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littlelovelunette · 1 month ago

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Au business owner Sevika and her ex wife divorced for 8 years, they meet each other at their daughters wedding and fuck in the bathroom and fall in love again

Reunited After Eight Years

Sevika x Ex-Wife!Reader

Slight angst at start. Sex with plot. Sex in a bathroom stall. Clothed sex. Sevika has a dick. Bulging. Slight size kink. Praising. Clit play.

It had been a while since you saw your ex-wife Sevika so, seeing her in a nice dress pant and suit was definitely bound to rouse feelings on your side. But you weren't any less flashy today either. It was your daughter's wedding and you wanted to dress as pretty as one could get.

You were dressed in a pale golden halter neck dress, a designer purse slinging from your shoulder as you walked into the wedding venue. You smiled at the sight of your once-a-cute-toddler daughter Hannah who smiled at you.

"Thank you so much for coming," Hannah gave your hands a small squeeze, "Is Mom here with you?"

You shook your head with a bitter smile. Yeah, there was once when you and Sevika did everything together. She escorted you wherever you needed to go but after having Hannah, the love you both had for each other seemed to have lessened due to the less time you both spent together, spending more time on Hannah.

Ever since that, you both had parted ways but managed to stay included in on your daughter's life. You sighed to yourself, feeling bummed out. Maybe you should've asked Sevika to come with you and finally put your ego down for once. It was Hannah's wedding after all. This day wouldn't repeat itself.

You looked at the door, the guilt settling deep and heavy in your stomach like an endless pit but then, it felt as if all of that was instantly lifted. You saw her.

Sevika looked as gorgeous as ever, her hair was cut into a bob and she had gotten a labret ever since you both split. Heat pooled at your core from the sight, thighs coming to clamp together a little. No, it was lust. You couldn't. Not on your daughter's wedding.

"Hi, Mom!" Hannah happily ran into Sevika's arms.

For once, you pictured your little girl in Sevika's arms. Those days you and Sevika worked on the garden you both had nurtured for together as young adults. That one garden had become a part of your and her daily routine. And in summer, Hannah would always make you both the messiest lemonade after a long day in the garden.

That same garden had rotted away after you were forced to deviate your attention from it after splitting. Working alone in it was depressing. Sevika got too busy with her business and now it was just a distant memory.

"How has your business been?" Hannah asked happily, beaming at Sevika.

She'd been comparatively absent considering all the school plays you had gone to alone because she didn't accompany you because of some sort of meeting. "Something came up at work," was her go-to excuse.

"Business has been great." Sevika said, giving her a smirk before stroking her cheek with a knuckle, "You look beautiful, my little flower." Sevika's voice wavered with emotion.

It was hard for her as was it for you to see your little babygirl as a married woman now. And you knew Sevika never trusted others to take care of her beloved, but she needed to give her trust to Louis— Hannah's boyfriend and Sevika's soon-to-be son-in-law.

"Don't cry now, Mom," Hannah giggled before she pulled Sevika by the wrist in front of you, "Look! You and mum are matching!" She told Sevika happily before Hannah got distracted talking to her bestfriend who was the bridesmaid.

"Hey," Sevika said awkwardly, shifting from one foot to another.

"Hey," you echoed back, taking a once-over of Sevika's pale golden suit. "Nice outfit." You said in the most plain voice ever. Sevika chuckled at the tone of your voice, leaning against the table a little.

"You don't have to force it out if you don't want to." Sevika gave you a lop-sided grin, "That sounded almost physically painful."

You rolled your eyes. "Mhmmmmmm. And so gentle of you, you didn't even pass a single compliment on the dress."

"Do I need to?" Sevika cocked a brow. "You're stunning, drop-dead gorgeous," the words rolled off her tongue so naturally, you almost insecurely hid your torso from her, "Thought you always knew it and didn't need nobody's validation."

"I don't..." You fidgeted with the chain of your purse. "But thank you."

"No, I mean it," Sevika said, her playful eyes softening into something actually sincere for once. Her hands twitched as if she'd reach out and take yours but she didn't and just stood there awkwardly. "I do... Mean it." She repeated her own words as if determined to make sure you knew she still fancied you.

"Sevika, we can't." You said firmly and shook your head. Although, you said that, you averted your gaze from her, hiding the shameful thoughts piling in your head.

"I know." Sevika walked closer, looming over your frame. "But I should've treated you right when I still had you."

"It's not your fault." You looked up, gently taking her bigger hands into yours, "It's not your fault, don't beat yourself up over it. When push came to shove, we chose Hannah over our own love for each other and I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"What about now?" Sevika asked, slowly moving her hand onto your waist.

And your body so snuggly fit in her hand, as if you both were puzzle pieces always meant to accomplish each other. You needed her to feel complete— it was true. But these years you managed it all alone made you feel a different sort of independence. You were proud of yourself but you wanted to let it down and cuddle back upto your Sevika.

"I done want to be someone's second priority again," you referred back to all those times she chose her business over you.

"Never again," Sevika said in a firm tone instantly. She didn't even think about it as if she'd been reminiscing all her wedding vows with you on her way to here.

"You say never, but do you mean it?" You leaned closer to her, your breath tickling me face. The heels you wore made it easier for you to stand eye level to Sevika for once. Sevika took a deep inhale.

"Yes."

That's how you both ended up in the bathroom stall with you positioned against the wall. Your hands gripped the tile wall hardly as you tried to maintain balance.

"Please, be gentle, Sev," you whispered, "I haven't had sex since we split." You mumbled to her.

"Not once?" Sevika gave you a curious look before she pressed the thick head of her cock against your entrance, "Just tell me to stop and I will." She held your hips with both hands and slowly started to push it inside. "Fuck."

You tried your best to relax. Your eyes squeezed shut when you felt her girthy dick filling up your insides. She was so big. When she bottomed out, a wet squelching sound erupted from your body. You cried out in pleasure, quickly clamping your mouth shut.

"Mmmm," you moaned against your palm as Sevika slowly adjusted to a slow but romantic pace.

"You're taking me so well." Sevika whispered, her cock was so deep she was grazing against your cervix. The gentle thrusts made your legs quiver.

"Oh," you squeezed your eyes close as you whimpered.

Sevika pulled back just to shove it all the way back inside again. You gasped, one hand going to hold your lower tummy where her cock was bulging through.

"You look so pretty like this," Sevika said, bunching up your dress so it stayed over your ass, she squeezed the supple flesh as she adapted to a generic pace.

Your knees trembling from the attempt of keeping balance. Your hand that was at your stomach lowered to rub your clit in circles.

"Hngh," you moaned.

"You look so fuckin' good from this angle," Sevika said with a grunt as your walls fluttered around her, squeezing her as if milking her for whatever she had. Sevika chuckled, "Someone's eager."

You blushed, gasping when Sevika's pace heightened. The slapping sound of skin filled up the entire bathroom stall and for a while, that was the only thing you could focus on.

"I'm gonna cum," your hand at your clit almost stopped, Sevika squeezed your asscheek.

"Dont stop, now." She said in a deep voice causing you to nod. Your fingers continued rubbing tight circles around your clit, thighs shaking threateningly as if you'd lose balance any second now.

"I'm cumming!" You cried out against your other hand that was keeping your voice muffled and low.

Sevika's thrusts grew sloppier as she got closer to finishing herself. "N-Not inside! Sev—" your eyes widened as you yelled out, both hands leaving your body to grab the wall.

Sevika grunted but then pulled out just in time, thick ropes of cum splattering against the back of your thighs and the curve of your ass.

"Oh fuck," Sevika breathed. "Mmm, was right, drop-dead gorgeous," she slapped your ass. You squeaked.

"Let's clean up." You said, heat rising at your cheeks. You turned around but then before you could reach to the wash basin, Sevika grabbed your jaw and pulled you in for a kiss.

"I still love you." She murmured against your lips before biting down on your bottom lip. You moaned softly in the kiss and held onto her shoulders. You kissed her back almost so eagerly you were embarrassed about it.

"I do too." You said shyly as you both parted. "But for now, let's give Hannah the wedding she deserves. We can talk later."

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paleflower · 2 years ago

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I just set my alarm for every single working day of the week. I haven't been waking up to my alarm for a looooong long time, because I didn't need to. I had a baby who kept me up all day and night anyway and I was on maternity leave for a whole year! And then I had a toddler that would wake up at exactly the same time each day. So even when I went back to work, I felt no need to set an alarm. I mean... Why on earth would my child ever sleep in? 😂

And then he did it. I knew it was risky, but I also did not expect him to go off his usual wake up schedule this often. But it happened a few times now. I was never terribly late because of this. I thankfully have very flexible working hours. But still... I have decided it's time to say goodbye to having my son wake me up. Now it's gonna be my alarm and then I am gonna be the one to wake him up! And I know I should have done this way earlier, but I'm a lazy person. 😅 And I like to try and get as much sleep as I can. But I guess this is going to be better for us.

#motherhood #baby #having a baby #toddler #toddler mom #baby sleep #toddler sleep #daily routine

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thesimstree · 1 month ago

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Favorite Realism Mods for The Sims 4

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The slow dance for kids isn’t about romance – it’s about awkwardness, fun, and school parties. Picture everyone hiding in the corners until someone finally steps onto the dance floor, creating a scene that’s equal parts hilarious and heartwarming. This mod is perfect for storytelling, capturing those moments of shyness and small personal victories.

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A simple but delightful addition for winter (and beyond), this mod brings the classic "mistletoe moment" straight out of rom-coms. It’s a great way to spice up holiday gatherings and add a little festive magic to your gameplay.

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Playful Playpen by @dollishsims

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Simkatu’s new music interactions make listening to tunes more meaningful. Depending on the genre, sims get different moodlets – whether they need to shake off sadness, de-stress, or get pumped up. It’s a fresh way to break up daily routines and make the world feel more reactive.

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harryspet · 11 months ago

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homestead [4] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!reader, farmer!rafe, pogue!reader, jj maybank x reader, kidnapping, DUBCON, little editing,READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3.6k

In which you can't escape from your inner turmoil, even in your dreams.

homestead masterlist

Tending to the entire house was hard work. You thought you’d be bored sooner than you actually ended up. It seemed there was always more to do with all the cooking you were doing and the laundry that Rafe went through. Sometimes, you imagined adding the demands of feeding a newborn every few hours or chasing a toddler around to your already packed routine. The thought was daunting, but you had signed up for it, knowing it would be difficult yet now you were relieved you wouldn’t be financially struggling through it.

Your growing belly had started to interfere with your daily chores. It was harder to breathe when you exerted yourself, and frequent trips to the bathroom were now the norm. Rafe never complained when the house wasn't perfect, but you knew it was because he was trying to regain your trust after losing control in the nursery. He wanted you to come to him willingly, but you weren’t mentally ready for that. When Rafe did touch you, he restrained his darker impulses, and while you never enthusiastically said “yes,” you found yourself denying him less and less.

When Rafe started leaving his bedroom unlocked, you knew it was safe to start cleaning it. You mostly used this time to snoop around. You weren’t sure what contact he kept with the outside world. He made sure you weren’t privy to the details of his business, and he never called his family when you were around.

His room was like yours in many ways, yet distinctly different. You felt a more masculine presence than the rest of the farmhouse. The walls were a deep charcoal gray, and the bed had a thick, woolen blanket that looked inviting enough, but the large wooden bed frame was imposing. Heavy, dark curtains framed the windows on either side of the bed, and there was a seating area on one side of the room with a leather armchair next to a couple of shelves containing a few trinkets and books. Rafe’s closet contained your most considerable curiosity, a substantial black safe.

The way Rafe opened the house to you was purposeful, he wanted you to feel welcome here, but he couldn’t deny he had secrets. You knew at least a few of those secrets were inside that safe.

Every time you went inside the closet to put away Rafe’s laundry or organize his clothes, you thought about the years that had passed and everything you didn’t know about him. You were in one of those moments, standing in Rafe’s closet, when you heard the shower start in the connecting room. Rafe had appeared from an afternoon in the fields. You weren’t sure if he hadn’t realized you were there, but he’d already started undressing, his chiseled frame glistening with sweat and dirt.

“Hey,” You whispered, not wanting to startle him, but he was already grinning at the sight of you.

“Hey, Honey,” He started to undo his belt, and you felt trapped, most of his figure blocking the view of the bathroom doorway, “How you doing?”

You shrugged like you usually did, “Fine, I was just …hanging up your dress shirts.”

“Nice,” He slid off his pants, and you weren’t sure why you didn’t avert your eyes; maybe because you felt yourself starved from any other human connection expect Rafe’s, “I’ll be gone for longer than usual tomorrow.”

“Cameron Development business?”

He didn’t confirm nor deny, “You mind picking out my clothes? You have a better eye for colors and stuff, you know?”

“Sure,” You took that as your opportunity to stop staring at the figure that seemed to be growing even more pristine as the manual labor toned his muscles. You resented it slightly, feeling less and less like yourself as your child grew inside of you.

The closet was a strange mix of outdoor clothing and high-end suits, a signal of the true duality of Rafe’s life. Thanks to you, it was more organized now, and you spent time scanning the rows of clothes. You chose a tailored navy suit, thinking of his muscular build and the deep blue of his eyes. You paired it with a crisp, white dress shirt and a tie with a subtle, sophisticated pattern of navy and silver. Completing the look, you picked out his polished, black leather dress shoes and matching belt.

You hadn’t realized just how much time you spent mulling it over. As soon as you laid it out on top of the closet’s chaise lounge chair, Rafe stood beside you with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’m impressed,” He said, leaning over to peck your cheek.

“Thanks.”

“Stay with me in my room tonight,” Rafe said, his fingers trailing down from your shoulder to your arm. He moved in closer, leaning down to kiss below your ear, “Missed you all day.”

“Rafe,” You sighed as he placed a kiss lower on your neck. In saying his name, you said a million different things. It was a warning that you might resist, that you loved his touch but hated how much you did.

“I gave you your own space because of your …condition. But after the baby comes, this is going to become our room. I want you to get comfortable here.”

Again, it felt like he was asking the world of you. You imagined laying next to him night after night and him rolling over, taking what he wanted from you anytime he liked. When you thought about it for a moment longer, it wasn’t much different than how things were now.

“I…I wanted to ask you something,” You placed a hand on his chest and he placed his larger one over yours.

“Yeah?”

“Now that I’m in my third trimester, I’ve been thinking more about, you know, giving birth,” You found it hard to meet his eyes, but you did your best, especially as they started to narrow at you, “With me being here, I guess I don’t know what my plan is anymore.”

“Don’t worry, Honey,” Rafe said, “You think I don’t have a plan?”

“I didn’t know how far we were from the hospital-”

You felt his heart quicken underneath your touch, “A hospital is like, not even Plan C, it’s Plan E. You’ll do it here. People do home births all the time.”

Your face fell quickly, and you pulled your hand from him, “You’re not serious.”

“I’ve been doing my research. As long as we have the proper people involved and the right equipment, it can work!”

“It’s my first pregnancy, Rafe! I want a real hospital with lots of nurses and a real doctor. I want an epidural, and I want my baby to have immediate medical care if he needs it. You’re crazy!”

“It’s not happening.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You cursed, your temper flaring. He grabbed your wrist, keeping you from stepping away, “Get away from me!”

“Calm down,” Rafe grabbed both of your arms, pinning you in front of him, “This is why I didn’t fucking bring it up.”

“Let go of me,” You gritted your teeth, “Please.”

“You have to trust me. I can handle this.”

“I don’t want you … I don’t want just you to handle everything,” you replied, trying to find your calm, knowing you might set him off pretty soon. “Please, just—we have to be able to discuss this more. If you need reassurance that I won’t run or tell anyone what happened, then I will do whatever. I care about the baby more than myself.”

“I wouldn’t put you or the baby in harm's way.”

“I know,” you lied.

“Then don’t imply that I would.”

“Can you just be open-minded about this?”

His eyes held a lot of emotions, but he nodded. As if each of you were frightened of escalating each other further, you pulled away from each other.

“I want to sleep in my bed; I toss and turn so much, and my pillow-”

“Go ahead, I don’t give a shit,” Rafe crossed his arms, giving in so quickly that your eyes widened in shock. You didn’t waste the opportunity, scurrying off as quickly as your legs would take you.

You didn’t see Rafe for the rest of that night and were grateful he wasn’t around the next day, either.

“I like the name Kai,” you said, looking up, your head resting on top of someone’s warm lap, feeling the sun for the first time in a long time. “It means sea in Hawaiian. If they grow up here, they have to like the ocean.”

“I was thinking something edgier,” you heard JJ say, his gaze also moving toward the beautiful sky above. Lush, rolling fields surrounding you, “Maybe like Talon or Blaze? Something cool so, you know, the other kids don’t pick on ‘em.”

“No way,” She shook your head, giggling, “That is exactly the type of kid someone would pick on.”

“Fine …Kai. I don’t dislike it,” JJ seemed to ponder the name longer,.

You sat up from his lap, finally gazing at your handsome boyfriend. “I like it. We don’t have to pick one now, but … I’m just saying.”

The two of you were sitting on top of a plaid blanket you didn’t recognize, and you didn’t recognize what part of The Cut you were in, either. JJ must’ve surprised you for a date. A cheap picnic was always up his aisle, and you never cared for fancy dates.

“I still can’t believe there’s going to be a little Maybank,” you said, reaching out to touch his blonde, windswept hair. “I mean, I already love him. It makes me think my Dad must’ve never felt this way about me.”

He touched your bump, and you felt like you were filled with happiness. Everything was right. Things would be challenging, but at least you’d have each other.

“My parents, too,” the words were solemn, but you felt the opposite, “It’s their loss.”

Neither of you had the families you deserved, but you could provide that happiness to Kai . . . or whatever name ended up suiting your angel.

“Picking a name is hard. What if we look at him, and he just doesn’t match the one we chose?” You wondered.

“Then we change it. He could have no name for all I care. As long as he’s healthy.”

You brought your lips to his and melted into him. Strong arms wrapped around your back as he deepened the kiss further. You were at home.

When you opened your eyes again, breathless from the kiss, you knew you weren’t home at all. Tears filled JJ’s ocean eyes and the sky turned a darker blue.

“Have you asked Rafe what he thinks about the baby’s name?”

“Wha-” Your lips parted, the air growing from warm to humid. A storm was brewing above that field of flowers. Now that you glanced around, those flowers were just weeds.

“You should ask him.”

“Why would I ask Rafe, JJ?”

“Why not? He won. He gets you. He gets the baby.”

“He didn’t win. I just …” It came to you then. JJ never got to feel your pregnant belly. He never knew you were having a boy. How could you feel connected to him from behind the glass in the visiting room? “I-I’m going to figure this out.”

“You’re giving in.”

“I’m not!” You pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“You should’ve never let him in.”

“I’m sorry,” You were crying now, “I-I was so lonely, and… you left me!”

He turned his head, and you felt the rain starting to fall, “You’ll forget about me soon enough. He’ll never know me.”

“Please, you have to find us.” The words left your lips just as lightning struck.

You screamed yourself awake.

You pushed around the baby potatoes on your plate, sitting across from Rafe at the dinner table. This entire week, you’d been struggling with eating. You felt the baby resting so high that you felt full quicker than expected. It didn’t help that you were facing the reality of giving birth inside this house and possibly never seeing the outside world again.

You wanted nothing more than to meet your baby, but you felt yourself growing more complacent as your time here and the pregnancy went along. Realistically, how far could you get now that you were this pregnant? And how could you leave with a newborn?

“Is the baby moving a lot?” Rafe brought a piece of steak to his mouth, watching you intently as you played with your food.

“Yeah … a little too much.”

“Hey, an active baby is a healthy one.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, “You read that in one of your parenting books?”

He winked at you, “Yes, I did.”

“I’m glad you know everything now.”

“You’d know more if you spent some of your free time reading. You haven’t touched a single one.”

“I’m exhausted lately, but thanks.”

Rafe nodded, “Well, makes sense; your body is changing so much. I should stay home more so I can take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” You said quickly.

His fork and knife clanged against his plate as he placed them down. He leaned forward, eyes gazing sharply at you, “What’s gotten into you lately?”

“Rafe, don’t,” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes now.

“I’m serious …did I do something? Things have been going good.”

You went silent, “Can I be excused?”

“You cannot,” his fist slammed down on the table, making you jump. “I had our whole night planned out, starting with dinner. So you’ll finish dinner with me, we will go on a walk, and then stay in my bed tonight.”

“I don’t feel-”

“I don’t care. I don’t ask too much of you,” Rafe interrupted, “If you can act a little bit more pleasant, I’ll still give you the surprise I was planning.”

“A surprise?”

“You’re going to regret acting like a brat when you see it.”

Your mouth parted in shock, but his deadly look had you crossing your arms and sitting back silently in your chair.

Rafe’s hands were intertwined with yours as you walked down an unfamiliar winding path. Cicadas had begun chirping, and the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the property. This was only the third time you’d physically left the house, Rafe allowing you earlier in your pregnancy to follow him around to meet all of the animals.

Now, due to your swollen feet, you didn’t fit into the work overalls Rafe purchased for you or the boots. You walked in silence for the most part, imagining that Rafe was stewing with anger after your behavior at dinner. You cared little that you’d upset him; your mind was focused on repressing the nightmares you’d be having about JJ.

After a few minutes, you arrived at a small, fenced-in area near one of the barns. Your curiosity was piqued when you saw a little pen set up in the middle of the grassy area. Inside was a bundle of fur that wiggled and barked excitedly as you approached.

“C’mere, Honey,” He pulled you closer to the pin. The small dog was a golden brown color with long, shaggy ears, and you noticed a red gift bow tied around its neck.

“A puppy?” You asked, leaning forward. The puppy stood up on its hind legs, and bounded over the pen's edge, tail wagging furiously.

“She’s cute, right?” Rafe scooped the puppy quickly into its arms.

“You bought a puppy,” you couldn’t help yourself, starting to pet its soft fur as Rafe held her close. “This is the surprise?”

“Part of it,” Rafe smiled, “You could use more company.”

You couldn’t help but notice that your lips started to pull into a smile as the puppy tilted its head closer to you, licking at your cheek, “Oh … look at her,” You said, your heart swelling. Rafe had successfully subverted your expectations. Who were you to deny the cutest animal you’d ever seen? You should welcome any happiness your new world wanted to bring you, no matter how much regret JJ made you feel in your dreams, “You didn’t have to…”

“I want you to have her. She’s a cocker spaniel. Guy who sold her to me said they’re good with kids.”

“I love her,” You spoke honestly, scratching behind her ears.

“Look at her collar,” He gave you a suspicious look.

“Why?”

“Just look,” You hesitated but couldn’t imagine him playing a trick on you right now.

After spinning the tiny collar around her neck, you found the second part of your surprise. Hanging on its collar was a ring with a gold band an a huge, oval-shaped diamond. You inspected it closer, not meeting Rafe’s eyes. Your heart was beating way too fast to look at him. You knew little about engagement rings, but you knew what you were looking at would be considered top-tier.

“Here,” he said, placing the puppy back down in the pin and maneuvering its collar to free the ring. He held it out to you, and as you stood there, frozen, he took your hand. You didn’t pull away as he eased it onto your left ring finger, “I know we can’t have a traditional ceremony, but I just thought you might think this was special.”

Your lips parted, but Rafe shushed you, “You don’t have to say anything.”

Rafe’s eyes searched yours, waiting for any sign of acceptance. You looked down, the diamond catching the light of the setting sun.

“Let’s bring her inside,” Rafe suggested after a long moment. You nodded, and he leaned over to kiss your forehead before lifting the puppy again.

Rafe led you back to the house, and his words echoed in your head. What had he done to deserve your attitude? Things were going well. In exchange for caring for the house, you relax in a comfortable environment where your baby can grow peacefully. He’d bought you a gorgeous ring and a puppy to discourage your loneliness. Maybe you were just wholly ungrateful.

You helped Rafe set up an area for her in the living room.

“She’s gonna need a name.”

“What do you think?” You asked him quietly.

You resisted the idea of naming your baby without JJ, but maybe you could share this intimate, normal thing with Rafe.

He propped his fist underneath his chin, thinking, and stared down at the dog, “Are you opposed to a human name?”

“I’m not opposed to anything.”

He seemed a bit surprised by your reaction, but he continued his thinking pose.

“She’s gonna be really sweet, I can already tell. To me, she looks like a Lucy or like a Molly.”

“Molly is cute. Classic sounding,” You nodded, leaning down to pet her, “You’re so adorable. You need wittle pink hairbows, don’t you, Molly?”

You heard him chuckle at your high-pitched tone, “It’s settled then. Welcome to the family, Molly.”

As the evening progressed and after you got plenty of puppy cuddles, Rafe escorted you upstairs. The atmosphere was different than the last time you were together there. It was softer and more intimate. He helped you out of your clothes, gentle and considerate of your bump. You didn’t let yourself overthink any longer for the night.

Your body was so much different from when he first brought you here, yet Rafe’s eyes were hungrier than ever. You couldn’t feel vulnerable for too long because soon he was naked too and pressed against you. The touching, soothing words in your ear and the gentle hands on your belly were almost too much.

When the time came, Rafe guided you on top of him. He kept you steady, supporting your body with his strong hands as you straddled his lap. That night, you controlled the pace, and the position allowed you to ease the discomfort your belly caused. He watched you like a fine painting hanging in a museum, and his hands never left your hips.

“Take your time,” He grunted huskily, “You’re doing so good, Honey.”

You loved the praise. You basked in his words and his gaze. You wanted to feel like you were doing the right thing, that you would be a good Mom, and Rafe was always there to confirm that. Your head rolled back, lips parting, as your movements became more frantic and rapid.

You lost your rhythm, the intensity bringing tears to your eyes.

“Good girl, Honey,” As you grew tired, Rafe moved your hips for you. Hands pressing into his thick chest, you whined, feeling him in the deepest parts of you, “Give Daddy all of it.”

“Fuck, Rafe!” You cursed, shaking, and he groaned in response, “I’m coming.”

He moved your hips faster, the grinding motion sending you over the cliff towards your orgasm. You felt yourself tightening around him, and like a chain reaction, Rafe’s eyes closed tightly as his orgasm came, “Jesus, baby,” Hands still tight on your hips, he finished deep inside of you, but you’d reached the point of overstimulation now.

You climbed off of him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. He caught you in his arms, pressing his body into yours, “Thank you,” You heard him say in your ear, his voice raw with emotion, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

You nestled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours and the soft sheets beneath you. When you drifted off to sleep, you saw no raging storms, felt no overwhelming guilt, and JJ never appeared. For the first time in a long while, you slept peacefully, cocooned in the safety of Rafe’s love.

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think!

#dark fic #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #black!reader #obx fic #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader

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wolfiesmoon · 1 year ago

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Bakery

Leona x gn!reader

ok but can we feel the love tonight tho

i learned something new recently and i want to put this knowledge to good use (smirks evilly at leona)

also i am sick asf right now so i apologise if this is sloppily proofread

It seems like being Leona's pillow has become a part of your daily at this point. It's become an unspoken routine for you.

Usually, he'd sleep anywhere but he had to adapt his sleeping habits a little because of you. Turns out most people don't find the floor of the greenhouse a comfortable napping spot.

Usually, the perfect spot is your room in Ramshackle dorm. It's quiet and empty, save for the pesky ghosts that interrupt the two of you sometimes. It makes for the perfect hiding place when Ruggie is bothering him with some stupid papers he needs to solve for potionology, too.

All in all, worth the walk to the dorm. Especially since he gets to see you and feel your warmth without fail.

You were already waiting for him on your bed, busying yourself with scrolling through your Magicam feed. Usually, you keep a few textbooks for studying with you, but exams have mostly concluded for now. You know once Leona attaches onto you, you're not going to be able to leave for atleast 2 hours, so it's always great to prepare in advance.

Sure enough, you heard familiar footsteps getting closer and the door opened to reveal your sleepy lover. His tail swished when he caught sight of you. What a lovely sight, indeed.

"Hey Leona, had a good day?" you ask casually and he sighs in response, mumbling something about being tired. Well, that's just the usual, isn't it?

He climbs up on the bed and you smile at his sleepy expression. He's so cute when he's sleepy, but you probably shouldn't tell him that unless you want to get glared at.

Instead of crashing on top of you like you're used to, though, he places his hands on your belly, still sitting at your side. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't even meet your eyes.

Suddenly, his hands start moving in a kneading motion. A surprise massage? Not that you mind it, but that's highly unusual coming from Leona of all people. If anything, it should be the other way around.

"Leona..?" you question, trying to get a good look at his face. You can't really see it well because of the hair that fell to the side of his face. But from what little you can see, he seems to be in sort of a trance right now. His eyes are barely opened and he's wearing a little satisfied smile on his face. He doesn't respond to you at all.

"Leona?" you try again, a little firmer this time. He suddenly stops, probably finally coming back to his senses. You can see the way his eyes widen for a moment before he falls down on top of you without a word, wrapping his arms around you. Now you can't see his face at all, unable to read his expression.

"Leona, what was that?" you hugged him back, still a bit dumbfounded. You weren't going to lie though, that felt really nice.

"Don't ever bring this up again." Leona did not seem in the mood to discuss what just happened any further. He could have sworn he left that behaviour behind as a toddler. How embarrasing.

He's kind of worried now. That's how much you affect him.

"Oh... uh, okay." you pet the back of his head lovingly. Hmmm... now that you think of it, Grim does the same thing sometimes. The common denominator with Grim and Leona is that they're both cats, atleast somewhat.

If you apply this knowledge to what you know about cats in general... Oh, Leona, that silly goose. Seems he's a bit embarrased about kneading on you. You wonder if it was pure instinct.

yep, turns out the big kitties knead too, ain't that just a testament to the tried and true saying "cat is cat"

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #twst x yuu #twst x you #twst x mc #twisted wonderland x you #leona kingscholar x mc #leona kingsholar x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x yuu #leona x you #leona x reader #leona x yuu #leona x mc #fluff #this was lowkey so embarrasing to write im screamigngngngn

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helioslover · 8 months ago

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i kind of fell half in love (and you're to blame)

SUMMARY : charles and you are kind of best friends but the word doesn't seem really adequate. PAIRING : friends to lovers charles leclerc x sainz!reader WORD COUNT: 2.7k

Charles’ bed is so big you could easily get lost between the white linen sheets and yet, his body is so close to yours it almost seems like they’re just a bunch of arms and legs that doesn’t make a lot of sense. You like waking up this way. The sun is coming in through the window and from where you are, you can hear the waves crashing on rocks.

You find comfort in these moments where you feel like the world has stopped turning and only belongs to the two of you.

You find pain in these moments where you truly understand what you're missing out on.

By the look of it - your entangled legs, Charles’ arms surrounding your chest, your bodies so close it gets hard to distinguish where one stops and the other begins - one would think you are lovers.

And you somehow wish you were. That way, there would be a reason for your heart to start pounding against your ribcage with the simple thought of Charles’ body encircling yours. That way, you wouldn’t feel so guilty having wet dreams about a friend.

A friend . Yeah, you would settle on that. You would be Charles’ friend if that was what it took to have him around.

A friend that spends three nights a week having deep conversations, smoking and drinking on his balcony and then spends the night spooning in his bed.

A friend Charles has told things he’s never said out loud before without even thinking about it, like it all feels natural, like he wants - maybe even needs - you to know everything there is to know about him.

A friend Charles likes to kiss when he gets drunk, a friend he says pretty nasty things to, things you couldn’t have imagined coming out of such a pretty mouth, things that come back to haunt you whenever you let your mind wander.

You slowly get out of Charles’ embrace, immediately missing the warmth of his large hands through the fabric of his navy shirt. Charles groans a bit but you know it’ll take him another fifteen minutes to fully emerge from sleep.

The vision of Charles getting lost in the immensity of his bed - you still can’t figure out why he would buy such a big bed if he was supposed to sleep alone in it -, so unaware of anything, his face completely relaxed in a way it rarely is when he’s fully conscious ; there’s something in seeing him like that that makes your heart aches.

You want this - waking up in Charles’ arms, having breakfast together, making fun of his tiny sleepy eyes and his swollen face - to be your daily morning routine. You want to get to kiss Charles good morning and good night. You want to stop repressing your smile in fear you look like an idiot in love because, as much as you hate it, you are an idiot in love and Charles coming up in the kitchen - you now knows it just as much as your own - asking you if you've had a good sleep, his voice still raw and his shorts fitting his thighs (oh so) perfectly isn’t going to help you get over it.

A friend. The word echoes in your mind like an alarm blaring, grounding you back to Earth, to this kitchen you wish you could call yours.

Yeah, a friend. You will settle for that.

You’re holding a toddler in your arms, a little boy with big brown eyes that remind Charles of your very own irises, the typical Sainz chocolate orbs. Not that he’s taken every opportunity he could to observe every single detail that makes up your face. Whatever.

You’re holding a toddler in your arms, smiling at him awkwardly, and Charles just knows from the look on your face that you have completely forgotten that you were supposed to go out to play tennis together.

“Shit. Charles. I-”

“You forgot, I know.” Charles laughs it off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

You sigh. The kid is wriggling around in your arms, probably uncomfortable because of the horrible position you hold him in. “I swear, I was thinking about it but then Carlos was supposed to be on uncle duties but he had something urgent to deal with Williams and he asked - no, told me - to take care of him and left for God knows how long. I can’t understand how he gets to be the favorite uncle when he’s so irresponsible.”

Charles laughs. There’s always been competition between your brother and you and more often than not he has found himself arbitrating your silly fights. “Oh, so baby-sitting duties for you then ? Well, I’ll beat you next week, there’s no rush.” There’s a smirk on his lips as he finishes his sentence.

“Huh ?” You raise an eyebrow as you readjust your grip on the little body between your arms. “Charles, we all know you’re the one losing every single week. I swear to God it’s like you’re physically unable to win a set at this point.”

The thing is you aren’t completely wrong. Charles doesn’t really know how it started but you have taken the habit of meeting up to play every Wednesday before heading back to his apartment where you cook together, have dinner, wine and cigarettes on his balcony, talk for hours and then fall asleep in his bed. He likes this routine so much that you now spend three nights a week with him.

But it is true that it is physically hard for him to focus on the ball when he gets to see your body so clearly - the polos you wear make you look like you just came out of an old French movie, the ones that built the image of the femme fatale, and make something in Charles’ stomach twitch - and the way your tongue sticks out a bit when you get concentrated on beating him. Not that Charles sometimes imagines your tongue being used to do something else. Whatever.

“Okay, Nadal . We’ll see that next week. I’m going to let you handle your baby then. Text me if you need anything, alright ?” Charles picks up his bag.

“Erm, actually, wait.” Your voice is almost pleading and there’s a shadow of distress in your eyes. “Could you… help me ? I’m not really good at…this.”

Charles refrains a laugh. “I’d figured.”

That’s how Charles finds himself spending his afternoon babysitting your nephew. He’s not a difficult kid - except for when he starts coloring the floor instead of the paper you’ve given him - which makes it quite easy for Charles to teach you the basics of surviving with a kid. He finds it funny to see you, for once, being so clueless and not as self-assured as you always like to appear.

Turns out it’s not so different from your traditional Wednesdays : you cook - supposedly the worst mashed potatoes Charles has ever tasted -, avoid drinking or smoking but do talk a lot about your family and Charles feels somehow a bit envious that all of the Sainz kids got to grow up so happily.

The kid starts feeling a bit more comfortable around this man he doesn’t know and it turns out that he’s a very curious little boy.

“Are you like…dating ?” he asks you at one point. He sticks out her tongue the exact same way you and Carlos do as he tries to draw something.

Your eyes grow wide. “Oh no, not at all ! We’re just”, you mark a pause for half a second, “friends. Like your buddies from school, you know?”

Friends. Charles has a lot of friends and none of them compares to you. He’s never been so aching to see a friend before, never been so aware of a friend’s body before, never been so eager to (drunk) kiss a friend before. Not that Pierre told him that all these things did not fall into the friend category when he asked him about it. Whatever.

Charles thinks about it later when you’re all sitting on the couch watching Cars - a movie that was supposed to put your nephew to sleep according to you but he’s fully awake, falling in love with Sally as Charles tangles his thick brown hair - while you are falling asleep on Charles’ shoulder.

Friends . It just does not sit well with him. He wants all his Wednesdays to feel this way, with you falling asleep on his shoulders and a kid sitting on his lap - your kid. He wants failed mashed potatoes, pencil stains on the tiles and this feeling of finding a place where he perfectly belongs, where he’ll always belong. It all just feels like home.

Not that friends feel that way about each other. Whatever.

You’re sleeping on the couch, your head slowly moving from time to time. You almost disappear under the gray blanket you wrapped yourself in even though it’s pretty hot. The TV is slowly buzzing as the story of a mediocre movie unfolds on the screen.

You went out the night before, enjoying the time your friend Daniel was spending in Monaco to spend more time with him than you’ll get for the rest of the year. You came home watching the sun rise, drunk and high as a kite but happy. You’re now paying the price of refusing to drink the glass of water Charles had made you as you were about to get to sleep.

Daniel is going to get married and as much as Charles is proud and delighted about this grand news, he also envies him. He’s slightly jealous of the way Daniel has found his person, the one he wants to share a lifetime with. Charles is twenty-six and the only person he has ever felt like sharing his life with is hungover, sleeping on his couch. Not that this is the kind of thing you’re supposed to feel about your friends. Whatever.

He slowly gets up from the couch and gets to his room where his keyboard is facing the window, the black and white piano tiles calling to him. As he lets his fingers run, the sound muffled to avoid waking you up, he thinks about the confused feelings that have been boiling in him for months now.

He thinks about the fact that you are supposed to be friends even though he sometimes has this irrepressible urge to hug you, as if you were to vanish if Charles didn’t hold you tight, as if when he’ll wake up the next morning, you wouldn’t be here and there would just be an empty bed and his vacant heart.

He thinks about the fact that you are supposed to be friends even though he finds the sparse nights you spend at your own apartment long and useless. What’s the use of being alone when he can be with the person he feels the most comfortable with ?

He thinks about the fact that you are supposed to be friends even though Arthur and Lorenzo told him that there is something more, something they never sensed when they hung out with Charles and Pierre but that is flagrant whenever you’re around their brother. It’s like you’re speaking another language only you can understand and anyone who has the misfortune to be alone with you feels excluded, not because you mean to do so, but because you are so focused on one another that there is scarcely any room left for someone else.

He thinks about the fact that you are supposed to be friends even though all their friends have been asking about what’s going on between the two of you. He’s been asking himself the same question and has no proper answer, he just knows that he doesn’t want things to go back to the way they were, when you were just one among all of his friends and not the most constant part of his life right now.

Later, when he lets Pierre listen to the piece he wrote that day, his friend tells him that this is something that makes him feel like he’s falling in love and there’s nothing that can be done against it, nothing except enjoying the ride and letting yourself engulf in it. When Charles tells him that it’s supposed to be about you, Pierre makes a strange face. Not that this is the kind of melody you write about your friends. Whatever.

You used to hate Sundays. You are a very worried person when it comes to your loved ones and Sundays always mean race days. Your brother always promises he’ll come home safe but you can’t help but feel like your heart might drop dead every second he spends on the track.

Lately, over the summer break, your Sundays haven’t been the same. Charles always goes out jogging with his brothers, leaving you still half-asleep in his bed and kissing your temple before coming out of the bedroom you now share more often than not. When you finally get out of bed, you go out to the marketplace where you babble in French and Italian because you want to practice what Charles has been trying to teach you.

You love the way you feel at home even when Charles is not there. You’ve practically moved into the apartment at this point. You cook breakfast for the two of you, singing along to the vinyls Charles has been collecting. The sun illuminates the kitchen, and when you leave the windows open, you can hear the humming of people coming out of church, on their way to share a meal with their families.

The door opens and Charles enters, his forehead damp with sweat. You’re wearing the shorts you bought together when you visited Sebastian in Switzerland and one of Charles’ T-shirts that smells just like him. The flat smells of tortilla - the special recipe your grandfather taught you and Carlos when you were still infants - and coffee - that’s only for you, Charles drinks Oolong tea on Sundays.

There’s something so domestic about these mornings - Charles coming home to you, taking a shower before you eat together and decide what you’re going to do for the day, you moving around as if it was your apartment, habits you have slipped into without even realizing it- that you sometimes feel like choking up, like your heart is beating up in your head. This is the type of life you imagine to be a happy one. This is the type of life you want.

And yet, you settle for friends .

“I talked to Lando, we’re eating at his place tonight. He asked after your infamous margherita so I bought you burrata. I know how much you love to put some on your pizzas.” you say when Charles comes out of the bathroom, his hair curling up a bit because of the humidity.

“God, you’re so perfect. I’ll put that at the top of the list of reasons why I fell in love with you.”

There’s an instant of silence, both of you painfully aware of what Charles has just said. It takes a minute for you to completely understand the weight of these words, for the two of you that they mean something significantly more important than just thanking you for having bought burrata.

Charles is looking at you from across the kitchen, the half-smile on his lips meaning to hide the wave of anxiousness you can perceive from where he is standing. Your eyes meet his emerald orbs, the world stops turning and you have to force yourself to not kiss him right here and right now.

But then, you decide not to care for once. You don’t want to settle for friends.You want more of this, You want it all. You’ve always been greedy, one of the characteristics that come from your dad and that you share with all your siblings.

It feels like the three steps you have to make to reach Charles last for hours but then, when you’re finally in front of him, you can’t help but smile. Your lips gently brush Charles’s, before kissing him more fiercely. You can feel Charles’ body relaxing and for an instant, it almost feels like you belong here, like next to Charles is where you’re supposed to be. As you’re falling asleep next to Charles that night, the same way you’ve done a million times before, you think that you need to find a new word to describe your relationship. Friends doesn’t seem so appropriate now.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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cupofwyn · 11 months ago

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beach shenanigans w/ bf!dream⠀( a series )

▬⠀content יִ،⠀mark. renjun. jeno. haechan. jaemin. chenle. jisung.

pairing/s יִ،⠀bf!haechan lee × gn!reader

genre/s יִ،⠀fluff.⠀established relationship.

warning/s יִ،⠀pure fluff.⠀bulletpoints.⠀lowercaps. ⠀mention of the word war.⠀profanity.⠀

wc יִ،⠀0.9k

a/n יִ،⠀listen to loved you first by one direction when reading this! (this was the replaying song as i wrote this hc) i hope you'll enjoy reading ^^⠀

prompt יִ،⠀"having a bf is like having a misbehaved child." and it is certainly true, but you just couldn't resist watching when bf!haechan is having a petty fight over you with your nephew.

“nuh uh. y/n loved me first, and we fell in love before you were even born!” haechan fought back, sticking out his tongue in front of your nephew's face

“well, i'm going to marry y/n first.” your nephew ended, crossing his arms and looking away from him

two high-pitched voices rang into your ears. ear screeching, and, unbelievably, from two different ages

the one standing on your left is your bf!haechan, and the other on your right is the nephew you’re babysitting

now, you're questioning yourself about how this feud between them fighting for your love started

now you remember

when your sibling and their significant other offered you to join them on a beach vacation, even inviting your boyfriend to join them, you greatly accepted the offer with open arms, and so did haechan

he was thrilled, even prompting that he was going to spend the few days of summer vacation before going back to the usual routine of daily life

until he saw your nephew

inviting the both of you was your sibling's bait to babysit their child

you didn't mind at all since you loved to take care of kids especially your nephew

but haechan

oh haechan despised it

the little devil

the one who could possibly steal you from him

with those two chubby cheeks, arms, and legs, sparkling round eyes, and petite figure which was the most adorable aspect of a toddler

(not in that way)

haechan could only scoff and agree that your nephew was indeed cute

but what he couldn't forgive

was him also competing for your love

when you and haechan (and nephew) were playing around with sandcastles, swimming by the shore, and shell-finding quests

all of those activities involved you to tickle and tease with your baby voice to your nephew only

saying to him that he was too cute to be true, that you wish you could bite their cheeks off from cuteness aggression, and laugh at every oblivious and nonsense talking a toddler usually does

haechan was offended

those things

those were the things you also did to him

and him only

he tried his very best, okay

to get along with your nephew but

when haechan would get closer to you and be whiny about also wanting your attention too

your nephew would cry all of a sudden, and you'd carry them

pacifying them to stop crying and doing your baby talks again, asking them who made their cute little baby cry

and he cunningly pointed his chubby little fingers to haechan, rubbing his other hand to wipe his crocodile tears

“bad haechan.” the two words that you uttered

words that made him shrink on the white sand and stare into the blinding sky

was he replaced to bad haechan and not anymore to baby? nor babe?

even pookie?

and you couldn't believe what was happening right now

it didn't really occur to you that haechan was genuinely jealous and was just simply teasing a toddler

but for them, it was more than that

this was war

“you can't marry y/n with that age.”

your nephew looks at him with his adorable pouty lips and cheeks

you wanted to pinch it at that moment, but it could only get between them

you wouldn’t want to risk your current amusement to end. you wanted this to continue

“why not?” your nephew obliviously asked

“because you're too young.”

“then when i grow older, i will marry her!”

haechan snickered and looked down at him with a smug grin

“when you get older, you say?” your boyfriend also crossed his arms, mimicking the toddler he was facing

“your so-called promise will no longer exist because we—!” haechan grabs you by the waist, and you're speechless, not one word to even spout just to let this petty fight flow

“will get married even before you're an adult!”

you choked on your own saliva at this proclamation

“what?” you managed to ask

“what—no!” your nephew's eyes welled with tears. “i lost,” he mumbled and soon ran to where his parents were, wailing in defeat

“mommy, i lost!”

“tsk. he deserved that.” he clicked his tongue, smirking to himself as he was finally pronounced winner

“what the fuck, haechan?”

haechan’s smug expression softened, turning to face you, now both his arms wrapped around your waist

the teasing and arrogant haechan was long gone, now softened and intently showing affection

“i was a bit dramatic, but… wouldn’t it be nice too?” he grinned sheepishly

your heart fluttered at his words

it was tempting

spending and committing to the man in front of you has passed your mind more than once,

but you wouldn't let him off the hook so easily

“proposing to me during a fight with a toddler, my nephew, to be exact. don’t you think i deserve more than that?”

haechan eyes lit up, and he placed his hand behind your head

pulling you closer to him as he kissed your forehead chastely

“when the time comes, baby. i’ll do much better than this.”

“i’ll expect it.” you kissed him back on his cheeks, pinching it after as your lips left his skin

and he laughed, closing his eyes from the pain

he kind of deserved that, he admitted

“am i back to being your baby?” haechan rubbed your waist, a ticklish yet careful feeling

anticipation of your consent evident in his eyes

you chuckled at this and cupped his left cheek, prodding him to be buried in your touch

and hopefully, your source of affection too

“you've always been my baby.”

this gave him a signal

a signal for him to pull you in and place his lips on yours

you placed your hand on his chest, the other on his shoulders, kissing him back with fervent

and he pulled away for a moment just to say—

“good. because i loved you first.” and you chuckled, both returning back to each other’s touch

smiling in between the kisses at this peculiar situation, bringing you both closer

and much closer to each other

mastertag (still open)⠀:⠀@hoshipills

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katszumi · 2 years ago

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bakugou katuski wasn’t sure how you managed to break his shell. he didn’t find himself surrounded by friends— shitty hair, raccoon eyes and dunce face forced themselves around him so they didn’t really give him a choice (though he secretly appreciated it).

but, you, tenacious, vexatious, obnoxious, you found your way to him. he despised how easily you spoke to him, like a mother to a toddler. do you know who he is?

it was first year. bakugou knew who you were, how could he not miss the clamorous sound, also known as your voice, every morning. you were aggravating, but you were tolerable. he realized that when you two were paired for an assignment. you were assertive, deeming that you could hold your own against his trivial insults. it wasn’t admiration that struck him that day. no, not even close. you just earned a little bit of respect.

soon after, you were attached to his hip. why? he couldn’t even answer that. every morning you’d meet him halfway at a local coffee shop to make your trip to ua, because “who wants to walk alone?” was your reasoning. he didn’t believe your statement, but he disregarded it. in fact, he looks forward to his morning walks with you every night, sometimes even waking up earlier than usual to buy the two of you a beverage before you arrived. a decaf coffee for himself and an iced coffee for you. “i was thirsty. it’s just a one time thing.” was his answer when you first asked, but you and him both knew it wasn’t.

you two had daily conversations: mainly about school, how deku has ticked him off for the millionth time, or some stupid shit you brought up to irritate him as a joke. you were the only person he could converse with and not feel completely enraged by the end of it. he supposed that your voice wasn’t so clamorous after all.

it wasn’t until after class 1a moved into dorms that he started to notice things about you. instead parting your hair in the middle, you did a side part. you often switched the two every couple of days. you preferred sweet candy over sour, but you were obsessed with spicy food. you routinely listened to the same artists; he makes a mental note to force you to listen to new music. you always exercised in the training room at six o’clock on the dot, never a minute before or after.

bakugou knew he was fucked when he began looking for you.

movie night in the dorms lounge? he consistently searches for your figure, because if you’re not there he’s simply not going. choosing partners for an assignment? of course, it’s you, it has to be you. who else would be able to bear with him? a new album was released from his favorite rock band? he waits to listen, because you had to be there.

he even found himself doing stupid shit for you. like holding your backpack for you, because ‘it makes your back ache’. cooking for you because you’ve overworked yourself, you needed the nutrients anyway. helping you study for the next test, groaning at how easy it is and you should understand it, but deep down, he doesn’t mind. he’d save a spot for you next to him on the couch whenever everyone would do a group activities, you don’t deserve to sit on the floor like the rest of the extras.

bakugou was gentle when he was around you, everyone noticed it too. at first, it was a revelation to his classmates, surprised that bakugou could do such sweet things. it felt as if bakugou was painted a new man on a perfect canvas. but, they soon realized it was only you he was this way towards. his aggressive behavior remained with the rest.

though, the man himself didn’t realize his transformation until denki mentioned.

“how come you don’t yell at y/n, but you scream at us all the time?”

bakugou’s face contorted with confusion. that wasn’t true. “the fuck you talking about, dunce face?”

he shrugged, “i don’t know. i just feel like you’re more chill with her than any of us.” mina and kirishima co-signed his words with a nod of agreement.

silence surrounded the room, bakugou’s eyes planted on the floor.

he wanted to say because it’s you, beautiful, determinate, fierce, alluring, you. but, instead, the corner of his lip quirked up into a smirk, his eyes dawning onto the golden-haired boy in front of him.

“she’s bearable.”

like always, his words failed to convey his true emotions. bakugou katuski knew you weren’t just bearable. oh no. you were a million things more than that; you were his anchor to his crazed storm.

#bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki x you #katsukibakugou #katsuki x y/n #mha x reader #mha #mha bakugo katsuki #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugo x reader

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xxblairexxss · 2 years ago

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Fluffy child

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Fluff

Word count : 2.1k

A/N : Not really sure about this one. Sorry if it’s not up to your expectation, anon!

Requested!

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"Baby, I need to go now!"

"Wait!" You yelled back and picked up your fluffy son in your arms before making your way to your boyfriend, who was all prepared to leave with his small luggage. "Teddy said bye!”

He cackled as you waved the fluffy hand while the cat was looking very unamused as he was forced to wear the shirt. "Where did you get that?”

It was a toddler size Ferrari shirt with the number 16 at the back that you ordered months ago. "From a random website! Isn’t it cute? He liked it!” You squealed and kissed Teddy’s cheek.

"I don’t think he likes it, baby. Look at the face. He’s definitely giving you a side eye.” You laughed at your boyfriend’s horrible attempt to copy the expression. "I need to go now. I love you."

"There you go.” Teddy rolled down on the floor as you crouched to place him down before wrapping your arms around Charles’ neck as he kissed you on the cheek. "I’ll miss you!"

"I’ll miss you more. Teddy, don’t get used to my absence; it’ll only be 4 days."

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"Yeah, definitely. I mean—" Charles’ attentiveness to the conversation snapped when his phone rang. A smile instantly lit up his face when he saw the heart emoji at the end of the contact’s name. He usually got a few pictures of Teddy, your cat, every day, more if he was away. There were more pictures of the cat himself than your pictures in his phone by now.

Scooting the chair a little further away from Lando and Alex, he swiped the answer button and brought the phone to his ear, anticipating your voice. "Hey, baby!"

"Charles, he's gone…"

He frowned, unable to catch the words. Your voice was shaking, and there were a lot of voices where he was currently. "Sorry, baby. I didn’t hear you. What was that?"

"Teddy’s gone…"

He heard you sniffle and choppy breathing, making his hand itching to hold you in his arms right now.

"Charles, where are you going?” Lando called out after seeing the Ferrari driver stand up abruptly.

"My room." That was all he said as he left the table and made his way to the driver’s room, away from anyone else so he could hear you clearly.

Teddyy was a kitten you found outside a library back when you were a student. He came to the family at an early stage of the relationship. Charles always preferred a dog, but you managed to change his mind, or maybe he was forced to change his mind because wherever you were, Teddy would be by your side. Even in bed. So he never really got to say no to the fluff of cloud. He was very vocal and proud of being a dad as well. In fact, people would always ask him about Teddy more than himself whenever he bumped into the fans. It surely felt like Teddy was slowly taking over the spotlight.

You woke up yesterday morning and headed to the kitchen to do your daily routine, which was to feed your child. There should be a mini-race between you and him about who got to reach the kitchen first, and he would have blasted out his vocal chords to alarm the whole apartment that he required food right there and then, but yesterday was different. He was just lying down on his bed, looking so weak that you had to bring him to the emergency vet. You stayed at the vet for hours up until he got surgery, alone and unable to ring Charles due to the time difference. It was 2 hours after the surgery that the vet told you he passed away due to the stress that the surgery caused. You were told he suffered from a disease that could be infected by a virus that was hard to detect, and it wasn’t your fault, but it definitely felt like it. You haven’t slept; you couldn’t look at his blue-coloured glass bowl without crying, and you needed Charles.

He didn’t say anything throughout the video call, which lasted for at least an hour. You were filling him up with everything that happened with your puffy eyes, messy hair bun with your knitted cardigan, and looking like a divorced housewife who couldn’t move on from their cheater husband.

"I’m all good now. A little sad," You sniffed and wiped the tears with your oversized sweatshirt sleeve that was a little darker in colour from being used as a replacement for a tissue. "but I’m good."

Charles smiled, his heart swelling from seeing the way you tried to play it off just so he wouldn’t have to worry too much. “Are you sure you are okay, angel? I can stay on the phone longer. They don’t need me until 3, at least.” His gaze went to the top left of his phone screen. It was 2:57 PM.

"No, it’s okay." You brought the phone closer and managed a smile after seeing the way he looked at you. "Good luck."

"I love you, precious. I’ll probably arrive by midnight. You don’t have to wait for me, alright?"

You rubbed your eyes, nodding to his question before waving as he ended the call. The brown, printed blanket was back clinging to your body as you turned yourself into a cocoon and scrolled through pictures of Teddy while F1TV was airing on your television with just a few hours to go before the race.

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Everything had to make the loudest sound when he needed to be quiet. The sound of his shoe against the floor, which was usually silent as the grave, had to be the loudest ever at this hour. The sound of something shuffling against the floor made him whip his head as fast as he could towards the hallway, as soon as he closed the door.

"Baby?"

The shuffling sound came faster and louder as he made his way deeper into the dark hallway and stumbled back as you threw yourself against him. Too fast that he didn’t catch a glimpse of your body coming.

“F—you scared me.” He breathed out, and his arm went around your petite frame. He didn’t turn on the light because you often fell asleep on the couch, and he would hate himself for waking you up, but every sound in the dark would be connected to a burglar. He would have thrown a kick if he hadn’t caught the lavender scent from your body wash as you crashed into him earlier. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was waiting for you."

The thumping sound filled the silence as he let go of the bag he was holding with his other hand as he held you when you started crying in his arms. "Baby…"

It felt like you had drained out every salty liquid you had left because you were dehydrated after soaking Charles’ black shirt with your tears. You were flushed red when he cackled at you as you apologised for the mess.

"You should change out of this." He jerked back as you tugged on the shirt.

"Don’t be silly. Baby, stop trying to strip me. This is an assault."

You tugged on it again. "Go and change! It probably has my snot on it."

"Okay, and?"

"It’s disgusting!"

"Just tell me if you want to see my body. There’s no need to make up an excuse.” You rolled your eyes and left the kitchen while Charles waited for the linguine noodles to cook.

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"Is it done?”

You looked adorable with the puffy eyes and his hoodie, which seemed to be twice the size of your body, but Charles refused to say it out loud because you would turn down the compliment as if he were making fun of you. "It’s done, but it’s mine.” He had eaten earlier on the plane, but he didn’t have to ask to know you hadn’t eaten anything. He knew you from the back of his hand. He also knew you wouldn’t say no to your favourite food, butter pasta, so even when you told him you weren’t hungry, he still ended up cooking the food just because he wanted you to eat.

"Can I have a bite?” You wished he didn’t hear your stomach grumble.

Your phone was placed on your lap as he feed you a mouthful so as you leaned in, and he caught a glance of a recent picture of you and Teddy on your screen. He hadn’t really gotten to ask why or what happened because it didn’t seem like you were ready for it. All he knew was that you had to bring him to the emergency room because he wasn’t responding well, and that was it. "Baby, what happened?"

"It was my fault.” You sighed, frustrated with yourself, as you pressed the bottom part of your palm against your eyes to stop the tears.

Charles placed his hand on your waist, and you felt him keep stroking his thumb against it while you tried to gather your emotions. "I should have known something was wrong when he didn’t really want to eat his food two days ago, but I thought it was because of the new brand of food that I recently bought. I’m such a bad mom."

He took the plate away before drawing you into his arms. "You were the best owner any cat could ask for, baby. There are some things that are beyond our control. It wasn’t your fault. We even bought him for a monthly checkup. We did everything we could. You weren’t neglecting him just because you couldn’t detect his sickness early. He was looking fine even before I left."

"I miss him so much..."

"I know, precious. I know." The screen of your phone lights up again from a light touch of your clothes. "How about you show me pictures of him that I haven’t seen?"

"Won’t it be boring?” You wiped your tears with your sleeves again as you went to your photo album and scrolled through thousands of pictures and videos of him throughout the year. "Have you seen this one?"

"Which one?" He pulled you closer as you laid on his chest.

"This one." You chuckled and clicked on the play button. "It was when I bought a new mouse toy for him, and he was so excited that he fell off the bed from chasing it."

He was listening to you attentively until you asked to go to sleep. Truth be told, he hadn’t slept at all, even on the plane on his way back to fight the jet lag. He nearly fell asleep standing while he was waiting for the block of butter to melt against the pan, but it was worth it to joke around, to lighten up the mood, to lend you his shoulder, ears, and shirt to soak your tears with because as he stepped into the house, he knew he had a responsibility as your boyfriend. Sleep could wait; he would be happy to watch the same video of Teddy just from different angles a hundred times if that was what made you smile.

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Charles squinted his eyes as he caught you walking back to the car with a paper bag of fruits on your left hand and something fluffy on your right. The door to the shotgun seat was opened as you got in, and the fluffy thing you were holding meowed.

He had a lot of questions, but he didn’t know where to start. He thought you said you wanted to drop by the supermarket real quick to get some fruits, and he just had to wait in the car. What was supposed to be 20 minutes turned out to be longer than that. He even had to call you to ask why you were taking so long and if you needed his help, to which you said no, and now you brought in a fluffy, moving animal as if it were part of the fruits.

"Baby, what…did you buy?“

"Oh!" You let go of the kitten and took out the small packets of everything inside the paper bag. "I bought strawberries! Blueberries and some bananas. I also got some marshmallows!”

"And what is that?” Charles arched his brow, eyes on the kitten on your lap.

"Which one?" You tilted your head.

“That..?”

“Oh! It’s a kitten!” You beamed.

"Ah, it’s a kitten! I wouldn’t have guessed. Y/N, did you think you could sneak in a kitten in the car and I wouldn’t find out about it?” He was so lost for words that he ended up chuckling.

"I found Boo on the side of the street!” You picked the kitten up and booped on the nose.

"Who is Boo? It has a name already?"

"Can we take her, please? Please, please! I can’t just leave her on the street. She was hungry too!” You cradled the kitten against your chest and tried not to make any eye contact with your boyfriend so that he would just accept his fate and drive home. “Look at the face! She reminds me of Teddy!”

"Well, she has a name already. Let’s just go home, Boo."

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13 @vildetry06 @harriesgolden

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x y/n

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mummyemmatojames · 1 month ago

Text

33. A New Milestone: Producing Milk for James

Hello, wonderful community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with an exciting update on our MDLB and FLR journey. As many of you know, I’ve been “feeding” James—nursing him—about three times a day for a while now: at bedtime to help him sleep, when he fusses, or when he needs comfort. Thanks to your amazing advice (you know who you are!), I’ve taken a big step—I now produce milk! It’s been a wild adjustment for both of us, but I’m loving how it’s deepening our dynamic and even benefiting his health. I’d love to hear from others who’ve gone down this path!

How We Got Here

Nursing has been a cornerstone of our dynamic for months—starting as a dry comfort thing and growing into a daily ritual. James latches on every night to fall asleep, and I’ve been offering it during the day when he’s upset or just needs a quiet moment with Mummy. It’s become such a natural part of us that I started wondering if I could take it further. After reading your suggestions about inducing lactation—taking supplements like fenugreek and blessed thistle, using a pump between sessions—I decided to give it a try. I didn’t tell James at first, just quietly worked on it for a few weeks, pumping a few times a day and tweaking my diet.

About a week ago, it happened—I started producing milk, albeit just a little. The first time was during our bedtime routine. I felt a little let-down as he latched on, and suddenly, he pulled back with this horrified look on his face. “What’s that?” he sputtered, wiping his mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh—I explained that it was Mummy’s milk, that I’d been working on it for him. He said it tasted sweet, almost too sweet, and seemed thrown off by the whole thing. I reassured him it was normal and good for him, and after a minute, he settled back in, though he was still a bit wide-eyed about it.

Adjusting to the Change

The first couple of days were an adjustment—James wasn’t sure about the taste or the idea of it, and I could tell it made him feel a bit weird. He’d hesitate before latching, like he was bracing himself, and once muttered, “It’s so different, Mummy.” But I stayed calm and encouraging—“It’s just Mummy taking care of you, sweetheart, like always”—and now, a week in, he seems to be used to it. He doesn’t pull away anymore, and last night, he nursed to sleep without a peep, his breathing slowing as the milk flowed. It’s starting to feel like second nature again, just with this new, amazing layer.

For me, it’s been incredible. I love that I’m not only comforting him but actually nourishing him now. The let-down sensation is a little strange—I feel it most at bedtime or when he’s been fussing for a while—but it’s also so satisfying. Knowing my body is producing something just for him makes me feel even more connected to my role as Mummy. I’ve kept up the supplements and pump a little in the mornings and night to keep things steady, and I’m amazed at how well it’s working.

The Benefits for James

What’s been even more surprising is how it’s affecting James’s health. Paired with the control I’ve had over his snacking—steering him toward fruit and veggies instead of biscuits since the toddler grounding rule stuck— Mummy’s milk seems to be doing wonders. His skin, which used to break out now and then, has cleared up beautifully; it’s smooth and bright in a way I haven’t seen before. He’s in great shape too—energetic but steady, no more sugar crashes from junk food. I’ve read that breast milk can boost immunity and overall wellness, even for adults, and I’m starting to see it firsthand. It’s like the perfect combo: my milk plus our healthier habits are making him thrive.

He hasn’t commented on the changes himself—he’s not one to notice his own skin or energy levels—but I can tell he feels good. Yesterday, he was buzzing around with his train set after lunch, full of life, and I thought, “This is working.” It’s not just emotional comfort anymore—it’s physical care too, and that feels so rewarding.

A Deeper Dynamic

This milestone has deepened our dynamic in ways I didn’t expect. Nursing him to sleep every night with milk now feels like such a complete act of care—he drifts off with this full, satisfied look, and I get to hold him close, knowing I’m giving him something special. The daytime feeds, when he’s fussy or needs a reset, are even more powerful now—five minutes on my chest, and he’s calm, nourished, and back to his sweet self. It’s still about comfort, but there’s this added layer of Mummy literally sustaining him, and I love it.

James seems to have settled into it too. After that initial shock, he’s stopped mentioning the taste, and last night, he even reached for me without me offering first—a quiet sign he’s accepting it as part of us. I think he’s learning to trust that Mummy knows best, even when it’s new and strange at first.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from the community—especially those who’ve induced lactation for your dynamic! How did your partner adjust to the milk, and did you see health benefits like we’re starting to? For those who suggested the supplements and pumping, any tips on keeping it going long-term—I want to make this a lasting part of us. And if you’ve got ideas for balancing this with his little space (like pairing it with his train set playtime), I’m all ears—I’m so excited to keep exploring this.

Thank you for your advice that got us here—I wouldn’t have thought to try this without you. I love my little boy so much, and knowing I’m nourishing him now makes my Mummy heart burst.

With all my love, Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

#mdlb relationship #mdlbmommy #ab dl mommy #ab dl lifestyle

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sturniolo04 · 2 months ago

Note

could you do dad matt and the triplets being on tour and matts toddler coming with them but she gets homesick and matt had to comfort her

A/n: ofc! i put a slight spin on it! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I made it into a series of moments! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

Here it was again Matt and his brothers were on the road on another tour, it being their third one out of their entire career they have grown on YouTube with their fans. The only thing that was little different was instead of having just the three of them on the tour bus moving from state to state it was them plus matt's 1 year old daughter savannah.

Matt really didn't feel comfortable leaving her for a month and a half with her grandparents not because he didn't trust them but because she was a handful and he knew that plus a month is a long time too.

At first the notion of savannah tagging along and seeing all of the different states starting out in san antonio then now ending up in North Carolina was fun her enjoying all of the sights and spending her dad's money on random toys and food because lets face it she is a daddy's girl to the core and there was no denying that at any point in her life. Over time Matt had noticed a slight sight in her demanor once the finished the north Carolina show getting ready to board the bus to Philadelphia.

"are we g'ng back h'me now'

savannah sighs out to chris seeing he was carrying her back to the bus since matt had to grab some extra things to put on the bus. savannah was honestly feeling drained of this whole notion because to her it all looked like and seemed like that they were doing the same thing. she couldn't understand why they were moving her all around to do the exact same thing each time.

"um not exactly we are going to a new place"

chris chuckles out replying to her tickling her to lighten her mood seeing she looked physically drained, her letting couple of giggles fall from her lips.

"okay bed time"

matt announces as savvannah lets out a soft sigh as he picks her up to carry her to her designated bunk on the bus, them being a couple hours or so out from Philadelphia. Matt gave her a kiss kiss on her forehead as she snuggled into her blankets and teddy bear beginning to fall alseep rather quickly. It always took her a longer time to fall asleep when they were home.

"does she seem okay to you"

matt asks chris and nick scrathing the back of his head standing in front of the pair on the couch.

"i think so why you ask"

nick responds focusing on editing the other content they needed for the show the next day.

"i dont know she just seems off"

matt huffs out sitting down on the couch across from them.

"i think she was just really tired today she did ask if we were going home tonight"

chris shrugs. it was true to a degree savannah was tired, tired of being on the road she liked being at home with all of her stuff and her daily routine they had all cultivated around her and with her day in and day out.

"i wouldnt worry about it too much she might feel a little better tomorrow for sure it might just be homesick you remember how you were our very first tour"

nick simply stated as matt simply nodded his head.

"it might just be that just showing up a little different since she is 1"

nick continues as matt just lets out some sort of agreement.

the next morning savannah had woken up in an not so random hotel room them finally being in philadelphia.

"good morning munchkin"

nick chuckles coming over to her side of the bed already fully dressed for the day.

"wheres dad"

savannah immediately asks rubbing her eyes still waking up.

"um he's in the bathroom he will be out in a few sav I promise"

chris replies to her sitting on the bed with her as she simply nodded her head growing silent afterwards. weird

Once matt and everyone was fully ready for the day they went to go get something to eat for breakfast before they went to explore the town and savannah was not having it.

"do you want to try some of this"

matt asks holding up a fork with a piece of a waffle on it to her mouth.

"no i dont want that"

savannah pouts folding her arms over her chest as her eyes filled with tears.

"are you sure"

nick questions sitting across from her seeing he could her to as least try it knowing she would like it if she did.

"no"

savannah abruptly states which took the triplets back a little. Savnnah discreetly cover her face to hide the tears that were beginning to spill down her cheeks. she was fed up with these shenanigans, she didn't want to try anything new.

"sav you okay?"

chris asks catiously placing a comforting hand her back. Savannah, weirdly enough was really good at not showing her emotions so it was always hard to tell when she was upset or just being her. Savannah just nodded her head 'yes'

It was finally time to gear up for the meet and greet with the fans before the show actually started and savannah was being extremely clingly. Matt usually left her to her own devices that being his phone backstage but that was not doing it for her tonight.

Matt was in the middle of talking to a fan when savannah came running up to matt tugging slightly on his cargo pants.

"hey you what are you doing"

matt chuckles as savannah didnt respond getting overstimulated being surrounded around too many new faces she didn't like it.

"im so sorry"

matt apologizes to the girl in front of him picking up savannah resting her on his hip in the process.

"its okay she so cute"

the girl giggles out waving to her sweetly.

"say hi"

matt coos to savannah immediately hiding her face in his chest.

"oh okay she not having it right now"

matt chuckles out before saying thank you to her and letting nick and chris know he was going to get Savannah situated again real quick.

"okay do you think you would be able to sit still for an hour until the show is over with my phone"

matt asks his daughter kneeling in fron of her sitting on a couch backstage.

"i guess but-"

savannah trails off almost scared to confess whats on her mind.

"what is it babygirl"

matt asks lovingly tilting his head as he take her hands into his.

"sweetie whats wrong"

matt coos out completely taken back at savannah sobbing uncontrollably out of nowhere.

"i just wanna go home dad i miss home'

savannah honestly sobs out as matts eyes soften towards his daughter. Nick was right

"sav im sorry Look i get it dad's sorry i didn't notice this sooner okay if it makes you feel any better I miss home too"

matt trails off honestly to his daughter as she slowly wipes away her tears.

"its okay to miss home we will back soon I promise"

matt continues as she simply nods her head in agreement and understanding.

"okay give me a hug"

matt chuckles as she leans her tiny body into his giving him a hug.

Tagslist🗂️

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333

@stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss @sturniolo-szn2 @lezleeferguson-120 @courta13 @chrepsi @lyingonchris

@tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @zenithsturniolo

#sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo #girlypopsquad🩵#matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #charli’scornertalks🩵#charli'scornerrequests🩵#charli'scorner🩵#charli'sinbox🩵

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goblin-jr · 3 months ago

Text

Tell me, where’s your hiding place?

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: Clark Kent braces himself for another forgettable assignment, expecting nothing more than a routine interview. But when he comes face to face with a ghost from his past, he knows he’s in for trouble.

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5

complete

words: 7.2 k

💌 💌 💌 💌

The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, the floor numbers ticking higher with every passing second. Clark Kent exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his tie, tugging it loose before tightening it again. He caught his reflection in the mirrored wall—neat, composed, and entirely unbothered. Or at least, that was the goal.

In reality, he was still shaking off the last twenty minutes.

He had barely been two blocks from the Daily Planet when he’d heard it—a sharp, metallic screech followed by the unmistakable blare of a car horn. His head had snapped up just in time to see the taxi slam through the guardrail of the Metropolis Monorail overpass, its front end teetering over the tracks, headlights flickering against the rain-slick steel.

The driver had been unconscious. The passenger, a woman clutching a toddler to her chest, was very much awake, pounding on the back window as the weight of the vehicle threatened to drag them both down.

Clark had moved before he could think. A blur of motion between heartbeats. One second, he was stepping off the curb, and the next, he was beneath the car, hands braced against its undercarriage. He could feel the groan of the metal, the way the rain made everything slick beneath his grip, but the moment his strength took over, physics became an afterthought.

The woman’s wide-eyed shock barely registered as he tore the back door off its hinges, scooping her and the child into his arms before setting them safely on the pavement. The whole thing had taken maybe thirty seconds—long enough for bystanders to gape, for phones to rise, for someone to murmur the word Superman before he was already gone, vanishing into an alley before the inevitable swarm of reporters could descend.

And now, here he was, standing in a penthouse elevator, smoothing down his tie, pretending like none of it had happened.

His hair, still slightly damp from the drizzle outside, was combed back, but a stray curl had already begun to rebel against the order he’d forced upon it. His tie, a respectable shade of blue, sat a little too stiffly against his collar, a reminder of how quickly he’d thrown it back on. And then there were his shoes. He frowned slightly as he caught sight of the faint scuff marks marring the polished leather. If his interviewee was the observant type, they might notice.

Not that it mattered.

This wasn’t a real story. It was a fluff piece—some last-minute assignment Perry had thrown at him because the usual reporter was out sick. Some musician, Y/N something. He hadn’t even skimmed the file beyond the basics.

The elevator slowed. A soft chime rang out as the doors slid open.

Clark exhaled and stepped forward.

Half an hour. That’s all this would take. Ask the questions, get the quotes, and be done with it.

How hard could it be?

The elevator doors slid open with a smooth, soundless motion, revealing the entrance to the penthouse. Clark stepped forward, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet runner that stretched down the hallway. Immediately, he was struck by the sheer extravagance of it all.

Marble. So much marble.

The floors gleamed under the soft glow of recessed lighting, the white-and-gray veining swirling in elaborate patterns. The walls, too, were lined with marble panels, broken up only by large, modern art pieces that looked more like expensive smudges of paint than anything with real meaning. Gold accents caught the light at every turn—door handles, lighting fixtures, the trim of an absurdly oversized mirror mounted at the far end of the hall. It was cold. Impersonal. The kind of wealth that demanded admiration but offered no warmth in return.

Clark resisted the urge to adjust his glasses. He’d been in places like this before—interviews with CEOs, gala events, the occasional press function where billionaires pretended to be relatable over champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. But standing here, surrounded by so much artificial shine, he couldn’t help but think of the Kent farmhouse back in Smallville.

His mother’s worn wooden floors, the way they creaked underfoot no matter how many times she insisted they weren’t old, just well-loved. The chipped paint on the banister, the scent of warm earth drifting in through open windows on summer nights. Even the old oak table, scratched and scarred from years of family meals, had more character than this entire building combined.

Clark much preferred wood over marble.

Still, he had a job to do.

He stopped in front of the penthouse door, glancing at the polished brass number plate. The weight of the assignment settled in again—just a quick interview, a handful of quotes, and he’d be out of here. Simple.

Lifting his hand, he rapped his knuckles against the door. The sound echoed faintly down the hall.

For a moment, nothing.

Then, the click of a lock turning.

The door swung open.

Clark was already prepared with his introduction, but the words stalled for half a second as he took in the woman standing before him.

She was young—probably the same age as him—with sharp, intelligent eyes and a presence that felt effortless, like she belonged in places like this. There was something familiar about her, but not in a way he could immediately place. Maybe it was the shape of her eyes, the way she held herself, or just the faintest pull of recognition in the back of his mind, like he saw her on a billboard somewhere.

She blinked at him, clearly thrown off. “Oh. I was expecting Sasha.”

Clark cleared his throat, recovering quickly. “Sasha’s out sick. Perry White sent me instead. Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”

She hesitated for only a second before smiling, holding the door open wider. “Well, come on in, then.”

Clark stepped inside, the warm glow of the penthouse wrapping around him as the door shut behind him.

Y/N stepped back from the door, letting Clark into the apartment. He walked in, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as his eyes swept the space. The penthouse was as extravagant as he expected—floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the open-concept living area in golden light, offering a panoramic view of the Metropolis skyline. The furniture was sleek and modern, everything arranged with careful precision. It was the kind of place designed to impress.

“This is quite the place,” Clark commented as they walked further inside.

Y/N glanced at him, an easy smile on her lips. “Yeah, it has its perks.”

She moved ahead of him, leading the way down the short hallway that opened into the living room. A plush ivory couch stretched along the center of the space, positioned in front of a low glass coffee table. Built-in shelves lined the walls, holding a mix of framed awards, books, and decorative pieces that looked like they had been placed there by an interior designer.

Clark took it all in as they walked. “Been here long?”

“A few years.” Y/N motioned toward the couch. “Go ahead, make yourself comfortable.”

Clark gave a polite nod before setting his bag down beside the armrest and easing onto the couch. It was softer than expected, and for a second, he sat a little too stiffly, still adjusting to the unfamiliar setting.

Y/N lingered near the kitchen, glancing toward him. “Do you want something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Water’s fine, thanks.”

She nodded and gestured toward the seating area. “I’ll be right there. Just make yourself at home.”

With that, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Clark alone in the living room. He glanced around again, his gaze settling on the details that filled the space. It was modern, polished, expensive—but something about it felt untouched, like it was meant to be lived in but wasn’t.

His eyes drifted to the oversized fireplace and stopped just beside it. Hung on the wall, standing out against the sleek decor, was a battered silver guitar.

Clark stilled.

Something about it nagged at him, an itch in the back of his mind that refused to be ignored. The rest of the apartment was curated to perfection—everything in its place, designed to impress. But this guitar didn’t belong to the aesthetic. It wasn’t some decorative piece picked out by an interior designer. It was worn, real, lived in. The wood was faded in places, the silver finish dulled by years of touch. The edges were scuffed, the pickguard scratched, the strings looked fresh, meaning they had been replaced more times than he could count.

And yet, it wasn’t just its condition that held him in place. It was something else—something deeper.

Clark leaned closer, his breath slow and steady as his eyes traced over every familiar detail. His gaze snagged on a tiny bird decal on the body of the guitar, its edges peeling slightly with age.

His stomach dropped.

Oh.

The memory crashed into him like a tidal wave. The silver guitar, the hands that had played it, the voice that had carried through the dim light of an apartment he hadn’t thought about in years. The name attached to all of it—Y/N.

How had he missed this?

Clark was a journalist. He prided himself on details, on never overlooking the obvious. Yet here he was, standing in the middle of her living room, blindsided by the realization that this wasn’t just some pop star.

It's her.

Before he could think much more about it, Y/N’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Alright, Mr. reporter. Let’s get this over with.”

Clark straightened slightly as she reentered, glass of water in hand, and set it down in front of him.

Gaining control of his expression, Clark snapped his gaze to hers as she settled into the chair across from him. This really is her.

The realization still sat heavy in his chest, but he refused to let it show. He didn’t know if he should feel proud that she had made it—really made it—or guilty that he had never once thought to check in on her after he left. Seven years, and not once had he tried to find out what happened to the girl with the silver guitar and the fire in her voice. Now, she sat in front of him, a household name, a polished version of the same person he had once known.

She looked different. Older, sure, but there was something else—something lighter. She looked happier.

He cleared his throat and reached into his bag, pulling out a small recording device. The soft click of the power button filled the quiet space as he placed it on the coffee table between them. Business. That’s what this was. He needed to focus.

Clark glanced at his notepad. “Alright,” he said, voice steady, professional. “Let’s start with the album. This will be your first release in two years. What inspired it?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, considering. “Time,” she answered finally. “I needed time away from it all. Music never stopped being important, but I had to figure out who I was when I wasn’t writing for a deadline. I think this album is the closest thing to me that I’ve ever put out.”

Clark nodded, jotting down notes as she spoke. “Did you feel any pressure coming back after so long?”

She tilted her head slightly. “At first. People love to ask if you’re washed up the second you take a step back. But the truth is, I wasn’t interested in coming back just to prove a point. I wanted to wait until I had something to say.”

Clark tapped his pen against the pad. “And what is it you’re trying to say with this album?”

Y/N’s lips twitched, almost amused. “That would be giving too much away, wouldn’t it?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”

They moved through the next few questions with ease, Y/N answering smoothly, clearly used to this sort of thing. The creative process, favorite tracks, collaborations—Clark kept his focus steady, writing efficiently, keeping his mind from slipping into dangerous territory. But despite his efforts, his eyes kept drifting over her shoulder, drawn back to the guitar mounted behind her.

The silver finish, the well-worn edges, the tiny bird decal near the strings.

The guitar.

His grip tightened on his pen. He hadn’t realized he had been looking at it so often until Y/N followed his gaze, glancing back at the instrument. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips before she turned her attention back to him.

“You probably thought I wouldn’t have it anymore, huh?”

Clark went still.

His entire body locked up for half a second, but he forced himself not to react. His heart hammered against his ribs, though his expression remained neutral.

Does she recognize me?

No. That was impossible. It had been years. His glasses, his posture, the way he carried himself—Clark Kent wasn’t Kal. He had spent his whole life perfecting that distinction. If she did recognize him, that would mean she knew what he was. That Clark Kent wasn’t all human. That the quiet, mild-mannered reporter sitting in front of her was the same reckless, smirking enigma who had once pulled her out of an alley and into his world.

She couldn’t know.

Before he could decide how to respond, Y/N continued, her voice casual, but with unmistakable mischief. “I didn’t take you for a fan, Mr. Kent.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin in her hand, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. “Only the hardcore ones know the guitar I recorded my first album on.”

Clark exhaled slowly, just enough to release the tension in his chest. She didn’t know. She wasn’t looking at him like she recognized him—just a reporter showing more interest in an instrument than she expected.

He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “I do my research.”

Y/N gave him a knowing look, her smirk widening into a full-on grin. “I’ll sign something for you after, but right now we need to finish the interview, yeah?”

Clark felt the tips of his ears heat up but quickly brushed it off, letting out a small chuckle as he flipped to the next page in his notebook.

“Oh my God,” Y/N snickered, watching him carefully. “You are a fan.”

“I’m not—”

“You totally are.”

Clark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before returning to his notes. “Let’s move on.”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh but gestured for him to continue.

Scanning the remaining questions he realized he had everything he needed—probably more than he expected to get. Still, he asked a few final ones, keeping his tone measured, professional. Y/N answered just as smoothly, leaning back into the couch, arms draped over the arms of the couch like this was just another routine press stop.

“So, what’s next after the album drops?” he asked, capping his pen.

“Tour,” Y/N said easily. “Larger venues this time, I like the small, intimate ones but my team insisted”

Clark nodded. “Sounds like a full schedule.”

“It will be.” She stretched, arching her back dramatically before standing. “But I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t want to.”

Clark closed his notebook and stood as well, slipping it into his bag. “Well,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “I think that covers everything.”

Y/N grinned, hands on her hips. “You sure? This is your last chance to ask the really scandalous questions. My favorite color? My go-to breakfast order? My villain origin story?”

Clark huffed a small laugh. “I think I put you through enough.”

“Eh,” she shrugged, heading toward the door. “You’ve had worse interview subjects, I’m sure.”

He followed, his steps even as she pulled the door open and leaned casually against it. The interview was over, but there was still an odd weight in his chest—one he wasn’t ready to name.

Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “I’m excited to read the draft.”

Clark gave a polite nod, offering a small, unreadable smile. “I’ll make sure you get it.”

“Good,” she said, smirking. “And don’t forget—I still owe you an autograph.”

Clark shook his head, amused despite himself, before stepping past the threshold. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Looking back at the door, Clark stilled as he caught Y/N staring.

She hadn’t moved yet, still leaning against the frame, but something in her expression had shifted. Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed in quiet contemplation, like she was trying to place something just out of reach.

A flicker of recognition. A question forming before she even voiced it.

Then, she opened her mouth.

“Have we met before?”

Clark felt his entire body tense, a split-second rush of panic surging through his veins.

Her voice wasn’t teasing this time. There was no playfulness in it, no smirk. Just quiet curiosity, a thread of certainty in the way she said it.

Clark forced his shoulders to stay relaxed, his fingers curling slightly at his sides. He could feel her gaze pressing into him, waiting, searching.

His pulse roared in his ears.

“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice even, carefully detached—a weak attempt at deflection.

A beat of silence.

Then, just as quickly as the moment had come, her face shifted back into an easy smile.

“Yeah,” she said lightly, brushing it off. “I think you’re right. I would’ve remembered meeting my biggest fan”

She pulled the door open just a little wider.

“Goodbye, Clark.”

Clark swallowed, nodding once before turning down the hall.

–

It had been weeks since the interview, and Y/N hadn’t stopped thinking about Clark Kent.

It was ridiculous, really. She had given a hundred interviews in her career. Some routine, some personal, some tedious, and some even fun. Clark’s had been professional, straightforward. Nothing about it should have lingered in her mind the way it did.

But something about him nagged at her.

It wasn’t attraction, though she could admit—if only to herself—that he was handsome in a quietly unassuming way. No, it was something else. Something about his presence. The way he had held himself, the way he had studied her, the way he had deflected, just slightly, when she asked if they had met before.

The thing was, Clark reminded her of someone else.

Kal.

The boy who had plucked her out of a dark alley and tossed her into his strange world, the one who had been both reckless and careful, cocky yet distant. The one who had let her in just enough to make her wonder.

Y/N frowned, shifting in her seat as the town car moved through the streets of Metropolis. It was preposterous, really. Clark Kent was a journalist—a calm, mild-mannered, by-the-books kind of guy. He had sat across from her with a steady, unshakable presence, pen in hand, carefully gathering her words like a collector cataloging artifacts.

Kal had been wild. Sharp-edged. Untamed.

And yet…

Y/N sighed, pressing her fingers against her temple. You’re being ridiculous.

The problem was, she could barely recall the specifics of Kal’s face anymore. It had been a hard time in her life, and memories had a way of shifting in the years that followed. She remembered the feeling of him more than anything—the electric unpredictability, the way he had existed in the world like he was always somewhere else in his mind. She remembered the smirks, the sharp wit, the way he had looked at her when she played her guitar, like she was giving him something he didn’t know he needed.

But the details? The timbre of his voice, the exact shade of his eyes?

They were a blur.

It wasn’t like she had a photograph to remember him by.

Still, something gnawed at her. Clark Kent reminds me of Kal.

The idea was absurd, and yet, it had planted itself in her brain, refusing to be dismissed completely.

She let out a slow breath, watching as the familiar streets of Metropolis passed by. Streetlights flickered against the car window, smearing golden streaks across the glass. The hum of the city at night was something she had grown used to, but right now, it barely registered.

She needed to stop thinking about this. It didn’t matter. Kal was long gone. Clark Kent was a journalist who had done his job and moved on. There was no reason for her to still be thinking about him.

And yet—

Her gaze flickered outside, and her breath caught.

The car was passing the Daily Planet.

The illuminated logo shone high above the building, bold and unwavering, a beacon in the city skyline. The sight of it sent a jolt through her, instinctive and irrational.

Y/N hesitated.

And then, before she could think better of it, she leaned forward.

“Stop the car.”

The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Miss?”

“Stop the car, please” she repeated, already reaching for the door handle.

Grabbing a random T-shirt from the pile she had been signing, Y/N pulled it along without checking what it was. She barely hesitated before opening the car door and stepping onto the bustling sidewalk outside the Daily Planet.

This was impulsive.

Even for her.

Stepping into the lobby of the Daily Planet, she registered the way conversation screeched to a halt. People turned—some subtly, some not so subtly—as they took in the sight of her, standing there like she walked into national newspapers all the time.

She didn’t let it faze her.

Instead, she walked straight up to the front desk, her usual bright, easygoing smile already in place.

“Hi!” she greeted warmly, leaning slightly onto the counter. “I’m here to see Clark Kent. Is he in?”

The receptionist blinked up at her. Mouth opening. Then closing. Then opening again.

Y/N waited, tilting her head slightly.

The woman visibly gathered herself, then reached for the phone. “One second, Miss—um—”

“Y/N,” she supplied helpfully, still smiling. “But you probably knew that.”

The receptionist let out a soft, slightly dazed laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

As she made the call, Y/N rocked back on her heels, glancing around. The Daily Planet was a lot grander than she’d expected, with its sleek architecture and giant windows that let sunlight spill across the lobby floor. She imagined Clark working here—sitting at a desk, pushing up those glasses of his while he scribbled in that little notepad.

It suited him.

The receptionist set the phone down. “Someone will be here in a second.”

“Awesome, thank you!” Y/N said brightly.

A minute later, a young intern appeared—wide-eyed and visibly trying to keep it together.

“Miss Y/N, uh—I—I can take you to Clark Kent,” he stammered, standing a little too straight, as if afraid his knees might buckle under him.

Y/N softened, offering a gentle smile. “That’d be great. What’s your name?”

The intern blinked, like he couldn’t believe she was actually asking. “Uh—Elliot?”

“Well, Elliot,” Y/N said as they walked toward the elevator, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Elliot made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a gasp.

She continued, hoping to put him at ease. “How long have you been here?”

“A f-few months,” he stammered.

“Enjoying it so far?”

He nodded violently, like if he spoke, he might combust on the spot.

Y/N bit back a laugh. The kid was adorable.

As the elevator doors dinged open, she gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Well, I bet you’re doing great.”

The moment they stepped out, Elliot practically sprinted away, disappearing into the crowd of desks like his life depended on it.

And that’s when she spotted him.

Clark Kent, sitting at the farthest side of the newsroom, completely engrossed in whatever he was reading. Glasses sliding slightly down his nose, brow furrowed in concentration.

Oblivious.

A wicked grin spread across Y/N’s face.

“CLARK!!! I GOT THE T-SHIRT YOU ASKED FOR!!”

The newsroom came to a screeching halt.

Reporters stopped mid-sentence. Phones continued ringing, unanswered. Someone dropped a stapler. Perry White’s office door swung open slightly as if the sheer force of Y/N’s volume had rattled it loose.

Clark Kent’s entire body stiffened.

He looked up so slowly it was almost painful, his eyes wide with horror.

Y/N beamed, holding up the atrocious neon pink T-shirt she had grabbed at random—which had her own face on it.

Clark blinked. Once. Twice.

One of his coworkers visibly choked.

Y/N waved the T-shirt again, just in case he hadn’t fully absorbed the majesty of the situation.

“IT’S EVEN SIGNED!!” she added gleefully.

Clark inhaled deeply. Closed his eyes for one agonizing second. Then, very carefully, he put his paper down.

“…Miss Y/N,” he said, voice painfully measured. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Y/N skipped over, gently placing the T-shirt onto his desk like a gift. “I came to see the draft! It’s been a while, so I thought I’d stop by”

Y/N made herself very comfortable at Clark’s desk, leaning back in the chair like she worked there, completely ignoring the fact that the entire newsroom was still staring.

Clark could feel it—the weight of dozens of eyes on him, the absolute shock and confusion radiating from his coworkers. He had handled high-profile investigations, corrupt politicians, and last-minute front-page rewrites, but this?

This was a nightmare.

Slowly, he looked down at the pink T-shirt now sitting on his desk.He flipped it over, inspecting the size tag, and exhaled sharply through his nose.

“A women’s extra small?” he deadpanned.

Y/N glanced down at the shirt like she was seeing it for the first time. She blinked. Tilted her head. Then, with zero hesitation, she looked back at him and grinned.

“Well, you’re not my usual demographic, you know,” she said lightly. “But I had to for my biggest fan.”

A choked wheeze came from the far corner of the newsroom.

Clark didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Lois Lane.

His award-winning colleague. His sometimes friend, sometimes menace.

Clark turned his head just enough to confirm his worst fears.

There she was. Leaning against her desk, arms crossed, eyes glinting like she had just won the lottery. Her grin was catastrophic. Clark could feel the gears turning in her head. He had worked with Lois for years. He knew her better than most people. Which meant he knew exactly what was about to happen. She was going to milk this for all it was worth. Clark could already hear the insufferable teasing. The jokes. The headlines she’d make up on the spot. The fact that this would never die, that she would bring it up for the rest of time.

No.

Absolutely not.

Before she could get a word in, before this entire situation spiraled into an irreversible nightmare, Clark abruptly stood.

“Meeting room,” he announced.

Y/N blinked. “Huh?”

Clark grabbed a report off his desk and marched past her. “If you want to see the draft, we’re discussing it somewhere private.”

Y/N, clearly entertained, hopped up and followed him. “Oooo, very professional.”

Clark ignored her. He ignored the stares, ignored the smug delight radiating off Lois, ignored the way half the newsroom was already whispering.

This was damage control.

And the sooner he got Y/N out of the newsroom, the better.

—

Y/N sat down, her fingers lightly tapping against the cool glass table, her gaze flickering around the pristine meeting room.

“Fancy,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow at the walls of glass surrounding them. “Makes me feel like I’m about to be interrogated.”

She glanced up at Clark, who sat across from her with his usual composed, professional air. He slid the printed draft across the table toward her.

"You wanted to see it,” he said, his voice even, unreadable. “So, here it is.”

Y/N took the pages, flipping the first one dramatically between her fingers before settling into her seat.

Clark watched her closely, pretending to be relaxed, pretending this was just another routine part of his job. But inside, his thoughts were rapid-fire chaos.

She’s just reading the article. She won’t recognize you. She has no reason to.

Y/N, oblivious to his internal spiral, started reading. Her lips pressed together, brows furrowing in concentration. Then—

“Oh, wow,” she muttered, glancing up at him. “This makes me sound so pretentious.”

Clark exhaled sharply through his nose, already tired. “Y/N, that’s a direct quote.”

She gasped, clutching her chest like he had just personally insulted her. “You’re telling me I sound pretentious naturally?”

Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m telling you that you said—” He leaned forward, reading straight from the page, “‘Art is only as good as the truth behind it. Without vulnerability, creativity is nothing but empty sound.’”

Y/N blinked. Then she snorted. “Yeah, okay, I did say that. That’s on me.”

Clark just nodded, resigned to his fate.

She continued reading, flipping through the pages at a leisurely pace, pausing only to make random commentary.

“Oh, I like this part.”

“Good.”

“Actually, you could’ve made me sound a little cooler here.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “I refuse to fabricate quotes.”

“Boring,” she muttered.

Another pause.

“Oof.”

Clark glanced up. “What?”

“This part.” She pointed at a paragraph. “The way you wrote this makes me sound so deep.”

He crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Are you saying you aren’t?”

Y/N smirked. “Oh, I absolutely am. I just didn’t expect you to capture it so well.”

Clark shook his head, letting out a quiet, amused exhale despite himself.

She was infuriating. But at the same time…

She made this easier.

As long as she was joking, as long as she was comfortable, she wasn’t suspicious.

And Clark?

He needed her not to be suspicious.

As Y/N flipped through the pages, making little comments, Clark tried his best to sit still, to act natural. But his thoughts wouldn’t settle.

The girl he had met all those years ago had been quiet. Thoughtful. She had carried herself with a kind of deliberate caution, as if she was still learning how much space she was allowed to take up in the world. Back then, every word she had spoken had felt measured, intentional. There had been something raw about her, something unguarded—like she was still in the process of figuring herself out.

This woman in front of him was something else entirely.

She was louder now. Bolder. She moved through the world like she belonged in every room she entered. Her energy was effortless, commanding, like she had not only learned how much space she was allowed to take up, but had decided it wasn’t enough and demanded more.

She was chaotic, teasing, almost cocky in the way she tossed words around so easily. Like she knew exactly what kind of reaction she was going to get before she even said anything.

Clark had not been prepared for that.

And, honestly?

He had barely survived the last hour.

Y/N laughed at one of her own comments, shaking her head as she flipped another page. Clark forced himself to keep his expression neutral, even as a single, crushing thought ran through his mind.

Never again.

Never again would he be in this situation.

Because the second she walked out of this meeting room, she would go back to her world, and he would stay in his. This was a one-time thing, a bizarre collision of past and present that would never happen again.

And thank God for that.

Because sitting across from her, pretending to be a stranger, pretending that he hadn’t once known her as someone else—

It was exhausting.

And then, just when he thought he had her figured out—

Y/N set the draft down, exhaling softly. When she looked at him, all the playfulness from before had faded.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, voice quiet now. “You got me very well.”

Clark blinked.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard. Clark hesitated, gripping his pen just a little tighter. Then, finally, he nodded. “I just wrote what I heard.”

Y/N studied him for a second, then tilted her head slightly. “Still. I read some of your other work. I know this isn’t what you usually do.”

Clark exhaled slowly. “No, it’s not.”

She smiled, small and knowing. “Maybe next time, you can sign something for me.”

Clark blinked. That—he hadn’t expected that.

Then, finally, he let out a quiet, almost relieved laugh. “I’ll think about it.”

Y/N grinned, standing up, gathering the pages as she made her way toward the door. Clark followed, holding it open for her, already mentally preparing to never deal with this again.

But as she stepped out, Y/N turned slightly, giving him one last look. And for just a second—barely even a second— Clark swore she looked like she was still thinking about something. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Then she flashed him one last playful smile, and the moment was gone.

Clark exhaled, watching the door swing shut behind her. And for the first time in weeks, he finally let himself think: It’s over.

—

Y/N exhaled, rolling her shoulders as the final note of the song faded into the quiet hum of the recording booth. She pulled the headphones off, running a hand through her hair as she stepped away from the mic.

Through the glass, she could see her producer giving her a thumbs-up, the rest of the team murmuring to each other while adjusting sound levels. It was late, and the session had stretched longer than planned. Her voice was tired, but she knew they got what they needed.

She should’ve felt good about it.

But as she pushed open the heavy soundproof door, stepping back into the main studio, the feeling didn’t come.

She loved music. She always had. But sometimes, being in a room full of people—even people she trusted—felt lonely. Like she was here, but not really part of anything.

Before she could dwell on it, her manager, Sam, approached, a knowing look already on her face.

Uh-oh.

“I don’t like that expression,” Y/N said immediately, swiping a water bottle off the console.

Sam smirked. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I know that look.” She unscrewed the cap, taking a sip before narrowing her eyes. “That’s the ‘I’m about to make you do something you don’t want to do’ look.”

A few of the producers chuckled. Sam didn’t deny it.

“Okay, hear me out,” she started. “The label wants to do a documentary.”

Y/N froze mid-sip. Then, very slowly, she swallowed, recapped the bottle, and set it down.

“No.”

Sam sighed. “Y/N—”

“Nope.” She turned to leave, fully prepared to escape the conversation entirely, but Sam grabbed her wrist, expecting the reaction.

“Okay, at least pretend to consider it before storming out,” Sam said, amused.

Y/N turned back, crossing her arms. “I don’t like cameras in my face all the time. That sounds miserable.”

“I get it,” Sam said. “But this would be different. Not a reality show, not a tour diary— a real documentary. Fans want to see more of you. The real you.”

Y/N scoffed. “The real me? You mean the one who eats cereal straight out of the box at 3 a.m. and impulse-buys weird lamps online?”

Sam ignored that. “Look, the label thinks this is important. Your music means a lot to people, but they don’t really know you. This would be a chance to show them something deeper.”

Y/N pursed her lips, already feeling cornered. “I don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”

“I know that. But you could control this,” Sam said, voice gentler now. “If you agree, you get full creative control. You decide what gets shown. What gets cut. The whole thing would be yours.”

That gave her pause.

“Full?” she repeated.

Sam nodded. “Full.”

Y/N glanced at the floor, shifting on her heels. That changed things. She hated the idea of being put under a microscope, but if she had control… maybe she could shape the narrative on her own terms.

And then, an idea clicked.

Slowly, she looked up, her mind already made up before she even spoke.

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’ll do it.”

Sam blinked, startled by how quickly she agreed. “You will?”

“Yes.” She lifted a finger. “But—there’s a condition.”

Sam exhaled, already bracing herself. “Of course there is.”

Y/N grinned. “I want Clark Kent to be the lead journalist.”

Sam blinked. Then blinked again.

“…Clark Kent?”

“Yep.”

“As in The Daily Planet’s Clark Kent?”

“The one and only.”

Sam stared at her like she had grown a second head. “Y/N, I… that’s not his thing. He doesn’t do celebrity interviews. He writes about corruption and crime.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, unbothered. “I don’t want an entertainment reporter. I want someone who actually listens.”

Sam still looked bewildered. “I—okay, why Clark Kent?”

Y/N hesitated.

Because he was normal with me.

Because he was nice.

Because he reminds me of the first friend I ever had.

She didn’t know how to explain it. She had people in her life—team members, industry friends, producers—but no one outside of it. No one who wasn’t tangled up in the fame, the business, the expectations.

Clark wasn’t impressed by her status. He had treated her like a person. And after so many years of feeling like a product, that had been… nice.

Maybe she could be friends with him.

Maybe she wanted to be.

She shrugged, playing it off. “I just think he’d be good at it.”

Sam sighed, rubbing her temples. “This is the weirdest request you’ve ever made.”

“Not true.”

Sam gave her a look. “You once demanded only blue M&Ms backstage.”

“That was one time, and I was testing if anyone actually read the rider.”

Sam shook her head. “Okay, whatever, we’ll reach out to him. No promises, though.”

Y/N smirked. “Oh, he’ll say yes.”

Sam narrowed her eyes. “How do you know?”

Y/N stretched, grabbing her water bottle again. “Because he won’t be able to resist a highly interesting investigative project.”

Sam snorted. “Right. That’s definitely why.”

Y/N ignored her, taking a sip. “Plus, I think Perry White is a secret fan. Some account named Perry_NotWhite has been liking all my instagram pics the second they come out for months”

Sam choked on her drink. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I am. And the best part? He leaves comments like ‘real music’ and ‘finally, some talent’ under my posts.”

Sam covered her face. “Oh my God, at least you get your wish.”

—

Clark Kent sat at his desk, typing up notes for a story when he heard it.

The sound that never led to anything good.

“Kent! My office. Now.”

Clark groaned internally. Not again.

Keeping his expression neutral, he saved his work, straightened his tie, and headed toward Perry’s office. He could already tell, whatever this was, he wasn’t going to like it.

Perry didn’t even glance up as Clark stepped inside, instead tossing a thick folder onto the desk.

“You’re covering a new assignment,” Perry said gruffly.

Clark frowned. Red flag. Perry wasn’t looking at him directly, and that never meant anything good.

Cautiously, Clark picked up the folder and flipped it open.

The words at the top made his stomach drop.

Y/N – Documentary Proposal

Clark froze.

No.

No, absolutely not.

“Perry,” Clark started, already shaking his head. “No.”

“Yes,” Perry said, not even entertaining an argument.

Clark set the file down like it was radioactive. “I already did one story on her. That was more than enough.”

Perry scoffed. “Yeah, well, she specifically requested you.”

Clark’s eye twitched. “She what?”

“You heard me,” Perry said, leaning back in his chair. “Label’s doing a documentary. She has full creative control. She picked you to be the lead journalist.”

Clark stared.

His brain short-circuited for a full three seconds before he managed, “…Why?”

“How the hell should I know?” Perry huffed. “Maybe she likes you. Maybe she thinks you’re good at your job. Maybe she just wants to see you suffer.”

Clark was strongly leaning toward that last option.

Perry sighed, rubbing his temples. “Look, Kent, this is a big deal. Exclusive access, behind-the-scenes, high-profile stuff. The kind of thing that would bring in serious readership.”

Clark folded his arms. “I cover real news. This isn’t—”

“This is real news,” Perry cut in. “A story about one of the most influential artists of our time, written by one of my best reporters? I can already hear the Pulitzer people whispering.”

Clark deadpanned. “I can assure you, they’re not.”

Perry ignored him. “Listen, Kent. It’s a few months of work. A couple interviews. A few trips. You do your job, write a damn good story, and then you never have to see her again.”

Clark exhaled slowly.

A few months.

A few months of being around her.

Of hoping she never really looks at him. Never puts the pieces together.

Clark glanced back down at the file. Y/N.

She had been chaos incarnate the last time they saw each other. She had bullied him in front of his entire newsroom. She had grinned as his dignity died a slow, painful death.

And now, she wanted him to work with her for months?

Absolutely not.

Clark closed the file.

“I’m not doing it.”

Perry laughed.

Not a ha-ha funny laugh. A that’s adorable that you think you have a choice laugh.

“Oh, yes, you are.”

Clark gritted his teeth. “Perry—”

“Let me put it this way, Kent,” Perry interrupted, voice dry. “You can either spend the next few months interviewing one of the biggest stars on the planet, or you can spend them covering every city hall budget meeting in a fifty-mile radius.”

Clark stared.

Perry smirked.

“…That’s evil,” Clark muttered.

“Thank you,” Perry said, completely unbothered.

Clark sighed deeply, dragging a hand down his face. He could feel the last of his resistance evaporating.

This was happening.

Y/N was going to be in his life again.

And this time?

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive it.

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