#I have melted into a puddle and there I will stay

[witheredwritings]

Bitter Taste

Summary: In an AU where joel never met Ellie, he shows up one day to his brother’s town, unannounced, unwanted. Though he keeps to himself, you seem to have caught his attention.

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: Blood, gunviolence, stalking, creepy!joel, kidnapping, stalker!joel, AU!joel, age gap (reader is in her early 20s and joel in his late 50s)

A/N: I wanna write something darker this time. Let me know if you want part 2 to this oneshot!

You felt it run down your hands, thick and slow, red like the pulp of summer cherries.

The Jackson summer heat had gotten to your head and melted what little joy the cherry preserve on your biscuit had left. You let the sticky mess drip down your fingers, past your wrists, down to the elbow. A small red puddle formed on the old wooden picnic table. It looked like a heart. A mangled, beat-up one. Fitting.

Someone was playing an old record of Linda Ronstadt through the loudspeakers. The kind of music that stuck to your ribs like warm soup. The clinking of plates and the chatter of the crowd at the community kitchen blended into a comforting hum. Dina, never one to run out of things to say, was deep into her third story about a fight that broke out during patrol rotations.

“Whole damn thing started over a pair of boots,” she huffed.

It was the first week after final assessments for new recruits. Dina had insisted you celebrate at the mess hall’s picnic area. Jesse and Ellie had argued you should go out on a longer patrol near the lookout tower—make it a camping trip. But Dina wouldn’t budge.

“I didn’t survive clickers and math evaluations to eat jerky on a log,” she’d said.

You couldn’t even be mad. The shade was kind, the food was warm, and Dina’s ranting was familiar comfort.

“I heard the Tipsy Bison’s got live music tonight,” Ellie said, strumming lightly on a half-strung guitar. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle about tuning it for attention.

“Didn’t peg you for a bar kind of girl, Ellie.” Jesse raised a brow, teasing.

“She’s not,” Dina grinned. “But she heard about the new guy.”

That caught your attention.

“What new guy?” You asked

“You know Maria’s husband, Tommy?” Dina leaned forward like a coiled spring ready to explode gossip. “Apparently, Tommy's older brother showed up some time ago. Just wandered in from one of the outer settlements. Lookin’ to trade work for a roof. Tommy offered up his spare room behind the saloon.”

Joel had shown up three weeks ago, no fanfare, just a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a gaze that didn’t belong in a place like Jackson. It was too still, too unreadable. Like something terrible had settled in behind it and decided to stay.

"I've seen the guy around a few times, but I didn't know he was Tommy's brother." You whispered.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was low and deliberate. Like every word had been sifted through a meat grinder before coming out his mouth. And though he kept to himself mostly, helping Tommy with patrol schedules, tending bar, fixing up gear in the garage—his eyes always found you. Watching. Weighing.

"You know he was a contractor before all this?" Dina chimed in, biting into a melting popsicle that painted her lips the color of bruised plums. "A builder. Said he used to make homes for people. Now he tears 'em apart."

Jesse snorted. "What, he tell you that over dinner and a bottle of moonshine? He hasn’t said more than five words to any of us."

That wasn’t true. Not for you. Not after the next day.

It had started with a cut on your palm. A stupid slip of the knife while cleaning fish for the town kitchen. Blood welled up, hot and immediate, and someone called for Joel because he was closest. He didn’t say anything at first, just took your hand in his and wrapped it with that same blank expression he always wore. But something shifted in him when he touched you—like a wire pulled taut.

He’d looked at you, finally looked at you—not through you—and said, "You need to be more careful. There’s worse things out there than dull knives."

The way he said it chilled me. Like he knew those worse things personally. Like he was one of them.

Later, after dark, I was walking back from the library when I heard his voice behind me.

"You shouldn’t be out this late."

I turned and saw him half-lit under the amber glow of the watchtower light. He stepped out from the shadows like something conjured. There was no threat in his stance, not exactly. But I felt it anyway.

"You followin' me?" I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt.

His greying hair reflected the moonlight as his eyes stayed dull. No sparkle, no light to be found there.

"Ain’t followin'," he said, that half-Texan drawl coating the words like molasses. "Just... keepin’ an eye out."

He walked me home that night, saying nothing else. But I didn’t sleep well. Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his.

Tonight, the mess hall was alive with music and chatter. A small celebration for a supply run that had gone smoother than expected. You stayed close to your friends, tried to ignore the weight of his gaze across the room. But you felt it, like pressure on the back of your neck.

When you stepped outside to get some air, he was already there, sitting on the edge of the porch, cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

"Didn't know you smoke," you said.

He shrugged. "Helps me think."

"You do a lot of thinking?"

"Lately, yeah. Mostly about you."

His words should’ve scared you. Maybe they did. But there was something hypnotic about the way he said it—like it wasn’t a confession, but a fact.

"You ever get the feelin'," he continued, flicking ash into the dirt, "like you’re not supposed to be somewhere, but you’re there anyway? Like the world made a mistake lettin' you in?"

You swallowed hard, unsure how to answer.

He stood, and for the first time, came close. Close enough that you could see the scar above his brow, the faded bloodstain on his collar. He smelled like oil and metal and something older. Something buried.

"Let me show you somethin'."

He led you out past the gates. Said he knew a spot, real quiet, where you could see the stars better. The guards didn’t stop us. No one questioned Joel Miller.

We veered off the main path, into the wheat fields just past the edge of the safe zone. The moon overhead cast everything in silver. You followed him wordlessly, trusting my gut. The trail wound into the woods, the branches arching overhead like ribs. The moonlight barely touched the ground. You walked, surrounded by nothing but stars and the swaying hush of stalks brushing your arms. And when you stopped, it was in a clearing surrounded by trees that looked like they’d seen too much.

"Beautiful, ain’t it?" he asked, but his voice was distant.

He turned to face me, his eyes darker now, unreadable.

“The sky’s something else here,” you whispered.

Joel looked up. “Reminds me of the world before.”

His hand brushed my jaw. You didn’t flinch. Not until you caught a flicker of something behind those tired eyes.

You turned to him, lips parted to say something, when you felt it—a crack like thunder.

Your body jolted before your brain caught up. Heat bloomed in your abdomen, hot and furious. You looked down and saw it—the bloom of red, dark as plum wine, spreading across your shirt.

Joel stepped closer, gun lowered now, his eyes unreadable.

"You weren’t gonna leave, were you?" he asked softly. "Tell Tommy? Run?"

You staggered, breath hitching, fingers pressing to the wound. The blood slipped between them, coating my skin, sticky and red as fruit.

He reached for me—not cruelly, but with something that looked like care. Something twisted and wrong.

"Didn’t wanna do it like this," he muttered. "But you’re smart. Smarter than most. And you looked at me like I wasn’t just a shadow walkin’ around. Made it hard."

The trees swayed gently above you two, the stars watching in silence.

And as your vision dimmed, you realized he hadn’t come here to bury you.

He’d come to keep you.

Alive.

With him.

Somewhere no one would ever find you.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Don’t forget to check out my other work xx

PS: should i make a part two or not?

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Hi there! I have a lil headcanon for Ford and how he kisses his partner.

I think he'd be kind of lost and unsure at first. He'd just stand there cutely and shocked as you lock lips. His brain just kinda stops like a malfunctioning VCR machine lol His hand would be hovering in the air.

But if you guide that hand towards your cheeks and lean in more, it kinda helps him stay in the moment and encourages him to touch more. Lean more. Kiss more.

Stanford Pines puts everything into learning, and he'll learn quickly where you're most sensitive. Which parts of you he could touch so he can reduce you to nothing but a happy, sensitive little puddle.

A brush against your collarbone and a shiver from you? He's going to be attacking that spot like a starved vampire for the rest of your relationship

Maybe you're sensitive around your ears? He'd be whispering sweet nothings and praises as he nips the shell of your ear.

HHH IM SORRY I NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO ABOUT MY DELUSIONS. Feel free to add onto it, I'd do Stanley's for you but I haven't really read much about him ><

i love this!! thank you sm for sharing it, it’s so cute i could cry. you see, i absolutely adore the idea of Ford being all stiff and stunned at first, like his whole brain just bluescreens the moment you kiss him. just frozen, blinking, his hand doing that awkward hover like “?? what do i do with this??” and then you gently guiding it to your cheek, he melts. that’s so tender and soft it’s actually insane.

and YESSS once he gets the hang of it, he’s so curious. he’s definitely the type to turn kissing into a whole study. like “oh wow! subject displays involuntary shiver response when lips are placed near that part..” and then he just. keeps going. over and over. you can't blame him! he’s just so fascinated and devoted to learning every little detail that makes you sigh or twitch or melt into him. kissing you becomes like this nightly ritual. morning too. and mid-afternoon. honestly, whenever he passes you in a hallway. he just needs it. needs that warm feeling of your lips, your reactions. like a scientist getting his favorite hit of dopamine

also the part about him whispering into your ear while nipping the shell?? please. you cant do this to me please. i really love Ford's voice. so you just know his voice gets low and uh .. how to say, silky? when he’s aroused, and that deep little “mmh, you like that?” right in your ear. and once he learns you're weak for it.. ohh believe me Ford can be evil and tease when he really wants to. and when you've been dating for a long time and his self-confidence has increased and he's gained some experience<3

so, you said you needed someone to talk to about your delusions, i’ll sit on that bench with you forever if you want! this was beautiful ♡

[lydilicious]

Soft for you

Kyōtani Kentarō (mad dog x GN reader)

⋱❀𖤓★𖤓❀⋰

The gym echoed with the familiar rhythm of volleyballs hitting hardwood, sneakers squeaking, and shouted calls bouncing off the walls. Practice at Aoba Johsai was in full swing, and Kyōtani Kentarō was, as always, in his own world—gritty, focused, intense. To most of his teammates, he was a storm: silent until he wasn’t, unpredictable, and best left undisturbed.

Then the gym doors opened with a metallic creak.

"Ah? Who’s that?" Oikawa Tooru turned with practiced curiosity, already halfway through smoothing his hair back. His expression shifted from charm to confusion when he spotted the person standing quietly at the entrance. "Are you... lost?"

You offered a sheepish smile. "I’m here to see Kentarō."

Oikawa’s brow lifted high enough to scrape the ceiling. "Mad Dog?"

Kyōtani froze mid-step, pivoting toward the voice like someone had thrown a rock at him. The second his eyes landed on you, the hard edges of his face softened—just a fraction, but enough for Oikawa’s jaw to practically unhinge.

You raised your hand in a small wave. “Hi, Ken!”

“Tch.” Kyōtani muttered something under his breath and stomped toward you. He snatched a towel from the bench, then paused at your side, looking everywhere but at you. “…You came.”

“Didn’t want to miss your practice,” you said, holding up a cold bottle of water. “Also thought you might forget this.”

“I didn’t.”

You grinned. “Sure you didn’t.”

Oikawa was still gaping. “Wait—wait, wait. You’re telling me you’re dating Mad Dog-?”

Kyōtani’s eye twitched. “Stop calling me that.”

“But seriously,” Oikawa blinked at you, as if trying to see through an illusion. “You’re… so smiley. And polite. And calm. And you… chose him?”

You tilted your head. “What, is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes!” came an echo from a nearby teammate, followed by a chorus of awkward chuckles.

Kyōtani turned slowly toward the team, like a predator preparing to pounce.

You gently touched his wrist. “Relax, Kentarō. They’re just surprised.” You looked back at Oikawa with a light laugh. “We’ve been together for two years.”

Silence.

Someone dropped a ball. Another gasped.

“Two—two years?!”

“I thought he didn’t even like people,” someone whispered.

“He doesn’t,” Kyōtani snapped.

“Except for me,” you added sweetly, nudging his arm. “Right?”

He made a vague grunt that could be interpreted as a yes, though the slight dusting of pink on his ears gave him away.

Despite the stunned stares and lingering disbelief, you stayed on the bench until practice wrapped. You clapped softly when Kyōtani landed a perfect serve and even gave Oikawa a thumbs-up after a particularly clean set—though he seemed far more interested in side-eyeing Kyōtani with new, mildly horrified respect.

---

The sun was melting behind the rooftops, casting golden light that danced across puddles and made the air feel soft. You walked side-by-side with Kyōtani, your backpack slung over one shoulder, your free hand swinging close to his. Eventually, it bumped against his knuckles once… twice… and then he laced his fingers through yours.

No words. Just warmth.

"You did great today," you said.

“Hn.”

“You looked focused. Confident. That block at the end? Killer.”

“…Wasn’t bad.”

You glanced sideways, catching the way he fought off a smile.

Then he muttered, "Didn’t like them staring at you."

You blinked. “Why?”

He scowled, eyes forward. “Like they didn’t get it. Why you’d choose… me.”

You stopped walking.

He did too, reluctantly.

“Kentarō,” you said softly. “Are you really still wondering that?”

He didn’t answer.

So you stepped in front of him and placed your hands gently on either side of his face. His eyes widened just slightly—because affection, especially in public, still short-circuited his brain—but he didn’t pull away.

“I choose you every day,” you said. “Not despite who you are. Because of it.”

“…I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to,” you smiled. “You just have to trust it.”

He stared at you, heart pounding like he’d just sprinted drills. And then—just barely—he nodded.

---

Kyōtani’s house was quiet when you stepped inside—a familiar scent of laundry detergent and faint cooking spices in the air. He called a low-toned “I’m home,” and got a muffled reply from down the hall—probably his mom, always polite but a little cautious around you, like she was still adjusting to the fact her son brought someone home willingly.

You followed him upstairs, the wooden steps creaking faintly under your feet.

His bedroom was simple, like the rest of him: neatly made bed, practice jerseys draped over the back of a desk chair, a bookshelf lined with manga and some old volleyball trophies. A calendar on the wall had your birthday circled in red—messily, like he didn’t want anyone to ask why.

He kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag in the corner. You sat cross-legged on the bed, patting the space beside you.

Kyōtani hesitated, then joined you—sitting stiffly at first, until your shoulder brushed his and he relaxed by degrees.

You chatted about practice and how weird Oikawa’s face looked when he found out, laughter muffled behind your hand. Then, as the room got quieter, you noticed him retreating slightly into thought.

His voice came low and uncertain: “You really mean it?”

You looked over. “Mean what?”

“When you say you… like me. That you want this.”

Your chest ached—not out of sadness, but the kind of pain that comes when someone finally trusts you enough to show their wounds.

"Kentarō.”

He flinched at the tenderness in your voice.

“You think I’d spend two years with someone just to humor them?” you said gently. “You think I’d sit through a full volleyball practice and let Oikawa talk at me unless I loved you?”

His mouth twitched. "Didn't ask you to come."

“I wanted to come.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t say things right. Don’t show things right. I mess up. I get loud. I don’t smile like you do. I’m not—”

You leaned forward and kissed him. Just a light press to the corner of his mouth, silencing his spiral.

Then another, to the center of his lips. His eyes fluttered shut.

"You don’t have to be like me," you whispered. "You’re already everything I want.”

His hand reached for yours—tentatively at first, like he still wasn’t sure he deserved to hold it—and you laced your fingers through his again.

“…I don’t get why you’re so good to me,” he said under his breath.

“Because you’re you.” You kissed his cheek this time. “And you let me love you, even when it’s hard.”

He stared at the wall for a moment, breathing slow, eyes blinking like he was overwhelmed.

Then, in a rare act of initiation, he leaned over and kissed your temple.

“…Thank you,” he mumbled.

---

The two of you sat tangled together on his bed, his head resting against yours while a quiet show played on his laptop in the background. You played with his fingers absentmindedly, and he let you, even when you braided and unbraided them into ridiculous shapes.

“Hey, Kentarō?”

“Hn?”

“Do you think Oikawa’s still freaking out?”

“…Hope so.”

You both burst into quiet laughter, muffled by the lazy comfort of the evening.

Kyōtani Kentarō didn’t always understand softness. But with you—he was learning.

And every time you stayed, despite his edges, he began to believe: maybe this kind of love could be for him after all.

[brighteststar707]

Also for the ask game!! I'd like to make it sound all fancy and smart like I'm an English teacher, but my brain is too silly for that

6 - Something I remember vividly from reading one of your fics: Is it weird that the first thing that came to mind is Jaehee with pigtails from the 'Hair' fic you wrote for her? It was such a domestic piece, but picturing myself playing with her little pigtails and watching her blush as I call her cute, is something I still remember very vividly, oddly enough. I love Jaehee!! And I love the way you write her to bits and pieces. Soft coffee wife, my beloved <3

7 - What made me the most emotional after reading: Telepathy. It's always going to be Telepathy. Okay, maybe not always, but it'll definitely remain up there even in the future. I'd say it's my favorite fic of yours, actually. Which is... honestly very surprising, because I don't get as effected by Jumin/V stories as I do with Choi twins or Rika, for exactly! I do get sad and it's interesting for me to see them explored in different ways, but I never really felt... all choked up about them, you know? Well, you took that and slapped me right across the face with the masterpiece that is Telepathy./pos The way you wrote down the slow and painful process of drifting apart from your best friend... God, it felt both cathartic and painful. Probably because it's something I've experienced first hand, very recently, at that. Telepathy is a fic that left me laying on my bed and staring up into the ceiling, just thinking about it for a good 15 minutes. And, you know what? That's my favorite kind of feeling after reading a fic. I love Telepathy. I will gush about for as long as it exists. Go read Telepathy, ya'll.

8 - What I like the most about your writing: Descriptive writing. Now, it's probably because descriptive is my personal weakest point (in my opinion), and I tend to always focus extremely hard whenever I read someone else use descriptive writing in their works to learn new techniques and memorize if it sounds good or not. Either way, God, do I adore the way you manage to just paint the exact image of what's happening as I read. It's not too much, and it's not too little. It's just right. If I would write up everything I vividly remember from your fics, this ask would get too damn long, but what's important is that I often remember the exact location. How it looked. How it felt. How it smelled. How a certain character was dressed. How their face looked. Whether it was warm or cold. What sounds there were. It's those tiny details that make even the simplest of your stories shine so brightly! They just... get stuck in your head like your favorite song. And I think that's just amazing <3

I don't know what I did to deserve this Mia!! I've been sat here reading this over and over and feeling all warm and fuzzy🥺 Please don't worry about trying to sound English teacher-y, you've conveyed everything here so well.

Soft coffee wife Jaehee! I've made it my personal mission to write her soft and happy because she gets to little opportunity to do that in the canon routes (and I love her to bits and think she deserves the world). I'm so glad the pigtails imagery stuck! She deserves her cute moments too!

The Telepathy love!!! I will always appreciate love for Telepathy, it's one of those fics that will also always be one of my favs because of the writing process and the relationship between V and Jumin. It's a wonderful surprise to hear that my writing had that effect on you, especially for a relationship that doesn't usually affect you that strongly. It's all I could ask for, really. I'm very sorry that you had to deal with the slow loss of a friend. It's a uniquely painful experience and I'm sending you a lot of warmth <3

The details of my stories sticking in your head like a song.... Oooh I'm going to need a moment, that's one of the nicest things anyone has said about my writing. Thank you, Mia.

[brown-little-robin]

(to myself) why don't you calm down and paint more chickens. then you'll feel better

[starredforlife]

was gonna go to the gay bar but I inflicted psychological damage on myself by trying to do taxes and then listening to music from senior year of hs should I still go

[loadsofcats]

Have a feeling that, if more of you read Riders of the purple sage by Zane Grey, you’d be going mad over Lassiter

[anto-pops]

babe! thinking about you. hope you're feeling betterrrr <3

I’m this 🤏🏻 close to making out with you, straight up

BUT THANK YOU FOR THINKING OF ME !! You’re so sweet to check in, I love you angel 💕💋 I do feel better, I’m mostly tired at this point and taking like 3 naps a day so that’s not too bad. Fingers crossed ya girl is negative by this weekend :’))

[sysig]

DAX “Cold and Unromantic” SCII is what he’s called (Patreon)

[berryfairyluvr]

hihi I loved the zayne princess treatment post could you do a sylus one as well please 🥹💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝

sylus and his princess (queen) treatment

pairings: bf!sylus x fem!reader

warnings: none really, maybe minor mentions of some memories

a/n: thank you for the love and the request xx hope you enjoy <3

With a high bounty on his head Sylus has many enemies. Now having you as his beloved partner in this dangerous life (and all the ones before and after) your life has taken priority over his own. Despite your stubborn tendencies, he always has eyes on you ensuring your safety.

He not so slyly suggests you stay at his place 99% of the time as an answer to any of your complaints claiming he has 'this and that' but really it’s to keep you close by.

You insist on waiting up for him after his many late night outings much to his opposition. The lamps dim lighting catching his eye through the window each time he returns to find you cutely tucked into yourself sound asleep on the plush couch. He’d chuckle quietly and scoop you into his arms carrying you bridal style down the dark hallways to the bedroom.

You often complained about the coldness of his marble flooring even in socks. He’s made sure to have his staff keep you slippers in your most visited rooms ever since.

You thought his shower was huge before? He had it expanded and added multiple shower heads. When you asked why, he responded with “Time is of the essence, now we can save it by showering together sweetie.”

He loves to accommodate you, adding a vanity to his bedroom, his and hers closet, shared armory access personalized just to your liking… The list goes on.

He’s discreetly possessive with his touches but it’s usually masked by his powerful demeanor. For instance, when the two of you are out he’s often guiding you on his arm or with his large hand splayed on the small of your back. At meals and meetings his hand finds its way to rest on your thigh.

He will not stand for any sign of disrespect towards you, those who haven’t learned that are met with something violently unpleasant. (Most times completely unbeknownst to you— Sylus makes sure you’re occupied)

You yap and he listens. Earnestly. And I mean undivided and devoted attention. He is so very fond of the way you light up like a child when speaking about your life.

His attention to detail is remarkable and he shows that in your everyday life. Whether it’s picking up on your favorite scent or noting what things make you relax more than others, he provides you with them as much as possible.

That travel magazine you’d been reading hadn’t gone unnoticed and to your surprise, he’d arranged for the two of you to escape reality and venture out for a vacation.

This man can compliment, and he can compliment goooood. He has no issue expressing his gratitude and respect for you through his words and oh boy is he good with his words.

Seeing you scared or fearful wounded him enough the first few times that it now melts him into a puddle at the first sign of worry from you.

this is his *please don’t be worried/upset* look

He doesn’t mind one bit helping you bathe and dress after a long day of work. He even brushes your hair.

Your words mean everything to him, he wants to hear it. (He praises you for it in return 🤭)

For all the excursions you often clung to him like a backpack atop his bike— he decided a spare motorcycle helmet just wouldn’t do for you anymore and had one made to match his.

His date at any and every auction, he revels in getting to flaunt you around all dolled up and on his arm. Some even say his demeanor changed since you began attending these events with him..

read zayne’s version here

requests open ❤︎

[gloomwitchwrites]

Your Royal Highness, could I please request the 141 boys and how they would react if Reader pulled the “Is it okay if I touch?” Clock App trend on them 😌

Peasant, you may have what you've requested. Remember, in real life, we don't touch people without their consent. But this is fiction...and I can do whatever the fuck I want. :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, pranks, humor, flirting, western au (Soap)

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

There are children everywhere. There are also helicopters and Humvees. It’s controlled chaos. John is trying hard not to stress.

Whose idea was it to have the local school visit base?

Price stands next to the open Humvee door. There’s a young boy in the driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel, making car noises like he’s an F1 driver. Gaz sits in the passenger seat, grinning, pretending to cling to the interior of the Humvee like they’re in a race.

Price snorts and shakes his head. As he glances away, his attention catches on the woman approaching him. You’re pretty. There’s a softness about you that he’d like to understand. Price thinks you’re walking by, but you pause, smiling at him with a flirty smirk.

Bloody hell.

You’d look gorgeous bent over the backseat of the Humvee.

“May I touch it?”

“Course you can,” replies Price, expecting you to place your hand on the hood. You touch him instead, resting your hand on his bicep. That smirk widens, and Price nearly groans under that look.

You drop your hand, backing up. Retreating.

No. Not happening. You’re staying here. With him.

“You can put that hand back, love,” he purrs.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The dust kicks up as Johnny brings his horse to a stop. This town doesn’t even have a name. It’s just a dot on the map.

“Good girl,” he purrs, lightly rubbing the horse’s neck.

The few people about frown in his direction, clearly a bit fearful of a stranger. It’s a normal reaction every time he arrives somewhere new. But he won’t be here for long. Johnny needs a stiff drink and a willing woman.

“Is it safe to touch?”

Johnny turns, glancing down at the beautiful woman staring up at him. Your voice is a sweet song, one that Johnny wants to hear all night. Preferably with you under him.

“Pretty thing like you can touch whatever she wants,” replies Johnny with a flirty smirk.

Johnny knows you’re talking about the horse, and when you reach out, he expects you to pet its hide. But you touch him instead, caressing his thigh with a teasing smile.

A willing woman. And a stiff drink.

You quickly drop your hand, clasping them in front of you. Johnny slides off his horse. He leans against the saddle and you match his movement.

A willing woman.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Is it safe to pet?”

Simon glances up from his phone. You stand in front of the small outdoor table, an eagerness in your eye. You’re an adorable thing. Bright. A spot of sunshine. Simon sees an opportunity here.

Most people avoid Bravo. The all-black German Shepherd is imposing when he’s not wagging his tail.

Simon quickly checks Bravo’s demeanor. The German Shepherd has his head up, ears alert with interest, and his tail smack smack smacks against the concrete.

“He’s safe,” replies Simon with a smile.

You step forward, going down on your knees beside Simon. He reaches for the leash, just to make sure Bravo doesn’t jump on you in his excitement. But your hand passes over his, pausing there. You bat your eyelashes at Simon, and he melts into a fucking puddle.

It’s a deliberate but brief touch. Then you’re scratching behind Bravo’s ears, your focus on the dog.

“Who’s a good boy?” you coo. “You are. You’re a good boy.”

Bravo’s tail thumps harder, tongue lolling with happiness.

You can call me a good boy, sweetheart.

“He likes you,” muses Simon.

You smile warmly. “I like him.”

An opportunity. Blooming.

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Nice bike.”

Kyle’s head turns. A beautiful woman stands before him, giving him a look that’s irresistible. The bike always attracts stares, but very few actually approach him to talk.

“Thank you,” he replies, sitting up a bit straighter.

Your smile widens, and Kyle melts. You’re a sweet thing. He can tell. This is an opportunity for him, a chance to make a move. He’s always flirting with strangers on his socials, but there’s the buffer of the screen. This is an actual woman standing before him showing interest.

“Can I touch?” you ask, not looking away from his visor.

Goddamn. The eye contact if you were beneath him would be intense.

Kyle nods. “Yeah,” he laughs. “You can touch.”

As you reach out, Kyle believes that you’re aiming for his bike. But your hand skirts the bike, landing on his thigh. You lightly squeeze. Rub. Then your hand falls away. Blood rushes to Kyle’s dick.

Shit. Fucking hell.

There’s no way you’re escaping. He’s keeping you.

“Can I go for a ride?”

On the bike or on my dick, love?

Before Kyle can answer, Johnny, his riding buddy, leans forward. “He’s got two things you can ride on, lass.”

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@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen get cuteness aggression for their s/o

requested by many people! counterpart to this hc <3

masterlist

seungcheol, woozi

has probably actually gotten mad at how cute you are at some point. like genuinely, looking over at you and then just freezing, before loudly complaining and making a whole fuss over how you can't keep looking at him like that because he will!!! he Will need to punch something bc of just!!! how!!! cute!!! you are. nonono, he's not punching you, he's gonna punch like. a wall or something. just to vent over how someone as adorable as you actually exists. and then he'll give you kisses all over until you're laughing because you are ridiculously cute and he needs to shower you with affection so you realise how enamoured he is.

jeonghan, joshua, minghao

only he could make cuteness aggression sound like the softest thing ever. he'll be aggressively squishing your cheeks so hard that your eyes are all squinty and everything you say is basically indecipherable, whilst he continues sighing and looking at you with all the fondness in the world and lamenting over how goddamn adorable you are and honestly, what is he going to do with you? the stark contrast between his soft, enamoured voice and the way he's ruffling your hair and kissing your face everywhere like you're going to disappear any moment makes you laugh, weirdly endeared by his behaviour. you're going to get him back for it, though. and ruffle his hair until he can't see a single thing.

junhui, hoshi, mingyu, chan

probably cries. he looks at you sitting there all pretty, completely minding your own business, and the feelings just bubble up inside him so aggressively because WHO is allowed to be that adorable whilst doing absolutely nothing? it's not fair. what starts out as a rant over your cuteness ends up with him a bit teary-eyed and sniffly bc you're just so pretty and he doesn't know what to do. you have to pat him on the head and wipe away his tears as he clings to you and continues to tearily confess that you're the sweetest and loveliest person he's ever seen. his episodes of cuteness of aggression always end with you getting cuteness aggression too bc of how adorable he is everytime he does this

wonwoo, vernon

he's not very showy about his cuteness aggression, at all, but that doesn't mean it's not obvious. he'll stare at you for hours with literal hearts in his eyes, fondness written all over his face, and anyone who looks at him will just know how cute he finds you, even though he hasn't said a word. acts like you're the most precious being in the entire world, and is basically dissolving into a puddle of adoration right then and there. god, he's so lucky to even be in your presence and be able to love you, bc you're just so pretty and so cute. “why are you staring at me so much?” / “you're just so cute, i don't know what to do with you.”

dokyeom, seungkwan

he is very, very noisy about how cute he finds you. i mean like genuinely screeching and being all loud as he complains that you are far too adorable and what about his heart?? have you thought about his heart? bc it's currently melting onto the floor and it's all your fault!!!! the loud screeching is Also accompanied by very clingy hands, so expect the sudden shout to then be followed up with him basically hanging off your shoulders and holding your face in his hands as he cries over how adorable and lovely you are. everyone within a fifty metre radius will know that he finds you cute, by the way. be prepared.

request guidelines

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[nouearth]

when the snow settles.

clark kent x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. clark’s busy spoiling his sick boyfriend with cookies and cuddles—until things heat up when someone decides a kiss (and more) is the real cure for a cold.

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 & 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 6.0k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 corenswet!clark 〳 established relationship 〳 sick!reader 〳 christmas!au 〳 sexual content: top!clark, bottom!reader, belly-bulging, breeding, rimming (r!receiving), praising, body worship, clark can alter the temp of his body (and dick).

Snow fell softly outside the apartment, blanketing Metropolis in a serene hush that contrasted sharply with the sound of sniffling from the couch. Clark’s living room was cozy, aglow with the golden twinkle of Christmas lights strung up around the windows. The faint scent of pine mingled with the sweet aroma of gingerbread baking in the oven, though the stuffy haze of your cold dulled the sharpness of both.

You sat bundled in a mountain of blankets, a tissue box on one side and a half-empty mug of tea on the other. Despite the misery of a congested head and the scratchy soreness in your throat, you couldn’t help but watch Clark with a mix of amusement and adoration.

In the kitchen, he moved with a carefree confidence, humming along to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas as it played softly on his phone. He had insisted on baking cookies for the evening, declaring it the perfect way to boost your holiday cheer. Not that you needed much help in that department—his reindeer antler headband, bouncing with every step he took, was doing most of the work.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms, and his glasses had fogged up slightly from the warmth of the oven. Even with the goofy apron he wore—a red and green monstrosity with “Santa’s Favorite Helper” embroidered across the front—he looked unfairly attractive.

Clark glanced over his shoulder at you, a soft smile spreading across his face as his gaze met yours. “You okay over there?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Need more tea? Another blanket? A better boyfriend?”

You groaned theatrically, flopping back into the throw pillows. “What I need is for my head to stop feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton.”

And stones—your flair for drama only worsened the throbbing ache from the sudden movement.

Setting down a tray of freshly baked cookies, Clark wiped his hands on a dishtowel and made his way over to you. He knelt beside the couch, one hand reaching up to take the temperature from your forehead while the other rested lightly on your knee through the blanket.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding.

“Still running hot. Sorry you’re feeling this way,” he said sincerely, his brow furrowing just a little. “If I could punch a cold in the face, you know I would.”

You laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. Clark was at your side in an instant, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back until the worst of it passed. “It’s so unfair that you never get sick,” you rasped, your voice rough and strained. “You’re just… immune to everything. Meanwhile, I’m over here melting into a Christmas puddle.”

“Wow. This is the thanks I get for baking you cookies? My boyfriend wishing ill on me?” He chuckled, resting his elbows on the edge of the couch to stay level with your gaze. "If it makes you feel better, Krypto would probably be thrilled to drink you up if you were a puddle! Likes his water from the spring... spoiled dog."

His grin was boyish and a little smug, and you rolled your eyes at him, though the corners of your lips twitched upward.

“What I’m saying is… we could’ve been sick together,” you muttered, “But I can’t even enjoy them. Look here.” You picked up one of the gingerbread cookies Clark had carefully decorated earlier, the icing swirls and tiny candy buttons a testament to his painstaking attention to detail.

The cookie felt firm yet inviting in your hand, its edges slightly crisp and still warm from the oven. Breaking off a piece, you popped it into your mouth, hopeful that even through the fog of your cold, some of the sweetness might break through.

Instead, all you got was the texture—a faint crunch that dissolved into a soft crumble on your tongue. The spice you knew should be there, the warm bite of ginger and cinnamon that normally screamed Christmas, was muted to the point of nonexistence.

You frowned, swallowing the flavorless bite with effort. A sharp, scratchy sting flared in your throat, the dry irritation making each swallow feel more uncomfortable than the last. The lack of taste was almost offensive, a cruel reminder of how thoroughly your cold had robbed you of simple joys.

Clark’s eyes flicked over to you, catching your expression as you set the rest of the cookie down with a defeated sigh. “Nothing?” he asked, his voice tinged with sympathy.

“Absolutely nothing,” you muttered, your voice still scratchy. “I might as well be eating cardboard.”

Clark chuckled softly, getting up on his feet to sit beside you. “Guess that means more for me, huh?” He reached for a cookie, his teasing grin faltering when he saw your pout, but his craving persisted nonetheless. “Hey, don’t worry,” he added, nudging your shoulder gently. “Once you’re better, I’ll bake you a whole new batch. Extra ginger, just the way you like it.”

“Yeah…”

Clark bit into a gingerbread cookie with gusto, clearly enjoying his own handiwork as he snuggled beside you on the couch.

“Mmm,” he hummed dramatically, his eyes widening as he made a show of savoring the bite. “Oh, wow. These might be my best yet. Sweet, spicy, perfectly baked—chef’s kiss.” He gestured extravagantly, grinning like he’d just won a baking competition.

“Not saying these aren’t good, but I’m pretty sure the last time you made cookies, Krypto got more excited than I did."

You were about to roll your eyes at his antics when you noticed a speck of icing clinging to the corner of his mouth and a small crumb nestled in the dimple of his cheek. It was such a ridiculously human detail—charming in its imperfection—that you felt a sudden pang of affection bloom in your chest.

“Here,” you said, laughing softly as you reached up and brushed the crumb away with your thumb, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. His skin was warm, and the bashful smile that tugged at his lips made your stomach flip.

“Didn't stop you from cleaning out the cookie tray...” he murmured, his cheeks pinking slightly as he quickly licked the icing from the corner of his mouth, completely oblivious to how endearing he looked. "Thanks."

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “You’re a mess,” you teased, but your voice was far softer than usual, betraying just how much the sight of him—unpolished, sweet, and so effortlessly Clark—had utterly disarmed you.

Clark’s smile softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. His lips lingered for a moment, warm and impossibly tender against your fevered skin. When he pulled back, he looked at you with that impossibly earnest expression that always made your heart twist.

“It’s nice, though, isn’t it?” Clark murmured, his voice soft and warm, like the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off his glasses. “The cookies, the Christmas specials, the decorations… being snowed in together. Like a Hallmark movie, but… not terrible?”

You could see the flicker of nostalgia in his eyes as he spoke, his tone carrying a quiet sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way. The soft crackle of the digital fireplace playing on the TV and the distant hum of holiday music only made the moment feel more intimate, as if the world outside had disappeared entirely.

A warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with fever. Clark had this infuriating knack for making everything—even being sick—feel like a kind of blessing, as long as he was beside you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice rough but laced with affection. “Talking like I’ve got only two months left to live…” You tried for sarcasm, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Clark’s grin softened into something more tender, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. “Yeah,” you admitted quietly, letting out a small sigh. “It’s nice. Really nice.”

The weight of your words hung between you for a moment, and the corners of Clark’s mouth twitched upward again, this time into a bashful little smile. He didn’t say anything more—he didn’t need to.

Instead, his hand found yours beneath the blanket, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles, as if to say everything he didn’t put into words.

You knew he was the strongest man in the world, but it was these quiet moments—his sincerity, his kindness—that made you feel like you were the one holding something unbreakable.

Clark squeezed your hand gently, his expression melting into something tender and a little uncertain. He studied you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked softly. “I mean, really okay? I know I’m supposed to cheer you up, but I don’t want to push too much—especially if you’re not feeling great.”

You leaned your head back against the cushions, exhaling a soft sigh. “Clark, I’m fine,” you said, your voice still raspy but carrying enough exasperation to make your point. “I mean, yeah, I feel like I’ve been hit by a snowplow, but it’s not like I’m about to collapse.” Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile as you tilted your head toward him.

“Besides, you’ve already gone above and beyond. The cookies, the mistletoe, the cozy speeches… you’re basically an elf on the shelf who magically transformed into the perfect boyfriend overnight.” You reached over, your other hand settling on Clark's broad shoulders as you gently rubbed them, a silent gesture of appreciation.

Clark chuckled at that, but the faint blush on his cheeks deepened. “Well, I don’t know about perfect…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in that adorably bashful way that made your chest tighten.

“Perfect,” you repeated, a little firmer this time, giving his hand a squeeze. “Even in that ridiculous apron.”

He let out a breathy laugh, and the sound sent a flutter through you. The way his smile lingered—soft and boyish, but edged with a quiet intensity—made your stomach flip. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles on the back of your hand, and though the gesture was small, it felt impossibly intimate.

“Clark,” you mumbled, leaning in slightly, the hoarseness of your voice making his name sound heavier, more charged. “Stop worrying so much.”

“I can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low murmur. His eyes flicked to your lips before darting away, a faint flicker of hesitation passing over his features. “You’re sick. I don’t want to… you know… make it worse.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, though it quickly turned into a cough. Clark’s expression immediately shifted to concern, but you waved him off, catching your breath as you gave him a lopsided grin.

“Clark, I’m not made of glass. And for the record,” you added, your voice softening as you leaned in just a little closer with the support of your elbows, “I think kissing you would make me feel a whole lot better. Best medicine and all that.”

His ears turned an impressive shade of red, and he ducked his head slightly, his grin both shy and disbelieving. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

You shrugged, your grin turning sly. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” he echoed softly, his voice carrying a weight of affection that made your heart ache in the best way. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink, the soft glow of the Christmas lights casting him in a golden halo.

Slowly, tentatively, Clark leaned in, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw. “If you wake up tomorrow feeling worse,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in the barest of touches, “I’m blaming you.”

“Noted,” you whispered back, your breath mingling with his as you tilted your head to close the distance between you.

Strange. You hadn’t noticed the scent of cinnamon when he first brought out the cookies, but now, with your lips inching closer to his—like two cookies spreading and melding into one—you could almost convince yourself you were cured. Almost, if not for the stubborn stuffiness in your nose.

The kiss was gentle at first, as if Clark was afraid you might shatter beneath him. But when you let out a soft, contented sigh and threaded your fingers through his hair, his restraint wavered.

He deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a warmth and intensity that made you forget all about the congestion and sore throat. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his other hand pressed lightly against your waist beneath the blanket.

You tugged him closer still, your lips parting to let him in as the heat between you began to build. Clark’s kisses were like him—steady, powerful, and infused with an overwhelming tenderness that made your head spin. When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you were breathing harder, the warmth of the moment erasing the chill of the winter night.

“Feeling better yet?” he asked, his voice teasing, though the worry flickering in his eyes betrayed him. It wasn’t just concern over your condition—it was something deeper, a quiet struggle to hold himself back. Not when you looked so effortlessly beautiful, your disheveled state a product of his presence.

“Better,” your voice came out in a whisper, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm before traveling around his torso to untie his apron. “But I think I might need a few more rounds just to be sure.”

Clark let out a soft laugh as you tossed the fabric to the floor, his thumb grazing your cheek in a tender gesture. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but this time the words were thick with affection. His teeth caught his lower lip as your hands lingered at the waistband of his pajama pants, your intentions unmistakable with the gentle tug at his drawstring.

“You sure?” he asked sincerely, large, calloused hands pressing all over your body, but mainly your bare stomach, where he began mapping out heat zones over the plane.You could feel the strength of his abdomen beneath the thickness of his sweater as your hand gently traced his body in admiration. Biting your lip, you reached up to remove his glasses and nodded.

"If you don’t mind taking care of me tonight.”

There was something about the way Clark watched you during moments like these. You couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of his touch or the intensity of his gaze that made you feel so small, so vulnerable. Either way, you savored it—the sensation of being his entire focus, the apple of his eye, and nothing else.

Your stomach sank when he slid his third finger inside of your tight hole, joining his twinned index and middle.

“I can never get tired of this…” you mumbled, unbuttoning the rest of your pajama top when the pressure below heightened your body temperature.

“I’ll say,” Clark hummed, a growing mass forming large in his pants as he was knelt on the bed, gently working you open. The sound of his lubed fingers twisting and curling deep inside of you made his cock jolt, your cheeks reddening as a result of his attraction.

Clark had always been patient, but when it came to having you submit under his touch, he seemed to relish every second. His hands moved slowly, pressing and kneading at just the right spots, his fingers curling deep and slow to the rhythm of your heart while his other hand rubbed small and smooth circles over your stomach.

It wasn’t just about easing your tension—it was about watching you. The way your breath hitched when he found a tender spot, the subtle flutter of your lashes, the way your lips parted with a moan when he spread his three digits—it all captivated him.

He couldn’t help but grin softly as his hands worked their magic, savoring the reactions that only he could coax from you. For Clark, the real reward wasn’t just in soothing your aches—it was in seeing your face completely melt under his touch, your body reacting wantonly because you craved for more.

And with that, Clark went on to give you more. Knowing how sensitive your body’s condition was in the moment, he carefully pushed your legs up, his large hands stabilizing you by the thighs, and replaced the fill of his fingers with his inquisitive tongue.

Like his fingers, he started out slow and deliberate, tracing the swollen ring of muscle to sample the fresh layer of artificially-flavored lube dripping out of your hole. He licked you with a casual ease, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

“Smells like coconut,” you sniffled softly as he lifted his head to press a few kisses to your inner thighs. The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin, but your attention caught on the sticky sheen smeared across his cheek, a glistening trace of slick that made your cock twitch.

“Close… coconut cream pie. More vanilla than I was expecting, if I had to be honest…”

A tender smile curved your lips as your fingers found their way into his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingertips. You began to pet his head gingerly, your touch slow and soothing, grounding both of you in the moment.

“Love you.”

Clark leaned into your hand instinctively, a low hum of contentment rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, the tension in his broad shoulders melting under your touch, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away entirely.

“I love you too, (M/N).”

His gaze flicked to yours, a sudden spark of mischief between the blinds of his eyelashes, before he paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, and kept a watchful eye on you while he slowly pushed out his spit to drizzle it over your wet hole.

Then, with agonizing precision, he pushed the remainder of the saliva into the center of your opening, the wet, methodical slck of the motion sending a jolt of heat down your spine.

“Fuck…” Your fingers curled into his hair until they were grasping, pushing him and his tongue deeper into you while simultaneously rutting your hips against him.

Clark was a hungry man. He made sure to clean up any traces of his spit and lube with that thick tongue of his, slurping the remnants before adding onto it again with a generous amount of spit. Every time you thought the trail of saliva was dripping dangerously close to the bed sheets, Clark’s intuition was strong enough to blindly guide him to the leak, deftly licking it back up and kissing your flesh in passing.

He would never waste a single drop.

A quiet, satisfied moan escaped him, low and drawn out, as if savoring the sweetness of the lube and your flesh was a private indulgence. His eyes never left yours as his nose rubbed at your taint in midst of his devouring, The smile that curled at his lips—glazed and glistening—was a challenge, a silent dare that made the air between you feel heavy.

Heavier, when he found the right rhythm of flicking his tongue to make your body writhe under him.

“Clark, please…” you whined, one hand massaging your loose balls while the other toyed with your nipple, pleasuring yourself not only to the sight of Clark indulging in the warmth and taste of your flesh, but also his naked torso.

His chest rose and fell steadily, each inhale making his broad shoulders flex, the faint sheen of sweat catching the light. The planes of his abdomen looked carved, every ridge and dip inviting your eyes to linger, compelling your cock to leak out of sheer astonishment.

His arms were just as mesmerizing—thick and powerful, with veins running along his forearms that seemed to pulse with quiet authority, especially so when he’d alternative between working your hole open with his fingers and tongue again.

The strength they promised wasn’t just physical but protective. Those arms of his were built to shield and hold you.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze lingered, watching as you panted breathlessly, your chest rising and falling, desperate for him to finish what he had so teasingly begun. The tension hung there, thick and electric, like the moment itself had slowed just for the two of you.

He took off the remainder of his clothes before sprawling himself over you, his broad frame hovering just above yours while you seized the opportunity to thank him of his service. Between gentle kisses that Clark needed to get out of his system before he would lose himself in your body, you generously applied a glorious amount of lube on his large cock, though not letting Clark’s kisses answer to nobody.

His muscles pressed gently against you, the solid strength of his chest rising and falling with each breath when you took a couple of moments to thoroughly layer him in slick—to silently appreciate him for his efforts in lifting your spirits throughout the week with firm strokes.

The weight of his cock in your hands was satisfying, hefty enough to make you pause and marvel at the sheer size of it. You couldn’t get used to it, nor did you want to.

“You comfortable? Need more pillows? Tell me if your body starts hurting, okay?” Clark asked, suppressing his moans by showering your neck and face in small, lithe kisses.

His hands roamed your body at their own free-will before they began fixating on your arms, where your goosebumps were discernible. His brows furrowed in concern.

“Little cold…” One arm looped around to caress Clark by the nape, holding his forehead flushed to your own, while your other hand continued to stroke him between your collective hip grinds. You shivered again, despite being nestled so close to him, the draft still biting at your skin.

“Give me a moment,” he murmured softly, the heat of his breath brushing your ear.

You looked up at him, puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Clark pulled back just slightly, enough to give himself space to move. Without a word, he began to shift, his body warm and powerful as he adjusted his position. A flicker of surprise passed through you when you saw the subtle concentration on his face, but before you could ask again, you felt it when he pressed himself on top of you again, lowering his hips.

Clark’s body temperature seemed to rise—slowly, but steadily, until you could feel a gentle heat radiating off him. It was as if he was adjusting his own internal warmth, shifting it just for you. Your eyes widened in disbelief, but the shiver running through your body eased, the cold gradually melting away as his warmth enveloped you.

“You should be good now,” he said, his voice low and calm while he pulled you back into his arms, his skin now perfectly heated against yours.

You nestled against him again, finally able to relax as the cold left you entirely. “Not even going to ask,” you graced him with a kiss, reaching between your pelvis and his to adjust his cock against your hole and nodded. “I’m good to go.”

“Love you so much…” He took you by the jaw and slotted his lips into yours once more, grounding the wavering of your breath with his protection before he pushed his hips forth.

“It’s so… big, C-Clark—“ you groaned, clenching your eyes shut through the bittersweet tension of his large cock opening you up.

Clark whispered several I know’s over your lips, a strong effort in placating the pain surging beneath you, while taking a few pauses for you to catch your breath, for Clark to catch his because—you were so tight.

"You're so tight..." Clark seemed to have admitted in a whisper without realizing.

You felt yourself swell within seconds, the crown of your insides clenching him and pushing him out all at the same time, but Clark remained resilient, pushing, and pushing, allowing you to feel the slow, deliberate pressure inside of you, until he was finally deeply rooted inside of you to the hilt, earning himself a deep guttural groan from you as a reward.

“You feel so good, baby. So, so good. Taking me so well…” He peppered your whimpers with soft kisses, his words soothing you as his boyish smile remained, warm and comforting, easing you with each gentle touch and praise.

“You’re so warm too…” you muttered into the palm of his hand, kissing him at the calloused skin before you returned back to his plush lips.

Your breath caught in your throat as you shifted, the feeling of being filled growing deeper, fuller with every inch of Clark’s large cock moving inside of you. Clark’s large palm rested on your stomach, caressing over the bulge that seemed to move in conjunction with his slow, methodical thrusts.

He had never mentioned it, but you knew it was a sight that he secretly loved. Clark's eyes softened with admiration as he watched, his gaze lingering on the subtle curve of your stomach. It was unmistakable, the way it had begun to gently bulge with every rut of his hips, becoming more prominent depending on the strength, the fullness a natural sign of the way your body had been affected by what you’d taken.

And what you had taken was Clark’s love and devotion to you—his thick cock making you gape and swell from beneath.

It wasn’t easy, not by any means, but there was an undeniable pull in watching your stomach swell from his cock—an almost desperate craving for the mixture of pain and pleasure, for the way it made your body react even though your mind wavered between wanting to resist and wanting to surrender completely.

He couldn’t help but marvel at it, his fingertips lightly grazing the curve, tracing its outline with a reverent touch. The way your body had responded to him, the way it molded to the shape of the intimate moment, filled him with a quiet awe. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against your skin, his voice low and hushed. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, a hint of wonder in his tone, as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight before him.

Clark was never one to boast, but in this moment, the glint in his eyes spoke volumes. He’d never been so proud of having someone like you—someone so determined—take all of his girth with such unwavering focus despite the tears in your eyes. Happy tears, to which he’d only create more of, when he gently pressed on the bulge in your stomach and sandwiched his cock within your insides, plunging himself deep inside of you until the only sounds that came out of your throat were guttural.

“C-Clark—oh, god…” your cock was dripping in pre-cum, throbbing to the weight of his cock hollowing you out as he sped up his hips and pushed you deeper into the bed on instinct. You held onto his muscular shoulders as he clutched onto your waist and rocked you back and forth along to his deep thrusts.

“God, I’m so deep inside of you. Is this okay, baby? Is it okay that I’m making love to you like this? I’m being selfish, aren’t I?”

“No-please! I l-love it so much, Clark. Fuck. Keep fucking me like that… wouldn’t want anything more—”

“Like this? You like how I’m so deep inside of you to the point where your tummy’s swelling? So… good. You look so good for me…”

His forehead connected to yours again, panting over your mouth and taking a moment to marvel over how he had rendered you speechless before he could muster up the energy to kiss you again, to draw out another sound from you with his tongue.

The warmth of his mouth was almost feverish, his breath mingling with yours in a tangled, wet dance. Each movement was smooth and sensual, your tongues exploring, tasting, tracing the contours of each other’s mouths with growing eagerness. The wetness of it—the gentle press of his lips, the slick glide of your tongues—made the kiss feel all the more intoxicating, as if every flick and sweep brought you deeper into him.

Clark’s body temperature only seemed to have gotten warmer, affecting you from the inside and out as his cock was synchronous.

You could feel Clark’s dick heat you up from the inside, seemingly softening your guts to make the ease of fully wrecking you all the more easier. With each kiss, praise, and thrust, your body melted further, feeling as soft and pliable as butter left out in the warmth. The tension in your muscles faded, replaced by a liquid sensation that spread through you, leaving you entirely at ease and whimpering in his hot embrace.

The faint sheen of sweat gave him an undeniable rawness, a physicality that made your heart race. You were mesmerized by the way it clung to him, the way the droplets caught the light before sliding slowly down his torso.

Each movement he made only seemed to draw you in more, the heat radiating from his body intensifying the pull you felt. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, infatuated not just by his strength, but by the way he looked so alive, so real—like the sweat was proof of his effort, his focus, and the raw intensity of how he was making love to you and that tantalizing hole of yours.

“You’re fucking me so good, Clark. I could come like this, baby—just like this…”

“And when you make a mess—not if, but when—I’ll treat you like the prince you are. I’ll clean you up with my mouth, let you watch me lick every drop away with my tongue, and then I’ll kiss you, giving you a taste of your love for me.”

His skin, damp with the effort of his keen need to wreck you, left a trail of warmth and moisture as he pounded you, a strong, animalistic friction that made every touch feel more intimate and passionate, that made the current position of him mounting you and bending your knees till they touched your chest despite your condition well worthwhile and all the more rewarding.

It was a sound that matched the intensity of the connection between you both—no words needed, just the symphony of his sweaty skin meeting yours, and his cock hollowing you out until you two had made a permanent imprint on the mattress.

Clark’s breath hitched as he watched you, his eyes soft and filled with admiration contrasting with his hardened thrusts. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “Just… so perfect.”

His hand moved to your stomach again, evidently in love with the way you swelled from his cock, the weight of the moment sinking in with the aid of the bed creaking, and Clark’s sweaty skin slapping against you.

Every word he spoke, every gentle press of his lips, seemed to soften you, coaxing out of the cold that had been restricting you. It was as though you were being molded by his touch, the heat of his affection spreading through your veins, leaving you pliant, relaxed, and willing to give yourself entirely to him.

All sensation coursing through you was a tangled mess of pleasure and overwhelming intensity. Your body was on the verge of unraveling with every deep thrust of Clark’s. You could feel him swell, veins throbbing inside of you, his balls twitching as he was nearing his high just as you were.

Your eyes fluttered closed, the edges of your vision blurring the harder he pounded into you like an animal, like he was beating away at your cold, and you could feel yourself slipping into a blissful madness.

It was almost too much, yet it felt like the most real thing you’d ever known. Your body trembled from the weight of his body on you, from the girth that Clark was destroying you open with. Every muscle was tight with anticipation, yet you managed to hold onto a smile, the corners of your lips twitching despite the storm raging inside you, your cock throbbing and leaking in overdrive in warning.

“C-Clark..!“

Your hands instinctively found their way around Clark's neck, pulling him closer as if to anchor yourself in the moment. The kiss you pressed against his lips was desperate, full of need and grounding, a silent plea for him to steady you in the chaos as your balls tightened up into your core.

With each breathless press of your mouth to his, you found a sliver of control, a tether to the reality of his presence, even as the pleasure threatened to send you into pure blissful madness.

“I know—me too—“

Your smile lingered, your mind teetered on the edge, savoring every second, every touch, every thrust, and every heartbeat that connected you both, until the very moment where Clark’s name slipped from your lips in a breathless gasp.

“Clark—“

The tension had reached its peak, and when it finally broke, it was like a wave crashing over you, overwhelming and all-consuming. You came in a shared, fervent release. All muscles in your body was taut with desire, the culmination of your love for him unraveling in the form of thick white ropes shooting out of your cock, decorating your bulging stomach with layers upon layers, some splattering onto Clark’s body from the sheer amount of power and arousal.

Clark’s grip on you tightened, his body shuddering against yours as he gave into the same release, his breath ragged in the wake of it. His name left your lips in a soft, trembling sigh as he spilled his warm, thick seed deep inside of your raw hole. He left you breathless, thick, and steady, flooding you in ropes that seemed to never end. It was a powerful, consuming feeling, filling you completely, each pulse of his cock deep and unwavering, decorating your insides with a thickness that left you in awe of how much he had to give, like his body had held nothing back.

Your bodies moved together in those final moments, each thrust and touch sending shock waves through your system as Clark rode out his orgasm. You could feel every inch of him, raw and exposed. The warmth spread through you with each movement, the thick fluid of his cum filling you to the brim, a steady stream that didn’t seem to have an end leaking out of you that would surely have your flesh glued together with his.

Nothing else listed but the two of you—completely undone, unraveling together and leaving behind nothing but the sweet, tender echo of your love for each other.

The room was still, save for your breathing, as Clark’s forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath, tangled together in the beautiful, but sweaty aftermath.

“Are you… feeling better?”

His fingers traced along your skin, over the mess that you made of your stomach to let the sticky substance seep into his own palm, while he caught the remainder of his breath in the crook of your neck, fully collapsing on top of you.

“I…” You groaned, the lingering sensation of pleasure making it hard to find words. But despite the exhaustion, a sly smile tugged at your lips.

You rubbed his broad back in soothing circles, whispering in his ear, “I think I might need another prescription, Doctor.” Your voice was breathless, a mischievous glint in your eyes as the desire still simmered beneath the surface.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[thepromptswhisperer]

"I'm weak for you." Prompts

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Ha. Don’t think too highly of yourself. Just because I crave your company every now and then, doesn’t mean you’re my weakness. You’re not.”

“I can’t control myself around you. Don’t even want to.”

“Fiiiiine. I’ll do it. For you. Just for you.”

“Why do you have to make keeping a distance from you so damn difficult? I’m trying my hardest and you just…”

“That was but a moment of weakness. Think nothing of it.”

“Having a weak spot for someone doesn’t equate to wanting to be with them. Those are two completely different things.”

“Why can’t I say ‘no’ to you?”

“It scares me to see how far I’m willing to go for you.”

“No, wait. Stay- Stay back. I need to think rationally.” “...What’s that got to do with me?”

“You just can’t stay away from me for too long, huh?”

“My knees have gone a bit weak. Do you mind holding me?”

“It’s like… You have this power over me, and I- I guess I’m wary of where it might lead.”

“I don’t care about anything but you.”

“No other person makes me feel both weak and strong.”

“Stop it. Can’t you see that staying away from you is torture for me too?”

“I’m weak for you.” 

“You have me all wrapped around your finger.”

“I don’t want to scare you away with my… infatuation.”

“Right now I think you could probably talk me into anything.”

“You’ll be the death of me, [name].”

“You’re the only one I have opened up to like this.”

“Aren’t you at least a little ashamed of how blatantly you’re exploiting my feelings for you?”

“For you, I’ll take on any challenge.”

“(Fuck.) I need you to say that/make that sound again.”

“Just when I think you couldn’t make me go even weaker in the knees, you go and say stuff like that. Do you want me to collapse? Maybe melt into a puddle too while I’m at it?”

[toasttt11]

glances

summary: getting together made everyone think the flirty glances would stop, it didn’t.

request: "Can I kiss you?" "You know you don't have to ask me that anymore, right?" and 'exchanging flirty looks from across the room' with Luke Hughes??

luke hughes x reader

She laughed at something Jack said, a common occurrence around Jack. She was standing with Jack in one of the corner of the rooms letting Jack yap to her about the game of pool he just played in and was trying to convince her he beat Dawson.

She felt a line of goosebumps form on her arms, something only one person can do and she knew who was starring her.

Her eyes flickered over connecting with her favorite pair of eyes, Luke was leaning against the wall not paying attention to the conversation that he was standing in, more focused on starring at her all night.

She softly bit her lip biting back her flustered smile, Luke could glance at her and she could easily turn into a puddle.

She heard a gag next to her and turned her head seeing Jack looking absolutely disgusted, “I thought you two finally getting together would stop this from happening.” Jack complained, having watched the two stare at each other way to many times.

He wasn’t wrong, she was friends with Luke for years before anything ever happened. The tension and glances were always there between them even when they both denied it and said they were friends.

She gave Jack a teasing smile, “You don’t have to watch anymore.”

Jack furrowed his brows and watched her look at Luke, her eyes flickering up and down Luke before she gave Luke a flirty smirk and turned around patting Jack’s shoulder before walking away.

Jack grimaced, it was like watching his sister flirt.

Luke raised an eyebrow a smile growing on his face as he watched her walk away, his eyes stayed glued on a certain area of hers most of the time.

Luke set his glass on the table near him beside easily crossing the room and heading down the hallway to the bathroom where he knew she was waiting.

He opened the door and was right, she was sitting on the counter looking at him, waiting for him.

Luke chuckled softly to himself locking the door behind him before he crossed the bathroom just as her legs opened letting him stand between her thighs as her legs just easily wrapped around his waist.

“Hello.” Luke mused his hands hitting the counter next to her thighs as his eyes flickered across her face. He still pinches himself daily that he finally got the girl.

“Hello baby.” She cooed as her arms wrapped sound his neck, her acrylic nails running through the bottom of his curls making him almost start purring like a cat, there’s nothing he loves more than he curls being played with or tugged on and they both are well aware of that.

“Can i kiss you?” Luke breathed out his nose softly bumping into hers, his eyes kept flickering between her lips and eyes can’t deciding what he wanted to stare at more.

Her lips turned up looking amused and she softly tugged on one of his curls making Luke melt even more into her giving her pleading eyes, “You know you don't have to ask me that anymore, right?"

Luke didn’t meed any more permission and eagerly kissed her making the happiest noise as he finally got to kiss his girl again, it’s been barely a hour since they last kissed.

Luke whined as she pulled back and at the sound of a loud knock on the door, “Your clothes better all be on in there.” Lazar teasingly called out having watched the two both head towards the bathroom.

Luke threw his head back and groaned as she laughed, her forehead hitting Luke’s shoulder as her shoulders shook with laughter.

Luke could always count on his annoying teammates to get in the way of his time with his girl.