tools, even your own notebook that you keep folded in the back pocket of your overalls.

you don’t mind it. actually, you kind of love it.

there’s something comforting about the rhythm of the place. the metal-on-metal clinks, the low drone of the generator, and her voice. ow, practical, a little rough. it carries better than it should.

sevika.

she’s always busy with something. welding, lifting, fixing. which makes sense, since this is her workplace. today, she’s crouched near the back wall, one knee bent, her forearm braced on a crate as she adjusts the tension in a belt-driven pulley. her sleeves are rolled up, gloves off, and there’s a smudge of grease across the scar on her left arm.

you glance, then look away. not fast enough. heat prickles at your neck.

stop being weird.

you return to your corner, tightening the screws on a gear assembly you’re trying to reattach to some kind of old-school courier drone. she’d given it to you this morning with a quiet, “think you can figure it out?” 

you’d nodded like your brain hadn’t turned to fog. what you meant was, “yes, absolutely, i’d fix the entire world if you asked me to.”

you’ve been in love with her since the third week she hired you. maybe earlier. back when you showed up late on day two because your alarm didn’t go off, and she just looked at you once and said, “don’t make it a habit.”

three months later, you’re still here. still keeping your hands busy, still keeping your mouth shut, mostly. you don’t talk much unless she asks. but you watch her.

not in a creepy way. just… observant.

she’s got a way of moving that’s all intent. like everything she does matters. she respects the work. you can see that.

sometimes, she hums under her breath. low and soft. some old tune you don’t recognize. you let the sound settle in your chest.

the screw slips from your fingers.

you curse under your breath, pick it back up, and try again. it’s not that the piece is difficult. t’s just fiddly, worn down, old. you’ll probably need to weld part of the casing back in place too, but you’re avoiding that step because welding with the possibility of sevika watching always makes you feel like you’ve forgotten how arms work.

you sit cross-legged on the floor, elbow braced against your knee, muttering measurements to yourself while your brain drifts. 

random stuff.

like how long it would take to boil one of those super-thick tubes of solder. or if maybe you should start bringing your lunch instead of skipping it. or if the two screws you accidentally dropped into the vent last week have formed a secret tiny society.

you blink. realize you’ve been staring at the same bolt for — what, two minutes?

“you deaf?”

you jolt slightly, look up. sevika’s standing a few feet away, one eyebrow raised, a wrench in her hand.

you blink again.

“what?”

she snorts. “figured you were building a shrine to that bolt with how long you were staring at it.”

you make a face. “maybe i was. it’s the only thing around here that doesn’t insult me daily,” and that’s true. sevika can be very mean.

“hm.” she glances down at the tool in her hand. “wanna make it two?”

you sigh dramatically and push yourself up from the floor, joining her near the back bench, where she’s taken apart half of some kind of old plating unit. it looks like one of those things that keeps cooling systems from shorting out.

but bulkier.

“need a second pair of hands,” sevika mutters, nudging it with her boot. “this bastard keeps tilting.”

you kneel opposite her and brace it with both hands, trying not to pay attention to how close your knees are to hers.

she crouches down again. starts working the tool through the stuck joint, frowning at it like it personally betrayed her. you glance up.

just for a second.

her eyebrows are furrowed. she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking, and there’s a tiny crease next to her mouth. you smile before you can stop yourself.

“what,” not a question.

your head jerks down.

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling like a creep.”

“i am not.”

“you are.”

you busy yourself with the bolts, “maybe i was jus.. appreciating the bond we share as coworkers.” those bolts are fascinating.

“you keep saying shit like that, and i’m gonna revoke your lunch break.”

“you already do.”

“…fair.”

the door swings open with a soft creak. a familiar voice pipes in before you look.

“hello-o-o?” 

you peek over your shoulder. powder. her hair’s tied up in a messy half-bun, and she’s got some new device strapped to her arm that looks half like a watch, half like a very bad idea. ekko trails behind her, holding something that sparks every few seconds.

“what,” sevika says flatly. at this point you think that word and a raise of an eyebrow is her signature thing.

“hi to you too,” powder grins, “ekko needs you to look at his thing. he won’t shut up about it.”

“it’s a resonance stabilizer,” ekko says, stepping forward.

“it’s annoying,” sevika replies, standing up and dusting off her hands.

you step aside while she leans in to glance at the sparking object. powder comes to your side, eyes flicking between you and sevika.

“you comin’ to the drop?” she asks.

“tonight?”

“yeah, nowish. claggor’s got new music. milo swears he can beat everyone at darts. again,” you smile. “come on,” powder nudges you, when she sees you’re not rushing into saying yes, “you’ve been here all day. let your brain breathe.”

and i would be here all night too, you think, but say, “sure.” instead.

powder smirks. turns toward sevika, who’s squinting at ekko’s mess of wires.

“we’re stealing your girl, sevika!”

sevika exhales. hard.

“take her,” she mutters, not looking up. “bring her back with both hands intact.”

powder salutes dramatically. you catch sevika’s eye for a second — she gives you a look. you can’t read it, but it sticks to your ribs.

“go,” she says, jerking her chin toward the door.

your smile widens. “yes, boss.”

you leave with powder and ekko. the air outside is cooler, a breeze brushing over your cheeks.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the last drop is louder than usual tonight.

claggor’s made some half-decent playlist that thumps through the walls, and powder’s perched on the edge of the booth, legs swinging as she shoves another handful of pretzels into her mouth. ekko’s mid-story — something about a failed grappling hook test that ended in a pile of garbage and mild public embarrassment.

you’re listening. mostly. you like this place. it feels safe.

“i bet i’m better at dartboard than you, too,”  mylo tries goading you. you stand up after necessity of rolling your eyes.

“why are you suddenly obsessed with darts? i don’t get it.”

you’re halfway through when it happens.

“not again!” someone shouts across the room, followed by the thunk-thunk-thunk of cards hitting a wooden table.

you glance over. and yeah. there she is.

sevika.

she’s got her sleeves rolled up again, sitting at a round table with vander and three other older guys you’ve seen around. she leans back in her chair, eyes sharp, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth as she drags a small pile of chips toward herself.

she’s winning. of course.

you don’t even realize you’re smiling until powder nudges your arm.

“she get tired of breathing in solder fumes or what?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. “miss ‘i hate fun’ just had to show up and own the old men, huh? and you’re looking!” 

you scoff, looking away. “i’m not looking.”

“you literally are.”

you throw a pretzel at her. those kids! you’re only seven years older than her, but not that it matters.

a long, long time with mylo passes when you catch sevika again. not at the table now. she’s standing by the counter, talking low to ran as they slide her a glass. 

you don’t think. just move, “yeah, mylo, this is some bullshit..”

you slide onto the stool next to her. she doesn’t look. just sips whatever’s in the glass. probably whiskey. maybe battery acid.

“you stalking me now?” she mutters without turning.

you lean your chin into your hand, all wide eyes and syrupy grin. “i was here before you.”

finally, she looks at you. sideways. unimpressed.

“don’t you have people your own age to bother?”

you mock-gasp. “wow. ageism in public? cancelable behavior, boss.”

“you’re not working,” she says, eyebrow twitching. “i don’t have to be nice.”

“you’re never nice,” you hum. “and you came over to my bar,” you hope no one will let vander and silco hear your drunk nonsense.

“your bar?” sevika raised an eyebrow, mocking.

“i’ve decided it is. i’m claiming territory. you can have the bench vise and the oil stains.”

she huffs. not quite a laugh. you catch the way her eyes flick over you — quick, assessing. the edge of your collar, your lips, your tilted head.

so you tilt it a little more.

lower your voice. “something on your mind, sevika?”

her jaw ticks. she shifts, leaning away, hand back on her drink.

“you should go back to your little friends,” she mutters.

you blink. smile slow. salute with two fingers. “ma’am.”

then hop off the stool, turning and sauntering away without looking back.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you wake up with something aching in you.

it’s not something bad — not hungover, not anxiety, not hunger, not even the weird heartburn from powder’s mystery nachos last night. it’s something else. something loud. like your heart’s tired of waiting for your brain to catch up.

you stare at the ceiling for a full minute. blink once. twice.

then: “i’m gonna tell her.”

you say it out loud. it sounds ridiculous. you roll out of bed anyway.

the toothbrush nearly slips out of your mouth.

“nothing to lose,” you tell your reflection. “she’s a grown-ass woman, she can handle it.”

your reflection looks skeptical.

you rinse. towel off your face. mutter, “this is fine. this is normal. people confess things all the time.”

you arrive at the workshop early. early. you. sevika’s not even here yet, which should calm your nerves but somehow just makes it worse.

you pace. you fiddle with tools. you check the clock.

where is she? why am i sweating? why is my heart in my ears? why do my lungs feel like soup?

you stand in front of the workbench. stare at it like it holds the answers. then slowly — slowly — start testing lines. lines!

“sevika, i really admire you.” no. sounds like you’re applying for a scholarship.

“listen, so, you’re hot, and i think about your hands probably too much?” now that’s creepy.

“i like you. like, like-like.” what are you, eleven?

you try again. and again. pacing back and forth, flapping your hands like a deranged bird.

“okay. okay. sevika. i think i have feelings for you. and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but i just wanted to—”

“do you do this every morning or is this a special kind of breakdown?”

you freeze. your soul leaves your body, as you turn slowly to see sevika standing in the doorway. arms crossed. amused as hell.

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. just air. 

she raises an eyebrow, “well? don’t stop now. you were on a roll.” 

your jaw flaps. “how long have you been standing there?”

“long enough to hear ‘like-like.’” she winces theatrically. “might press charges.”

you groan. press your palms to your face. “janna, save me.”

“what are you, twelve?”

you peek between your fingers. “twenty-six.”

she rolls her eyes and brushes past you, heading for the back bench. “not helping your case.”

you stand there. hands limp. brain still rebooting. then — quietly — you follow.

she’s already halfway through sorting a bin of damaged gears when she speaks again. tone even, not cruel. just honest.

“nothing’s gonna happen,” she says. “not like that. i’m your boss and i’m too old for you.”

you nod slowly and scold yourself for not preparing counter arguments for those we can’t be togethertales, old as time. next time.

“seriously?” you ask, unimpressed. but sevika just ignores you. 

a few minutes pass. then you clear your throat. you can’t give up just yet! you just can’t.

“so what, you don’t like me? at all?” you press again, quieter. “not even a little?”

she exhales. steady, “that’s not the point.”

you feel heat rise in your cheeks, “so… you’re saying you do like me.”

“i’m saying you should shut up before i throw you out.”

you open your mouth to say something else — then see the look on her face. okay, she might actually throw you out. or throw her hands.

either way, you don’t want to test it so you shut up and work.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you do not back off. quite the opposite. it starts the next morning.

you don’t apologize. don’t mention it. you just show up with a cup of her favorite coffee — which you only know because you’ve watched her order it ten times. you drop it on the bench in front of her without a word, then go back to your own work.

she stares at it for a second. then at you.

then picks it up and drinks it.

you consider that a win.

you’re crouched under one of the lift platforms, tightening a bolt while sevika rewires the control box above. you can’t see her — just hear the occasional grunt, the click of metal, the way she breathes when she’s focused. steady. deliberate.

“hey,” you call up, “if i get electrocuted, will you miss me?”

“only during tax season.”

you even develop a game.

it’s called ‘see how long it takes to make sevika roll her eyes.’ your current record is twelve seconds.

“do you think it’s the smell of grease that makes me love you, or is it your sparkling personality?”

“if you say one more word, i’m stapling your mouth shut.”

“kinky.”

the wrench she throws narrowly misses your foot.

worth it.

sevika tries only ignoring and shutting you up from now on, but sometimes she just can’t help herself.

you’re bent over the bench, wrist twisted awkwardly as you solder two wires into place. your tongue’s poking out in concentration. she walks by behind you and mutters:

“try using your actual brain instead of pretending you’re cute.”

you grin. “you think i’m pretending?”

“hell, you’re exhausting.”

you hum, “but charming.”

one day you walk in late. flustered, hair a mess, sweat down your back because you ran the whole way.

she looks up when you arrive. says nothing.

“good morning to you too,” you huff, dropping your bag. “missed me?”

“only the peace and quiet.”

“you love the sound of my voice.”

“i like the sound it makes when you leave.”

sometimes, when she’s too quiet, you up the ante.

“you ever kiss someone in a workshop?” you ask one afternoon, like it’s a casual thing. like you’re not trembling under your smirk.

sevika snorts. doesn’t look away from the pipe she’s welding.

“you ever get fired in a workshop?”

you lean closer. “would you kiss me before or after firing me?”

this time, she looks up. slow. warning.

you lift your hands in surrender. “just gathering data.”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the door creaks when you push it open.

you don’t expect her to be there. you’re mostly sure she won’t be. it’s her and your day off, it’s late, the whole street is half-asleep under the soft purple of early night. the sky’s hazy, clouds hanging over zaun.

you just forgot your jacket. that’s it. you left it here earlier, when you stopped by to grab that old gear schematic. figured you’d slip in, slip out.

but then you smell smoke. it’s become such a familiar scent, almost like home.

there she is.

sevika.

sitting at the main bench, bathed in the golden spill of a low lamp. wearing a simple fitted t-shirt, muscles coiled lazy along her forearms. she’s holding some kind of broken hinge. house hardware, it looks like.

a cigar sits between her lips, glowing soft at the tip, curling smoke around her jaw like a crown made of fire.

you stop and for a second your brain blanks entirely.

her eyes lift. meet yours. flat. unimpressed. “what the hell are you doing here.”

your voice trips, catches itself, then smooths.

“forgot my jacket,” you say, shrugging with a little smile. you nod toward the hook behind the door. “not stalking you, promise.”

“shame,” she mutters. “would’ve been more interesting.”

you grab the jacket and walk over. your hair’s still a little curled from earlier, makeup half-worn off, skirt swishing around your knees as you move. you didn’t dress up for this, obviously. but still.

she notices.

you perch one hand on the edge of the bench. tilt your head. “what’re you fixing?”

she grunts. “drawer rail snapped. piece of shit.”

“thrilling.”

a puff of smoke escapes her nose. “where were you going, all dressed like that?”

you smile. bite your lip, just barely, “what’s it to you?”

her brow lifts. you see the second she realizes she asked. like the words came out before she gave them permission.

you lean in, teasing, grin spreading across your face. “you jealous?”

she exhales sharp. rolls her eyes. “of what? whoever’s dumb enough to take you out?”

“ouch.”

you’re grinning wider now. the smoke swirls between you, heavy and sweet and your gaze drops to the cigar between her lips. your thoughts get much, much louder. stupider.

don’t do it don’t do it don’t—

you do. you reach forward. pluck the cigar right out of her mouth. she blinks. is she stunned?

you bring it to your lips, inhale. just a little, because it tastes awful. too strong. you cough once.

“how do you smoke this shit?” you rasp.

her arm moves before she thinks. she reaches to take it back. but your hand moves too, with your body, and instead of returning the cigar, you lean in.

press your mouth to hers.

just a breath. just a second. your lips are soft, the kiss barely-there. just enough for her to feel the shape of it. and then you pull back. slowly.

your face is glowing. oh, you’re smug. thrilled. like you just won sevika in poker. she stares at you. for a whole minute.

you’re halfway into a cocky little comment when she finally mutters — half-growled, low and breathy:

“you little shit.”

and then she kisses you.

hard. one hand curled into the back of your jacket, pulling you closer, pressing your mouth to hers like she’s claiming her territory. her lips taste like smoke and heat and steel. so much better than you imagined. you melt instantly.

your brain short-circuits. you’re so damn proud of yourself.

sevika moves like the leash finally snapped.  her mouth covers yours again, rougher this time, teeth grazing just slightly as she presses in harder. you’re breathless. she huffs a laugh against your mouth like you’re exactly the kind of trouble she should’ve seen coming. and you are.

you pull at the collar of her shirt, fingers shaking as you touch the fabric, the heat beneath it. her hands already sprayed wide at your waist, pulling you closer.

her voice is gravel when she finally pulls back, barely a whisper against your lips.

“you’re out of your damn mind.”

your fingers rise to her jaw, brushing the rough line of her scar. when she licks into you, slow and deliberate, you whimper. pathetic, but can you really blame yourself?

you’re straddling her lap before you even realize it, thighs bracketing hers, skirt riding up in the back. her hands are big, scarred, and when they grab your hips, you feel it. 

your body folds into hers like it was built for this exact purpose.

“this what you wanted?” she rasps, voice thick, low in your ear. “been teasing me for weeks — now you gonna cry when i give it to you?”

you grind down on her thigh, sharp and shameless, “you wish.”

your hands tug at her shirt, slipping beneath the hem to touch bare skin. her stomach flexes under your fingers.

you moan into her mouth when she grabs your ass with both hands and rocks you against her thigh.

“fuck,” she mutters, “you’re so warm—”

“then do something about it.”

you need her to do something. 

your back hits the workbench and her body follows. she crowds you there, one hand braced beside your head, the other palming your thigh.

you tug her closer. feel her thigh press between yours again, higher this time. your hips jolt. your head tips back. “please,” you gasp, fingers fisting in her shirt, “sevika—”

she cuts you off with her mouth.

there’s no space left between you anymore, none, and maybe that should feel suffocating, but it doesn’t. it feels like finally.

her hand’s under your skirt now, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. your skin burns everywhere she touches, and when her thumb grazes the edge of your underwear — lazy, suggestive — you’re glad you’re not standing because you’re so weak in knees.

“fuck,” you breathe, head tipping back against the bench, eyes fluttering.

“that all it takes?” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “a few touches and you’re falling apart?”

“you have no idea what you do to me.”

she chuckles low in her throat. it’s warm against your neck, “sure i do.”

her teeth graze the shell of your ear. your whole body jolts. 

her mouth finds yours again. not teasing anymore, not at all. she kisses you like your taste is the only thing she’s thought about for days. you know her taste is. 

you gasp into her mouth as her hand slides higher, slips beneath the edge of your underwear — and god. her fingers are fast, practiced, sure, and when they slide between your folds, she groans.

“wet already?” her voice drops into something filthy, almost reverent. “fuck, you really wanted this bad, didn’t you?” 

you nod. bite your lip. her fingers slide through the slick once. twice. slow and deliberate. you arch into her hand, clutching her shoulders.

“don’t tease,” you whisper. “please, sevika, just—”

you don’t even finish. she slips one thick finger in. then two.

your hands claw at her biceps, anchoring yourself while her fingers fucks you deep, steady, perfect. her palm presses hard against your clit every time she moves. it’s brutal. addicting.

“shit. look at you. taking it so good.” she growls into your neck. 

you moan something half-formed and needy — a thank you, maybe, or a plea — you’re not even sure. everything is blurring. your vision goes hazy around the edges, your legs shake, your body’s curling in on itself as she keeps moving, keeps pushing you right to the edge—

“you gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you gasp, voice breaking. “yes, sevika, fuck, just don’t stop.”

she couldn’t even if she wanted to.

she watches your mouth fall open, your hands grip the bench behind you, your whole body come undone around her fingers, and when you cry out her name, she almost fucking loses it completely.

you’re still catching your breath, still trying to remember how knees work, when she pulls her fingers from you slow, so slow, and sucks them clean right in front of you.

your mouth falls open. no sound comes out. just want.

she leans close, lips brushing your cheek. “turn around.”

you blink. “what?”

“i said: turn. around.” her voice is low. a growl, really.

you swallow. obey.

your palms hit the workbench. it’s cold under your hands, solid. there’s grease stains near the edges and scattered screws and metal shavings but you don’t care.

you feel her hand slide up your back. then down again. slow. deliberate.

“look at you,” she mutters, voice dragging hot across your spine. “fucking dripping. just from my fingers.”

your breath hitches. your thighs clench.

“and now you’re bent over my goddamn workbench like you’re begging for it.”

“maybe i am,” you manage to breathe, lifting your hips just enough.

her hand comes down hard on your ass.

you yelp. she hums.

“brat,” she says, like a warning. “you’re a fucking brat.”

you hear her opening a drawer or something. you’re just about to turn your head when you feel cold tip, slick with the lube just at your behind. your breath catches. was this in the workshop all this time? waiting for its time?

“been thinking about this for weeks,” she mutters, voice dark with hunger. “the way you walk around like, playing games. the way you run your mouth, like you don’t know i could shut it with my fingers, or my cock—”

you moan, wanton. she chuckles behind you.

“yeah. that’s what i thought.”

you feel her press up against you. your whole body sings for it.

“beg for it,” she says, low in your ear.

you don’t hesitate. “sevika, please. i need it so bad. right here. right now.” 

sevika wanted to tease you a little more, but when she actually heard you asking for it, plans changed. she’s inside you now. 

a high gasp escapes your parted lips and your hands scramble for the edge of the bench, trying to anchor yourself as she fills you up in one smooth, punishing thrust.

“there,” she snarls, grabbing your hips. “that shut you up, huh?”

you can’t speak.

“fuck,” she hisses, fucking into you harder. “you’re so fucking tight. clenching like you’re trying to keep me in.”

you are.

every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs. the bench groans under the rhythm. her hands are bruising on your hips.

“you gonna come for me again, like this?” she asks, breath heavy against your neck. “bent over where we work? like a desperate little slut?”

“yes,” you sob. “yes, yes, sevika— please—”

her hand snakes around you, pressing hard to your clit. her mouth is bites your shoulder. her hips slam into yours, over and over and over. 

and when you finally snap, it’s with moan that echoes through the whole damn shop. you fall forward, barely holding yourself up.

sevika rides it out, groaning, thrusting once, twice, before she slams in and stills, burying it deep as she spills with a low, muttered curse right into your skin.

the silence after is heavy. warm. her breath fans over your back. your thighs ache. your legs are jello.

you feel her press a kiss to your shoulder.

“now that’s a way to spend your day off.”

taglist: @riotstemple29 @1i1z @ggutpunch

[rimzaaa]

Older Than You

Oneshot! (Request)

Pairing: Hwang Inho x Fem!Reader (y/n)

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your dad’s best friend for as long as you can remember. He tried to ignore it. Avoided your glances, dodged your teasing smiles. Always kept it respectful. But over the years, the air changed. And tonight — when you're left alone with him — the line you cross is one he doesn't bother fixing.

Warnings: 18+ Age gap (DBF dynamic, reader is mid-20s, In-ho late 30s/40s). Sensual smut. Power imbalance. Reader flirts openly. Slow burn tension. Tell me if I missed any.

Author's Note: Another anon request and I'm so glad for all the requests you guys sent me. And this request, AAAA give me more like these! Inho as DBF, I'm definitely going to write more on this. Don't forget to reblog 🫶🏻

Words Count: 1234

Tag list: Let me know if you want to get tagged in LBH fics.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world @mObi4girls @maah-sama @grylian @hecticspice @manager016 @mxriesss @christmascoles @nosebeers

You’d always loved pushing him.

Ever since you turned nineteen — when you finally noticed how your dad’s best friend never quite looked at you, not the way others did — you made it a mission to make him uncomfortable.

Nothing overt.

Just quiet glances. Biting your straw a little too long. Sitting too close at the dinner table. Slipping compliments into conversation that made him stiffen in his seat.

He’d always respond the same way — a long sigh, averted eyes, and a low murmur of “Don’t.”

But he never really stopped you, did he?

Even when you started calling him In-ho instead of “Mr Hwang”

Even when your skirts got shorter every time he visited.

Even when you leaned in one night, lips a breath away, and whispered, “Do you ever think about me?”

He’d stood so fast he knocked over his drink.

“I’m not doing this,” he had said. And he didn’t come over again for months.

You thought maybe you pushed too far.

But then he showed up tonight.

And now, it was just the two of you.

When you opened the door and saw him standing there — tall, coat draped over his frame, your stomach flipped.

You couldn’t help but stare — not just at the way he filled out that shirt, or the way his forearms flexed under the rolled-up sleeves — but at the hair framing his face.

Dark at the roots, but streaked with silver at the temples.

Salt and pepper. Just like those film villains who made sin look like seduction.

He looked older.

Sharper.

Better.

And damn if it didn’t make you want him more.

“Your dad said we’d have drinks. Didn’t know I’d be greeted by trouble,” he said, voice low and dry.

“Hi to you too, handsome.”

You stepped aside. He hesitated, then walked in. Same scent — clean, dark cologne, like cedarwood and cold steel. You wanted to wrap yourself in it.

“He’s not home yet,” you said. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Of course I am,” he muttered, but not unkindly.

You left the room briefly and returned with a glass of whiskey — his favorite. When you handed it to him, he paused.

“You remembered.”

You smiled. “I remember everything about you.”

That earned you a sharp look. The kind that said don’t start this.

But it was too late.

You sat opposite him on the couch, legs folded, body turned just slightly — just enough to let the silence stretch.

And then you said it.

“Your watch looks good.”

He glanced at it. Silver. A little scuffed.

“It’s older than you, darling.”

The word hit your bloodstream like fire. Your breath caught.

And this time, he didn’t take it back.

You leaned forward, resting your elbow on your knee.

“I like older things.”

“Do you?” His tone was unreadable.

“I’ve liked you for years.”

He didn’t speak. His jaw worked slowly, eyes tracing the curve of your neck, then back up. He drank. Finished it in one shot.

And when you stood — slowly — he didn’t stop you.

You crossed the room and stood in front of him.

“Say something.”

He looked up at you. Tired. Hungry. Controlled.

“You’re playing with fire.”

You knelt on the couch beside him, hand resting on his thigh.

“Maybe I want to burn.”

That broke him.

He reached up, fingers sliding into your hair, pulling you down to kiss him — and it was everything you dreamed it would be.

No hesitation now. No guilt. Just heat.

Your lips moved together with years of tension behind them. His hands found your waist, your hips, your thighs — firm, deliberate, like he had thought about this. Maybe more than you had.

When he broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been trying not to do this.”

You smiled, breathless. “Then don’t stop.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, hands sliding under the hem of your top — palms flat against your back. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you closer, until you were straddling his lap, his fingers gripping your hips like he needed to memorize them.

You tugged at the collar of his shirt, buttons coming undone one by one. He let you, eyes half-lidded, watching you with quiet fire.

When your lips met his neck — when you whispered “I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you in that suit” — he exhaled a laugh, dark and shaky.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then show me.”

And he did.

Gently, he eased you down onto the couch, hovering above you with a gaze that was nothing short of reverent. His hands were warm, slow, skilled — dragging over your skin like he had all night to learn the shape of you.

And when he kissed you again, it was slower this time. Less about control — more about worship.

Clothes fell away in whispers.

Fingers tangled in hair.

But the watch never came off.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble.

He touched you like he knew what you needed.

His hands roamed your body with slow intent — knuckles brushing your ribs, thumbs sweeping over soft skin, palms skimming down your waist as if he were learning you note by note. Memorizing you.

When he pressed his hips down against yours, you gasped — and he smiled against your neck, low and dark.

“Feel that?” he murmured.

You whimpered.

“That’s what you do to me. Every damn time you walk into a room.”

His lips traced your throat. “Wearing those shorts. Calling me by my name. Looking at me like you’ve already undressed me in your head.”

He pulled back to look at you — eyes hooded, breathing heavy.

“Tell me you want it.”

“I do,” you whispered, arching into him. “I want all of you.”

“Good girl,” he growled softly. “Then take it.”

He kissed you again — hungrier now, lips parting yours, tongue sweeping past as his hand slipped beneath your underwear, fingers dipping down, teasing you open with slow, devastating precision.

Your back arched, and he watched you, completely transfixed.

“You’re already soaking,” he muttered against your jaw. “And I haven’t even taken you apart yet.”

Your head fell back, breath stuttering.

He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear.

“Let me ruin you.”

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, your chest pressed to his as you whispered, “Please…”

His voice was low and hot against your ear.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours” you breathed.

That was all he needed.

With every deep roll of his hips, every whispered command —

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Say my name again.”

“You’re mine now.”

—you fell apart for him piece by piece, dissolving under his body like melted silk.

There was nothing crude about it. Only raw, breathless worship.

He held you like you were breakable.

Took you like he’d waited years to.

And kissed you like he’d never forgive himself for stopping.

And when it finally broke — when the pleasure crested so high you could barely breathe — he buried his face in your neck, murmuring your name like a vow.

---

Later, your body curled against his, slick with sweat and flushed from the aftershocks, you whispered

“You didn’t hold back.”

He chuckled — low and dangerous. “You begged for it.”

“I’d do it again.”

“You will,” he said simply, brushing a kiss to your shoulder. “Next time in my bed”