#helping give this tiny friend a save home

[thekittyfox2999]

John Watson has a shiny Sylveon as his main pokemon

please

please get me

(sherlock still has one wooper through his whole life)

[bluerosefox]

Of Tiny Tots, Mistaken Identities, and Reunions

Seventeen year old Damian Wayne is dragged to a business deal outside of Gotham (along with his father and Drake), mostly to keep up appearances that the family does work outside of Gotham, networking, and because Damian does need to learn the ropes of the company, he decides to head outside the meeting with the Manson family to get a breather (mainly cause the Manson's were annoying him fully, it was like they were trying to suck up towards Damian and trying to push their daughter on him but at the same time he caught them almost insulting and hostile towards him before they would stop and correct themselves) when out of the blue a three year old toddler with black hair comes running over with a cheerful "Daddy!" and latches onto his leg.

Damian is stunned in place but feels frozen when he hears a voice, older and almost identical to his own but he can detect a familiarity in it, a voice he only hears in his dreams nowadays say.

"Ellie, no! That's not me Starlight! I'm so sorry dude-"

When Damian turned his head towards the voice he's meet with an near identical face, granted there were some minor differences, but very, very familiar pair of striking blue eyes staring at him. Eyes that were somehow full of life, which shouldn't be possible because the last time he saw those eyes they had been dim and milked over years ago. The speaker had become startled at the his sudden turn and the words that he had been saying had quickly died out when he too took in Damian's features.

"D...Damian?..." the name came out so soft and small that Damian almost didn't hear it but he did.

And before Damian could stop himself, he spoke a name he hadn't dared utter in years.

"Danyal."

His twin looked like he had just seen a ghost, and Damian was sure he looked the same. And given the last time they had last saw each other it was no wonder they both looked like death warmed over them for a moment.

After all... Damian had failed to protect his brother, Danyal al Ghul all those years ago on a botched mission.

His bother who... wasn't dead.

His brother who was looking like he wanted to run but was keeping himself rooted in his spot.

His brother whose eyes were glancing downwards and seemed so nervous.

His brother who knew the little girl, Ellie, still hugging his legs.

His brother who had... responded and corrected her mix up when she had called Damian 'Daddy.'

And oh, she's looking up at him and making grabby hands wanting to be picked up and she has Danyal's eyes and his nose and-

Oh... Damian.... Damian's an uncle it seems.

[helaintoloki]

Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ‘what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[deonsx]

Can u do one abt Sae Itoshi being a girl dad?🥹

AYAYYYA when I saw that I had to make this request immediately + Nagi and Rin are with you!

Bllk Boys If they become a girl father

Sae Itoshi

Sae wakes up early in the morning to help his daughter get ready for kindergarten. Normally calm and reserved, Sae doesn’t complain when his daughter insists on putting a “princess crown” on his head while he’s combing her hair. Seeing himself in the mirror wearing a pink crown, he smirks slightly and says:

“Doesn’t this make me too cool?” His daughter, with a serious expression responds “No Papa, it’s just perfect!”

On the way to school, his daughter bombards him with questions like, “What’s your favorite color, Papa?” Sae, instead of his usual short answers, takes a moment to think and says, “Maybe blue… but your favorite colors might be better”

Sweet Details:

Sae’s daughter proudly tells her friends, “My dad is the best football player in the world!” Even though Sae tries to stay composed, her admiration secretly makes him incredibly happy

While teaching his daughter how to play football, she somehow manages to dribble past him and score a goal. Sae quietly mumbles “Must be the genes” but deep down, he feels proud beyond words

His daughter loves drawing pictures for him. One day, Sae takes one of her drawings and puts it in his sports bag. Before an important match, he looks at it for motivation.

At night, Sae softly hums a traditional Japanese lullaby to his daughter as she falls asleep. It’s one of the few moments where his stoic exterior melts into pure warmth and love

Nagi Seishiro

Nagi plans to spend his weekend morning sleeping in, but he wakes up to his daughter poking his cheek with her tiny hands

“Daaaad! Wake up! We need to have breakfast and play!” she says with boundless energy. Nagi groans and mutters “Ugh… five more minutes…”

But when his daughter furrows her brows and sternly replies, “Five minutes? No way, now!” he can’t help but smile. “Alright, alright you win” he says, picking her up and carrying her on his shoulder as they head to the kitchen

Despite Nagi’s lazy tendencies, his daughter’s energy and demands always win him over. Sometimes, he even finds himself unexpectedly having fun while playing with her

Sweet Details:

Nagi’s daughter might be hyperactive, curious, and constantly looking for things to do. Although it clashes with his laid-back personality, Nagi learns to adapt and becomes more active because of her

Nagi’s idea of a “daddy-daughter day” often includes binge-watching cartoons, ordering pizza, and him trying (and failing) to braid her hair. While he’s not the best at hairstyling, he’ll do anything to make her laugh

Nagi easily gets drawn into her imaginative world. Whether it’s pretending to be a king, a monster, or a hero saving her, he goes along with it. Afterward, though, he’ll collapse on the couch and say “That was exhausting…”

His daughter loves to challenge her dad, saying things like “Let’s race! If I win, you have to buy me ice cream!” Nagi reluctantly agrees and usually lets her win. But sometimes, his competitive side sneaks in, and he plays seriously

Despite his lazy nature, Nagi is fiercely protective of his daughter. Just the thought of her getting hurt makes him unexpectedly serious and determined to keep her safe

Rin Itoshi

One evening, Rin comes home from training, exhausted. As he opens the door, he hears a small voice shout

“Daddyyyy!”

His daughter runs up to him with bright eyes and says, “Let’s play soccer Daddy!” Rin looks at her, a bit startled, and replies

“At this hour? You have school tomorrow, young lady.” But when she pouts, he sighs and gives in, saying “Fine, but only for five minutes”

Before he knows it, they’re out in the yard playing. She manages to dribble the ball and score between his legs. As she jumps and cheers, Rin smirks slightly and says,

“I guess we shouldn’t tell your mom we played this late”

Sweet Details:

Rin tries to be the “perfect dad” and takes everything very seriously. He wants to provide the best environment for his daughter. However, whenever she hugs him and says “You’re the best dad ever!” his stern exterior softens

Rin teaches his daughter how to play soccer but never pressures her. Instead, he encourages her to enjoy the game at her own pace. One day, when she pulls off a tricky move, he mutters to himself

“Must be the genes”

Rin is extremely protective of his daughter. If someone bothers her at school or hurts her feelings, Rin steps in immediately—though he tries to handle things calmly and rationally

At night, Rin often tells his daughter bedtime stories about famous soccer players. At the end of every story, she snuggles up to him and says “But you’re the best one Daddy” For Rin, it’s the highlight of his day

Princess not: Rin affectionately calls her “My Little Lion” because she’s just as determined and stubborn as he is

Enjoy!

[perfectqueenfan]

Having the egg right at the opening at the start of your work shift, so you have to hold the egg in so you can finally deliver the egg back home.

*Sorry folks it's gonna be a long one. I got a good writing flow and idea for this.*

I knew that going into work today was probably not the smartest idea, but I needed the money and had signed on for a double shift. I started early, driving to the bakery I worked at around 7:45am. A few months ago I had signed on to help a friend out with a science project for one of their classes at our local college, which ended up being something a lot more out of the ordinary than I had initially thought.

"Human egg incubation. But not like a human egg, you have plenty of those. I found these alien eggs on the black market and need a test subject to see if these are even real. Can you help me please?" And me, being weak when it came to them, said yes. It has been 4 months since we inserted one of the eggs into my womb, at the time it was as small as a pea. They were a light green color, slightly glowing. To a normal eye, you wouldn't notice any difference with me. But I could see the beginning of a bump forming, the slight distended look of where my womb is, looking like I had just a little too much to eat. The bump was firm if I pressed against it, and I could often feel the egg shift when I moved around. It had definitely grown, I'm unsure by how much but enough for me to feel it's weight at all times.

When I pulled into the staff parking lot, I felt a sudden shift in my womb, more intense than the usual movement. Running a hand across the tiny bump, I felt to make sure that nothing was breaking before heading into work. Greeting my co-worker Annie, I moved to grab my apron when I felt a twinge deep in my belly. Placing my hand against the bump again, I felt the egg shift in a harsher way than normal. Weird, but it's not gonna stop me from getting my job done, I thought to myself as I tied on my apron and began to open up the bakery.

It wasn't even an hour into open when I had to excuse myself for a bio break, quickly rushing to the bathroom as another wave of pain washed over me. As soon as I was in a stall I unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down enough to expose me stomach and underwear. Looking at my bump, I noticed it was a bit more pronounced and I could feel the egg shift again uncomfortably, holding back a groan at the feeling. But the pain wouldn't let up, a near wiggling feeling from how much the egg was shifting again the walls of my womb. Then it all came to a crest when I felt a pop like feeling, a small rush of what seems to be blue slime coming from between my legs and soaking my underwear.

"Oh, fuck me." I cursed under my breath as I grabbed some toilet paper to quickly wipe away what would be best described as my waters, really it was a mucus sac the egg had developed around itself to keep it safe. Once I was cleaned enough, I pulled my pants back up and quickly rushed to the break room to grab my phone, texting my friend that the egg was on its way. That's when it dawned on me, I had signed up for a double shift today. Realizing that I had to stall the birth of this egg as much as possible, I put back on my apron and walked back to the counter with determination: make it thought this shift without having this egg.

Not even halfway though my first shift, I realized that was easier said than done. The egg, which turns out was massive, had managed to fully get into my birth canal and weighing heavily on my hips. I was saving my groans until I was in the pantry or couldn't be heard over the espresso machines. The worst part though, is that I was so turned on by it. The hiding, the weight and feeling of the egg shifting lower and lower, and nobody else knew that I was using all my mental strength not to give in and push the massive egg out of me. Moving throughout the motions of making yet another caramel macchiato, I bent down to grab another carton of milk when the egg shot forward, resting just behind my lips. I let out a startled yelp at the feeling, Annie giving me a weird look at my sudden outburst. "Hit my head." Was all I said and she gave a nod of understanding before returning to the customer.

By 3pm, I was sweating, constantly denying my bodies cry to push practically every minute as I moved around the bakery. My confident walk had turned into a slow, almost waddle. It felt like there was a bowling ball between my legs, and with every step the feeling of the egg shifting right at my entrance was torture. But I couldn't push, not here and definitely not right before the after-school rush of students. Standing behind the counter taking orders, a regular walked up and began chatting about her annoying professor. I felt myself relax a bit, swinging into our normal conversation. Biggest mistake. Not even realizing, my body began pushing, feeling the sudden stretch of my hole making me whimper out in shock and pain. Without apologizing, I rushed to the bathroom and quickly undid my pants again, pulling my underwear down too. I could see the tiniest bit of hard, glowing green shell peaking between my lips. Running my fingers against it, I moaned out as I pushed it back in, my body protesting as I did. Once I felt safe enough, I returned to work, only for all the progress I had just undone to return, feeling my opening begin to spread again just a bit as the egg slowly shifted downward.

Finally, after two hours of feeling the egg ever so slowly stretch me open, I left work for the day and as quickly as I could rushed to my car. The second I sat down, the angle from the seat and my jeans pushed the egg back into me a bit, causing me to groan at the feeling. I pressed a hand to my throbbing cunt, feeling the slight outline of the egg though my pants. It wasn't crowning, but it was getting close. Driving home was almost as bad as working, the constant burning and subconscious pushing but the egg not being able to move due to my underwear and jeans.

I managed to get into my home with only a slight waddle, not being able to fully close me legs with the giant egg weighing between them. I didn't even try to get to my room, heading to the couch in the living room and striping off every article of clothing on my body. I pressed one hand over my pussy again, feeling the egg against my palm. It felt like it was tearing me open, at least the size of an ostrich egg, and hand more of a bumpy texture. I whimpered for hours as I squatted and tried to push the egg out of my cunt, playing with my clit to try and ease the slide out with arousal. Around 11pm, I finally got the egg to crown, crying out as it felt like I was being split open and simultaneously orgasming, managing to have the egg pop and slip free of my poor, overstretched cunt.

[jarofstyles]

flower + jealous and relief. I love all of your writing, thank you for all you do!!

Flower!!! Our babies. Oh god, I love them soooooooooooooooo much. Thank you for requesting!

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Y/N shouldn’t be jealous. Ever, really, and she knew that.

Harry had never given her any indication that he would ever have a straying eye. He was borderline obsessed with her, the admission coming from his mouth multiple times a week, treated her like the sun and moon both revolved around her, but that didn’t stop the uneasy feeling she felt when he watched Bonnie laugh a little too hard at something he said.

She was an old friend of his. A family friend, at this family cookout that they’d been invited to. Y/N had been quickly introduced to her and she had felt it since then. There was a way women knew. It’s an intuition, really, knowing someone was into your man. And Bonnie had it written all over her.

Harry was slightly oblivious and Y/N knew that. He was quietly friendly with the people here- they were his family, for fucks sake! But that didn’t mean he liked this not-actually-family-but-longtime-friend placing her hand on his bicep as she giggled and batted her lashes at him.

Y/N was helping his mum in the kitchen, trying her best to do what a hopeful future daughter in law would do, but it was hard to concentrate when she had a direct view outside of the both of them. Harry had been dragged into a conversation with her and as much as Y/N didn’t love the idea of leaving him alone with her, she was secure enough to know that Harry wouldn’t do anything, let alone flirt back. She could tell just by the look on his face that he wasn’t.

When Harry was flirting, she knew it. And she’d only ever seen that face be directed towards her.

“Thank you for helping me.” His mum grinned, wiping her hands on her apron. “I won’t keep you. Come back in a little bit if you’d like to help slicing these up but I want you to go out and get a drink, please. Make yourself at home.”

It wasn’t the first time she had met Harry’s family and his mum seemed to like her but she wanted to keep that going. “Of course.” She chirped. “I never mind helping. Yell for me if you need me and I’ll come running, okay?”

His mum laughed loudly before playfully pushing her out towards the patio. Secretly she had wondered if she had seen her distraction and wanted her to go out and self soothe, but she wouldn’t know.

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion she felt a lot but she felt it now. It wasn’t one she liked either. Usually she could get over women simply looking at him or grinning at him, even if they hit on him before she would arrive because there was always the chance they didn’t know he was taken- but Bonnie did. She knew good and well that Harry was taken and she didn’t like that she was touching him so much.

Selfishly, unrealistically, she wanted to be the only one that got to touch him. She had asked her therapist if that was toxic and she’d said slightly but she reassured her that it was human nature. It wasn’t like she stopped it from happening, but the desire was still there.

She made her way towards the pair with her head high and schooled features- because in no way was she going to give the girl satisfaction in knowing that even for a moment she’d been insecure- but it seemed her boyfriend knew what she needed.

“There she is.” He grinned, stepping away from Bonnie to gather her into his arms and smack a kiss to her forehead. “Did mum hold you hostage or somethin’?”

“No.” She relaxed into his body as he made no move to let go of her. “She was lovely as always. I was helping her with the last of the pies. It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Mmmm… She wants to steal you away because she said she wants you t’come over more. ‘Wants to know her future daughter’, all of that.” Harry let that go casually and a tiny (humongous) piece of her felt satisfaction seeing the lingering woman’s face fall at that.

Yes, it was sad for her that a man she liked wasn’t available. Harry was strong, stable, handsome, doting, absolutely fucking perfect. But… he was Y/N’s.

“Well I told her we’d come for dinner next week.” Resting her hand on his chest she played with the collar of his shirt. “So I’m giving into her antics. But when she cooks like that, I can’t really complain.” Harry’s mum was an incredible chef and she knew her own would never compare to it so… she was more than happy to eat yummy food and get to know his family better. “Besides. I do want to get to know my new family. Is that so wrong?” Was she pulling out all the stops, giving her the best doe eyes she could muster and laying it on a bit thick? Yes. And she was only a tiny bit ashamed.

“Fuckin’ love you, Y’know that?” It seemed as if as soon as Y/N had made it into his vicinity he forgot about anyone else. Bonnie still stood awkwardly close but his full focus was on her. Rude? Maybe to someone else, and she would have to be in charge of making sure she redirected… but for now? She was going with the flow.

“I love you more.” Pecking his cheek, she saw him pull back and look offended.

“Proper kiss. Please and thank you.” He muttered. “S’quite rude. Don’t deny me of what I need, thank you.”

Y/N really never had anything to worry about.

[cherryite]

and they were roommates...

summary. being roommates with your friend (and longtime crush) mark isn't all its cracked up to be (w.c 2.1k)

content. fem!reader x mark grayson, roommate!reader, friends to lovers, slight idiots in love

warnings. MDNI!!!!, smut, mark... lowkey creeping but kinda not his fault, masturbation, voyeurism?, mark is jorking it rip, not proofread lol

author's note. hi so this is insane that i just wrote this but it was driving me crazy so i did it anyway.... have fun!! (i'm also aware viltrumites don't technically have crazy good hearing but have u seen how those fuckers act in the show.... like how did they hear that shit...)

All you wanted was a moment to yourself. A little release.

Having a roommate who can hear a pin drop doesn’t help with this predicament. It especially doesn’t help that that person is Mark. So the fact that Mark has been gone on a mission off-planet for two days gives you the perfect window to release it.

Your room is dim, the only light coming from the fairy lights strung across your walls and the amber glow of your bedside lamp. A slow, sultry track plays from the speaker, the music wrapping around your thoughts like smoke. You stare up at the ceiling, your face blank and your jaw tight. 

You groan, your hands coming up to cover your face, dragging them down as your mind spins. It’s not just stress, it's a deep ache within you. One that's been cooking in your stomach for weeks, constantly being ignored or pushed down until it was just a dull throb between your legs. 

Sighing, you grumble to yourself, dragging your hand down to the waistband of your flimsy sleep shorts. You have been practically unable to get off since moving in with Mark. It felt entirely not cool for you to finger fuck yourself when he was a room over, able to hear everything. Barely ten feet across the hall. 

Especially not when the thoughts in your head, the ones that get you closest, almost always end up looking like him. Kind, awkward, stupidly strong, with that boyish voice and a stupid habit of acting like he doesn’t know how good looking he is. You could never tell him that though, your brain makes up terrible scenarios about what would happen if you actually confessed to being helplessly in love with him. Because what if he teased you? Or looked at you weird? Not that Mark would ever do that, you know that, he’s too sweet, too polite… too Mark.

“I’m so pathetic,” you mumble to yourself as you slide your hands below the waistband of your shorts. But the deep need outweighs any guilt and your eyes flutter shut, your breath slows.

You find yourself thinking about his voice. You think about the way he leans in when he’s tired and forgets to keep his distance, his breath fanning over your face. You think about the heat of his body when he brushes past you in the kitchen. You think about the way he says your name when he’s laughing. And the way he’s sound if he wasn’t. 

~

Mark wearily opens the door to the apartment, his suit tattered, covered in bruises and cuts. Every muscle in his body is screaming in protest as he closes it behind him. He winces, reminding himself the next time Cecil wants him to go do something in space to decline. It’s late, the darkness outside flooding over all the surfaces of the apartment. 

Mark notices your shoes by the front door. You must be home. 

He silently shuts the front door, hovering a bit over the ground, just in case his footsteps woke you up. He can’t help his mind drifting to you, his chest squeezing as he runs a hand through his hair. He can daydream later. Currently, he needs ice and silence, and maybe a new spine.

The hallway is dark around him, save for the tiny amount of light that seeps through the crack in the bottom of your door. Mark floats his way down the hallway, about to just simply pass your door then his ears pick up noises from your room. He typically tries not to eavesdrop on you. Whenever you’re on the phone with a friend, he’s busy turning up the volume on his headphones to the max, stuff like that. But he does pick up a soft, choked breath mixed in amongst your music. 

He freezes, his body stilling instantly as he furrows his brows. His ears pick up a rustle of sheets, a faunt creak of a spring in your mattress both typical bed noices. What he hears next is not typical. 

A whimper, slightly muffled. It’s faint, soft, and it immediately makes his skin prickle. Heat immediately climbs up his neck, his ears growing hot. He steadies himself on the wall next to your door, attempting to control his breathing, as if even a breath could give him away.

 He knows he shouldn’t linger, he knows he shouldn’t. He knows he should just go to his room and blast white noise in his ears until his brain is mush. But his stomach twists as he can hear the wet slap of the intrusion of your fingers, pumping in and out of you steadily. He really should go now, but he’s frozen. His hand moving to cover his mouth, muffling his own voice and the sounds that threaten to pull themselves from his throat. His free hand presses to his eyes, pressing hard into the bone of his brow, trying to free himself from the mind control that's possessing him right now. 

He should leave. But the noises you're making continue to penetrate his ears. Subtle but unmistakable, a distinct sound that's steady, rhythmic. The slick slide of fingers moving through arousal. 

And then he hears it. 

It’s breathy, he almost thinks he hallucinated it before he hears it again. 

“Mark.”

A soft gasp, completely unguarded and raw. His name, moaned from your lips, softly in the dark. He can feel himself unraveling and his knees nearly give out.

His hand drifts downward before he even realizes it, gripping his semi-hard cock through the material of his tattered suit. The contact is sharp, jarring, and it sends a shiver of heat down his spine. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling far too fast. He’s being too loud, as he stares at your door like it’s the only thing tethering him to this life. He squeezes his hard on, rubbing himself through the fabric as his ears pick up another moan that drops from your lips.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s sick. It’s invasive. But he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you’re on the other side of that door, touching yourself and saying his name. Mark feels like he’s burning alive with every small breath that puffs out of your lips. 

He hears another noise. This one is higher, needier, and it sucks all the air from his lungs. His body shudders against your door frame as his free hand clenches the waistband of his pants, his other hand still stroking himself through the fabric, pressure building fast as he speeds up his motions. He’s never heard anything like this before. Never felt anything like this before. The sounds you're making, the sound of how wet you are echoing in his ears.

It’s like something has him under a spell. He can’t leave. He can’t even breathe.

The sounds get louder, more desperate, closer to the edge. He can hear your head fall back against your pillow, the sloppy sound of your wet pussy as you plunge your fingers into yourself. He can nearly hear the sound of your walls suctioning your fingers back in and it makes his stomach curl. He can hear your quiet whimpers, softing muttering to yourself, his name mixing with desperate whines. With that, his world shrinks to the thin sliver of light beneath your door, his eyes focusing on the light at his feet.

The tempo of your breathing shifts. And when he hears another breathy, gasping moan; high, sweet, needy, he nearly cums right then. The sound of your fingers moving inside of yourself is steady, wet, rhythmically obscene. He actually groans behind his hand which flies up to cover his mouth, his head nearly thunking gently against your bedroom door.

 His forehead falls against the door mutely, mouth open, panting quietly as he can, like he’s not getting enough oxygen. His hips jerk forward into his hand, he doesn’t even notice how he’s grinding against the door, how his fingers are gripping himself tight, how dizzy he feels as his cock twitches beneath the material.

He’s never going to forget this, he realizes as he finally grabs his cock in his hand. The way you sound. The way you say his name. The way he feels right now, feverish and completely undone. He’s so close, the way his gut twists and the way his hand is barely in control as he jerks himself sends his mind blank and reeling.

Another breathy moan breaks the air and Mark loses the last thread of control. He bites down on his hand to prevent himself from making noise, his eyes half-lidded as his release nears its end. His hand moves faster, squeezing himself with no mercy, jerking himself with deep seeded need as his cock spurts cum all over the front of his suit. Jerking himself a few more times, his mind clears. Staring down at the mess he’s made of himself, his body still thrumming with need, he shakily backs up from your door, silently slipping into his own room to contemplate what he’s done.

~

Mark stands in the kitchen, sloveling some sugary cereal into his mouth. It’s early, sunlight filtering through the windows, basking the kitchen in a golden glow. He leans against the counter, already halfway through the bowl of cereal, his hair damp from a shower and sticking slightly to his forehead. He hasn’t slept. Not really. A couple of hours of half consciousness, his brain too wired and guilty to fully allow sleep to wash over him. He just keeps chewing, his mind too preoccupied to think about anything else, jaw clenched.

He heard his name.

Heard it. From your mouth. Soft and broken and drenched with pleasure. Pure ecstasy.

And now here he is, eating cereal like nothing happened. Like he didn’t spend at least 30 full minutes last night with his hand down his pants and his heart in his throat as he thought of you.

He startles at the sound of your door opening, milk from his cereal dripping out of the corner of his mouth.

You step into the kitchen tiredly, still half-dressed in your pajamas, a baggy shirt and a pair of shorts that barely cover anything. He can't help the way his breath catches in his throat. He keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him, shoveling another spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

“You’re back,” you say, voice still raspy with sleep, a smile on your face. “When’d you get in?”

Mark doesn’t look up, trying to calm his racing heart. “Late. You were already asleep.”

You nod, moving toward the cabinet to grab a mug. “I left my music on last night, I hope it didn’t keep you up. I didn’t think you’d be home until tonight.”

Mark lets out a weak, almost hysterical little laugh before coughing to cover it, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “It didn’t bother me.”

You pour yourself some coffee, standing beside him like everything is normal, like your bare thigh isn’t brushing his. He tenses at the contact, his heart beating against his ribcage.

“I missed you,” you say, casual but soft, looking up at him through the steam that wafts from your cup. “Glad you’re okay.”

Mark finally brings himself to look at you, and for one breathless moment, he thinks you know. That you can see it on him, feel the tension in his shoulders, the heat radiating off him. But your expression is open, sweet, oblivious.

And that makes it worse. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

“I missed you too,” he says, and he means it. After last night, he realized how much he missed you when you weren’t near. How he missed your laugh when he did something totally nerdy. How you were always so attentive when he was rambling about comics. How your lips would curl when you saw him. He unfortunately, could deny it no longer; he had a huge crush on you and last night had only made it worse.

You smile at him, eyes warm and slightly sleepy. Mark turns back to his bowl of cereal and focuses on them as they bob around in the milk like they hold the secret to how to deal with these feelings. Anything to keep from looking at you too long. Anything to stop his brain from replaying those sounds, those words. 

He’ll tell you eventually, but for now, he keeps your sounds to himself. Locked away in his brain, bound to torture his dreams for a long time.

[rafesangelita]

♡ what was supposed to be a fun evening with sarah, turned into a fun evening with rafe instead..

warnings: best friend’s brother, heavyyy flirting, teasing, tiny game of truth or dare, heavy petting, slight dry humping, unprotected sex, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

a/n: mini series masterlist can be found here. all notes and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

wc: 2.7k

[7:13 PM] sarah <3: sorry babes something came up so i won’t be back home till later. i’ll see you!

you stared down at the text, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. so much for watching the sunset on the druthers. you typed a quick response, about to turn around and make your way back home before the front door opened. “you trying to break in, y/n?” rafe gave you a once-over, his eyes lingering on your slightly exposed cleavage. you swallowed, shaking your head. “no, i was just leaving actually.” you smiled softly, your cheeks heating at his intimidating stare.

“why don’t you stay?” he moved over, pushing the door wide open. “i better not, sarah isn’t here—” he stepped out. “she never is, she’s too busy playing poor girl on the other side of the island.” you raised your eyebrows at this. “what do you mean?” you laughed, giving him your full attention. rafe gasped, obviously taunting you at how clueless you were. “she didn’t tell you? she’s seeing some guy named john b and hanging out with all of his friends,” rafe leaned in, “kie included.” he towered over you, the height difference enough to make any girl nervous.

focusing back on his words, you were quick to shut him down. “her and kie haven’t talked in years, that makes no sense? and she’s with topper, why on earth would she be seeing someone else?” without telling me about it, you wanted to add. “beats me.” he shrugged, swinging an arm around your shoulders, walking both of you inside. “what did you two have planned?” he kicked the door shut, leading you to the living room. “uhm, we were gonna watch the sun go down on the druthers.” you put your backpack down, rafe taking a seat in front of you.

“that’s the girliest shit i ever heard.” you rolled your eyes, stepping away from him. “of course you’d say that, your idea of fun includes getting drunk and jumping off rooftops.” rafe threw his head back in laughter. “look at you! if i would’ve known you had a mouth on you, i’d provoke you more.” you couldn’t help laughing along, shaking your head as you looked down at your phone. “well it’s kind of pointless now, the sun sets in like fifteen minutes,” you sighed, “i’m gonna head out now, tell sarah to give me a call?” rafe stopped you just as you were picking up your bag.

“i could take you on the druthers..” you paused, quickly declining. “no, don’t worry about it! me and sarah could always save it for another day.” you waved him off, rafe shooting up from the couch. taking your bag from the floor, you followed rafe outside, who ignored every advance of yours to get your bag back. “rafe! really it’s fine please give me my stuff.” you two walked down the dock, rafe turning around to face you. “sarah isn’t going to uphold any plans with you, just get on the boat.” he stepped on first, extending a hand.

“will you give me my bag if i do?” you watched as rafe tossed it behind him. “yeah, but you’re going to have to get on in order to get it.” you smiled, your heart racing as your eyes danced with his shiny blue ones. you took his hand, jumping onto the boat. rafe held onto you a couple seconds longer before starting it up. you’ve been on the druthers plenty of times before, your favorite spot being on the deck, out looking the water. you two fell into a comfortable silence as rafe guided the boat further out, the wind blowing through your hair.. and a little through your sundress.

you looked up, rafe not moving his eyes from where you sat. a part of you felt like you’d regret this later, but you couldn’t find it in you to care enough. slowly bunching up the fabric of your dress, you shivered as it slipped down your hips, and soon enough down your legs. obviously, you were wearing a bikini underneath, but it didn’t stop rafe from swiping his bottom lip with his tongue. minutes later, rafe stepped down, the boat coasting slowly in the marsh. “i guess this isn’t so bad.” rafe grabbed a beer from inside the deck, taking the cap off with his teeth.

“you want one?” he gestured the bottle towards you, scoffing when you shook your head. “that’s gross, no thanks.” you crossed your arms over your chest, your profound confidence dwindling away with each second he stood next to you. as if sensing how shy you were becoming, he handed you the beer, discarding his shirt, revealing to you his perfect physique. god, this was so wrong. here you were, with your best friends brother, both of you in nothing but flimsy pieces of clothing, watching the sunset. “just take a sip.” he sat down, pulling you next to him. “rafe-” he cut you off, “come on, what can one swig do?” he leaned in, his breath fanning your cheeks.

“come on, for me?” that should’ve been the last possible reason to drink, but you found yourself doing it anyways, immediately clearing your throat of the bitter taste. rafe laughed, taking a drink right after you. maybe it was because your lips were just wrapped around the same rim, but watching rafe drink from the same glass as you made your stomach flip in excitement. drawing your attention away from him, you looked at the sky, the orange and purple hues casting a beautiful glow out on the water. “sarah’s missing out right now.” you heard rafe say. “i know, it’s beautiful out here.” you smiled.

“yeah, it is.” he kept his eyes on you, his fingers coming out to move your hair out of your face. you glanced at him, taking the beer. “i guess we could share it now.” you shrugged. he nodded, his hand settling on your thigh. you don’t know why you felt like a giddy school girl talking to her crush for the first time, because you definitely weren’t, you were just two years younger than rafe. “truth or dare?” rafe leaned in closer now, his breath fanning your neck. going with the safe option as always, rafe shook his head when you muttered ‘truth’.

“you’re boring.” he tilted his head at you as you hit his shoulder playfully. “no, i’m not. there’s just not many dares you can do on a boat.” you laughed. rafe took his time admiring your rather soft features. he liked the natural shape of your cupid’s bow on your lips, he especially liked how flustered you became once you caught him staring. “there’s a lot of things you can do on a boat.” his voice dropped a few octaves, your breath stuttering lightly. rafe wasn’t a stranger, you knew where he was heading with this, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“okay.. dare.” you watched rafe’s eyes light up, your chest swelling with pride. he looked around, “i dare you to show me what you have in your bag.” rafe watched you get up, staring at your ass when you bent down to grab your backpack from the corner. “alright..” you unzipped it slowly, plopping it down on his lap. “charger, toothbrush, hair brush, pajamas, socks-” rafe grabbed something at the bottom, holding them up to you. “and these?” he ran his thumb over the pink lace, a smug grin adorning his lips. “rafe!” you screamed, reaching out to snatch your underwears.

he got up, putting his arm in the air so you couldn’t reach them. jumping while wearing a bikini that barely did anything to support your tits wasn’t the smartest idea, but neither was letting rafe hold your panties. “rafe, seriously!” you laughed, both of you stumbling inside the lower part of the boat. he pushed you softly, enough for you to flop down on the couch with a huff. holding your face in your hands, you sighed in defeat. “this is embarrassing, please give them back.” rafe replied with a quick, ‘alright, alright.’ before making you look up at him. stuffing the lacy material in his pocket, he got closer to you, your face practically lined up with his waistline.

“get them.” rafe’s stared at you intensely as you hesitantly reached into his pocket, your heart pounding at the compromising position. refusing to look straight ahead at his navel, you closed your eyes, pausing when you felt the slight touch of something really hard. rafe hissed, his hand cupping your chin aggressively. “i-i’m sorry!” you attempted to get up, rafe pushing you down before you could go anywhere. “i know you’re not stupid,” he hovered above you, his large arms caging you in. “i didn’t mean to,” you scrambled, trying to get your words out so you didn’t look like such a mess.

“i was just trying to—”

“i wanted you to do that.” rafe ran a finger down your jaw, pecking your chin as you rubbed your thighs together at his revelation. “what?” you looked up at him, doe eyed and flustered. “what?” he mocked your voice, laughing darkly. “do you really think i’m gonna fall for that innocent shit?” rafe shook his head. “what are you talking about?” playing dumb was the last bit of reserve you had left. without warning, he cupped your pussy, making you let out a yelp as he pushed your bottoms to the side to run his fingers between your folds. “this is what i’m talking about.” rafe held up his fingers, your wetness glistening under the soft yellow lighting of the boat.

“you don’t have to be ashamed about it.” you watched as rafe took his fingers into his mouth. “sweet just like i thought.” he licked his lips. “i like this too, can’t you feel what you’re doing to me?” rafe ground his short-clad erection right where you needed him most, both of you moaning at the friction. like an icecream cone in the middle of summer, you felt yourself melting away into nothing as rafe trailed kisses up your neck, finally settling on your lips. you were hesitant, but kissed him back nonetheless, your hands coming up to rest on both sides of his face.

“wait,” you stopped him, “we can’t do this rafe.” the guilt was already eating you alive, what kind of best friend were you?. “says who?” he adjusted himself between your legs, leaning his weight on your lower half. your eyes fluttered shut, your clit pressing against the bulge in his cargo’s. “if this is about sarah, you shouldn’t have to worry about nothing, do you really think she’d care after all this time? she’s focused elsewhere.” he whispered in your ear, stroking your hair as he did so. “don’t worry about her, alright?” you nodded, all self control leaving your body once rafe pulled down the flimsy straps of your top, revealing the prettiest set of tits he’s ever seen.

“fuck,” he sat back on his heels admiring you underneath him, “how come we haven’t done this sooner?” he picked up your leg, landing a kiss on your ankle. fingers working at the strings of your bottoms, you couldn’t help shying away from him now that you were fully naked before him. “getting shy?” you watched with labored breaths as rafe unbuttoned his shorts, swallowing nervously when you saw his cock straining against his boxers. “no,” you whispered, sitting up to kiss him again. your heart beamed when you felt him smile against your lips, both of you moving eagerly as he pulled you onto his lap, dragging your hips against his hard on.

rafe couldn’t believe this was finally happening. one day, you were his sister’s best friend, strictly off limits, and now that sarah pretty much fucked up your friendship, he had you practically writhing with need. “please,” hearing you beg for his cock was rafe’s new favorite song, the urge to fuck you to tears becoming this primal desire. he didn’t care that he didn’t have any condoms, and he liked that you didn’t seem to care either. pulling you against his chest, rafe wrapped an arm around your waist, the other hand guiding himself to your entrance.

“you sure?” he gazed into your eyes, waiting for any kind of hesitation. answering his question, you lowered yourself onto his cock, gasping at the unfamiliar stretch. rafe cursed, both of you staying still for a moment. “you feel so fucking good,” he blinked, looking up at the ceiling as you took hold of his shoulders, leaving kisses on his chest until you clenched around him, a strangled sound leaving his mouth. “please fuck me, rafe.” you whined, your head falling onto his shoulder. with a kiss to your temple, he held you in place, thrusting up into you. you cried out, rafe grunting with every stroke of your soaked pussy.

you couldn’t imagine how ridiculous you probably looked right now. with rafe fucking you at an unforgiving pace, you felt like you’d bounce off of him at any moment. “goddamnit, y/n,” he slowed down, his chest falling and rising with each breath, “i don’t think i ever want to stop.” rafe laughed, his tongue circling around your nipple, the added pleasure making you mewl. “l-let me-” you couldn’t get the rest of the words out, instead you got up, pushing rafe down so he was laying flat on the couch. “what are you- fuck!” you sunk onto him once more, riding him as his eyebrows knitted together.

“you’re killing me right now.” his nails dug into your thighs, the pain shooting straight to your core. pushing your weight on his chest, you kept a steady rhythm, looking down at rafe as he watched your cunt swallow him whole. “rafe, i’m close!” you winced, your clit hitting his pubic bone. he flipped you over, pinning your thighs down in order to pound into you even deeper. your eyes rolled back at the sudden pressure you felt, the foreign feeling making you lose your breath.

“wait i have to pee,” you tried to push rafe away but he shushed you, splaying a hand over your lower stomach, “no you don’t.” rafe began rubbing circles on your clit, your orgasm hitting you all at once. your mouth was open but there was no sound coming out, the only indication being the violent shaking of your legs. you reached out for rafe, a scream leaving your lips as he continued his movements, rubbing your clit even faster now. “look down, pretty girl, look at the mess you made.” your vision was blurry but you listened to him nonetheless, his lower half dripping with your juices.

“i’m sorry.” you whimpered, your voice shaky as overstimulation started setting in. rafe leaned down, kissing you harshly, “don’t apologize for that.” he shook his head. “hurts, rafe.” he laced his fingers with yours. “give me one more baby, i’m so close.” your eyes welled up with tears, your hips moving to meet his thrusts. with rafe hitting that soft spot inside you, it didn’t take long before you both came together, his face buried in your neck. you stayed in the same position for what felt like forever, trying to catch your breath.

“you okay?” he kissed your shoulder, running his hand down your side. “yes, i’m alright.” you smiled, both of you wincing as he pulled out. “i don’t think i could move.” you turned around, both of you blinking lazily. “well.. we don’t really have to go anywhere.” he leaned in, kissing you softly. you let him pull you close, his warmth providing you comfort. “no, but,” you looked down, “i need to clean up.” your cheeks flushed. “yeah? so do i.” you were brought back to earlier, embarrassment sinking in. “rafe i never did that before, i told you i was sorry!” you hid your face from him.

“why are you apologizing? that just means i did something right.” he got up, grabbing the long forgotten panties from the pocket of his discarded shorts. “i guess these came in handy, huh?” he walked over to you. “come on, let’s shower. we’ll share another beer and look at the stars afterwards, sound good?” he pulled you up, your legs feeling like jelly. giving him a grin, he looked at you expectedly. “well?” rafe supported you against his large frame.

“that’s the girliest shit i ever heard.” you mocked him from earlier, bursting out into laughter as he dragged you to the small bathroom.

[onsomenewsht]

Silencio en la biblioteca, los ángeles también pecan

About when people slide in Alexia's DMs, she forgets about it, and you find it way too funny

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: 2k

》 to slide into someone DMs [Internet slang]: to confidently send a direct message to someone via social media, mostly with romantic or sexual intentions

“Most famous person on your phone?”

Alexia’s cheeks redden slightly under the studio’s lights and the playful tone of the host’s voice.

It’s predictable enough, part of the game of rapid-fire questions. It’s innocent enough, intended to tease the interview on social media later on. It’s not bad, but she is.

She thinks of you immediately, her heart skipping a beat.

It’s not strange for her, you crossing her mind unprompted at the most inappropriate times. But Alexia can blame Vicky for this one.

The younger girl sent her a TikTok edit yesterday.

Footage of you with a sparkling toy microphone, dressed in a princess gown as a kid, or you writing and recording in a tiny studio, meeting people and doing press tours. A voice-over, some dude on a podcast, saying that you will never make it, that singers like you don’t fill stadiums. The video cuts, with impressive editing skills, to clips of your last tour.

A tour that sold out the Bernabeu.

Twice.

She blocks Vicky after the third teasing text, and if the video gets saved in a dedicated gallery is just for her to know.

“I don’t know, probably some other athlete”, Alexia lies, more worried of saying your name out of instinct than giving a proper answer.

“Messi? The Queen of Spain, maybe?”

“The Queen? Do they even have a phone?”

“You could probably have their number if they do”, he says with a grin.

“I don’t think so”

Moving on to the next question turns out to be nothing more than wishful thinking, as the host decides this is a topic interesting enough to keep exploring.

“I bet you’ve got big names in there somewhere”

“I really don’t”, Alexia dismisses, trying to downplay the whole thing, “It mostly happens on Instagram nowadays, doesn’t it?”

“You mean people slide on your DMs”

“That’s not what I said”, she retorts, her cheeks turning a shade of red that could rival the flush she gets after an exhausting game.

There’s not a real reason for her to be so embarrassed. She faced way more uncomfortable conversation and way better than this.

It’s your fault, actually.

The Catalan can’t stop thinking about the way you smoothly added your contact on her phone after you had met just a handful of times.

Your first encounter was at a Barça’s victory party. You’d been invited to sing, genuinely excited to celebrate yet another award with the women’s team. Jana had dragged her captain along to congratulate you on the album you’d released just a couple of weeks earlier. The blonde didn’t say much, but when she did, her words were always spot-on, carefully considered.

The second time was at a charity event for her foundation. Alexia made sure to thank you for your generous donation, and you joked that it was for a good cause – helping young girls and adding an invaluable piece to your wardrobe. But Alexia saw the sincerity in your eyes and knew you meant every word.

The third time was the lucky one. You both talked for what felt like hours, ignoring the demands of others, hidden away in a secluded corner of the obnoxious rooftop terrace, crowded with music and laughter, that a mutual friend had rented for their birthday party. Just before leaving, far later than you both had intended, you asked for her phone to save your number under a silly nickname. That same night, the footballer texted you as soon as she got home.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Three years later, your contact’s still saved under the same nickname.

“So, no A-list celeb likes your old pics?”

Apparently, the host isn’t going to save her from herself. Alexia realizes she has to dig herself out of this hole without making it worse.

“I mean we all comment people’s posts or text on Instagram now, you know, it’s just easier”

“Nice save”, he remarks, clearly amused, finally moving on to the next question.

~

The weeks after the interview pass in such an erratic blur that Alexia forgets about it entirely.

You are in London to co-produce an album and her schedule is getting a bit more intense now that the Champions League is in full swing. It’s not easy juggling the endless work trips, media days, and the demanding commitments that clutter your shared calendar, but it’s worth it.

The nights hidden in a studio are worth the way you alway get inspired when talking the days away, curled into the footballer’s side. The dates you take each other on, planned in advantage of months or improvised last minute, are worth every single time you have to delay your reunion. The long video calls, the flowers sent from different countries, the red-eye flights, the supportive texts that never quite compare to a comforting hug. It’s all worth it.

After a month apart, you finally have a couple of quiet days to spend together, free from distractions. Alexia doesn’t think about that interview, and that’s a mistake.

She has a session with the team’s physio when they release it, a session that Vicky interrupts abruptly. As soon as the younger girl storms into the room, with a shit-eating smirk on her face, the blonde knows it is not going to be pleasant for her.

“Oh, you’re so done”, she teases, her grin widening as she waves the phone in front of Alexia’s face, “You’re not going to like this”

She doesn’t show her a clip from the damn interview.

Oh, no. It’s much worse.

Vicky’s already saved dozens of video edits, all of them capturing the awkward moment when Alexia tries, and fails miserably, to dodge the question about her phonebook.

“What was I supposed to say?”, the midfielder complains, dropping her head onto the massage bed, while even the physio can’t hold back a smile.

“Anything else? You basically bragged about people sliding in your DMs, you idiot”

“I didn’t say that– and I wasn’t bragging!”

Vicky raises an eyebrow at the older woman’s defense, always surprised by the genuine self-consciousness of a two-time Ballon d’Or winner, “Sometimes I wonder if you know they call you Reina for more than just your football skills”

“What does that have to do with anything?”, Alexia asks, her voice dripping with resignation.

The physio pats her shoulder, offering support and signaling she can go home. Tomorrow is a day off and, suddenly, the idea of spending it rotting in bed sounds so appealing.

“Just wait until your girlfriend sees this”, Vicky murmurs, her grin widening as she bolts from the pissed captain.

~

You have seen the interview.

Of course you have.

Alexia may not keep up with her media appearances, but you do. First and foremost because you truly love her, and second, because you adore that dorky side of her that shows up in the most unexpected moments

Like in her latest commercial. She’s posing for the camera, drenched in water to look badass, but blushing, almost embarrassed, as a list of her career accomplishments is given to her. Or in that sponsored video, where she’s in the background, annoyed and teased by her younger teammates for her most listened songs of the year to be all by the same artist.

Barcelona’s media team had to cut most of it out, but you know the whole story. And you absolutely love it.

The loudest sign of her coming home is the soft thud of her kit bag hitting the floor as soon as the door opens. You’ve given her endless shit for leaving her sport gear all over the shared apartment.

Her big hands and warm arms wrapping you from behind come second, “What are you doing here?”

Alexia kisses your shoulder, burying her face in the crook of your neck. Wet hair drips down your shirt, almost enough to annoy you into pushing her away. Almost.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you too”, you reply, smiling as you stir the sauce you've been working on for the past hour.

“Idiot”, she giggles, not moving an inch, “You had dinner with that producer tonight, no?”

“Yeah, but he had an ‘enlightening revelation’ about a track he’s working on, so he’s stuck in studio and couldn’t make it”

“You artists are wired”

“You missed a date once ‘cus you lost track of time working on a drill you ‘absolutely had to master’ that day”

The older woman doesn’t argue, knowing she wouldn’t win this one, so she just turns you around to gently, but firmly, kiss you.

It feels like the comfort of a safe space, like the certainty of a kept promise.

It may be too soon for other kinds of promises, you know that, but the future ahead looks a lot like an older, even more in-love version of the two of you. If a carefully picked ring is tucked away in an otherwise-empty guitar case, she doesn’t need to know. Not yet, at least.

“What?”, she asks, taking in your wandering gaze.

“Just thinking”

“About?”

You hesitate, just for a moment, “That I love you”

“I love you too”

“And you better clean the mess you left at the doorway before dinner’s ready”

Alexia laughs, playfully rolling her eyes, but retreating her steps back to do exactly that.

She knows something is flipping back and forth in your mind, but she also knows when to press and when to let you tidy up your own thoughts before opening up.

The sauce cooks perfectly, creamy and spiced up enough to make the footballer forget the planned dish for the day consisted of plain rice and vegetables. When the pasta is presented on the table and you sit in front of her, it truly looks like a perfect dinner.

You two talk between bites, forgetting manners as the story of a songwriter arriving at the studio with too-personal lyrics about cheating hits its peak. She’s not above good gossip, you know that, and teasing about not revealing names of the people involved is too much fun.

“Speaking of cheating”, you grin as Alexia nearly chokes on the food, shaking your head, “Your football-daughter send me a video”

“Which one?”

“Which daughter, or which video?”

She can’t hide a smile, heading to the kitchen with the empty dishes. You follow, sitting on the counter to keep enjoying each other’s company and the playful banter while she cleans up.

“Vicky sent–”

“I told you to block her”

“Don’t be mean, the videos she share are cute”, you retort, “Most of the times, at least”

“Amor–”

“You have to worry about Jana, actually. She’s ruthless”

“What does that even mean?”

The pure disbelief in her eyes almost makes you second-guess the teasing.

Almost.

“Let’s get back to the point”

“Is there a point?”

“Yes, this video of you– wait, no! Alexia!”

Before you can even finish the sentence, the midfielder decides the dishes can wait. She lifts you off the counter, cutting your words short as she tosses you onto the couch with ease.

The unexpected display of strength overshadows how her soapy hands soak your shirt. It’s an old oversized tee she used to train in, not really something that will be irremediably ruined by the gesture, but it’s the principle of it.

“You watched the interview”, she states, towering above without weighing on you.

“What interview?”

Alexia raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips quirking up. One of her hands moving under your shirt. It’s a warning, her fingers trailing across your hip.

“I watch all you interviews”, you admit, shifting slightly to caress her cheek, “It was a good video, you’re cute when you get embarrassed”

“I panicked!”, she complains, dropping her body on top of yours to hide her face.

“I bet, with all those people sliding in your DMs–”

The room fills with laughter as she starts tickling you, and your chuckles become too infectious to hold back herself.

[blackbat05]

Detour

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Plot: A little detour to the Children’s Hospital forms the start of a new relationship. (This takes place after Joaquin’s stint in the hospital)

Genre: Fluff, PG-13

A/N: Had serious brain rot trying to write? Loads of things happening at work and felt that I was just bed rotting whenever I came back home so very glad that I wrote this piece and try to do something creative. Hope you enjoy!

“Thanks for letting me tag along.” Joaquin steps out of the car, helping Sam with the bags stowed in the trunk.

“The kids will be happy to see you,” Sam dismisses his thanks. “They always love new faces. Besides, you could use that fresh air after being stuck in the hospital for two weeks.”

Joaquin grimaces at the memory as the two men amble into the entrance of the children’s hospital.

A bespectacled woman with traces of white in her hair greets Sam warmly before leading them down the sanitized halls.

“The kids are just finishing their story-time with Y/N.” They reach an automated sliding door that opened with a slide of the woman’s keycard.

“Thanks Doreen. We’ll take it from here.” Sam picks up the large bag of board games and toys they had picked up earlier from the shop.

Joaquin follows and is instantly greeted by intricate murals painted on the bookshelves. Children books of every imaginable size and color were shelved neatly in their respective places. He can’t help but to marvel at the sheer number of books in this place.

“So, if you’re not careful and you leave the book right beside your bed…” A voice could be heard up ahead. Joaquin sees a female volunteer holding a red book in her hands, at the centre of attention. The children dressed in their gowns, listening with rapt attention.

“It might just wake up and… EAT YOU!” She opens and closes the book, mimicking a ravenous monster, eliciting laughter from the audience and appreciative smiles from parents and guardians alike. Joaquin finds himself smiling too.

“Maybe if I give it some fries, the book won’t eat me!” A little girl with pigtails pipes up.

Joaquin locks eyes with the woman. “Well, that is a food for thought - no pun intended!” She stands up, “I’m sorry to cut this short but I believe Mr Captain America and Mr Falcon themselves are here!”

This immediately gets the kids attention again and excited squeals could be heard all around. Sam, charming as ever, takes over effortlessly with tiny bodies surrounding the two men.

Lunch arrives and the crowd eventually thins out with a couple of stragglers taking photos with Sam and Joaquin. Joaquin gives a stuffed Falcon to a little boy who was adorable and affectionate, giving one last hug before saying goodbye.

“You made his day.” The same female volunteer approaches Joaquin with bottled water. “I’ve never seen Luis so happy before.”

“I didn’t do much. You’re the one doing all the work. Reading to them, showing them different worlds.” Joaquin downplays the praise.

“I take it that you’re a bookworm?”

“When I have time. Saving the world can get quite hectic.”

“Don’t I dare doubt it.”

Joaquin grins, courage growing a little bigger. “Y/N right? You work here? I didn’t see you when I was warded in the hospital.”

“I work at the Children’s library three stops from here.” You explain. “Doreen is a close friend and mentor of mine. I wanted to do something for these children so here I am.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

“Not as amazing as saving the world from another World War.”

Joaquin can’t help but to notice Sam over Y/N’s shoulder. Needless to say, he did not like the googly eyes that the Captain was teasing him with.

“Are you always here?”

“Every Friday, just before lunch.” She affirms, though curious at Joaquin’s question. His throat is suddenly dry as the Sahara Desert but he has to try. What’s the worse that could happen right?

“Cool. Uh… Are you free now? Do you want to grab-”

Before Joaquin could finish his sentence, Sam comes running over. Phone blinking in his hand. That could only mean…

“S.H.I.E.L.D wants a briefing in twenty. Hostage situation.” Sam mutters.

The world is fucking with him right now. It took Joaquin all his energy not to groan. Instead, he plasters what he believes to be an easy going “everything is ok” face.

“I’m free next week.” You finish off for him much to his surprise.

“Go save the world soldier.”

***

“Does this plane go any faster?”

“What’s got your pants in a twist?” Sam comes out from the cockpit. “It’s that girl isn’t it? The one at the Hospital! Miss Librarian!”

“Her name is Y/N.” Joaquin looked up to Sam but he was not in the mood for being teased.

“Ooooh someone’s in loveeeee!”

“You know, for someone who’s the face of our country, you’re obnoxiously childish.” Joaquin retorts.

“Don’t you know me by now?” Sam laughs. “Seriously though, you really like her huh?”

“Yeah… I know it’s weird but… the way she was with the kids?” Joaquin trails off, unsure of himself. “I just hope she’s still there. Though I can’t blame her if she isn’t. You know, the sacrifices of being a hero.”

Sam frowns at the familiar words he had said to Joaquin years earlier while the young soldier took over the role of the Falcon.

The Captain gets up from his seat and heads to the cockpit.

“Hey Carlos! I need you to speed this up a little, our man here has a date he can’t miss.”

***

“How do I look?” Joaquin steps out with a clean set of hoodie and jeans.

“Like you clean up well.” Sam affirms as the plane prepares for landing. “Go get her Falcon.”

Joaquin starts the bike that was prepared for him, speeding towards the hospital. He really hopes that she’s still there - though the hope is shrinking by the minute.

He seamlessly parks his bike, not wasting a second as he sprints inside, nearly running over a bemused Doreen.

“Woah there! Hold your horses cowboy, she’s in there.”

Joaquin breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Doreen gives a knowing smile as she bids Joaquin good bye, leaving him to enter the hospital reading room.

At the sight of her, his breath hitches and Joaquin feels rooted to the ground. He digs up every ounce of courage, heart thumping wildly against his chest.

“Y/N!”

She looks up from her book, eyes lit up at the sight of the solider. Joaquin could get used to this. “Hey solider.”

“I’m so sorry, we had to make a detour.”

“Duty calls, am I right?” She teases. “I got us some tacos. Figured you’ll be too tired to get to another place.”

“I could kiss you right now.” Joaquin blurts out. “Not that if you don’t want to- oh what am I saying!”

Y/N giggles at Joaquin’s goofy nature. “Let’s eat. The tacos are getting cold.”

Despite having tacos in a hospital, the two enjoyed each other’s company, engrossed in conversation.

“Thanks for the amazing company, Joaquin. Unfortunately, work beckons. I have to head back for closing.”

As the two pack in silence, Joaquin fights an internal battle in his head.

Just ask her already god damn it! You’re a superhero for goodness sake!

What if she thinks I’m weird?

Now or never Torres.

“Would you like to-”

“Wait sorry, you go.”

“No you!”

The two burst into laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“I really enjoyed today.” Joaquin says sincerely. “I know my schedule is really messed up and all, but if you’re free again, I know this really mean pizza place.”

“You had me at pizza.” Y/N doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Joaquin does a mini dance in his head. “So that means it’s a date?”

Before Y/N could respond, a little voice pipes up from the entrance.

“Say yes Miss Y/N!”

Little Luis was peeping in along with Sam who had a shit eating grin on his face. Although Joaquin knew he was probably never going to hear the end of this, he didn’t care in this moment with the wonderful woman standing in front of him.

“Looks like you got yourself a little wingman, Torres!” Sam hoots.

“I love you Sam but we’re kind of having a moment here?”

“Oh right, sorry! Good luck Y/N! Come on Luis, let’s get our own Tacos.”

[aewon]

all night, in love — YJW

pairing- jungwon x fmr genre: fluff, e2l, fake dating ⚠️: kissing, cursing, slight slight very tiny angst (practically nonexistent) wc: 3k

You hate Yang Jungwon, and he hates you too.

The reason? You ACCIDENTALLY tripped him in front of his crush in 9th grade. You never knew someone could hold such a grudge for something that wasn’t on purpose.

Ever since that day, Jungwon has made it his life mission to make you miserable.

He doesn’t do anything physical, he just makes annoying, mean jabs at you whenever he can, which you don’t hesitate to fire back.

What you never expected was for him to come up to you, asking for a favor.

“A favor? Why would I ever want to help you?” You scoff at his audacity, turning away from him on the bench you’re currently occupying.

He doesn’t go away, instead sitting next to you on the other side, facing you.

“Please, I’ll do anything!” When you look at him, he’s pouting, something that’s never been directed toward you.

He almost looks…cute?

“Anything?” You ask, not concealing the smirk gracing your face.

“… As long as it’s nothing super crazy, yes.”

You ponder for a moment, what could you possibly need from Yang Jungwon.

“I’ll help you, but I’m not telling you what you’re doing until after we’re done! So what exactly is it that you need?”

Jungwon suddenly looks away from you, biting his lip as if he’s afraid to say it.

“Well? We don’t have all day.”

He looks down at the ground, twiddling his thumbs before finally speaking, “I need you to date me.”

You almost spit out the sip of coffee you just took.

“What?”

“Look, you know Yoona, right?”

You nod, having met the girl before in science class.

“I have a huge crush on her but she never notices any of my attempts to talk to her or engage so I figured if I’m dating someone, that’ll make her notice. Everyone knows we don’t like each other so it’ll make a huge spectacle.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his rhetoric.

“Everyone knows we don’t like each other, so they’ll definitely believe we just started dating? That makes no sense, Jungwon. Come on, you’re smarter than that.”

“We can say it was all a ruse! We just didn’t want people knowing how much we like each other so we pretended to have a fued instead.”

“Still doesn’t make sense. Our friends and peers aren’t stupid, they’ll see right through us.”

“Not if we’re convincing! We’re talking right now, right? Not arguing. We’ll just tell everyone we decided to come clean. Please do this for me, you know I’d never bother you with something like this otherwise.”

That is true, and although you can’t ever imagine yourself liking someone like Jungwon, it’s fake.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Jungwon, for the first time, gives you a genuine smile. One that’s not devolving into a sneer or fake.

“So, what do we do now?” He asks.

“Do you have any boundaries you don’t want crossed?”

He shakes his head, “I want this to be believable.”

Without warning, you tug him forward by his shirt, planting your lips on his.

You don’t open your eyes to see if he’s shocked or not, but soon you feel his lips moving with yours.

His large hand travels to cup the side of your face.

You don’t know how long you’re kissing for, or rather making out at this point, but you’re interrupted by the bell ringing.

As you pull away, Jungwon looks as if he’s in a daze.

Your eyes look around the courtyard and multiple people are staring at you, looking away quickly when they realize they’ve been caught.

“Bye boyfriend, I’ll see you later.” You wink, getting up from the bench and leaving to go to class.

The end of the school day comes quicker than not, and you wait outside for your friend Ningning so you can drive her home.

A hand comes to rest on your waist, and you turn to find Jungwon standing beside you.

“I figured I’d get your number now so none of our friends suspect us.”

You nod, taking his phone and putting your number in, texting yourself quickly.

You save his number in your own phone as “wonnie ❤️” while he saves yours as “babe 🩷.”

“You drive Ningning to school right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’ll start driving the both of you, just text me your address and I’ll pick you up first tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, we should also figure out some kind of timeline for this relationship. When do we wanna say this started?”

Jungwon ponders for a moment, “A few months ago? Not too specific but not suspicious either. We could say after a while the dislike toward one another became tired and we decided to be friends which then developed into a relationship.”

“And why did we hide it?”

“Because we were embarrassed.” He shrugs and you nod along.

“Sounds good, we can figure out details later.”

Out in the parking lot, his group of friends are all staring at you. “I should get home,” Jungwon says, “we’re all hanging at my place and I know they’re dying to ask me about us.”

“Call me tonight?”

He nods, wrapping you up in a hug, pulling away to kiss your lips.

You can’t help but like the feeling of his lips on yours, or maybe it’s because you haven’t felt the kiss of someone in so long.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re obsessed with my lips. You like kissing me.” Jungwon smirks at your reddening cheeks.

“Please, it’s just been a while. The feeling is nice is all,” you respond, pushing him lightly.

He raises his hands in surrender before walking away, toward his friends whose eyes are on him like a hawk.

“What the actual fuck is going on!” You hear Ningning from a mile away as she quickly approaches you, “Why the hell did I have to find out from Minji that you and Jungwon are dating?”

“I’ll explain in the car.”

Ningning doesn’t hesitate to ask a million and one questions about your newfound relationship, and you answer to the best of your abilities without making too many plot holes.

You tell her about the new arrangement with Jungwon picking you both up which she agrees to easily.

After dropping her off, you make your way home to relax and de-stress.

You shower before changing into more comfortable clothes.

Your parents won’t be home for a while so you sit on the couch, watching Netflix with an after school snack.

You must’ve fallen asleep on the couch because when you open your eyes, you’re in your room and not on the couch.

You check for your phone, finding it on the nightstand beside you.

The time reads 8:00pm and you sigh. Now you’ll be up all night.

Your phone begins to ring, Jungwon’s name popping up.

“Hello,” you say, grogginess evident in your voice.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I just woke up. I fell asleep after school, my dad must’ve moved me from the couch to my bed.”

“Okay, good. Did Ningning bombard you with questions? Because my friends did.”

“She absolutely did. I stuck with our plan and tried to avoid any personal questions.”

“Speaking of, I figured we should learn more about each other if we’re gonna make this work.”

You agree and begin asking each other questions.

Favorite color, hobbies, family info, things that a couple should know about one another.

You learn that you and Jungwon actually have a lot in common. You both love action movies, dogs, cats, food of course among other things.

It feels very normal talking to him like this, and not arguing or making jabs at each other.

It feels like you’ve been on the phone forever, checking the time as it reads 10:00pm.

“We’ve been on the phone for 2 hours. It’s crazy how quickly time passes.”

You hum, feeling yourself start to get tired again.

“Are you sleepy?” Jungwon asks, and you hum once more.

“Then we should cut this call here, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The only response Jungwon gets is your quiet breathing on the other end, knowing you’ve fallen asleep.

He smiles on his end, ending the call before going to sleep himself.

The next morning, Jungwon texts you that he’ll be there to pick you up at 7:15, then you’ll swing by Ningning’s.

You get ready quietly, deciding to dress up a bit.

When Jungwon arrives, you get in the passenger's side of his car, wishing him good morning.

“Morning,” he says before kissing your cheek.

You smile, side eyeing him slightly, “You know you don’t have to kiss me when we’re not around others.”

You see his cheeks flush pink, “I know, but I figured it’s better to be as natural as possible.”

“Ah, okay. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just like kissing me,” you say, throwing his words from yesterday back at him.

“Pft!”

You playfully argue all the way to Ningning’s house.

When she gets in the car, she greets you and Jungwon like this is a normal occurrence.

You talk with Ningning the rest of the way to school, with Jungwon chiming in every once in a while.

When you arrive, Ningning leaves first, needing to see a teacher before class.

You and Jungwon get out, and he takes your hand in his larger one while he carries both your bag and his.

“Who knew you were such a sweetheart?” You laugh as he glares at you halfheartedly.

The cafeteria is where students wait for class to start if they’re at school early, so you and Jungwon find a quiet corner to occupy.

His friends come in and make their way to you.

They all greet you, albeit hesitantly as if this is all still one big prank.

You realize you’ve never taken the time to get to know any of them either, just associating them with Jungwon.

They’re actually very funny, making you laugh freely.

When the bell rings, everyone disperses.

Jungwon kisses you goodbye before handing you your bag and making his way to class while you do the same.

In class, you’re just doing self work, but people still talk quietly.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice says from beside you.

You look up to see Yoona, the girl Jungwon was talking about.

“Hey Yoona, what’s up?” You whisper, trying not to draw any attention.

“I just wanted to ask you… since when have you and Jungwon been dating?”

She’s asking, that must mean she’s at least somewhat interested, right? This could be good for Jungwon.

“A few months. We just didn’t tell anyone cause we were kinda embarrassed.”

“Ah, I see. Good for you.”

You thank her and she goes back to her work while you do the same.

During lunch, which you unfortunately don’t share with Jungwon, you text him about Yoona.

“That’s cool, our plan must be working 😈,” he responds.

You eat with Ningning, gossiping as you always do.

Later on, Ningning texts you to tell you she won’t need a ride home. She has a project to work on with a classmate so they’re going to her house.

That leaves you and Jungwon alone in his car at the end of the day.

“Do you wanna come over?” He asks.

“Sure.”

The drive to his home is quiet, but he stops at the coffee shop to get you both something.

Your large caramel macchiato is delicious and you promise to pay Jungwon back but he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“Nothing’s too much for my girl.”

You don’t know why your heart beats so fast when he says that.

Arriving at his home, you leave your backpack in his car. He invites you inside and a white ball of fluff greets you eagerly.

It’s a dog and it sniffs you before jumping on your legs.

“This is Maeum,” Jungwon says, picking up the dog. “He likes meeting new people.”

“Hi Maeum!” You take the dog into your arms and he nuzzles into you immediately.

After he’s been put down, Jungwon takes you to his room.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” He asks, and you agree.

He lets you choose and you pick a recently released action film.

As you lay on his bed, Jungwon puts his arm around you, pulling you close.

The sunlight from outside shines into the room, illuminating it in a beautiful glow.

As Jungwon seems to be entirely grossed in the movie, you take the opportunity to look at him.

His dark hair is fluffy, his bangs laying on his forehead.

His jaw is sharp even as he’s relaxed and his eyes are big and wide, watching the screen intently.

You admire his face, his nose is long and big, something you’ve always found attractive.

His lips are plump and so, so kissable as you already know.

You can’t help it, you take his face into your hand, turning it towards you.

“What?” He asks, staring into your eyes.

You lean forward, connecting your lips with his.

He responds immediately, pressing harder.

You move before you even realize it, swinging your leg over his lap to straddle him.

You’re making out eagerly, running your hands through his hair while his hands travel down your back to eventually rest on your thighs.

His tongue meets yours as it gets hotter inside the room.

You don’t know how long you spend there, your body pressed against his.

By the time you separate, both your lips and his are red and swollen.

Jungwon’s eyes are narrowed as they stare at you.

“What?”

“You must really like me or something,” he says, giggling as you hit his chest before moving to get off him.

“No,” he stops you, “stay here.”

You end up laying on top of him.

It’s quiet and he’s playing with your hair, gently, trying not to disturb you.

Time passes and before you know it, it’s 8:00 pm.

“I have to go home,” you tell Jungwon, who whines in protest.

“Don’t want you to go.”

“I know, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jungwon concedes, and you both get up so he can drive you home.

The drive is quick and he’s bidding you goodbye, not before giving you a kiss.

After doing your night routine, you lay in bed, thoughts full of Jungwon.

It’s only been two days since your plan started but you feel different.

You feel happier, happier than you already were.

Is it because of Jungwon? You feel like the answer is obvious but you’re too afraid to admit it.

The next couple of days follow the same routine. You and Jungwon meet in the morning and hang out after school.

He takes you out for ice cream and coffee, takes you to the local park to have a picnic and more.

This fake relationship starts to feel more and more real everyday.

“Heeseung is hosting a party tomorrow, do you wanna go?” Jungwon asks, watching the tv while you pay attention to your phone.

You look up, “Sure.”

Jungwon hums in acknowledgment, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders.

You unknowingly lean into his chest.

The next day, Saturday, you do nothing until it’s time to get ready for the party.

You find a pretty dress in your closet, one that’s not too revealing but just enough.

You text Jungwon a picture.

y/n: what do you think :p

wonnie ❤️: you look beautiful 🥰 i’ll be there in 5

In the car, you and Jungwon agree to stick together and send a text if you get separated.

The party is already thriving by the time you arrive.

You and Jungwon hold hands, walking through and greeting people.

You find the other guys in the kitchen, pouring drinks.

They greet you cheerfully, handing you a drink of something. You don’t know what it is, but it tastes good so you don’t complain.

You and Jungwon make your way to the dance floor, where your bodies are pressed against one another tightly.

After some time, you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

“Do you want me to come with you? I’ll stand outside?” Jungwon asks but you shake your head.

“I’ll be fine.”

Heeseung directs you to the bathroom upstairs.

You pass by people on your way there.

The light isn’t on and you knock, no one answers.

Once you deem it safe, you enter.

You lock the door and do your business.

After washing your hands, you make your way back downstairs.

Before you re-enter the living room, you hear two voices that sound familiar.

You choose to ignore it, wanting to find Jungwon.

You search for him for 5 minutes before giving up.

Making your way to the backyard, it’s empty, to your relief.

You sit on the outside table, breathing in the fresh air.

“Hey, I was looking for you,” Jungwon says from behind you.

“I was looking for you too but I got impatient after 5 minutes.” You laugh as he takes a seat beside you.

“Yoona came up to me,” he says.

“Oh? What’d she have to say?”

Jungwon takes a deep breath in, “She confessed to me.”

Oh.

“Oh? That’s…great, no? This is what you wanted. That means we can end this whole thing and—”

“I rejected her,” Jungwon says firmly.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “But the whole plan was to get her to fall for you, I don’t understand?”

“I rejected her because I realized that I really like you. I know it’s only been a couple of days but you’re nothing like I thought you were. We feuded because I was being petty. I never took the time to really get to know you. You’re…amazing, to put it lightly. You’re smart and kind, funny, we have so much in common and at this point I don’t see myself with anyone except you.”

You reel in Jungwon’s confession. Here you thought he was going to break everything off.

“Jungwon, I like you too, a lot.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, “You do?”

“Yeah, I’ve realized how sweet and kind you are. The thought of you being with Yoona made me crazy but I didn’t want to get hurt by rejection.”

“Well you don’t have to worry. You have me, no matter what.”

He kisses you, fiery and passionately.

The next day as you walk hand in hand with Jungwon around town, you think you’ve hit the jackpot.

© AEWON 2024

[shamalhassan]

Help Walaa and Her Newborn Escape the Crisis in Gaza

Give a mother the chance to save her baby and rebuild a life of hope.

My name is Walaa, and I’m reaching out in desperation to save my

family’s future.

I am a psychologist from Gaza. Before the war, I had a fulfilling

career helping others heal. I hold a master’s degree in psychology,

and I was proud of the life I was building. But everything changed

when the war began.

In a matter of days, I lost it all my job, my home, my savings, and my

sense of security. My husband and I have been displaced multiple

times, struggling to survive in unbearable conditions. We welcomed

our miracle baby born through IVF just one week before the war

started. She is now severely malnourished because we cannot

access proper food or care. Each day I look at her tiny, fragile body

and pray I won’t lose her.

I am not just asking for help I am pleading for the life of my child.

The war has taken everything from us, and we are left with no

resources, no income, and no stability. We need urgent support to

survive and escape to safety.

Your donation will directly help us:

• Secure safe and stable shelter for my family

• Buy emergency food, clean water, baby formula, and

hygiene supplies

• Pay for immediate medical treatment and nutrition

for my baby

• Cover the costs of traveling to a safer location where

we can rebuild

This campaign is not just about survival it’s about hope.

Hope that my baby will grow up in peace.

Hope that I can return to helping others.

Hope that war won’t define our story.

Please, if you’re reading this, take a moment to stand with us. Even

a small donation can make an enormous difference in our lives.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your compassion means

more than words can express.

With all my gratitude,

Walaa

[rafesorchid]

the quietest place

plot: when a fire tears through your apartment in the middle of the night, you’re forced to trust the firefighter who carries you and your daughter to safety. with nowhere else to go, you accept his offer of shelter—and slowly, in the stillness of his home, you begin to breathe again

CONTENT: house fire, smoke inhalation, trauma responses, implied homelessness, emotional distress, fluff at the end

@darlingshecried <3 have fun!

you don’t remember the smell of smoke at first. just the sharp scent of burnt plastic and something sour in the air, thick enough to make your nose wrinkle as you stirred awake. your baby was still asleep beside you, her tiny fists curled near her face, her lips parted with each soft breath. it was the sudden flicker of orange light bleeding under the bedroom door that made your chest seize.

at first, you thought it was just a weird dream. then came the alarms—shrill, high-pitched, piercing through your skull like a knife. you sat up fast, lungs catching on panic. your daughter stirred, confused, whining softly as the noise startled her.

“it’s okay, baby,” you whispered, already scooping her into your arms. “we’re okay, i got you, i got you…”

but the second you opened the bedroom door, heat hit you like a wall.

your breath caught. the hallway was thick with smoke, dark and rising fast, and you could see the flames at the end of it—red and violent, eating through the cheap wallpaper like it was nothing.

your instincts kicked in. stay low. cover her face. move fast.

you dropped to your knees, clutching her to your chest, the baby blanket wrapped around her little head as she started crying, her voice high and terrified.

“help!” you shouted, throat burning. “somebody help us!”

you tried the front door. wouldn’t budge. heat warped the frame. your hands shook as you fumbled with the lock, but it wouldn’t give. tears blurred your vision as the smoke thickened, your lungs screaming for air, your baby’s cries getting smaller and smaller.

and then—you heard it.

heavy footsteps. muffled shouting. the sound of a door being bashed open, wood splintering under pressure.

and then him.

he stepped into the room like something out of a movie—helmeted, suited in thick black gear, face covered except for his eyes. calm, blue, and alert.

“two in here!” he shouted over his shoulder, then looked at you. crouched low, one gloved hand outstretched. “ma’am, i need you to come with me. now.”

you couldn’t speak. couldn’t breathe. just nodded, clutching your daughter tighter as he reached for you both.

“i’ve got you,” he said, voice steady through the mask. “i promise. you’re okay.”

he picked you up like you weighed nothing. one arm under your legs, the other cradling your daughter’s back as he moved fast through the smoke, barking out directions to the other firefighters as he carried you outside, into air that felt cold and sharp against your skin.

you coughed hard, lungs scraping against your ribs. someone handed you water. someone else draped a blanket around your shoulders. your daughter was still crying, but she was breathing, reaching up to touch your face with soot-covered fingers.

“you’re okay,” you whispered again, voice shaking. “we’re okay, we’re okay…”

he crouched next to you a few minutes later, helmet off now, revealing damp blond hair and soot-streaked skin. his eyes were softer up close. tired but kind.

“i’m rafe,” he said gently. “i was the one who carried you out.”

you looked at him, not sure what to say. everything felt far away, like your brain was still stuck inside the fire.

“thank you,” you managed to whisper.

he nodded once. “you did good. keeping low, covering her face. you probably saved her life.”

your breath caught. you didn’t feel like a hero. you felt like a wreck.

he glanced over his shoulder as someone called his name, then looked back at you. “you got anyone nearby? family? friends?”

you shook your head. “just me and her.”

his jaw tightened slightly. he stood up, ran a hand through his hair, then crouched back down.

“listen,” he said after a pause. “i live ten minutes from here. i’ve got a spare room. clean bed. if you need a place for the night, it’s yours.”

you stared at him. “you don’t even know me.”

“i didn’t know you,” he corrected, “but i carried you both outta a burning building, so i figure we’ve already skipped a few steps.”

you almost laughed, but your throat still burned too much. you looked down at your daughter, who was finally starting to calm, then back at him.

“you don’t have to,” he added quickly. “i get it if you’re not comfortable. there’s a motel near the station—we could call ahead, see if they’ve got a room.”

you hesitated. every nerve in your body screamed not to trust a stranger, not with your daughter, not after everything you’d survived.

but you had nowhere else to go.

and he’d already saved your life once.

“…okay,” you whispered. “just for tonight.”

his truck was quiet. warm. you sat in the passenger seat, wrapped in the blanket, your daughter asleep against your chest, still sniffling softly every few minutes.

he didn’t talk much on the drive. just asked if you were warm enough, if your seatbelt was okay, if she needed anything. you shook your head each time, throat still too raw to speak.

his apartment was on the second floor of a building that looked newer than yours had been. it smelled like clean laundry and faint cologne. he held the door open for you, flicked on a soft light, and nodded toward the hallway.

“guest room’s down there. bathroom too. towels are clean. water heater’s strong.”

you blinked. “you sure about this?”

he shrugged, pulling off his boots. “wasn’t gonna leave you two on the curb.”

you carried your daughter to the guest room and laid her down gently on the bed. she curled onto her side instantly, thumb in her mouth, lashes still damp from crying.

you watched her for a moment, chest aching. she’d been so scared. you both had.

you didn’t realize rafe was standing in the doorway until you turned.

“you want something to wear?” he asked. “your clothes are… yeah.”

you looked down. soot and ash, fabric torn and damp with sweat. you nodded.

he returned a minute later with a faded t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants that looked soft and worn. you thanked him and shut the door.

the hot water stung at first. your skin was raw in places, smoke still clinging to your hair, your eyes. you scrubbed until you were pink, until your fingers ached, until you felt almost human again.

you didn’t cry. not in the shower. not yet.

he was in the kitchen when you came out. the shirt hung to your thighs. your daughter’s blanket was freshly washed, draped over the back of the couch.

“tea?” he asked, holding up a mug.

you nodded and sat across from him at the small kitchen table. the tea was hot and strong, and it burned your throat going down. it was the best thing you’d tasted in days.

“i don’t usually trust people,” you said quietly after a while.

rafe didn’t look surprised. just sipped his tea.

“especially not men,” you added. “especially not strangers.”

“understandable.”

“but i didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

he looked at you then. really looked at you. not in a weird way. just… like he got it. like he’d seen too many people crawl out of flames with nowhere to land after.

“you can stay here as long as you need,” he said. “i mean it.”

your fingers tightened around the mug. “i can’t pay you.”

“wasn’t asking you to.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. so you just nodded.

you didn’t sleep much that night. kept getting up to check on her, to make sure she was still breathing, still there. rafe had left a baby monitor on the nightstand—said it was from his niece. hadn’t used it in a while, but it still worked.

you listened to the sound of her soft breathing through it. in. out. safe.

your eyes didn’t close until nearly dawn.

he was already gone when you woke up. a note on the counter said he had a shift but would be back around six. there was cereal in the pantry, cartoons on the tv, and extra diapers under the sink—he’d picked some up before leaving, just in case.

you sat on the couch with your daughter in your lap, heart aching at how easily she smiled at the animated characters on screen. like nothing had happened. like she hadn’t been in your arms, screaming for her life twelve hours ago.

you buried your face in her hair and let yourself cry, finally.

not loud. not messy. just silent tears that soaked into her curls while she giggled at the screen.

he came home tired, smelling faintly of smoke and soap. his eyes scanned the room until they found you.

“everything okay?”

you nodded. “thank you for the diapers.”

he smiled. “no problem. she likes elmo, huh?”

“she’s obsessed.”

he nodded like he’d take note of that. maybe he did.

three days turned into a week.

he never pried. never asked questions you weren’t ready to answer. he just let you be. gave you space. cooked sometimes. let you use the laundry. let your daughter nap on his chest after she got comfortable enough to reach for him.

“you’re good with her,” you said one evening, watching them on the couch.

rafe shrugged. “my sister’s got twins. i babysit sometimes.”

you nodded. watched as your daughter tugged gently on his nose and made him laugh.

you hadn’t heard her laugh like that since before the fire.

you found a temporary shelter that would take you in after two weeks. filled out forms. stood in long lines. tried to ignore how heavy your feet felt as you packed the baby’s things into the bag rafe lent you.

he didn’t say much when you told him. just helped you load the car.

when you turned to say goodbye, he just looked at you with that same quiet steadiness.

“you ever need anything,” he said, “you know where i’m at.”

you nodded. “thank you, rafe. for everything.”

he looked at your daughter. gave her a little wave.

“stay safe, sweetheart.”

she smiled at him. reached for him one last time.

you let her.

you didn’t know if you’d see him again.

but a week later, when the shelter lost power in a storm, you didn’t even hesitate before calling.

he picked up on the second ring.

“you two need a place to stay?” he asked.

you swallowed. “if it’s still okay.”

“always.”

and just like before—he opened his door.

no questions asked.

just steady arms and warm light.

and a place to land.

author’s note

i really enjoyed writing this! hope uguys enjoyed <3

[annlyticalarchive]

CHAPTER NINE: The Date, the Dog, and the Domain

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Prologue|Chapter Eight|Chapter Nine (Here)| Chapter Ten

w/c: 5.6k

a/n: two rewrites done and still not incredibly happy with it, but it’s mainly just the two goobers so I’m content with it

“Superwoman!”

You loved Lois. You really did. She was one of your best friends.

But if you heard—

“Lois Lane, I’d like to interview you for the Daily Planet!” And speak of the devil, and she’ll appear.

You pushed through the crowd that had gathered around you in the park, phones out and filming you and the grounded plane behind you.

“I’m sorry, no comment,” you said with your most polite smile, beginning to hover just out of reach.

“Wait—” Lois started, but you were already gone.

By the fifth time it happened that morning, you were starting to feel genuinely sorry for her.

Well right up until she snapped a cuff on your wrist and then the other on hers.

“I’m getting—” She had to pause, doubled over with one hand on her knees, breathless. “—an interview.”

“Miss Lane…” you sighed, looking at the ridiculous pair of handcuffs connecting you. With your strength, you could break them easily. But you knew that even you couldn’t run from Lois when she wanted something. So, you might as well just give her the exclusive.

“Alright,” you muttered, resigned. You gently scooped her up and took off, heading straight for the rooftop of the Daily Planet.

You touched down lightly, setting Lois on her feet as she fumbled to pull out her recorder with her one free hand, her dominant one now locked to yours.

“Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet,” she said, still catching her breath. “And I have some questions for you.”

“That much is clear.” You folded your arms as best as you could with a reporter attached to one of them. “You’ve been trying to catch me for days.”

“Hah, well—” Lois gave a breathless chuckle, shaking her head before composing herself. “Superwoman, would you be willing to answer a few questions for the people?”

“The people deserve truth and transparency,” you said, nodding. Her face lit up, and guilt twisted in your chest. It didn’t feel great, keeping your secret from her.

“Okay,” she said eagerly. “Who are you?”

“You’ve named me Superwoman. I’ve been told it suits me.” You smiled.

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d get your identity that easy,” she muttered, shifting gears. “Where are you from?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Space?” you said, then clarified with a shrug, “But I was raised on Earth.”

She blinked. “Okay… so, alien.”

“Technically,” you nodded. “But Earth is my home.”

She nodded thoughtfully and moved on. “What can you do?”

“I’m not entirely sure of the full extent yet,” you said with a shrug. “I’m still figuring it out. Strength, flight, speed, durability, that sort of thing.”

She glanced at your still-linked wrists, recorder still running. “Are you a member of any hero organization? Any government contract?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I don’t take orders. I don’t want someone telling me who I can and cannot save.”

Lois nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Then who holds you accountable?”

That made you pause.

You looked at her, really looked, and said quietly, “I do.”

She blinked, thrown off for a beat. But then she nodded again, much smaller, more personal this time. “Okay.”

“I just want to help,” you added. “That’s all.”

She exhaled. “Okay. One more, what drives you to help?”

After a beat, you answered quietly, “Because I can. And I think if you can help, you should.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. She just studied you, softly and genuinely, like maybe she wasn’t just seeing the cape anymore.

Then, “That’s a good answer.”

You gave her a small smile. “It’s the truth.”

Lois reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny key, unlocking the cuffs with a smug little flourish. “Thanks for the exclusive, Superwoman.”

“Anytime, Miss Lane.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“You’re overthinking this,” Jimmy said from the couch, watching as you paced back and forth, two outfits in hand.

“I just—what do you think?” you asked, finally stopping and holding both options up to your chest.

“Green. The black’s too fancy,” he replied, propping his chin up with his palm.

“Thanks!” you said with relief, darting off to the shared bathroom.

As you slipped the green blouse over your head, Jimmy called through the closed door, “You do realize it’s just a coffee date, right? Mark’s not taking you to a five-star rooftop restaurant.”

“I know, but—” You paused, adjusting the waistband of your pants. “I’ve never really been on a proper date. I mean, there was Lana back in Smallville, but that wasn’t… this is different. Mark is different. I want this to be serious.”

“Kansas,” Jimmy groaned just as you stepped out of the bathroom, straightening your glasses with one hand.

He got up and placed both hands on your shoulders. “You’ve been pining for him for how long? You both mutually asked each other out after dinner with his family. You’ve got this. There’s literally nothing to worry about.”

You sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ve got this.”

“And if you don’t, you’ve got me and Lois to cry on,” Jimmy added casually as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

You froze mid-step and shot him a glare.

“But you’ve got this! You do!” he rushed to say, nudging you toward the door. “Now go get him, farm girl!”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth as you stepped outside, the door clicking shut behind you.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The cozy cafe Mark picked was small and quiet, tucked between a bookstore and a florist.

The kind of place with real cups and mugs, soft indie music playing just loud enough to fill the silence, and walls lined with artwork painted by local artists with ‘For Sale’ stickers underneath them.

You spotted him through the front window before he saw you. He was already seated, nervously tapping his fingers on the table, a second mug waiting across from him.

He looked up just as you opened the door.

And his smile, soft and wide, made something warm bloom in your chest.

“Hey,” he said, standing a little too fast and bumping the table. “Sorry— hi. You look great.”

You smiled as you walked over, “You look nice too.”

He held your chair out without thinking, and you caught yourself grinning again as you sat.

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?” you asked nervously as he slid back into his seat. “I know we said the time, but I wasn’t sure if—”

“It’s fine,” Mark said, cutting you off with a gentle laugh. “I know you run on ‘on time is late’ logic, but seriously, you’re fine.”

The waitress came over to take your orders, two coffees and a small plate of assorted pastries, had you two pay, then left you to it.

You both settled in, and conversation flowed easily. At first it was a little awkward, at least for you. Stumbling over your words and  not knowing how ‘date talk’ works. Mark was sweet though, which calmed most your nerves.

“Wait, you played baseball?” Mark asked, grinning as he leaned forward. “Were you any good?”

“Eh,” you shrugged with a grimace. “Better on field than bat, I was scared of it. But I liked it. Small town league, nothing serious. My Pa was the assistant coach.”

Mark laughed. “Okay, now I have to know, what position?”

“Outfielder.”

“That tracks,” he said with a smirk.

You sipped your coffee. “Let me guess, you were the home run king?”

“Pfft, not even close,” he chuckled. “I was okay, I remember I had one good home run, but other than that I was the strike out king. I think I peaked at neighborhood T-ball.”

You both laughed, the kind that warmed your ribs and made the coffee taste just a little sweeter.

“I’ve been reading some of my dad’s books,” Mark added. You vaguely remembered him mentioning them recently in passing, something about old adventures turned fiction.

“Oh yeah?”

“They seem like novels, but they’re based on him. His experiences. And I was thinking… maybe he ran into someone like you. One of you, I guess,” he said. “We could read them together, if you’d like?”

His voice was softer then, careful. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the subject or because it was you he was offering this to.

Before you could answer, your phone started to ring.

“I’m—ugh, I’m so sorry. Let me just—” you started as you pulled it from your bag, already fumbling to silence it. But your fingers paused when you saw the caller ID.

Ma.

Mark, who had been watching, glanced at the screen and gave you an easy smile. “You should probably take that.”

“You sure?” you asked, already half-rising from your seat.

“It’s your mom,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course. Go.”

You mouthed a quick thank you as you stepped toward the café’s front windows, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Hi, Ma,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice light.

“Hey, baby. I’m sorry—you're not at work, right?” Her voice was warm, familiar, grounding. But there was a twinge to it. A tension. Enough to make your stomach knot.

“No, it’s my day off. I’m out with a friend,” you said, shaking your head even though she couldn’t see it.

“Oh, I don’t mean to be a bother, but…” She paused, and the slight crackle of the speaker only made your nerves worse. “Something crashed out in the fields. Your Pa said it looked like your ship.”

Your blood went cold.

Without a word, you speed-walked back to the table, phone still pressed to your ear. “I’ll— yeah, I’ll run over real quick. I’ll take care of it.”

Mark stood up as you approached, clearly concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asked as you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder in one fluid motion.

“Something crashed on our farm,” you said breathlessly. “I need to check it out.”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to— really, it’s fine—”

“I want to,” he said, tone firm, brows knit with a worried frown.

You paused. Maybe you agreed because it was Mark, or maybe because deep down, you knew he could help.

You nodded.

Together, the two of you ducked into a nearby alley. A moment later, two streaks of color lifted into the sky, one red and blue, the other blue and yellow, as you flew fast toward Smallville.

𓈒 ⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The fields of the Kent farm were bathed in late afternoon light when the two you descended, boots hitting the dirt with a sharp thud. Mark landed a half-second later beside you, eyes scanning the rows of corn that bordered the property.

You made a beeline toward the porch. Swinging the door open and walking in quickly while Mark hesitated at the doorway.

“Ma? Pa?” You called in the main room.

Your parents rounded the corner from the kitchen, Ma took your forearms in her hands. Pa, while admittedly giving Mark an odd look, waved the boy in.

“We haven’t gotten close since your Pa got a look at it,” Ma explained as she gently turned you toward the back door. “We called you right after.”

You nodded and waved Mark along. Out back, a thin plume of fading smoke still curled into the sky, like a beacon in the middle of the fields.

“Sorry meeting Ma wasn’t under better circumstances,” you said, trying to joke as you walked. It was the wheat season, so the field was like golden grass. The impact trail was obvious, a long scorched scar across the earth.

Mark chuckled from a few steps behind. “Knowing me, it could’ve been worse.”

And then you saw it.

The ship came into full view, smaller than yours, but otherwise a carbon copy. It sat completely still. No hum. No glow. No movement.

Nothing.

Not until you stepped closer and reached out, your fingertips brushing the surface, despite Mark’s quiet, urgent, “Wait—”

A sharp hiss split the silence.

And then

white.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mark ducked back just in time as a white blur exploded from the hatch, slamming into you and launching you across the field like a ragdoll.

He shouted your name, taking off after you without hesitation.

You hit the ground hard, skidding through dirt and grass as the blur gave chase. Before you could even fully stop, it hit you again, square in the chest with a solid enough thud that Mark could hear knock the wind from your lungs.

Mark didn’t think, instead he dove, arms outstretched, and managed to grab hold of something furry and thrashing. But it squirmed violently in his grip, let out a low growl, and launched itself off him with force strong enough to crack something in his ribs.

He barely caught his breath before it pinned him to the ground. His goggles flickered, vision momentarily blurry, until it cleared.

And then he realized what had him pinned was a dog.

A very angry dog.

White fur. Bared teeth. Piercing blue eyes.

Or rather, eyes that were blue until they weren’t. A glowing red hue started to burn through the irises, heat building behind its gaze.

“No!” your voice rang out across the field, slicing through the tension like lightning. The hound’s ears perked. Its head snapped toward you.

It kicked off Mark’s chest so hard that he doubled over with a wheeze, coughing, definitely bruised, maybe worse.

But when the hound barreled into you again, it didn’t attack.

It bounced.

Literally bounced.

Tail wagging. Tongue flopping. Eyes wide. It leapt up, licked your cheek, dropped to the ground, and bounced again like it hadn’t just tried to kill Mark seconds earlier.

“Mark!” you yelled, still a bit breathless, arms up in a loose shield as the creature practically climbed over you in excitement. “You okay?”

For a brief moment, he wanted to say something stupid like Not when you say my name like that, but all that came out was a dazed, “Yeah. I think so.”

He pushed himself up slowly, wincing. His ribs protested every movement.

You grunted, finally managing to shove the dog off. But instead of backing away, it latched onto your cape in its teeth and started tugging like it was playing tug-of-war.

If it wasn’t so shocking, Mark would find it endearing.

“Stop! Quit it!” you barked, trying to yank the fabric free, but the dog just wagged harder and dragged you several feet, toward the ship.

It let go only once you were directly in front of it.

Then, with a small huff, it bounded back into the pod and reemerged with something clutched in its jaws: a crystal, about the size of a hand.

The dog padded toward you, tail still wagging, and plopped the crystal into your lap with a satisfied little chuff before sitting down and staring at you, ears perked like it had done the best trick in the world.

Mark approached cautiously, only to stop as the dog lifted its head and gave a low, unmistakable growl, hackles bristling.

But then you made a sharp sound, one that Mark can easily see you using to get a farm animal’s attention.

And just like that, it settled again.

Mark crouched beside you, resting a hand gently on your shoulder as you stared down at the crystal.

“It’s a dog,” you breathed, glancing up at him. Your eyes were wide, disbelieving. “Alien dog. Are there any alien dogs in your dad’s books?”

“None that I’ve read,” Mark huffed, he was still working his way through him, but for some reason he doubted it’d be in there anyway. “You okay?”

You nodded, standing up and patting your chest, “Yeah, just got the air knocked outta me. Not used to that.”

Mark’s hand drifted from your shoulder, down your arm, to your hand that holds the crystal. “You sure?”

“I’m good, promise,” You turn to give him a reassuring smile, your cheeks flushed.

He watched as you hummed and stood up, the dog quickly gaining energy as it bounced around your feet.

“I’ve seen something like this before…” you murmured, staring down at the crystal. Then you looked to Mark, then back toward the house, and finally, toward the barn at the edge of the field. “C’mere.”

Mark followed you across the grass and through the creaking barn doors. Dust floated in the golden light filtering through the roofing. You walked past old equipment and a sun-faded tractor to a shape hidden beneath a thick tarp.

You grabbed the edge and pulled. Beneath it sat your pod.

“This is my ship,” you said, glancing back at him. “When the vision ended, I saw crystal things like this one, they slid back into the walls here.”

You stepped closer, fingers tracing the narrow seams in the pod’s inner casing outlines where similar crystals had once clicked perfectly into place.

“So you think they’re like… flash drives?” Mark asked, planting his hands on his hips. “Crystal flash drives. Man, I wish that was the weirdest thing I’ve seen from space.”

You made a breathy noise, like a laugh cut short as you tensed, and Mark was about to ask what was wrong until he heard it. A crackle.

Mark stiffened. So did the dog, ears snapping forward as it growled low in its throat.

Mark stepped forward, subtly shifting his stance now fully between you and the sound.

A familiar figure stood framed in the barn doorway, backlit by the setting sun. Scarred. Calm. Watching.

Director Cecil Stedman.

“You know,” he said, voice casual like he’d been here all afternoon, “I almost believed you when you said you didn’t want attention.”

His eye flicked from you to the pod, then to the dog.

“And maybe you don’t know this,” he continued, “but when a ship that matches the one you came down in, crashes down from a suspended orbit around the sun? That’s not exactly subtle.”

“I told you to stay the hell away,” Mark said, low and dangerous.

“And I told you we were watching,” Cecil replied with a sigh. “But now it seems like we’ve moved past requirements for watching.”

He looked back to you with growing irritation. “What have you done? What is that thing, and more importantly, what is happening in the Arctic?”

You stepped forward, voice cool and even despite the adrenaline humming in your blood.

“I’ll be honest and say, I don’t know. But what I do know?” you said. “You’re on private property, uninvited, Director.”

The dog growled, a low rumble vibrating through the whole barn.

Cecil’s brow lifted just slightly. The only sign he’d registered the threat.

He didn’t move.

Behind you, Mark took another step forward, now standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

“I know how this looks,” Cecil said after a beat, voice tight with frustration. “But a large unknown energy surge appeared in the Arctic Circle. The readings matched whatever that came down in.”

He gestured broadly to the dog at your feet.

“And I need to know,” he continued, eyes locking with yours, “if you’re the reason the the next invasion happens. Intentional or not.”

Mark’s expression darkened immediately.

“You serious right now?” he snapped, stepping forward, his fists clenched. “You show up unannounced, throw accusations around, and the first thing you do is threaten her?”

“Mark,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He didn’t look at you right away, but he stilled under your touch. You stepped around him, calm but firm as you faced Cecil directly.

“Look, if you’re genuinely that concerned,” you said evenly, “I’ll go check it out.”

Cecil’s eyes narrowed, scanning your face like he was trying to see through you. But after a pause, he gave a tight nod.

Without another word, he turned and walked back outside. A second later, he was gone, teleported back to whatever surveillance bunker he’d crawled out of.

Mark let out a slow breath as he stepped closer.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice lower now, more concern than anger. Not that the anger had really faded, just taken a backseat. “You don’t owe him anything. You don’t owe them anything.”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the ship, then to the dog, now curled lazily on the floor of the barn.

Then you looked back at him.

“I think these ships… They only activate for me,” you said softly. “Like they recognize me, or my DNA, or something.”

Mark frowned. “You think that’s why they’re showing up? Because of you?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But if they’re drawn to me, or if someone’s sending them, then I need to figure it out before someone else gets hurt. It’s my responsibility.”

He watched you for a second. You weren’t panicked. You weren’t scared. You were steady. Determined. And it made something tighten in his chest.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “Then I’m coming with you.”

You gave him a quick smile, bumping your shoulder against his. “Wouldn’t expect anything else.”

From the grass, the white dog let out a soft whine, tail thumping once against the dirt.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “So… are we bringing that thing too?”

“Of course we are,” you murmured, frowning like he was the one being weird. “We have to bring it.”

“We have to?” he echoed, eyebrows raised, hands settling on his hips.

“It came out of a pod,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re probably going to check out another pod. It’s a logical decision, Mark.”

“Obvious. Totally logical,” he muttered, raising both hands in mock surrender, fighting the small smile tugging at his mouth. You were already defending the furball like it was your little sibling. “Not like it knock both of us on our asses or anything.”

You ignored that, turning toward the barn with the dog at your heels, now practically prancing after you.

Back inside, your Ma and Pa looked about as surprised as Mark felt when the dog trotted in beside you like it’d always lived there. Your Ma blinked slowly, while your Pa muttered something about needing to redo the field.

You explained the situation, how there’s likely another crash, this one in the Arctic, and that you were going to check it out.

That you’d be careful. That you’d be back.

Your Ma hugged you.

But Mark?

He got a warning. A real, serious one.

“She’s strong, I know,” your Pa said lowly, hand firm on Mark’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t keep her safe. Understood?”

Mark nodded. “I will, sir. I promise.”

Outside, you lifted off first, the now late afternoon light catching in your hair as the wind rippled your cape. Mark followed a second later.

And sure enough, like it was the most natural thing in the world, the dog launched after you, legs kicking as it took to the air like it’d done it a hundred times.

Mark watched it for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Right,” he muttered, glancing over at you with a smirk. “Flying dog. Of course.”

You just grinned as the three of you soared north, toward cold winds and a glowing Arctic horizon.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Okay, okay,” Mark said through laughter, turning to face you with his mask on. “But you have to admit, you need a mask.”

You frowned, shouting a little over the rush of wind. “But the glasses!”

“Not exactly a mask,” Mark called back, grinning behind the lenses.

“Then what are your lenses for, bug boy?” you countered, making finger goggles at him.

“To keep the wind out of my eyes!” he argued, mock-offended.

You opened your mouth to retort, probably something scathing and perfect, but the air cracked like a whip.

Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.

Both of you went silent mid-flight.

Then, ahead of you in the snow-blanketed distance, something began rising.

Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, like a spiraling tower unfolding from the depths of the Earth. But not a tower. Not really.

A cluster.

Spikes of translucent blue-white crystal burst upward, spinning, threading together like a frozen bloom.

“Holy shit,” Mark muttered beside you, barely audible over the wind.

And then, barking.

The dog rocketed ahead, a streak of white against white, leaving a flurry of disturbed snow in its wake as it zeroed in on the structure.

You and Mark followed.

The fortress loomed the closer you got. It wasn’t just tall, it was enormous. Alien in design. Each spire jagged but symmetrical, arranged with the kind of deliberate, quiet logic that felt, simply put, alien.

You felt it in your bones before your boots touched the snow.

You landed a few paces behind the dog, Mark thudding into the snow beside you. The cold bit at your face, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were on the structure.

There was a door, or something like one, embedded in the crystal. Seamless and opaque. No handle, no indentation. Like it didn’t want to be opened.

Until the dog trotted up to it.

It barked once.

Loud. Echoing.

The crystal responded with a low resonance, like a chime underwater. Then the door began slowly sink back into the snow.

You stared.

Mark, behind you, let out a low breath. “Okay… that’s new.”

You didn’t reply. You were already moving forward.

The dog trotted through the now-open threshold without hesitation. You followed, heart pounding, senses buzzing. Mark was close behind.

The inside was dim but glowing, lit from within by crystalline veins that pulsed faintly in the walls. The hallway, if it could even be called that, was high-ceilinged, made entirely of seamless crystal, and unnaturally quiet. Every single thing was made of the same crystal. No footsteps echoed. No wind howled through. Just silence.

Then, at the end of the corridor, the dog stopped in front of another formation.

This one wasn’t a door. It was a pedestal. In the middle of a circular room. And in it, one single slot, like the crystals you’d found in the pods belong in there.

Your breath caught.

Mark stepped up beside you, rubbing his arms for warmth, eyes locked on the glowing pedestal.

“Is this..?”

“Like the ones I have?” you murmured, barely above a whisper. “I think so.”

The dog sat beside the pedestal, tail thumping against the crystal floor, gaze fixed on you expectantly.

Mark looked to you again.

You swallowed and reached into your bag that you’d brought, fingers brushing against the crystal you’d taken from the pod.

You slotted it into the hollow.

There was a sound like a bell ringing underwater, and then

light.

Brilliant and golden, flaring out in every direction.

And when it faded, a figure stood before you.

A man.

The same one from your vision. Sharp-featured, robed in layers of red and black, a circlet on his head, his eyes solemn and steady even in flickering light.

You held your breath.

“Do you recognize him?” Mark asked, voice quiet beside you.

You could only nod. “From my vision.”

The hologram opened its mouth and began to speak.

But the language that came out the same one you couldn’t understand.

You stared, heart tightening.

Mark glanced at you. “Yeah. That is definitely not any that I’ve heard.”

You almost laughed, but didn’t. You were too still, too focused.

The man paused, a sigh passing over his expression as if even the recorded message could feel your confusion. He raised one hand and raised it facing you.

From the pedestal, another crystal dislodged and rose.

Cautiously, you reached out. As your fingers brushed it, a flicker of light bloomed in your vision, projected into your mind more than your eyes.

You saw letters, an alphabet. Complex. Elegant and sharp. Completely unfamiliar.

But then, the letters shifted.

They morphed. Bent. Aligned themselves into something you could understand.

English.

It was a translation key.

You blinked, stunned, as more characters slid into place, one by one, matching up with their English counterparts.

Beside you, Mark tilted his head. “Is it working?”

You let out a breath, half-relieved, half-annoyed. “Yeah. Kind of. It’s like the Rosetta Stone.”

“So… you’re gonna have to learn your message?”

You glanced at him, deadpan. “Apparently.”

He let out a low whistle. “Man. That’s one hell of a voicemail.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

But it didn’t last long.

Because the hologram hadn’t stopped. He was still speaking, still trying to reach you. And now, with the translator forming around you, slowly translating his words in pieces.

Not full sentences. Not yet.

But fragments.

“...my daughter…”

“...survival…”

“...Krypto... safe…”

You sucked in a breath.

The dog whined softly, pressing its body closer to your side.

You looked up at the stranger, no, your father’s flickering image, your heart pounding in your chest, not from fear.

But from something heavier.

A grief you felt like you had no business feeling.

He was a stranger. A ghost. And still, somewhere in the echo of his voice, you felt small, like a child left behind.

Without another word, you reached out and pulled the crystal from its slot.

The image stuttered once then blinked out entirely.

Mark said your name softly behind you, but you didn’t wait.

You turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving the crystal where it was.

“Let’s go,” you said, voice even. “It’s probably late back home.”

Mark didn’t argue.

He followed without a word. The dog padded after him, quiet but alert, as though it could feel the tension you weren’t voicing.

The flight back to Kansas was silent. Wind rushing. Sun beginning to dip low behind you.

When you landed in front of the farmhouse, your smile was automatic.

Your parents greeted you with warm voices and concerned eyes, but you waved it off. You asked them to keep an eye on Krypto, if you’d read the slowly translating message correctly, that was his name, for a few days while you figured out if Jimmy’s lease allowed dogs.

They said yes without hesitation.

And still, Mark frowned.

It wasn’t until you landed on the roof of your apartment building in the low light of the evening that he finally spoke, arms crossed, his posture rigid and tone blunt.

“You gonna actually tell me what’s wrong? Or do I have to force it out of you?”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm. “It’s nothing. Promise. Just…”

You hesitated, voice softening into guilt.

“I’m sorry our date got ruined.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, confused.

“I get it if you don’t want any more hero craziness in your life,” you continued, avoiding his eyes. “You’ve already got so much on your plate, your dad, Viltrumites, the GDA. You don’t need me throwing in a dead planet and a dead father I can’t even understand and—”

Your voice cracked as the words rushed out in a ramble, messy and fast. “—and I feel selfish, even trying to pretend I could have something normal. Like a date. Like us. I shouldn’t have expected that. I shouldn't have dragged you into this—”

“Hey.”

Mark stepped forward, cutting you off with a hand on your arm.

You finally looked up.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked, voice gentler now despite the irritation in his expression. “Do you seriously think I don’t want to be here? With you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Mark shook his head, stepping closer. “Yeah, I’ve got crap going on. You do too. And yeah, today got hijacked by… spaceship dogs and holographic dads and mysterious Fortress-of-Whatever in the Arctic.”

Despite yourself, a short laugh escaped your chest.

“But I’m not here because I want things to be easy,” he continued. “I’m here because it’s you. Because you make the hard stuff feel bearable. Even when you’re being stubborn and self-sacrificing like it’s a competitive sport.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how earnest he sounded.

“Also,” he added with a wry smile, “I don’t know if you know this, but I kinda like you.”

A breath of laughter slipped past your lips, shaky, quiet.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m mad that you keep deciding how I feel,” he said gently. “But I’m not mad at you.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped forward, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest.

Mark didn’t hesitate. He wrapped you up immediately, strong and steady, like he’d been waiting for the chance.

“…So,” he murmured, voice low and warm in your hair, “can I still count this as our first date?”

You tilted your head back just enough to look up at him.

“Yeah. But I’m paying for the next one.”

His grin tugged wider. “So there’s going to be a next one?”

“Of course. Here I thought you said you liked me,” you muttered, trying to pull away.

Emphasis on trying. He just held on tighter.

“Oh, I do,” he said, voice annoyingly smug now. “Which is why I’m not letting go until you say it back.”

You snorted. “Mark.”

“Say it.”

“I literally just said I’m paying for the next date—”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

You groaned and dropped your forehead against his chest again. “Fine. I like you too. A lot. Happy now?”

He hummed, satisfied. “Very.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull away this time.

“…Wanna come in for a bit?” you asked, voice quieter. “I think we have leftover cake on the counter.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, smirk pulling at his lips. “Are we talking actual cake, or like..?”

You swatted his chest. “Actual cake, you perv.”

He grinned. “Still sounds great.”

And together, you made your way through the roof access door and downstairs.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (55/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Game night with friends is great - even if you're playing Monopoly.

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst (talks about their relationship), Kika and Pierre are a menace but we still love them

Word Count: 3.7k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: thanks for being so patient with me. only four chapters to go! feedback is appreciated!

The rain had started just before sunset, a gentle percussion against the windows that makes everything inside feel more like a refuge. You’re already sunk deep into the soft beige couch when Kika’s voice floats in from the kitchen. 

„No. Absolutely not. Salt and vinegar chips are aggressive, Pierre.“

„They are honest“, he counters. „They have character. Unlike your … hummus.“

You glance at Charles, who’s sprawled next to you with one leg crossed over the other, nursing a bottle of beer. His mouth curls upward without hm really smiling. 

„They’ve been in there for ten minutes“, you say. 

„Twelve“, he replies, checking his watch with mock seriousness. „They’ll emerge either with snacks or serious injuries.“

You chuckle and shift your weight, leaning slightly into his side. The couch smells faintly of lavender and some kind of woodsy incense Kika always uses. It’s the sort of home that feels lived-in in a curated way – plants in every corner, art books fanned out just so, mismatched mugs that somehow match. 

„She’s going to veto anything that leaves dust on fingers“, you say.

„She banned Cheetos last time“, Charles nods. „Tragic.“

In the kitchen, the debate escalates into dramatic rustling – cabinet doors open and slam, a bag crinkles, someone groans. 

„You think we should go help?“, you ask, not moving. 

Charles raises an eyebrow. „You want to walk into a domestic snack standoff?“

You don’t. The couch is too soft, and there’s something nice about this moment – just the two of you in someone else’s home, in that quiet space between arrival and activity, before the jokes start flying and someone gets way too competitive about something. 

„I like their kitchen arguments“, you admit. 

„They make it sound like they’re planning a heist“, Charles says. „No, not that dip, you fool!“

You both laugh, and just then, the kitchen door swings open, Kika appears with a triumphant grin and a tray of bowls – olives, popcorn, baby carrots, fancy crackers shaped like leaves. Pierre trailes behind her with two bags of chips cradled under his arms like contraband. 

„Okay“, Kika announces. „We reached a diplomatic compromise.“

„No hummus“, Pierre says solemnly. „But I secured limited rights for kettle chips.“

„Under strict supervision“, Kika adds.

„I’ve never felt less free“, Pierre mutters. 

The Portuguese sets the snacks down on the coffee table like sacred offerings. „We’ve matured“ she tells you both. „This is what growth looks like.“

„See? No Cheetos“, Charles whispers to you. 

You give him a subtle nudge with your knee. „Don’t get us kicked out bevore we even pick teams.“

„Teams?“ Kika perks up. „No teams tonight. We’re playing Monopoly.“

Pierre freezes mid-chip pour. „Non. Kika, we’ve discussed this. Monopoly is violence disguised as capitalism.“

„I love violence disguised as capitalism“, she says sweetly, already pulling the battered game box from the bottom oft he stack next to the small table. The corners are frayed, the logo almost worn off from years of grudges.

You glance at Charles, who looks as though he’s just been handed a ticking bomb. He leans in, murmurs, „This is how families fall apart. Just like mine did when you cheated during the game on Christmas.“

You nudge him once more and watch as Kika sets the board down with the gravity of a courtroom clerk opening a trial. „Exacty. That’s why I’ve been saving it for a night when we all really trust each other.“

The French sinks into an armchair with a groan. „I trust no one here.“

„That’s the spirit“, she beams. She unfolds the board with a ceremonial gravity, the creases stubborn from years of being tucked away, corners curled like they remembered past battles. Kika smoothes it flat with the palm of her hand while Pierre laid out the stacks of money with the precision of a disgruntled accountant. „No teams tonight“, she repeats, her usually sweet voice now like a knife wrapped in velvet. „Just four adults making emotionally healthy financial decisions.“

Charles rolls his eyes and grabbs the dog token, rolling it between his fingers before placing it a GO. 

„Perfect“, you mutter, grabbing the battleship. „I’ll just go full naval dominance.“

Your best friend selects the top hat without hesitation while Pierre eyes the thimble, considers, then chooses the wheelbarrow with a dignified nod.

By round three, the board starts to fill like a storm creeping in. Kika has Park Place, Charles has a dangerous hold on the oranges, and Pierre is quietly gobbling up railroads like he has a personal vendetta against public transit. 

You land on unnowned Boardwalk, pausing for a moment, reading it like it might say something else this time. Then you buy it, casually. Too casually – something the others notice. 

„Really?“ Pierre says. „Already?“

„I manifest luxury“, you say, sliding the blue deed toward your pile. 

Charles lets out a low whistle. „That’s going to be a problem.“

You smile at him like a dare. 

Midway through the game, it’s clear that civility reached ist expiration date. Kika enters what she calls speculative frenzy – trading like a Wall Street broker in a blackout, building houses across the dark blues and light greens with unsettling speed. 

„You’re overleveraging“, Pierre warns, scowling as he lands on her Connecticut Avenue with two houses. „This is how bubbles burst.“

„No“, Kika grins. „This is how you win.“

Charles lands on one of Pierre’s railroads next turn. „Jesus, again?“, he groans, peeling off another $200. „He’s bleeding me through infrastructure.“

The French is serene. „This is socialism with Pierre characteristics.“

But it isn’t until you place your third red hotel on Broadwalk that the table shifts. Literally. The Monegasque leans back and blinks at the plastic monument. „Wow“, he says. „That’s – aggressive.“

You shrug. „Kika wanted to play Monopoly.“ 

Pierre sits back as well, arms crossed. „There are war criminals with more restraint.“

The game stretches long into the night. Charles keeps landing one swaure away from danger like he has some unspoken deal with the dice. Pierre clings to his railroads, bitter and oddly proud. Kika tries to orchestrate a mega-deal – trading utilities, two yellows, and a get-out-of-jail-free card to bankrupt Charles – but he turns it down, smiling. 

„I’d rather die than owe you.“

„Your funeral“, she says sweetly.

You start to win. Not loudly, not dramatically, but with the cold precision of someone who decided they’ve had enough of losing. You build slowly, collecting rent patiently, and refuse almost every trade. When Pierre finally lands on Boardwalk, you say nothing, just holding out your hand. 

He counts bills in slow motion. „You’re a monster“, he says, sliding the bills across the table. 

„You said that like it’s a revelation“, Charles mutters, sipping what’s left of his beer. But when Charles finally lands on it too – late in the game, when the room is quiet and the snacks are almost empty – he just laughs. 

Of course, it’s Charles. Of course, he lands there after you built the whole thing up. He looks at the hotel, then at you. There’s a pause, a long one. He glances down at his dwindling stack of Monopoly cash, flipping through the bills theatrically – mostly tens and ones, a crushed five. 

„Well“, he says. „I appear to be financially devastated.“

„You’re short by two hundred and fifty“, you say, barely hiding your grin. „And that’s with the discount for being cute.“

Kika makes a noise between a gasp and a snort. 

Pierre leans forward, delighted. „Ah! Romance enters the economy!“

Charles places his last bill down, slides it slowly across the table like it weighs much more than it does. Then he leans back in his place, tilts his head toward you and says with mock solemnity, „In lieu of payment, I’d like to offer alternative compensation.“

„Oh?“, you raise your eyebrow. „Like what?“

„A kiss for each hundred I owe“, he says smoothly, „and one bonus kiss for emotional damages sustained while being financially crushed by someone I trusted.“

Pierre claps. „This is better than Netflix.“

Kika tosses a baby carrot at him. „Shut up. Let them negotiate.“

You lean forward, elbows on your knees, feigning deep consideration. “So that’s three kisses total?”

“Three now. More if you offer a payment plan.”

You can feel the heat rise up your neck, but you keep your voice cool. “Is this a legal tender situation? Because I don’t think the rules of Monopoly include mouth-based currency.”

“I’m improvising,” he replies. “It’s either that or I give you Pierre’s remaining railroad.”

Pierre hugs his last deed card to his chest. “Over my dead body.” He looks over at his girlfriend. „I take it back. I don’t like this negotiating thing.“

“I’ll accept the kisses,” you say, sitting back and crossing your arms. “But I’ll be filing a report with the Monopoly banking commission.”

Charles grins and leans closer to you. Everyone else has gone quiet now — not uncomfortable quiet, but that hushed space people give when something sweet is unfolding and no one wants to ruin it.

He leans down, one hand resting behind you on the back of the couch, and kisses your temple first.

“One.”

Then the corner of your mouth.

“Two.”

Then finally — soft, warm, and far too brief — your lips.

“Three.”

“Bonus kiss?” you murmur.

He smiles. “With interest.”

The room exhales in a ripple of laughter and fake groans. Pierre throws a napkin in the air like a referee calling the end of a match.

Kika stands and stretches. “Okay, game night is officially over. You’ve turned it into Love Actually.”

You laugh, but you don’t move. Charles‘ arm is around your shoulders, warm and certain, pulling you into his side with that casual confidence that makes it feel like he’s always known exactly where you’re supposed to fit.

The others start packing up. Pierre is half-heartedly scooping dice and Chance cards into the box, humming a French song under his breath. Kika’s loading empty glasses into the dishwasher, narrating every step like a cooking show host who’s also mildly tipsy.

You and Charles stay seated on the couch, sunk into that rare, effortless quiet that only happens after a night full of laughter — where you don’t feel the need to speak because everything has already been said in jokes, in glances, in gestures.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t check it right away. Just presses his chin lightly against the top of your head and breathes in.

Another buzz.

You feel him sigh against you, just barely.

He pulls out the phone and unlocks it. The screen lights up his face in the dim room. His eyes skim the message, and you feel the shift before he says anything — his body going just a little stiller, his breath just a little quieter.

“What?” you ask, not moving away, but already knowing it’s not nothing.

He shows you the screen. A message from his boss, or maybe someone higher — formal, clipped.

“Need you in Maranello by Thursday. Ferrari x Shell gala locked in. Black tie. PR expects full grid image – don’t be late.“

You stare at it, the words too cold to hold onto.

“Maranello?” you ask softly.

Charles exhales through his nose, still staring at the message like it might change if he waits long enough. “Yeah. Shell sponsorship gala. Some new multi-year thing. They want the whole team there. Photos, speeches, charm.”

You blink, letting that settle. “So it’s not just a dinner.”

“No. It’s a full Ferrari circus. Tuxedo, press, sponsors, probably some awkward speech I’ll have to fake-smile through in Italian.”

“And you’re flying out -?”

He looks at you. “Wednesday night. I’ll be gone maybe four days. Five, max.”

You lean your head back against the cushion, the ceiling suddenly more interesting than the conversation. You can feel him watching you, waiting for the follow-up questions that haven’t formed yet.

Then, softly: “Come with me.”

You turn your head. “To Maranello?”

He nods once. “You’d be working. Ferrari wants content from the whole week. Behind-the-scenes, pre-gala, the event itself. I could ask for you to be cleared as my personal photographer, that you already are." His gaze softens. „And as my girlfriend.“

The official term makes your heart race.

You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. The idea of flying out with him feels overwhelming in the best way possible, but also complicated. It's one thing to be his personal photographer, to stand behind the lens and capture the moments that everyone else misses. It’s another to be there as his girlfriend — visible to the public, to his team, to the world.

"Charles," you say slowly, your voice threading with uncertainty, "You know it’s not just that easy, right? I’m not - I’m not sure I can be both at the same time. I mean, how do I even show up there? As your photographer? Or, what? As your girlfriend? It’s one thing to be behind the scenes, out of view, but to be visible, in the middle of all that? I don’t know how –"

You feel a twinge of panic at the thought of all the eyes on you, the people who will look at you and immediately know who you are. How will they see you? Just another girl in the spotlight, or someone who’s there for work? Maybe both, but it feels like one will overshadow the other.

He doesn’t say anything for a beat, but his eyes lock onto yours, steady and patient.

“I get it,” he says softly, his voice careful, measured. “But that’s what I’m asking. You to come with me. Not just as my photographer, but as everything. We’ve talked about this before. We’ve kept things quiet for a reason, and I’ve kept you out of the spotlight because I didn’t want you to feel like you were defined by me or my job."

The words settle in your mind, and you realize how much he’s been thinking about this, how much he’s weighed the possibility of putting you in a situation where you might feel like you’re exposed, vulnerable.

“You said you didn’t want me to get caught up in the circus,” you remind him quietly, your gaze dropping for a moment. “That was the whole point of keeping things separate. You wanted to protect me from all of it. From the pressure, from the opinions - the cameras. But now -” You let your words trail off, unsure of how to finish.

He shifts, leaning closer, his hand finding yours, holding it gently as if to remind you he’s right there with you, standing in the same uncertainty. “I didn’t want you to be part of the circus back then, no,” he admits. “But things are different now. This – what we are, it’s real. And I don’t want to hide it anymore. If you’re not ready, I understand. But I’m asking you because I want you to be there, with me. Not just working, but being with me. And I want the world to see us, too.”

There’s a rawness to his words now, something almost vulnerable in the way he’s looking at you. You’d been caught up in your own fear of what this all meant for you — how you’d fit into his world, how others would see you. But now, looking at him, you realize that maybe he’s just as scared as you are. Scared of pushing you too far, too fast.

Scared of losing you in the process.

“I don’t want to hide,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost like a confession. “Not from you, and not from the world. If you come with me, it’ll be because we’re doing this together. I’m not asking you to be invisible. I’m asking you to be with me.”

You think for a moment, feeling the weight of what this would mean. The risks, the pressure, the eyes that will be on you. And yet, when you look at Charles, there’s something comforting about the idea of being by his side. It’s not perfect. It’s not easy. But maybe, for once, it doesn’t have to be.

“I’m scared, you know,” you finally say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “What people will say, how they’ll look at me. We haven’t even really talked about us — what we are, what this means, and now you want me to step into that world? Just like that?”

“I know,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “I don’t want to rush you into anything. But I also don’t want to hold you back, or keep you from what you deserve. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. But if you are, if you can handle it - then I’d love for you to come. As you — as my girlfriend, as my photographer. Whatever you want. Whatever you are comfortable with.”

There’s something reassuring in his words, something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this decision. You know it’s not going to be easy. But maybe, just maybe, this could be your chance to step forward and own this moment, both the professional and personal sides of yourself.

“Okay,” you say finally, the uncertainty still lingering but fading just a little bit. “I’ll go. But only if we do this together. I’m not just your photographer, and I’m not just your girlfriend. I’m me, and I need you to see that.”

“I see you,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze never leaving yours. “Always.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you feel the weight of them, heavy with promise. You watch him, still unsure of how all of this will play out, but something about the way he’s looking at you — like you matter just as much in this world he’s a part of — makes you feel a little more certain.

“I know this is a big ask,” he says, his tone soft but firm, as though he's been thinking about this for a while. “And I’m not rushing you into anything. I’m not asking you to step into the spotlight with me right away, if that’s not what you want. But when we hit the red carpet, I want you to be my personal photographer. I want you to capture all the moments. The behind-the-scenes stuff. That’s your space. I know you’re amazing at it, and I want that for you.”

He pauses, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand, the gesture gentle and deliberate, grounding you in the present moment.

“But after that, when the red carpet's over and the cameras are focused on other things, when the spotlight’s not so much on me -” His voice trails off, and when he looks at you, there’s a flicker of something softer, more vulnerable in his eyes. “If you’re ready, you can come an be by my side. If that’s what you want. No pressure. I don’t want you to feel like you have to. But I don’t want you standing behind a lens forever, either. I want to be able to look at you, to be with you, when we’re not in the middle of the circus.”

The room feels quieter now, his words sinking in like a quiet but steady rhythm. He’s giving you the space to make this choice for yourself — to step into this new world at your own pace. It’s not an ultimatum. It’s not a demand. It’s just an invitation, one you feel like you could take.

You blink, your heart beating just a little faster. “So you’re saying I’d be free to move between both worlds? The photographer, the girlfriend -”

“Exactly,” he says, his voice a little lighter now, but still steady. “No pressure to pick one over the other. You do what feels right in the moment. If you need to step back and do your thing, you can. But when the moment’s right for you — when you’re ready to stand beside me as more than just the photographer, as us — I’m not going to stop you from that.”

You let the silence settle between you, letting the idea marinate in your mind. It feels different now, lighter somehow. The boundaries are less rigid. You could be there as both, if that’s what you wanted. Not just one or the other, not just his photographer or his girlfriend, but you — with the choice to move in and out of both roles when it felt right.

“You’re giving me a lot of space,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “But I need to know something, Charles. You want me there with you as both, right? It’s not just because you’re asking me to do my job. It’s because you want me there with you — as me?”

His eyes soften, and the smile that forms on his lips is quiet, but so full of sincerity that it makes your chest tighten just a little. “I want you there because you’re you. Not just because you’re my photographer. Not just because you’re my girlfriend – even if we haven’t talked about the formalities yet. I want you there because you make this whole thing feel... real. And I want to be with you, no matter where we are.”

The words settle in your chest like a promise. You don’t have all the answers, and maybe there’s still a little uncertainty. But for the first time, the idea of stepping into his world doesn’t seem as daunting. He’s not just inviting you along for the ride — he’s giving you the freedom to be yourself, both professionally and personally, and trusting you to make the decision that feels right.

You take a breath, finally letting the tension leave your shoulders. “Okay,” you say, the word carrying more weight than it did before. “I’ll do it. I’ll come with you. As your photographer. And as your girlfriend, if you want me there. But we do this together, as us.”

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the uncertainty between you both feels like something you can navigate — together.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “It’s always been us, even if we didn’t know it yet.”

[hisslt]

[ 한지성 ] — your friend is willing to do anything to help you cool off from the heat

cw : mdni , afab!reader, oral (fem) , fingering , temperature play , lowk oral fixation , uhh i think thats all??

wc : 3.2k!!

notes : i DESPERATELY need a beta writer of some sorts bc i'm sure this is full on spelling errors (sorry) also if this gets attention i'll write a pt2

it was mid-summer in south korea and you were suffering. this summer is most definitely one of the hottest in years. at any home improvement store within a 30-mile radius, all fans and air conditioners were completely sold out. if anyone were to go outside barefoot, they would undoubtably burn the soles of their feet on the hot ground. getting inside a car with leather seats was practically a death wish.

the only thing that was saving you from actually melting was the tiny ac unit that came with your apartment and probably hasn’t worked correctly for at least ten years. conveniently, the air conditioner was in the living room of your mediocre apartment. you did have a pretty decent pedestal fan that you had placed in your bedroom. now these would usually help a lot, but again, your building was quite old, so it was made up of thick layers of building materials that worked perfectly to keep the cold out but terribly to keep the heat out, as well as sucking at having any airflow, so when the small housing situation is swelteringly hot, it stays hot. 

right now, you’re flopped out on the faux leather couch in your living room. you’ve been choosing to stay in the living area during the day when you’re not staying in the café down the street for their aircon, because the temperature is typically cooler than in your room, even if it is just slightly. 

you’ve opted to wear the least clothes you can get away with while still being clothed. a form-fitting pale blue camisole is worn on your top half; no bra because you were in the comfort of your own house and because you’d rather be dead than wear a bra in this heat. on your bottom half, you’re wearing a teeny tiny pair of gray cotton sweat shorts that almost look more like boy short underwear. 

a shiny layer of sweat is apparent on your whole body, and the dampness leaves you feeling disgustingly uncomfortable. your hair is tied up in the messiest of messy buns you think you’ve ever managed to do. 

you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a rhythmic knocking on the door to your home, but settle down when you realize that there’s only one person that would knock like that.

getting up from your comfy-ish spot on the couch, hissing at the painful sensation of your bare skin unsticking to the sofa, you reach for the door and unlock it, then pull it open. you’re greeted with your smiling best friend, who you’ve known since the beginning of college. 

despite your visibly sweaty skin, jisung still pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, picking your feet up off the ground and swaying you back and forth as if he’s a child hugging their favorite stuffed animal. him acting as if the two of you hadn’t seen each other in ages, even though you were out to lunch with some mutual friend a few days ago, makes you huff out a laugh.

when he puts you down and lets go of you, he waves a convenience store bag in front of your face. “i brought something for you,” he says with a bright smile and walks over to your couch, then plops down on it as if it were his place.

you join him on the couch, leaning on his shoulder and turning on the tv, putting on a show the both of you like. he pulls an ice cream popsicle out of the plastic bag and tears the wrapping off of it. 

"c'mon, open," he presses the popsicle onto your lips, catching you by surprise from the action and coldness. 

nonetheless, you open your mouth and let him push the frozen treat into your mouth. you give him an appreciative nod and an eyebrow raise, taking the wooden stick out of his hand. a quiet hum rumbles in your chest from the sweet vanilla bean taste. 

"why is your apartment so hot? it's for real hotter in here than it is outside. you know, you should stay with me when it gets this warm." jisung talks animatedly while occasionally glancing at you. 

as soon as he says the last sentence, you dismissively shake your head and take the popsicle out of your mouth. "no? i don't wanna bother minho, it's his place too. and it isn't that bad. i think i'm learning to live with it honestly."

his eyebrows scrunch up, and a soft pout paints itself onto his light pink lips. "what? minho likes you; he wouldn't mind. also, you getting used to the heat is concerning, by the way."

instantly, when he sees and hears you open your mouth and take in a deep breath, ready to say a rebuttal, he grabs the hand that's holding onto the wood stick and moves it to shove the popsicle into your mouth again. after sputtering, you slap his chest, which in turn makes him whine about how he was sore from his workout. 

you reach your arm back in a playful fighting motion, like you were winding back to punch him. both of his hands go up in mock mercy, and he starts paying attention to the television rather than messing with you. 

after probably not even five minutes of watching tv you could tell that the heat was starting to get to him. 

a sheen layer of sweat covers his face, neck, chest, and arms. he constantly pulls his tank top up off of his skin to cool himself off, although it's not doing much. he's not really dressed for the heat, wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants.

"God, i'm melting!" jisung groans and dramatically flops onto your lap, his head resting on your thighs. he puts his forearm over his eyes as if he’s a damsel in distress. 

you ignore his statement and continue to watch the show you put on. the only reason you ignore him is since you’re well aware of the temperature. to mess with him a bit, you bounce your right leg up a bit, which bumps his head up and down quickly, making him let out a distasteful groan.

he moves the arm that’s covering his face and takes the half-eaten popsicle out of your hand. then, he licks a long strip of it, the white ice cream visibly coating his tongue. it’s common for you guys to share food and drinks, but never anything like this, where he’s most likely licking up some of your saliva. 

thinking about it makes your ears and cheeks feel warmer than they already are; thinking about it mixed with watching the pretty pink muscle lap up the dripping ice cream makes a weird sensation appear in your lower stomach. 

after a while, jisung puts the treat up to your mouth, just as he did before. however, this time when you open your mouth for him to stick it back in there, he pushes it in, but doesn’t let go of it. he moves it along your tongue in a provocative manner that he had never used with you. of course, you’d seen him act jokingly sexual with your friends like minho and chan, but he’s never been this way with you. 

“can i eat you out?”

the question makes you harshly grab onto his wrist and pull the dessert out of your mouth. you let out a surprised ‘huhh’, looking at him shocked. 

“oh come on,” he whines, “please! it’ll help you cool off, trust me, please, i have a plan. i wanna taste you! pretty please?”

“jisung.. i don’t know, wouldn’t that be weird? i don’t want to make it weird between us, because if it’s weird between us then the guys will notice, then they’ll ask, and you know how bad you are at keeping secrets, and then they’d probably think i’m trying to get passed around by the friend group and stop being friends with me because i’m a slut.” you rant, and he simply looks up at you with a pleading expression. 

his left hand sneakily creeps up to your chest while you’re talking, and his thumb finds a resting stop right on one of your nipples that were most likely visible through the light color of your top, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about it being see through since the hot weather felt as if it was draining you of all your energy. 

you slightly squirm when you feel his finger lightly press down and draw circles. he looks up at you, your brows tightly drawn together and your thighs tensing. 

“please, will you let me? i’ll make you feel soo good, i promise.” jisung begs, his hand leaving your breast as he sits up and looks you in the eyes, giving you the most convincing boba eyes he can muster. "wanna taste you so bad.." he murmurs sadly. 

you look at him sternly for a moment, but he stays strong, battling you with a pleading look and pout. 

finally, your gaze drops down to your lap, and you nod, giving him permission. 

he lets out an excited laugh and grabs you by both of your cheeks, quickly pressing a kiss to your lips. as soon as you felt his touch on your face, it was gone and moved down to your legs. 

jisung slides both hands under your knees and pulls you to lay on the couch with your head right by the armrest, and your feet pressed to the sofa cushion on either side of him. 

a quiet gasp is pulled from you at his hurried action, but it doesn't surprise you much that this is how jisung is acting. 

four fingers on either hand slip into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. your best friend peers up at you for your permission, and help to take them off. 

you take a deep breath, seeing his flushed cheeks and round eyes when he gazes at you. nonetheless, you lift your hips up so he can pull your pants as well as panties down. 

instantly, once he sees your wet core, he dives in. 

he feverishly laps at your slick, groaning loudly at the taste. the vibrations of his noise draw a breathless moan from you. his tongue desperately cleans all of the clear slick on your cunt and replaces it with his spit. 

once he gets the majority of your slick, he plunges the thick muscle into your hole, causing your legs to open farther and your back to arch, your body instinctively moving to get more of the sensation. he messily swirls his tongue around like he's making out with your pussy. 

moans fall out of jisung's mouth just as they do yours, and it begins to sound like a beautiful song. 

your hips start to move on their own, grinding your core onto his face, and if it were any other man, you'd be insanely embarrassed, but you trust jisung, and it's clear he likes this as much as you do. if not more. 

when he looks up at you, he feels like he could cum right in his pants at the mere sight of you. 

your eyebrows drawn together in a begging expression, legs spread open, and back arched up. your eyes are squeezed shut, and plump tears gather in the corners of your eyes. the sounds that are coming out of you are heavenly, and jisung can't help but try and pull more sounds and reactions out of you. 

to get more reactions he moves away from your hole and up to your clit. 

he sucks the bud into his mouth and hums. then, he plunges his middle finger inside of you. 

a particularly loud string of moans tumbles out of you, and the tears gathering in your eyes finally roll down the sides of your face. 

"fuckk.. so good, sungie!" your words encourage him to start moving his middle finger. the digit curls up, searching for the spongy spot inside of you. 

it takes him no time to find it, his one finger relentlessly curling up and hitting it, making you squirm in pleasure. your heels dig into his back, desperately needing something to stay grounded. 

once he thinks you can take it, he slides in his ring finger. 

the slight stinging stretch is quickly forgotten about as soon as you feel a freezing sensation on your lower stomach between your hips. your lower half jerks in surprise. 

the feeling makes you peel your eyes open and look down, just to see jisungs free hand holding a square ice cube. 

he runs the block down to your crotch and momentarily parts from your cunt to pop the ice in his mouth. his puffy lips suction back onto your clit, and your whole body jolts at the cold that's immediately pressed on the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

it's like nothing you've ever felt before, and he can feel that you're getting close to your orgasm by the way your moans get higher pitched and how your walls squeeze around his digits. 

the almost painful coldness accompanied by the constant stimulation against your g-spot is a deadly combination. especially when he starts humming against your clit again. 

"close! 'm so close!" you cry out, bringing one of your hands down to lace into his soft hair. the knot in your lower stomach is getting tighter and tighter until jisung lightly grazes his teeth on your bundle of nerves — the ice cube now melted from the warmth of his mouth and your cunt. 

your whole body shutters, and your thighs squeeze tightly around his head. an embarrasingly loud and whiney moan leaves your throat as you finally cum. both of your hands move to cover your face as jisung slurps up your release, acting as if it's a michelin meal. 

“taste so good, can’t believe i didn’t convince you sooner.. gotta tell min ‘bout this,” jisung’s babbling is incoherent to you from the quiet ringing in your ears from your orgasm mixed with the sound of you panting to catch your breath, as well as the fact that his face is still buried between your thighs. he runs his palm back and forth over your lower stomach, still mumbling. 

as soon as the ringing in your ears quiets down and your breathing is nearly regulated, you take your hands off of your face and prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at your friend. “c’mon get up, ji’, we’re done.” you grab onto the hand that’s attached to the fingers that are still inside of you and try to pull them out, but jisung apparently doesn’t like that because as soon as even a centimeter of his fingers leave your warmth, he plunges them back in.

the feeling of his fingers thrusting into you once more brings on a wave of painful pleasure from the slight overstimulation. 

a breathless moan tumbles from between your lips, legs squirming to get him away from the intimate area. “enough, please, ’s too much!”, you whine out. 

your words don’t deter his actions as he continues. your body starts to uncontrollably move, instinctively grinding your pussy onto your friend's face to get yourself closer to climax. humping his hand and face, pitiful whiny moans come from you. 

he plants his free hand on your lower stomach between your hip bones, holding you down. 

the pleasure is so overwhelming, and the knot in your belly is so tight it feels like you're about to burst. fat tears run down your face, but neither you or jisung notice them, too consumed in the moment. 

the hand that's not tangled in his hair cups one of your boobs, groping it and adding to the pleasure. 

you barely manage to let out a quick "cumming!" before you release all over his hand. 

your fingers tighten around the strands of his hair, as well as your shaking thighs tightening around his head. 

jisungs middle and ring finger rigorously pound into you even after you've came all over them, making sure to get everything out of you that he can. 

he drags his fingertips across the sweet spot inside of you one last time before leisurely pulling them out, making sure you can feel every small movement, successfully pulling a whine out of you.

jisung shoves his cum-covered digits in his mouth. he makes a satisfied noise as soon as your essence touches his tongue again. his eyes close for a moment, like he's savoring your taste. then he's quickly back to "normal" and makes his way up to your face.

your chest rises and falls quickly. you tremble slightly, and when you finally open your eyes, you see jisung hovering over you. his legs are slotted in between yours, and his crotch is dangerously close to yours, bulge less than a few inches away from your heat. 

you open your mouth to speak, but before you can get any words out, jisungs slick-covered lips are crashing into yours. 

his lips move eagerly against yours. you struggle to keep up with his hungry kissing, letting him take the lead. 

between feverish kisses, jisung whispers hushed 'thank you's against your lips. 

after at least five minutes of yours and jisung's lips smashing into each other the two of you finally part. jisungs face is flushed red. his lips wet and parted, gasping for air. 

"where'd you get the ice from?" your bare face glows with a thin layer of sweat, both from the heat as well as what you and jisung have been doing for the past thirty – or more – minutes. 

"oh, i picked it up when i bought the popsicles," jisung moves to sit up, rather than lay, between your legs. his eyes occasionally shift down to your glistening cunt. watching it pulse with aftershocks of your orgasm, and cum he missed slowly pooling on the leather of your couch. 

a quiet laugh leaves you once you notice your friend's shifting eyes, and you reach up to lightly slap his arm. 

the two of you sit in near silence, saying tiny comments and cracking hushed jokes, until jisung's annoying ringtone starts to go off, playing some default chime. 

a silly picture of minho biting down on his bottom lip and flipping up his top lip, probably drunk, flashes on jisungs screen, making you raise your eyebrows in question.

you and jisung give each other curious looks, and you sit up, urging him to answer the phone call.

minho's voice comes out quietly through the speaker of jisung's phone. just loud enough for you to hear faint murmuring. 

"but min, i'm busy!" jisung whines. 

his whining clearly gets him nowhere, apparent by the frown on his face as he hangs up and sighs.

"i gotta go. minho needs me home; he said something about helping him cook. sorry."

you nod and smile at him, "it's fine, don't worry about it. i don't want minho getting mad at me for hogging you," you speak with a light laugh at your words.

jisung stands from the sofa and quickly grabs both sides of your face in his palms. he smashes his mouth onto yours, just like he did earlier. similarly, it doesn't last, and before you know it, he's closing the door of your home. in his wake is a clear plastic cup of half-melted ice, a wooden popsicle stick with a wrapper, and a convenience store bag full of small cartons of ice cream and other frozen desserts.

once he's gone, the reality of what happened starts to sink in.

you run either of your hands down your face in a slow movement, sighing loudly.

if he tells anyone, he's dead.

© hisslt do not repost, reupload, or copy