#i’ve been sitting on this one for a long time now like weeks

[running-with-kn1ves]

Your Private Dancer

A/N: Everybody say thank you Tina Turner; man I really am just a mixture of everything I’ve seen and heard. 

CW: Dancing for money, sex work/ prostitution mentioned, using money as manipulation, Reader wears makeup n' heels lmao

Synopsis: You work at the downtown peep show dancing for quarters, trying to get out of the rough patch you’ve fallen into. Seemingly, a man out of your usual customer regulars has business with you.

Tonight, a habitual fear bobbed its way inside your head, just as it had the night before. The idea of your boss’s beige, neatly ironed trousers becoming ever-so visible from under the slowly rising black curtains was making an appearance, his aged face slick with sweat, with desire behind the see-through plastic shield.

Again, the same scene but with a distant friend on the other side of the decaying plastic that separated you from your… clients. They’d be popping in the coins you worked for-- mere quarters, often giving you barely enough to buy a drink for the night.

This line of work could be greedy, could sap all energy and self-worth you had-- but for some, it had led to better lives; ones where they could purchase groceries for their kids or nice handbags if they decided to skimp out on dinner that week. 

Never you, though. How long has it been since you started working at the peep show, two months? You barely made enough to cover rent, and that was primarily paid for by your office job handling phones and directing clients to your bulging boss’s office. 

Taking a swig of some bottom shelf vodka you so sneakily hid into a mug, you drank the thoughts away, waiting patiently for the electric blue lights to come on. If you had any less self respect, you’d dare to sit on the yellow tile beneath your studded heels, legs aching from standing ten til’ two waiting for some man or another off the street to feed your coin box something of substance. You prayed for whoever came next-- if anyone-- they wouldn’t try to shove another piece of gum or arcade coin in as a cheap ploy. You thought they did it more to fuck with you and get a free show than a true lack of being able to pay for their lust. 

On the brink of lighting an unused cigarette left next to your mug, the lights of your five-by-five room soon became illuminated by the cobalt blue lights of the client room across from you. Velvet curtains rose to show a pair of black slacks, left knee impatiently bouncing. The blue never bathed the entirety of your small room; it was just an illusion for the paying customer, making everything in front of them turn an electric shade that used to burn your eyes; now, you wished you were doused in that blue, instead of witnessing the yellow stains on the walls beside the see-through window, the dirty circles formed on the green walls from put-out cigarette butts. 

The curtains rose to his neck, and you knew it was time to start dancing. You were by no means a professional-- hell, you never moved this much unless it was in this room. But you were pretty good at making yourself consumable, as if the men on the other side could have you-- could taste the way your hips gyrated and how you grabbed at your chest, stroking and fondling yourself in a desperate attempt to keep the money coming. For some of those who worked the peep show, it was liberating; no man could touch them, and they could rake in all the money they’d need. For you-- it was just a step above demeaning yourself to being touched.

You started slow-- sensual. He was looking at you, of course-- but he hadn’t even gotten his pants down yet. You rarely get these kinds of men, the ones who just liked to stare, maybe smoke a cigarette and put the rest of their quarters in their pockets to leave with a frown of boredom.

You let your hands rise from your hips, gracefully dancing up your stomach, to your chest. You circle around your shapes of hard and soft, letting each curve flow beneath your fingers as if it were his hands touching you. 

You hadn’t gotten a good look at the man, watching him from the corner of your blurry eyes as he brought a hand to his mouth. He stroked his jaw before bringing the cigarette between his fingers to his lips. He scrutinized, a small line creasing under his eye as his gaze traveled the intimate way you swayed your hips. 

He occasionally took a drink from an engraved scotch glass saved for VIP members, those who made monthly payments in cash that the owner hoarded in his liquor cabinet. Not many paid such a hefty price unless they routinely took clients or coworkers here-- and even then, the existence of powerful businessmen in such a grimy part of the city like this, with a less than clean business-- was so rare you were suspicious. 

But your suspicions were buried as soon as he left your dancing cell, your mind quick to focus on electric bills and the next few nights of eating dry pasta and watching bad reality TV, slaving away at the office and more early mornings at the peep show. It almost didn’t surprise you to see him at your dance room again a few days later-- until he started showing up multiple times a week. Like clockwork at 11:02, he was sitting across from you with a cigarette or an indulgent glass. Sometimes, he’d merely watch. You had a few regulars, but none like him… not ‘this’ regular.

Even with keeping your eyes glued on your own reflection, you’d catch the dark blacks of his own trained on you, his face bathed in blue and zoned in on your expression. He never unbuttoned his pants, never lingered his eyes on one area for too long, even if he scanned you up and down with a sultriness.

You couldn’t deny that you felt like you needed to impress him, to make him react or find a reason to keep seeing you; he was allowing you to afford paying rent, putting coins in to last for a 30-minute session before he’d disappear into the night. But you never spoke to him, never had any kind of interaction besides that unspoken ritual. 

Another month at the peep show passed, and you found yourself fixing up your makeup in the vanity, trying desperately to get a thick layer of eyeliner right. A thick knock rapped against the dressing room door, a foreign sound; none of the workers knocked, finding no reason to. Your boss stuck his head through the gap, his receding hairline shiny and his thin silver chain looking  dull from the overhead light. For such a sleaze, he was kinder than most when it came to treating his employees fairly. Maybe because he was keen on avoiding complaints and federal eyes. 

“Got a visitor for ya.” He chewed a thick wad of gum, talking in a voice lower than you had ever heard him speak in. “This one’s a big fish, alright? Don’t do anything to piss him off-- he’s the reason you’re getting such a good payout tonight.”

Payout? You didn’t get paid in anything other than quarters once the night ended, unless someone was looking for further services of which you were not interested in providing. 

Your boss leaves the door open a crack, his mumbles traveling in as he spoke to someone outside. The door was knocked on again, but no one came in.

“It’s open.” You say, a little thrown off by the way your voice cracks a pitch higher. 

The door opens fully, closing behind the stranger as he moves forward. You look in the mirror to see him, but are forced to turn around to believe your eyes. 

“It’s you.” 

You look at him-- nice suit, pressed and finely tailored, with even a small handkerchief in its breast pocket.

His hair isn't dark like you had imagined under the blue light, but rather a gold brown, deep and cool-toned. For being so young, he had deep creases below his eyes, as if he had been worried since birth.

“I’ve paid for your shift tonight. “ He stares at you, direct but with some underlying, concerned thought. “Your manager says there’s a room upstairs, where we can be alone-- privately.”

You’re disgusted by the mention of anything above the underground cells you’ve danced in, recalling the thin walls of faked moans and foul dialogue you’d tried to avoid. 

“I’m not a prostitute,” You say brusquely, watching the stoicism on his expression falter. “You can have your money back, I don’t want it if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“I’m not.” He says, sounding a bit off guard and adjusting his tie almost habitually. “I want.. To talk, If you can believe that,” His hard gaze shifts to minute worry, as if this wasn’t how he expected it to go. “This isn’t… I want to help.”

You’re more so puzzled than offended now, staring at the pool of his ink-like eyes, no traceable ounce of debauchery behind them. If you said no, it almost seems like he wouldn’t care less, besides for another crease layered under his eye. 

“What for?” You question, guarded and fiddling with your absurdly short low-rise shorts; the discomfort was part of the appeal, supposedly. 

“I have a proposition for you-- a deal. You don’t have to accept it, of course. Just listen to what I have to say.” 

He lifts his eyebrows, trying to gauge your reaction, your potential interest. You continue to squint at him, realizing now you were near past the start of your shift; You were losing money as you sat here. 

“Maybe this will convince you; I already let your manager know not to bother us.”

 Like a true businessman, he rummages through the inner pockets of his suit in an attempt to find something hidden. Finally reaching into the left side he pulls out a thin, blank envelope. 

With two hands, he brings the envelope towards you with unnecessary formality, and you waste no time taking it. Besides overdue bills and unpaid bank statements, you rarely opened any other kind of unmarked envelope.

It wasn’t even closed when you tried to open it, the top un-licked and sticky. You looked inside, not needing to take out the content to understand what was in it. Several fifties were lined against each other, scarce in their numbers but large in what they equaled together. 

“What… is this for?” The shock you gave with your agape mouth almost made him grin a bit, fascinated. He rarely felt pleasure in the wide-eyed stare his clients would give him at the same sight, but you weren’t them. Oh no, you were far from them. 

“Just a talk. I can pay you more afterwards.”

Your gut senses danger-- perhaps he took pleasure in luring unsuspecting victims from low places with money, killing them for sport. But, he looked too clean-- too unmotivated.

You should say no, should turn away and finish putting on your makeup and tell him you aren’t looking for a pimp. 

You pocket the money, crumpling the envelope and putting it on your vanity. 

“I don’t do anything under the clothes; I can give you a lap dance at most and that’s it.”

You lead the man out of the dressing room, not bothering to close the door. 

He leads the way upstairs, watching the grimy pictures decorating the walls with feigned interest, some in black and white, others grainy and full of half-naked women. You kind of wish you had led the way now; atleast then you wouldn’t feel like you’re following an omen to your doom, farther deep into the velvet hallway.

“My name is Dakota.” He utters, quiet and firm. 

You brush past him, getting in front to open the door at the beginning of the hall. “What, no last name?”

 You still wonder if you should turn back, even if it means losing your job. But you persevere, holding a dramatic hand towards the now opened room as if you were a doorman.

“I imagine you aren’t interested in my last name,” He stops to take a short view of the client room before settling his eyes back on you. “And regardless, I’d much rather know yours.”

You open your mouth to speak, but are quick to be cut off as he walks past you into the creaky, red-pink room.

“I know you won’t tell me, a part of the show-room code, or so I’m told. but it doesn’t matter; I already know.” 

He reads your mind again as you barely get a moment to protest.

“I’m accustomed to going through unnatural ways to find the information that I need, but don’t bother asking for why or how, I won’t tell you.”

Your body tenses as you shut the door behind you, the red lowlights of the bedroom making your heart pound just a little louder.

“You can’t just say something like that and not expect me to want to know-- it's my privacy damn it,” You’ve forfeited any sexy walking as you come closer. “If you’re some kind of creepy stalker--”

“I guess I could be labeled as that.” Dakota slumps to sit on the edge of the bed, sinking into the dipping mattress. He almost relaxes, shoulders drooping along with his eyes, uncharacteristically so.

“I’ve come here to offer you a chance for safety,” He loosens his tie, watching as you stand there, tensing your back and one step directed toward the door. 

Dakota wasn’t blind to your hesitation, your unease. But you were wrong to think he’d let you go just because of a little fear; you had a lot to learn about him.

You watch him look at you, waiting expectantly for him to go on. But he doesn’t and you realize he’s waiting for you to start-- to do something of which he paid copious amounts of cash for. So, you do what you do best, and what you feel safest doing, where no man can touch or stroke you.

It’s not as extravagant of a dance as when you’re in the coin-operated cell, but it's intimate enough. 

You keep your eyes to the floor, only looking up at Dakota to egg him on, letting your feet drift you in a rhythm. He looks entranced for a moment, offering a stare that was far from innocent-- but not as hungrily disturbing as you had expected. 

“Your co-workers won’t be given the same option, this is an opportunity directed at and intended only for you.” You come closer, small struts as Dakota completely unties his tie. “I’ve got a variety of apartments across the city, most of which are rented out or used as a small place to come back to when I've got business farther out. And no-- I won’t tell you what kind of business I do.” 

You almost grunt in frustration, keeping your eyes on him. 

You’re nearly toe to toe with him now, watching from above as he puts his hands back on the bed. 

“One of these apartments is not too far from here,” He squints his eyes, deliberating. “A few blocks away, I'd say.” 

Your hands slow as you drop them to the front of your hips, Dakota’s eyes following them. 

“It can be yours. If you’d like.” 

“What?”

You stop, dropping your arms and watching the pink glow from under the bed cast a shadow up to Dakota’s cheeks.

“Some people call this kind of an arrangement “sugar babying” but that’s a bit too crude for my tastes.” His eyes are still traveling from your wrist to your forearm. “You’ll be on an allowance, of course. But it means you won’t have to work here anymore.”

The way he said ‘here’, it was clear what he thought of it.

“You can quit that desk job too; or keep it, if you want. But I can’t imagine it being much fun. Either way, you won’t be working here anymore. Not with the kind of men who are looking at you while I’m away.”  

Dakota’s gaze finally met your own, his tired hand coming up to stroke his curved jaw. 

“You’re not actually being serious, are you? This is some kind of sick joke?” You let out a short laugh, lacking in humor. 

Even with him dressed to the nines in a suit that no creature who stepped foot in this place could afford, you wouldn’t allow yourself to believe it. You shake your head in ridiculousness, taking a step back.

“Sorry, I have other customers to attend to; I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.” 

You turn to walk away, feeling less safe than you ever had; if he was delusional, or some kind of sick sadist who thought he could buy your life-- he had another thing coming.

“Hold on,” Dakota grabs at your fingers, almost desperate in his grasp. His eyes were void of anything other than concern. “I’ve booked you for the whole night, I don’t recall asking for you to leave.”

Booked? You were under the impression you just received a little extra bonus from this stranger. Just how much were your manager’s morals worth? Did he care AT ALL what he might’ve ‘sold’ you for?

Dakota held on, even with you hesitantly shuffling back to where you stood. 

“You don’t have to accept what I’m offering-- just consider it,” He stays seated, bringing your hand palm-up towards him. “Though, I’ve been told I'm quite persuasive.”

“Look man, whatever you’re selling, I'm not buying. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly content with my job, and I’m not looking for some kind of ‘savior’ if that’s what you’re trying to be.”

You could feel your own lie cutting deep into you, and by the looks of it Dakota didn’t believe it either. He looked at you, a kind of benign glare leaving from his oaky eyes. 

“Call me by my name.” He says, barely above a whisper.

“...Huh?” 

“I’m not just some ‘man’. Call me by my name.”

Dakota ran his thumb down your palm to your middle finger, keeping your hand hostage between both of his own. He looked to you, then back down to his grasped treasure. He looked like he didn’t really know what to do with it, but that it was something intimate he didn’t want to let go of. 

“Wha--okay fine. Dakota. This isn’t some kind of game,” The name felt weird coming out of your mouth, but watching who it belonged to’s reaction was even stranger. 

He shivered. Physically shivered at the guttural hearing of his name, of the consonants and vowels sliding off your tongue. 

Dakota looked down, avoiding your gaze as he memorized each line and indent in your fingers. You wanted to pull your hand away, to recoil in disgust and fling him off like some kind of bug. But in a way, he looked small sitting there, head down and entranced at the details of your fingers, the ridges of your palms, the shaking pulling at his shoulders as he asked you to say his name again. 

“Dakota.” You mutter, wondering if this was some kind of kink.

With the way he stopped a groan midway from slipping, you were sure you weren’t too far off. But whatever he was into, now was not the time for discovery.

“This is, just ridiculous. Were you listening to me, at all?” You tilt your head, trying to catch his eyes to see if you could see what the hell he was so captivated by.

His thumb pressed hard against your palm, short nail digging just slightly to leave a crescent shape. 

Without the response, you were starting to get fed up. You pulled your hand away, sliding smoothly out of his warm, dry grasp. 

At this, his head shot up, watching you with a kind of look as if he had come from out of a panicked daze.

“I’ve wondered what my name would sound like from your mouth-- I could never hear anything from the other side of the glass.” 

“...Right.” You aren’t sure if you should still be worried, but his fascination with you made you feel a little concerned. 

Dakota propped himself up again, seemingly realizing his recent lack of finesse. 

“Take my business card.” He seemed to say all of a sudden, searching blindly in his inner-jacket pockets like he did to give you your payment for the night. He seemed a little scattered, padding up and down to look for his cards before finding one in his breast pocket. “Here.”

You grab it, finally getting an inkling of answers to who he was besides the money and his name. 

Unfortunately for you, the card didn’t offer much else from what you already knew. There was his name in ink-black font, ‘DAKOTA--VERIDIAN FIRMS’ and a small phone number, barely readable beneath. 

“That’s my personal number. Day or night, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll answer.” He looks at you with an inappropriate level of intensity.

“Okay.” 

“Now that that’s squared away--” He sighs, relaxing backwards again, watching you hold the business card. “We can return to business as usual;” He keeps his eyes on yours, displaying a kind of tension and expectation. “I believe you were dancing, and I was enjoying your company.” 

You can’t imagine spending the rest of your shift solely dancing for one man, in this dreary far-too cold room that had seen too much. You don’t move, not ready for the rest of tonight to continue.

Dakota brings out another small envelope, this time with ease. Looking at it expectantly, he then looks back to you. 

You began to move your shoulders to the rhythm of the thumping music from downstairs, using it as a way to distract your thoughts. Dakota puts the envelope on the bed, letting out a sigh as he voyeured in novelty, watching you gaze at the heart-shaped headboard behind him. 

You tried to keep your thoughts empty, but it was near impossible. How much could you be bought for, and how much more would it take for you to agree to be his? 

[scribes-of-valar]

𝘉𝘰𝘺'𝘴 𝘢 𝘓𝘪𝘢𝘳

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 I don't know what has creeped into my brain, but I've started rewatching the show and I literally wrote this in a day.

✬ summary ✬ Finally taking the plunge and ruining your friendship with Clark, you go on your first date but the next day he's acting like a whole new man. Not a good one. You don't know if your relationship can recover from his cruel behavior, but he's not going to give up so easily.

For the nth time, you stand before your mirror and find yourself dissatisfied. No outfit is right, each one is too little, too much, too slutty, not slutty enough. You haven’t even started on shoes yet, you would be in the grave before you were ready for this date. Throwing yourself down on your desk chair, you start tugging the stockings down your legs. 

You’re not sure why you thought tights would work during the peak of a Kansas summer, but you’re clearly not thinking much at all today. Head propped in your hand, you slump against the edge of your desk, fingers running idly over the scattered makeup on the surface. Even that hasn't gone right, your normal safeties failing you when you need them most. 

Maybe this was all a sign from the universe. You and Clark have been friends since you could walk, what if this stupid date was going to ruin everything between you?

Sighing, you reach for the only framed picture in your room. It’s silly, something Martha took when you were both too busy playing to see her. You and Clark, freshly five, sit around your old purple play table, the both of you covered in glitter and rocking some of the biggest tutus you’ve ever seen. You’re yelling at him in the picture, probably telling him to put his pinky up when he drinks his tea, and he’s just grinning at you.

It’s funny how that smile never changed. Something warm unfurls and blooms in your chest the longer you look at the picture. It’s Clark, he doesn’t care what you wear or if you’ve put on makeup or not. You both loved each other long before that was ever a problem, and it’s not going to start being one now. 

Sucking in a deep breath you put on the first outfit you’d picked out, a simple white sundress. You rarely get to wear it, anyway. Might as well test it out now. You check the mirror one last time just as someone knocks on your bedroom door. 

Clark calls out your name on the other side, sounding hesitant. “Sorry, um,” he chuckles and you can picture the way he must be nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I got here a little early.”

You dart away from the mirror, kicking all the clothes under your bed. You slide the makeup into your desk drawer to be dealt with later. For now, you just need to make sure that he doesn’t see what a hot mess your room is. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you tug the hem of your dress down and shake off your worries. This is Clark. Your Clarkie, the boy you’ve tormented since you were a toddler. There’s nothing to worry about. 

“You’re always early, Clark,” you tell him with a soft smile as you open the door. 

His eyes widen slightly as he looks down at you. You did purposefully pick a dress that would emphasize certain aspects of yours. The pink flush on his cheeks is entirely worth it. Your eyes are drawn to the bunch of flowers in his hand and you grin. “Are those for me?” You gush, opening your door wider for him to step inside. 

“Yeah,” he holds them out to you, blue eyes stuck on yours. “I thought you might like them.” You bring them closer to your face, taking in the faint scent of the roses. 

“I love them, thank you,” you find yourself unable to stop smiling as you drop the roses in a glass of water by your bed. After building up your hopes and anxieties for a week because of this date, you're struggling to calm yourself down. 

Turning, you find him already looking at you with a soft smile that calms your racing heart just a bit. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while,” he tells you, taking a step closer to you. His hands find your own, pulling you into him. “Not just the date,” he amends, smile stretching wider. “Asking you out. I think our friends were getting sick of listening to me talk about you all the time.”

You laugh, “I think they were getting sick of both of us. I feel so oblivious that it took me so long to realize you felt the same way.” 

He huffs, though his tone remains good-natured, “How do you think I feel?”

“Well,” you lace your fingers with his and step closer, “we’re doing it now, that’s what matters.” He ducks down and you feel your breath stutter, but he only leaves a brief kiss on your cheek, pulling back with a sheepish expression. A gentleman through and through. 

You’d never thought that knowing Clark for as well and as long as you have could be a bad thing. But now, sitting in The Talon and awkwardly dipping your fries in ketchup just to have something to do, you’re starting to realize it is. Being with each other nearly every day leaves you wanting for conversation. You both are already so caught up on what’s going on in each other’s lives that you’re struggling not to just bring up the weather. 

Clark groans and you startle, the noise breaking through the thick silence between you. He leans back in the booth, head resting on the edge and you find your eyes drawn to the strong muscles of his neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

Clearing your throat you glance away from him and push your plate away. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” Clark mutters, more to himself than you, but you hear him anyway. 

“It’s, well,” you pause, struggling for the words. Letting out a self-deprecating laugh, you shake your head. “I just don’t know what to do when we’re like this,” he peeks an eye open and you gesture between the two of you. 

His lips quirk up and he straightens once more. “I feel like I should be able to talk to you, same as always. But I don't know what to say, I don’t want to risk messing this up.” He trails off, glancing away from you and swallowing roughly. The same dreaded panic you’ve been feeling all week is thick in his voice. 

“Clark,” you utter his name lowly, reaching your hand out across the table. He’s slow to meet your eyes. “I feel the same way. We’re being stupid because I know that nothing you could say is going to change how I feel about you.” You narrow your eyes, taking on a teasing tone, “And you better feel the same way,” you scold. 

He huffs out a laugh, larger hand enveloping yours entirely and squeezing gently, “You know I do.”

You shrug, “Then we’re just being stupid, again,” you add, rolling your eyes. 

His eyes light up with mischief, a smile spreading as he stands from his seat. You jump back slightly, surprised by the sudden movement. “I’ve got an idea, come on,” he holds his hand out and you take it once more. 

You let out a surprised laugh as he takes off, dragging you out of the Talon behind him. “Where are we going?” 

He pauses for a moment, looking over his shoulder at you. It awes you, just how handsome he is. “It’s a surprise,” he winks and tugs you closer. 

“Your surprise is… the school?” You frown, taking Clark’s hand as he helps you down from the truck. 

“No,” he defends, shooting you a sarcastic look as he closes the door behind you. “We’re sneaking onto the field, like we used to. Maybe a little jog down memory lane will help,” he gives you a cheesy smile and you feel like you might melt.  

The sun hangs low on the horizon, its fading golden hues painting the sky in soft oranges and purples. The light catches in Clark’s hair, casting a warm halo around him. Sometimes he seems so overwhelmingly perfect that you wonder if you’ll ever be enough for him. Even when you were beginning to give up hope, he comes up with something so sweet, so thoughtful, that all you want to do is kiss him. 

Swallowing down the urge, you place your hand in his and let him lead you around the side of the school. “You know, we only used to do this to mess with the football players,” you tease. “Hard to do when you’re on the team, Clarkie.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Hey, we can still tear the seams on their jerseys- just not mine.” He throws you a grin, and it sends a rush of warmth through your chest.

The familiar path behind the school is darker now, but your steps fall in sync like muscle memory. The fence around the field looms ahead, a little more daunting than normal. It’s harder to climb in your dress, but Clark gives you a boost. One so strong you nearly fly over. 

Landing with a huff, you turn to glare at him as he pulls himself over with ease. “Too much torque in the thrust, Clark,” you grumble, brushing off your hands. 

He chuckles, throwing an arm over your shoulders as you both step onto the field. “Come on, we should get down there before the sun’s gone.”

Dew from the grass seeps its way into the thin fabric of your shoes as you walk toward the center of the field. The bleachers stand empty, the goalposts stretch high into the deepening sky, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can take a breath. 

Clark shrugs off his jacket, laying it out on the grass and motioning for you to sit. You hesitate for a moment, but then you look down at the white fabric of your dress and decide you’re okay with sacrificing Clark’s jacket.

Clark lowers himself beside you, leaning back on his palms as he gazes up at the sky. The last streaks of sunlight fade, and one by one, the stars blink to life above you. You’ve always thought the sky above Smallville was different than anywhere else. As if the stars were reaching out to you. Considering your track record with meteors, it doesn’t seem that far off. 

For a while, neither of you speak. The quiet is comfortable, not at all like the stilted silence you’d felt in the diner. You’re content just being here with him, under the vast, endless sky. 

Clark is the first to break the peace. He shifts beside you, drawing in a slow breath as he disrupts the silence. “I’ve,” he hesitates on the word, “cared about you for a long time,” he admits, voice low and steady. “Longer than I ever told you.”

You glance over at him and find his gaze fixed on the stars. His jaw is tense, like he’s bracing himself for you to tell him this was all one big mistake and you’re better off as friends. A smile pulls at your lips at the ridiculous thought and you reach toward the small space between you both. Placing your hand over his, he finally looks at you. 

“I know things are,” he pauses, “a little weird between us right now.” He looks at your hand and flips his palm so he can lace your fingers together. “But I don’t want to lose what we have. If you’re willing to make it work, I am too.”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment all you can do is stare at him. At the boy who’s always been there, the boy who, despite everything, still makes your heart race. Your smile spreads, “Of course I’m willing,” you whisper. 

His breath hitches, and then he grins, the same grin that will never fail to make you lightheaded with infatuation.

Clark was meant to be here an hour ago. You’d made plans to go to a screening of some old movies at the theater. Sitting on the steps of your front porch, head propped in your hand, you look out at the farmlands around you. He only lives a few minutes away from you, you can’t fathom why he would be so late. 

You’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, he’s not the type of guy to just leave you hanging. But there’s something humiliating about sitting out here all on your own. The wind has already fussed and ruined the hairstyle you’d so meticulously worked on. You’d already missed half of one of the movies. And the sun is beginning to set. 

Part of you is begging to just go inside and give up, but you're more stubborn half won't give in. Clark isn't like this, he wouldn't do something like this without good reason. 

A rumble sounds down the highway and your head perks up, crestfallen look replaced with something more hopeful. Getting to your feet, you grimace at the pins and needles tingling down your legs. Walking down the steps and getting a good look at the approaching motorcycle, your stomach plummets. 

Not Clark, then, though it’s odd to see someone beside you or the Kent’s driving on this stretch of road. Your hand tightens around the hem of your tank top as the motorcycle begins to slow as it approaches your house. Heart picking up, you take a step back toward the safety of the porch. 

Maybe they just need directions or maybe…

Your brain breaks for a moment as the rider pulls into your driveway. 

Maybe they’re Clark. 

Your jaw drops as he shoots you a smarmy grin, getting off his father’s bike and striding toward you with a swagger you’re unused to. “Hiya, sweetheart." You take a step back from him, brows furrowed. 

“Clark,” you spit his name out in shock, eyes darting between him and the bike. Knowing that he’s not dying somewhere in a ditch, your anger at being left waiting surges forth. “You’re an hour late because you were busy stealing your dad’s bike?” You demand, trying to ignore just how good he looks leaning against the post of your porch in that ridiculous leather jacket. 

“Sure,” he chuckles and rolls his eyes, brushing past you and heading back to the bike. “That’s why,” he snaps, like you’re slow. He straddles the bike and nods you forward. “You coming or not?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you glance between him and the front door of your house. Again, giving him the benefit of the doubt, you choose to get on the back of the bike. Maybe this is all just one big act that he’s putting on to surprise you with something at the theater. 

He turns the key and you frown, “Helmet?” You ask weakly. He doesn’t respond, just laughs and peels out of your driveway. You squeal, grabbing on tight to his waist and burying your face in his back. 

This isn’t an act, and this definitely isn’t Clark. But whoever he is, you just got on the back of his motorcycle like an idiot. 

With every turn and rev of the bike, you prepare to feel the pavement beneath your palms. Still, as reckless and nauseating as his driving is, he manages to get you here in one piece. Though, where here is, you’re not sure. 

Clark swings off the bike effortlessly, grinning over his shoulder at a group of girls walking into the building behind him. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, about the way your hands still tremble from the ride. You’d been too busy clutching onto him for dear life to pay any attention to where you were going and you’re starting to regret it. 

The building is nothing more than dirtied brick, the faded neon sign above the door advertising beer and live music. The bass thumps from inside, vibrating the gravel beneath your feet. From within, you hear jeering shouts, the telltale sounds of a crowd on the verge of chaos.

“Clark,” despite his odd behavior, you still find yourself stepping toward him and holding tight to his hand. The sheltered life of Smallville hasn’t exactly prepared you for backwoods, seedy bars. “Where are we?” You peer up at him and the glint in his eyes makes your stomach clench with trepidation. 

“Oh,” he laughs, tugging you toward the entrance, “you’re gonna like this,” he swears. Despite the way you dig your heels into the dirt, he keeps pulling, giving you no choice but to follow him into the bar. 

The air changes as you step inside, it’s worse than you thought it would be. Thick with heat and smoke, it pulses with the heavy bass of a song you don’t recognize. Multicolored lights flash across the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The scent of spilled beer, sweat, and something sticky clings to the air. 

Your fingers tighten around Clark’s arm as he moves forward, practically wrapping yourself around him. He weaves through the crowd like he belongs here. If you let go now, you know he wouldn’t stop, he’d just keep going, leaving you all alone in a place you want no part of.  

Clark drags you to the edge of the bar and slips a crumpled twenty across the counter. Wordlessly, and without checking for IDs, the bartender slides over two beers. Clark grabs one and to your utter shock, tilts it back, downing one long gulp. 

“You gonna stand there watching me,” he challenges, “or are you finally going to let loose and have some fun?”

“No, Clark, I’m not drinking. And neither should you! You’re driving us back,” you snap, eyes darting around the seedy crowd. 

Settling the half-empty bottle on the counter, he smirks, “Relax. We’re here to have a good time,” his tone almost sounds like a threat. Have a good time or else…

His gaze flickers toward the dance floor and your heart sinks at the mischief in his expression. “And I know exactly how to help you loosen up.”

Again, he gives you no time to protest or even form an opinion before he grabs you and pulls you toward the center of the dance floor. You feel like a leashed dog, no choice but to obey. 

The music shifts into something darker, slower, a sultry beat thrumming through the air. It charges the atmosphere of the dancers and the crowd sways, bodies pressed tightly together as they move with the rhythm. 

“Clark,” you glance around at the writhing bodies and swallow thickly. “I don’t-”

“Just one dance,” he cuts you off smoothly, voice low and coaxing. His lips curl up in a gentle smile as his hands find your waist. His grip is tight but not uncomfortable as he helps move your hips into the rhythm of the song. “Trust me.”

You hesitate, but it’s easier than you thought to simply fall into the slow, lazy grind of the dance. Your body moves in sync with his, despite the apprehension tightening through you. There’s something wrong with him, that’s clear enough. This isn’t the Clark you know, this is some bold, almost predatory version of him. 

One of his hands drifts up from your waist, dragging the hem of your thin tank top up slightly as his fingers brush against the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine as his grip tightens, tilting your head back. You press your hands against his chest, eyes rounding in confusion. 

“Clark,” you whisper his name, breathless from the proximity. “What are you-”

He cuts you off, voice rough and breath warm against your lips, “Finally taking what I want.” His head dips down, lips capturing your own. It’s not the soft, gentle first kiss you’d always imagine you would share with him. This is hard, demanding. 

He’s claiming you, marking his territory as he slips his hand lower on your waist. He pulls you flush against him, hips pressing against yours. A heat slowly spreads in you, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling that this isn’t Clark. 

You push against his chest and you know he lets you go, the situation still under his control. He backs off with an irritated look, eyes narrowed down at you. 

Your breath comes in quick, uneven gasps as you stare up at him. “What the hell, Clark?”

“What’s your problem?” He snaps, hand flexing around your neck before dropping to his side. 

“You,” you hiss, eyes narrowing. “You’re not yourself, Clark.”

His jaw tenses, fists clenching by his side as he takes a step back from you. “Why? Because I’m finally doing what I want?” His voice is sharp, it bites at the fraying edges of your patience. The music around you picks up pace and somebody slams into you from behind. 

With a pained gasp, you stumble forward, rubbing the sore spot where their elbow had slammed into your ribs. Clark watches it all with a bored look. Gone is the gentle, considerate boy you’ve known your whole life. This boy before you is reckless and selfish, you don’t want anything to do with him. 

His attention flickers past you and you turn to follow his gaze. A pretty blonde sways in the middle of the dance floor, hips moving gracefully as her laughter rings above the music. Without a word or a second glance, he steps around you, striding toward her with the same effortless confidence he just used on you. 

Frozen by disbelief and anger, you watch as he slides a hand around her waist, murmuring something in her ear that makes her giggle. The crowd shifts again, blocking your view of the two. It’s for the better as you suck in sharp breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay. 

A lump clogs your throat and you rush toward the back of the bar, hoping there might be a bathroom to hide in. You just need a second away from the sweat and noise of the dancers. You stumble through a stained door and slam it closed behind you, wiping desperately at the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

After splashing cold water over your face and simply standing in there for a few minutes, you finally feel stable enough to go back outside. You’re just going to ask Clark to take you home and then you hope you never have to see him again. 

But when you return to the dance floor, heart still pounding its way up your throat, you can’t find Clark. You can’t even find the blonde. He’s acting like a jackass, but there’s no way he would just leave you. 

Right?

You rush outside, your stomach dropping like a stone when you see the parking lot. The motorcycle is gone. 

He left you behind. 

“Thank you,” your gaze stays trained on your hands, not ready to look at Lex. You feel his stare boring into the side of your head before he turns back to the road. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad you called me instead of trying to get home on your own.” He pauses, hand tightening on the steering wheel as he takes in a deep breath. “But what were you doing in a place like that?”

You slump in the passenger seat, rubbing a tired hand over your face. All you want to do is go home and wash this night away. You’re hesitant to tell him the truth, knowing he might give Clark hell for leaving you there. A part of you is still primed to protect him, but the other part, the one that was just left behind, can’t care. 

“Clark,” you tell him and his head whips around so fast you’re surprised you don't hear it snap. “He was acting weird tonight. Took me there and then left with another girl.”

“Are you serious?” He demands, sounding angry on your behalf. Right now, though, you don’t have the energy for anger. “Clark wouldn’t do that.”

You suck in a deep breath and finally look at him, “The one I know wouldn’t,” you offer vaguely, ignoring his confused expression. “Honestly, I just want to get home and never talk to him again.”

Lex chuckles a little, “You don’t mean that.”

“Try me,” you snap, glaring out the window. You’re debating calling Clark’s dad and telling him that Clark took the bike. If not just for petty revenge. Just the thought of it makes you feel tired. 

“I’m sure,” Lex starts, already sounding like he doesn’t believe himself, “he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for what he did.” You roll your eyes, giving him a deadpan look. His hand lifts slightly off the wheel in surrender. “There’s no excuse,” he amends.

“No, there’s not.” The car rolls to a stop and you look out the window, surprised to already be at your house. The porch light is off, your parents must already be asleep. “I really can’t thank you enough,” you tell Lex, offering him a weak but grateful smile. 

He waves you off, “Forget it, I’m glad I could help. If you ever need anything else…” He trails off, leaving the offer open-ended. 

You nod, opening the passenger door and stepping out. You’re just about to close it when something occurs to you. Clark always gives you a ride to school, you’re not going to have a way to get there after tonight. 

“Oh,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation. 

“What’s wrong?” Lex looks concerned and you offer him an apologetic grimace. 

“I actually do need something,” you tell him, sheepish and pleading. 

Clark wakes up with a fog clouding his mind, a dull pounding behind his eyes. Vague flashes of memory flicker through the haze. The sound of your upset voice, the thrum of music, and the feeling of your body pressed against his. It makes his cheeks flush with warmth, but none of it connects for him. Everything’s one frustrating blur. 

But he can figure that out later, his gaze drifts toward the clock on his nightstand and his eyes widen. He leaps off the bed, nearly tripping as he gets wrapped up in his sheets. He was meant to pick you up ten minutes ago. 

Clark throws on the first clothes he finds, raking a hand through his messy hair as he bolts down the stairs. His backpack is nearly left by the door as he rushes out. If he could, he’d run you to school. It would be so much faster, so much easier. But that would require explaining why he could do that, and he doesn’t think you’d appreciate him springing the truth of his abilities on you this early in the morning. 

You’re not exactly a morning person. 

He speeds down the road, the truck’s tires kicking up dust as he pulls into your driveway. Throwing the truck in park he doesn’t even bother cutting the engine before leaping out. Two steps at a time, he bounds up your front porch and knocks firmly on the door. 

His foot taps against the wood of the porch as he checks the watch on his wrist. If you hurry, you might both be able to make it to first period on time. After a minute of silence he knocks again, but he’s greeted with the same silence. 

He steps back, brows knitted together, and his gaze flickers toward the front window. He ignores the feeling of being a complete creeper as he peers through the glass. The house looks unnaturally still, none of your usual morning mess as you rush to get ready on time. The lights are off and he can’t hear anything inside. 

Your parents are usually gone before you even wake up. He can’t think of anyone else who would give you a ride. Or why you would even have anyone else drive you. A strange unease coils in his stomach and another brief memory flashes through his mind. It’s not much, just a pretty blonde smiling up at him. 

Jaw tightening, Clark turns back to his truck, climbing inside and heading straight for school. He’s sure everything’s fine. You probably had Chloe or Lana pick you up. Still, even with him being ten minutes late, he’s not sure how they would have gotten to your house before him. 

Pulling into the parking lot he frowns, greeted first thing in the morning by Lex’s ridiculously overpriced sports car. It’s parked right in front of the entrance and he wonders what business Lex would have at the high school. 

The passenger door opens and you step out, your bag slung over one shoulder. You turn to Lex, smiling as you give him a sweet wave. Clark watches it all with his shoulders tensed as something sharp and hot twists in Clark’s chest. 

He watches as Lex pulls out of the parking lot, jaw clenched in irritation. He throws the truck into park and gets out, heading toward the front doors. Inside, the hallways seem more crowded than usual but he still manages to make you out almost instantly. 

You’re at your locker, pulling out books as if nothing’s wrong. As if you didn’t get a ride with Lex Luthor and ditch him for seemingly no reason at all. 

Clark makes a beeline for you, tightening his grip on his backpack as he stops beside your locker. “Hey,” he calls, forcing a smile. “Did I miss something? I thought I was picking you up this morning.”

You don’t even bother looking at him, eyes stubbornly pointed forward. “Guess I made other plans.”

The coldness in your voice stops him in his tracks. His stomach drops, smile faltering as you continue to pretend there’s anything more for you to grab from your locker. “Okay…” He exhales slowly. “Did something happen?”

You slam your locker shut and he jumps. Whipping around to face him, your eyes are dark with anger as you glare up at him. “Really?” You snap and his eyes widen in surprise. “This is what you’re doing, pretending you don’t remember?”

Clark blinks, thrown off by the heat in your voice. “I-”

“Forget it,” you cut him off. You shake your head, looking tired. “Just leave me alone, Clark. Seems to be something you’re good at, anyway.” You whip around, storming off down the hall and leaving him reeling. He wants to go after you but you’re already slipping into your English class and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to talk to you in there. 

He hovers in the hallway, stunned. What the hell happened last night?

His mind races, grasping at the fleeting memories. There was a bar, he’s not even sure how he found that place. He was dancing with you and then kissing you. His eyes widen at that, grimacing at the blurred memory of your rough first kiss. He’d been hoping for something a little sweeter than some backwoods bar. 

He remembers you being angry at him but that’s it. There are holes and gaps that he can’t remember no matter how hard he tries. There’s only one thing that could explain the reckless behavior, the memory gaps, and the way he felt like someone else.

Red kryptonite. 

His heart sinks and his head falls into his hands. He hurt you and probably scared you. You don’t even want to look at him now. Straightening up, he runs a hand through his hair and tries to think of a way to fix all of this. 

He’s not sure he can, not when he can’t even remember what he’s done to you. 

Admittedly, ambushing you outside of class probably wasn’t the best way to go about this. But he needed to make sure you couldn’t run from him. You walk out the door, books clutched to your chest, and head down. 

Clark falls into step beside you and you briefly glance up, rolling your eyes when you realize it’s him. You pick up your pace, clearly trying to put space between the both of you. “Wait,” he calls, stepping in front of you. “One chance to explain, please.”

You stop in the middle of the hall, uncaring to the students parting around you. “Clark-”

“I don’t remember everything,” he admits, voice low and desperate as he pushes through your objection. “But I know something happened. And I need to fix this.”

Exhaling sharply, you can’t seem to meet his eye. “There’s nothing to fix.”

That can’t be true. He won’t let that be true. “Please,” he presses. “Just… one chance.”

For a moment, you hesitate, teeth pressing into your lower lip as you take a step back from him. “Fine,” you relent, sounding wholly reluctant. “We’ll talk after school.”

Relief floods through him and he finally manages a real smile for the first time all morning. “Okay,” he utters, trying not to sound surprised. “Great, I’ll drive you home, and-”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Lex is giving me a ride,” he opens his mouth to protest and you shoot him a sharp look. His jaw snaps closed and he sighs. “I’ll meet you at your house later,” you tell him, leaving no room for argument. 

His stomach twists as you turn and walk away. Lex, he scoffs and shakes his head. When did the two of you get close? One bad night and you’re already done with him?

The thought should fill him with anger, but it only makes his worry grow. Whatever he had done last night must have been truly awful. He hates that there’s a chance he won’t be able to fix this. But what makes it worse is knowing that it’s all his fault.

Clark’s in his room when he hears you pull up to the house. He doesn’t waste any time as he heads down the stairs. “What happened to ‘I never want to see him again?’” Clark has no shame as he listens to your conversation. He doesn’t appreciate how comfortable Lex sounds teasing you. 

“Yeah, well,” your voice loses its muffled edge as you open the passenger door. “I deserve an explanation.”

“Call me if you need anything,” Lex tells you as Clark opens his front door. Rolling his eyes, Clark jogs down the steps of his porch, heading toward you both. You turn over your shoulder, smile falling as you nod your head in greeting. 

Clark’s waited forever to finally tell you how he really feels about you. Years of pining all led to that one moment where you told him that you feel the same way. He’d finally gotten a chance with you, to be with you like he always wanted. He’s not going to let last night ruin everything. 

“Thanks, Lex,” you mutter, closing the passenger door and marching toward Clark. Lex lingers for a moment and Clark sends him a stiff smile and wave. Lex returns it with a smirk before driving off. 

“So,” arms crossed across your chest, you glance up at him with barely veiled apprehension. “Are we going inside?”

Clark glances back at his house and shakes his head. He holds his hand out to you and you give him a wary glare. “Please,” he asks, and after a moment you place your hand in his. He smiles and leads you to the barn. 

Call it nostalgia, call it desperation but whatever compelled you to actually hear Clark out can go bite it. He abandoned you at a club in a town you hadn’t even heard of. To go be with another girl, no less. You shouldn’t have even stopped to listen to him in the hallway. It’s a lack of self-respect, really. 

But there was something in his eyes that compelled you to stay. Last night, he’d been a stranger wearing Clark’s face. This morning, you saw the earnest sincerity you always do when you look into those pretty blue eyes of his. Giving in was an inevitability. 

Walking the familiar path to the barn you’re struck with a feeling almost like grief. Whatever could have bloomed between you and Clark feels like sand falling through your fingers. Unless he’s about to open those doors and reveal an evil twin, you’re not sure you could ever forgive him. 

Clark glances over his shoulder at you, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He throws the doors of the barn open and you roll your eyes at the dramatics. You slip past him and head inside, stopping short once you see what he’s done. 

Fairy lights dangle above the loft, illuminating what looks like a poorly built blanket fort. Christmas lights he clearly stole from his mom are hung haphazardly from the rafters. You can see the effort he put into making the barn feel special, even if the execution is lacking.

It’s the nostalgia of it all that makes you smile. Summer’s spent camping out in the barn, hidden away under blanket forts, and trying to scare each other with your bad ghost stories. It’s a time capsule of your childhood. And you know what he’s trying to do, how he’s trying to soften the hard edges of your resentment. You hate that it’s beginning to work. 

Clark heads up to the loft first, glancing over his shoulder and motioning for you to follow. You sigh, face blank as you work to keep up the cool exterior you feel slowly melting away. He offers his hand as you reach the top, and after a beat of hesitation, you reluctantly take it. 

Clark pulls you forward and keeps your hand in his as he leads you to sit down across from him. Sinking back into the plush pillows and blankets you prop your head in your hand, watching him with a bored expression. Sucking in a deep breath, he rubs his hands along the surface of his jeans, avoiding your eyes for a moment. 

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be in some bar.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before finally meeting your eyes. “I didn’t want our first anything to be there. I wanted it to be somewhere like this, somewhere that actually meant something to us.” 

His throat bobs as he swallows. Then he leans closer, reaching across the space between you, his fingers curling around yours again. The warmth of his palm is comforting, even if you don’t let him see that. “I don’t want to lose my best friend. I don’t want to lose you, you have to believe me. What happened last night, it wasn’t me.”

Your expression hardens and you yank your hand from his, putting distance between you. Clark’s face flickers with hurt, but you ignore it. “Why should I believe anything you say, Clark? What happened last night was an eye-opener. Clearly, we’re better off just being friends.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, looking like you’ve just punched him in the gut. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs. 

“Don’t I?”

Clark drops his head into his hands, fingers threading through his hair. His shoulders curl inward, and for a long while, he doesn’t speak. The silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken words. 

Maybe it would be better for you to just leave. Some space might do both of you good, and help you come to terms with the truth of it all. 

This was never going to work. 

Clark exhales slowly, then straightens, blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that catches you off guard. “Alright,” he nods, some internal battle going on that you’re not privy to. “Stand by the window.”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What?”

“Do it,” he tells you, tone firm, and you find yourself struggling for a reason not to listen. Finally, with a reluctant huff, you get up and go stand by the window. 

The golden fields stretch before you bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The wheat sways gently in the evening breeze. Utterly boring and un-fascinating. 

You roll your eyes, “Clark, I swear-” 

A distant whistle cuts through the air. You whip around, expecting to see Clark behind you and instead find the loft empty. Your stomach tightens and you turn back to the window. A flicker of movement catches your attention, “What the…”

You press against the window, squinting at the field below. That’s when you see him. A very small Clark waves from the middle of the wheat, far too distant for how quickly he got there. Your breath catches and you find yourself waving back without thinking. 

There’s no possible way he crossed all that in under thirty seconds. 

But he’s not satisfied with just an impressive show of speed. Clark disappears and then reappears right below the barn window. Only, he’s not alone. 

Above his head, with terrifying ease, he’s holding a goddamn tractor. Your heart slams against your ribs. “Clark!” You shout, terrified this little stunt of his is going to end with him sandwiched into the dirt. He sets it down casually, as if it weighs nothing. 

A gust of wind pushes your hair forward and you turn sharply. Clark stands behind you now, cheeks flushed, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “What the hell was that?” You demand, eyes darting between him and the tractor outside.

“It’s what I wanted to tell you. What I’ve always wanted to tell you,” he concedes, his smile faltering slightly, his voice tinged with something vulnerable. 

Still stunned, you sink onto the couch as he begins to explain. About the crash landing. About his powers. How he’s different.  

Your best friend- your almost-boyfriend, is an alien. 

Of all the things racing through your mind, only one question comes to mind. “Why have you never told me?” You don’t ask him if he was from Jupiter or Mars, or if he’s got a secret eye hidden somewhere. You just want to know why he didn’t think he could trust you. 

Clark hesitates. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you’d see me as some freak.”

You snort, “You’re an idiot is what you are.”

 His head snaps up, blinking at you in surprise. “Clark, why would I ever care about what planet you’re from?” You shake your head, a smile creeping onto your lips as you shift forward, kneeling in front of him. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly. Then, hesitantly, you reach up, cupping his cheek. A smile spreads across your face as he leans into the touch. “I care about you, not about what rocket you crash-landed in.”

“More of a pod,” he corrects and you shoot him a sharp look that makes him laugh. He sobers quickly, smile fading, “I understand if you can’t forgive me for last night.”

“Well,” you muse, tilting your head. “It wasn’t really you, right? It was that krypto- karo-”

“Kryptonite,” he grins a little at the way you stumble over the word. “And, yes, it was. I would never purposefully hurt you, but it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s actually the only acceptable excuse,” you tell him, rolling your eyes playfully. “That or evil twin.” Clark’s eyes widen slightly and you narrow yours. “Do you actually have an evil twin?” You shake your head, “Never mind, we’ll talk about that later.”

You glance up at the twinkling lights strung above, the warm glow making the loft feel impossibly soft, impossibly safe. “Clark?” You ask and he hums, already looking at you when you glance back at him. “We can always try that first kiss again.”

His smile, soft and sweet, mirrors your own. As you lean in, his arms circle your waist, pulling you gently into him. Your fingers thread through the soft tresses of his hair as his lips brush against yours, soft, lingering, right. 

This. This is what you knew it would feel like. This is home and safety, everything good in your life. You smile against Clark’s lips knowing that no matter what evil twins or toxic rocks come at you, you’ll face it together.

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[gold-onthe-inside]

critical asset

n. def. a specific entity that is of such extraordinary importance that its incapacitation or destruction would have a very serious, debilitating effect on the ability of a nation to continue to function effectively.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you and spencer finally get closer, even if it's just because penelope's too busy. content warnings: pining spencer, r and penelope argue word count: 1.8k

It’s painful how much Spencer likes you, wishing he could just transfer to counter-intelligence and be around you all the time, especially these days. You don’t come downstairs as often anymore, not since they put away Doyle, and it makes him all the more restless. He pursed his lips, looking at the chess game he was playing out, his interest in it sapping the more aware he was of your absence.

A few weeks ago, you would have been sitting right across from him, contemplating your next move, toying with the bishop between your fingers, so focused on the game that he could stare at you as long as he liked. He liked watching your sharp eyes dart around the board, assessing threats to your victory, liked watching you chew your lip as you thought about what to do. He could notice the exact shift in your expression when you knew you were either going to win or lose.

“I see it in 4,” you said, running the tip of your tongue over your teeth, glancing up at him as his gaze shifted to the pieces, the litte furrow in his brow as he wet his lips, trying to see what you did.

“How?” he asked. He was so sure he hadn’t given you a way out… until he watched you arrange each move delicately and his lips pursed into a pout. “Rematch?” he would ask, noticing your smug smile.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you’d say, standing up and squeezing his shoulder before you’d walk away, and he’d sigh, like he’s doing right now, sweeping the pieces into the cloth drawstring bag and folding up the wooden board to put back in his desk.

He’d get one over you more often than not when playing chess at least. He couldn’t say the same for everything else. But if anyone would say yes to a meditation sci-fi film, he knows it’s you — you’re one of the rare few people in his life who has obscure interests like his.

“My Russian isn’t that good,” you said as he waited by your cubicle for an answer, watching you turn off your desktop, drumming his fingers on the top of your transparent divider.

“I can translate anything you don’t understand,” Spencer offered, able to sense that he was close to prying a ‘yes’ out of you.

“I’ve heard your Russian,” you replied, raising a brow at him as the two of you stroll to the elevatory. “Just cause you can memorise the language doesn’t make you fluent, Reid.”

“Well, how am I supposed to become fluent if I don’t immerse myself in the language?” he asked, knowing exactly how to modulate his voice to melt your resistance. He sees your nose twitch and he knows he’s got you.

“Fine, but you’re buying dinner,” you replied, pointing at him and he frowned at you.

“How’s that fair if I’ve bought your ticket too?” he asked, pressing the elevator button. “Plus paying for snacks, and you know those places charge extra than normal—”

“Ugh, fine, jeez,” you replied, leaning against the wall. “I’ll buy dinner.” He was content with that, waiting for you to get in the elevator before following you. A thought crosses his mind, unbidden, that he had never said anything about getting dinner together, and hope flares in his chest. Maybe you wanted this to be a date as much as he did.

It’s dashed when he overhears your argument with Penelope when he’s supposed to be asking her to track down gas stations close to their crime scene — “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling left out if you weren’t constantly shutting me out!” you cried. “God, I mean, you didn’t even let me know you were going to work this early, but you seemed fine calling up Kevin to carpool with.”

“It’s… That’s… It’s just complicated, okay?” Penelope cried, already on the edge since they’d lost Emily.

“Yeah, a lot of things seem complicated with you lately,” you said, scoffing. “It’s kinda hard to support you when I don’t know what’s going on with you, Pen. You’re either working or you’re with Derek or you’re with Kevin—”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same about you!” Penelope shot back. “Been on any dates with Reid lately?” she asked and his breath stuttered where he stood, out of sight, behind the slightly ajar door.

“What else am I supposed to do when you’re always bringing Kevin home?” you demanded. “Seriously, it’s starting to feel like he’s a third roommate lately. He certainly eats like one.” His heart sinks at your words — were you only hanging out with him because you had nowhere to go? Spencer pressed himself back against the wall. “You know what, if he’s gonna hang around that much, you could at least get him to split the groceries,” you snapped at her, heading for the door.

“Yeah, well…” Penelope struggled to come up with a retort as fast as you did — she didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. Or at least, she wasn’t as quick with using it. “Well, if you’re gonna spend that much time with Reid, the least you could do is throw that boy a bone,” she called after you as you stormed out, slamming the door behind you and letting out an enraged huff as you stalked down the corridor, oblivious to Spencer.

He swallowed, watching your retreating figure and letting a beat pass before contemplating whether he should go to Penelope. Maybe he should just have Morgan talk to her instead. He turned on his heel, making his way back to the briefing room instead.

Spencer stared at the clock, watching the hands tick round until you would finally leave. All this week he had been trying to convince himself that you were avoiding him, but that was just his paranoia talking. You’d been avoiding everyone, really — him, Garcia, Morgan… your behaviour towards other people was almost exactly the same. Almost, but not quite. You had been colder to him specifically.

He just couldn’t help thinking you were upset with him.

“You okay?” he asked, catching up to you outside the building, a slight pant to his voice due to the short sprint he had to do to catch up to you in time. Your pace had slowed, and with your gaze to the floor, you let him fall in step beside you. Spencer tried not to pay too much attention to the distance you kept between the two of you.

He noticed everything about you. He couldn’t help it. He had noticed the stiffness in your shoulders, the rigid way you carried yourself.

"Fine," you replied half-heartedly, turning your keys over in your pocket. "I just hate taking the train home."

“Why not get an apartment that’s closer to here?” he suggested, stuffing his hands in his own pockets, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he fell into step beside you. He’d noticed you had been taking the metro a lot more than usual. He wondered if everything was okay with your roommate.

"I like living in DC," you replied, walking with him to the station. He hated driving as much as you hated the train.

He nodded, walking alongside you. He wished you’d look at him, though. He could never guess what was going on in your head — was everything okay? Had he done something wrong? You seemed colder to him these days. “What’s been going on with you?” he asked, his voice soft. “You’ve been a bit down lately, are you sure you’re alright?” You finally looked up at Spencer and he had to catch his breath — he’d never get used to your eyes, the sharp intelligence in them, the focus.

You sighed, looking ahead again. "Penelope's been... I dunno, things aren't great between us."

“Why’s that?” he asked, reminded of your argument again. The two of you were always together, you were inseparable. “Is everything okay?” He was about to reach out, touch your arm, but he second-guessed himself, not wanting you to push him away. He couldn’t take it if you did.

"I don't know," you confessed, your nose tinged red with the cold, still turning over the key in your pocket to keep yourself grounded. "She's working overtime, if she's not on a case, she's working on something with Derek that she won't tell me about, which is fine, I get it. If anyone understands classified projects, I do. And then she's always with Kevin and I just..." You let out a breath, like you haven't let all of it out in a while, and it fogs up a little, your eyes glassy. "You know, you see yourself as this central person in someone's life and then suddenly... all these other figures come in and you just... don't know where you fit in anymore."

The look in your eyes made him ache to comfort you and he had to look away to stop himself from being overwhelmed by what he saw there. “People get busy,” he said, softly. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t value your friendship, or that she doesn’t want you around as much as you want to be.” His fingers twitched against his own palm as he spoke — he knew the feeling in your words all too well. He hated the idea that you were going through what he did on a daily basis.

You blinked the dampness in your eyes away, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. "It's whatever," you murmured, tucking hair behind your ear.

Spencer looked at your profile as you walked and he had to look away again. He was starting to lose count of how many times he’d stopped himself from reaching out to you. He wanted to, he wanted to so desperately… but he was also terrified of rejection from you. He didn’t have an endless well of confidence, and he couldn’t bear it if you pushed him away. So he settled with wishing he could help you more than he currently was.

"How are you doing?" you asked, glancing at him. "With Emily and everything."

Spencer cleared his throat as he walked beside you, staring at the ground in front of him. “I think I’m still in shock,” he said, softly. “I miss her a hell of a lot, I’ve never connected with someone so quickly.” He didn’t even hesitate before he added: “Except maybe with you.”

You huffed a little, smiling. "Nerds of a feather, right?"

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He glanced over and met your gaze, and he couldn’t help the way a grin bloomed on his face, your eyes meeting his.

You smiled at him, your eyes lighting up in that way he loves — not just with amusement, but with warmth, and his chest started to ache, just a little. He could do this forever.

His heart skipped, and for a moment he could forget everything. For a moment, everything was perfect, just you and him.

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Abstract Love~

NSFW

Pairing: Rafayel x fem! Reader

Warnings: Rafayel tops, smut, scissors used to cut clothing.

Summary: What had started out as a wholesome idea of becoming Rafayel’s human canvas quickly shifts into sexual tension and a passionate night.

AN: I haven’t written a fic in like over a year so bare with me if there’s any mistakes or it’s just bad lol 😭

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“Hold still, Cutie.” Rafayel gently commands as he grips your wrist.

His tongue just barely pokes past his normally pouting lips in concentration as he angles the paintbrush carefully over your skin.

You let out a small giggle as the brush fibers danced across your ticklish arm. “It tickles though.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh and grips your wrist a little tighter.

You see, the day just started with him painting a commission and you stopped by to spend time with him and wind down after a long week. But after many little snarky comments and teasing each other, he managed to splatter you with paint as a joke.

Unfortunately for you, the paint splatter (according to Rafayel) looked just like a specific species of coral that grew in Lemuria. To you, it looked just like what it was; a paint splatter. He's the artist, though.

So now, you’re being held hostage and yelled at to hold still by your dramatic boyfriend while he finishes your new armpiece on the round ottoman in his living room.

“Ya know, people would kill for me to paint on them.” He says and his gaze shifts from your arm to your eyes. “You could be just a little grateful.”

Blowing a stray piece of hair out your face, you roll your eyes at his comment but stay silent.

He continues working in silence after that. A bit of annoyance runs through you as he continues to trail the paintbrush higher up your arm until the strokes hit the edge of your t-shirt sleeve.

Rafayel grabs your sleeve and tugs at the material impatiently. “Off.”

“No, Raf, I just wanna relax and you still have to finish your piece-”

“Please, baby?”

Fuck, now Rafayel sits there with the saddest puppy dog eyes as his eyebrows curve up. He even adds a lip wobble in there to really get under your skin.

You let out a sigh, a lazy smile playing on your lips as you agree. “Okay, okay. Big baby.” Your fingers curl underneath your top to take it off.

Rafayel’s hand quickly grabs you before you can tug any further. “Wait, you’re gonna smudge the paint.”

And just like that, your blood pressure rises again. Your arms drop down to your sides and wait for more directions, cause apparently you aren’t doing it right.

“Please don’t hate me.” He stands up and walks over to a nearby cabinet with his back turned towards you. All you can hear is junk rattling around as he rummages in one of the drawers.

As he turns around, you don’t miss the shiny glint in the basking sunlight of what he is holding in his hands.

You quickly sit up straighter and your mouth drops open in shock. “You are not cutting off my shirt.”

Rafayel sits down beside you again, yet you back away as he moves closer.

“Please? I’ll buy you like ten more,” he begs as if he were asking you for a piece of candy. Rafayel stares at your glare in dismay, and then the begging continues.

“Raf, I like this shirt.”

“My love,” his arms wrap around your waist and he nestles his head into your lap. “I’ve been working on that commission for hours. I just need a little break.”

Rafayel’s warm breath fans over the exposed skin on your tummy and lets out a soft groan as his arms tighten around your body.

“My rock, my inspiration, my muse. I’ll never ask for anything again.”

You let out a laugh knowing damn well that wasn’t true in the slightest.

He pouts again at your reaction and lets out a huff. “What’s it gonna take?”

Your fingers thoughtfully stroke your chin as if you were a wise man with a beard. “I want you to take me to that nice restaurant with the fancy classical music.”

He goes to respond but you cut him off before he could even let out a sound.

“And a trip to the arcade. They have a new plushie collection.”

“Done.” Rafayel pushes your body against the ottoman as he moves to straddle you and makes sure to push all of your hair away from your shirt. “Hold still, baby.”

If circumstances were a bit different, this would be so sexy.

He grips the bottom of your top, the cool metal of the scissors gently grazing your skin sending shivers up your body. The thin fabric easily slices as he gets closer to your neck.

“Tilt your head back.” His free hand grips your chin and gently pushes back, exposing your neck. With a final snip, the fabric now hangs loosely off your body, leaving just your bra exposed. He helps you out of it and discards the ruined shirt and scissors to the side.

Rafayel continues to hover over you, his breath growing ragged at the sight of your breasts straining against your bra from the position. He leans down and places a lingering kiss on your lips. His tongue glides over your bottom lip before slowly dragging his lips down your jawline and neck.

“R-raf…” you breathe out. What the heck is he doing? Is he trying to make you horny or trying to make art? If he continues, you’d know you both would be too turned on and needy for each other to continue.

“I know, I know.” His head falls on your chest in defeat. “I won’t be able to stop if we keep going.”

There’s a silence for a few moments before he lets out a sigh, the air flowing between the valley of your breasts.

Letting out another groan, Rafayel focuses on finishing you- well, his art on you.

“Don’t get horny. Don’t get horny. Don’t get horny.” The muffled words ring from him like a prayer and it sends you into a laughing fit.

“C'mon finish up.” You tap at his arm and he reluctantly sits up and grabs the paintbrush again.

The next 20 minutes were spent in silence. Your eyes were closed as you didn’t think you'd find this activity as relaxing as you originally thought. The occasional hums and steady breathing fill the void in the meantime. Rafayel had managed to paint his way up your arm, across your clavicle, and back down to the other arm. The original coral piece he had started with had expanded into various designs of foliage, all oceanic of course. Vibrant colors littered your body as different designs of seaweed, shells, and even bubbles coated most of your top half.

You feel the tip of the brush swoop down between your cleavage before abruptly stopping. Blinking your eyes open at the pause, you look down and see Rafayel’s eyes sadly staring at the front band of your bra that connects the cups. His bottom lip was stuck between his teeth as he hesitantly met your eyes.

Sitting up carefully, your hands reach back to unclasp the garment and you don’t miss the way his eyes lit up at the sight of your now naked chest.

“Are you excited that my bra is off cause of my tits or so you can continue painting?” You tease and wave the dangling bra in front of his face.

He tosses the garment away and it lands helplessly on one of his easels across the room. The blue and pinky irises were now glazed over with something you couldn’t quite catch.

“Both.”

Rafayel moved his palette stand closer to his new position. The veins in his hands flexed as he twirled the brush between his fingers and dipped it back in his colors.

“Ooh,” you shiver slightly as the cold paint bleeds from the paintbrush down your breasts and your nipples start to grow perky. “Can I put on some pasties?”

Rafayel lets out a small snicker at your words. His eyes never leave your body as he continues to paint. His eyes flick to yours and he raises an eyebrow, “Did you really just ask me that?”

Your hands move your hair off your neck and you go to rub your shoulders for warmth but remember the wet paint coating your skin.“Yes, didn’t I buy some when I wore that dress with the open back for your last exhibition? I could’ve sworn I left them here.”

“I threw them out.” Rafayel’s words were quick. Too quick. Not to mention his focus had immediately shifted back to painting your chest. Your boyfriend is not smooth, he just wants to see your boobs.

“Rafayel.” Your tone is playful as you draw out your next words, “I’m cooold.”

Rafayel’s eyes lock onto your hard nipples. His lips parted slightly as a wicked idea filled his brain. Wordlessly, he lowers his head and quickly suctions his lips around the left bud. You moan out in surprise, your hands immediately coming up to entangle into his purple locks. His tongue swirls around the bud, lips squelching against your skin and his teeth lightly graze it.

Rafayel pulls off the swollen bud with a harsh pop and dips his head to latch onto your other nipple. Your body squirms in response with little breathy whimpers leaving your mouth.

After giving the same treatment, he pulls off the other nipple, and a smirk forms on his face. “Warm enough now?”

And just like that, he continues painting, while you try to ignore the wetness forming between your legs.

Oh, this son of a bitch is evil.

Rafayel stretches the artwork down to your naval and his left hand starts to grip your hip. You couldn’t help but continue to squirm and writhe a bit as the soft bristles kiss your skin. Not to mention the now heated sexual tension building up.

You squeeze your legs together in hopes of ignoring the growing heat.

“If you keep moving, I’ll tie you down.” He threatens.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Rafayel is not normally this… bold. The sex you two have- you wouldn’t call it vanilla at all, but usually you’re the one initiating anything freaky so to have him start to tease you like this so nonchalantly is turning you on badly.

“Is that a threat?” You ask.

“That’s a promise.”

Finally, the brush stops at your pants.

“You know the drill,” he says as he tugs at the belt loop of your jeans. His fingers quickly unbutton the front and he gradually pulls them off with your panties.

“Wait, Raf, everything?” A gasp escapes you as you’re now fully bare in front of him. Another shiver runs through your body as his eyes are fixated on your cunt. You’re just hoping he can’t tell how aroused you are. Silence is his only answer. Your jeans are tossed carelessly with the rest of your clothes, but he keeps a hold of the lacy panties in his hand.

“Someone’s a little hot and bothered, isn’t she?” He asks as his thumb brushes over the wet patch on the fabric. Rafayel gives a small chuckle before dropping the panties and kneeling in front of your body.

You go to sit up only for his hand to quickly stop you.

“Stay there, paint isn’t dry yet.”

His voice had gotten a bit raspier it seems, the tone dropping as his eyes started to cloud with desire. You’re able to catch sight of his half-hard cock behind his pants and you exhaled shakily, but obey nonetheless.

Once again, the cold bristles touch your skin, making it even harder to stay still as he trails them down to your hip bones. “R-Raf…”

“Hmm?” His eyes never meet yours, too invested in focusing on finishing his creation so he can ruin the fuck out of it.

And you.

After only hearing silence from you, he finally looks over to meet your needy expression. He knows that look, he practically invented it. Your eyes had shifted to match a puppy’s and your mouth formed a pout as small huffs of air left your parted lips. The same stupid look he gave you earlier when he wanted to start this project. Oh, how it came to bite him in his Lemurian ass.

“Lemme finish up and I’ll fuck you, cutie. I promise.” His now quivering hand goes to continue painting down your thighs and you jerk abruptly as the brush kisses your inner thigh.

When Rafayel looks over, he can see the wetness start to travel down the lips of your pussy, a small puddle staining the furniture underneath you. He feels his cock twitch in his pants and his breath hitches in his throat. His hands hook underneath your thighs and pulls you closer to him before diving in like a hungry shark.

You let out a surprised whine as you feel his tongue slide into your folds and start to lick. Instantly, your leg curls around his neck and he groans into you. His tongue circles around your clit and suctions to it, much like he did to your nipples. Dirty moans leave your lips as small beads of sweat start to accumulate on your forehead.

“Hu-agh!” Your fingers grasp the edges of the ottoman fiercely as you start to slowly grind your hips into his face.

Rafayel slurps at your cunt, the filthy noises filled the once-silent room and his groans send vibrations straight to your core. After one more long suck on your clit, he pulls away, much to your dismay.

Ignoring your whines of protest, he looks at the puffy bundle of nerves and he can feel his cock fully hardening. The golden rays of the setting sun through the windows glow onto Rafayel and you can see your juices coating the lower half of his face.

“Baby, let’s stop painting,” you reach for his hand that rested on your thigh. “Please, I need you.”

Rafayel would love nothing more than to take you right here and now. To smear every piece of furniture in this room with the paint from your body, but he has a better idea in mind. An idea that required him to finish painting you.

“Soon, my love.” He leans over once more to lift your chin and he brings his face closer to yours as he seals your mouths together. You could taste yourself on his lips and you moan into his mouth when he slips his tongue in briefly. He pulls away and ruffles a hand through his hair.

Rafayel tells you to stay sitting up as he works on finishing your thighs and legs.

Soon enough, your front half is covered in paint. His detailed masterpiece swirls down your body and he swears you look so ethereal. Rafayel holds out a hand to help you up and he guides you to one of the floor-length mirrors resting on the wall.

He stands behind you as you take in his work, hands settling on the outside of your hips as he presses your body against his. A soft kiss is placed on your shoulder blade.

You really did look beautiful.

“If you give me at least twenty minutes to do your back, I promise you, my queen, I will worship you.”

A frown appears on your lips in response to his words.

More waiting?

“How would you even paint my back?” You ask since you risk the possibility of smearing or cracking the creation down your front.

“Just stand, okay? I’ll be quick.” Rafayel promises.

Bracing your hands against one of the walls in his studio, your hair was now pulled up, as Rafayel continued to paint your body.

Within only a short time, your back and the rest of your arms were completely painted. Rafayel had already planned out the rest of the piece in his mind while he was eating you out. How to enhance your figure and beauty without taking up too much time. Because, let’s face it- he wanted you, needed you. So, he had decided to go with larger and simpler designs instead of going as small and intricate as he did with your front.

You weren’t squirming as much even though it tickled as he continued lower and he wasn’t stopping as often either, his strokes deliberate and quick. Both of you guys had one goal in mind and you were eager to achieve it.

Rafayel kneeled on the ground, just barely finishing your calves.

Almost there.

Finally.

The last brush stroke was done.

Rafayel slowly got up, placing the paintbrush on the easel where your bra hung from. His hand entertained with yours. Standing in front of the mirror again, he turns you to the side so you can see his creation.

"Wow, Raf, it's beautiful."

Underwater floral patterns flowed gracefully across your body, each vibrant hue—deep blues, soft pinks, and rich greens—complementing your skin tone beautifully. Intricate details danced in the designs, tracing from the curve of your neck down to your ankles, creating a stunning tapestry of the ocean's beauty enveloping you completely.

"I wanted you to take a good look at it before it's totally ruined."

Your eyes flit down to his pants and that's when you notice how hard he is.

With that, he practically drags you to his bedroom.

“Wait,” you stopped halfway through the doorway. “I’ll get paint all over you and the bed. Shouldn’t I go wash up really quick?”

Rafayel scoffs and a smirk crosses his features as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “Cutie, that’s the whole idea.”

He reaches underneath his bed and pulls out a large folded white tarp. Quickly throwing off the pillows and duvet, he placed the tarp on top of the sheets.

You stand there, slowly getting the idea. You watch as he takes off his shirt, slacks, and boxers, tossing them in the corner. His cock was still hard as it curved upwards and the tip grazed his stomach.

Rafayel walks over to you with a new look of determination in his eyes. His hand locks with yours as he leads you to the bed.

“Let’s make art.”

Without waiting for your reaction, he gently pushes you onto the bed and crawls over you. His lips fiercely locked onto yours in a sloppy kiss as you both let out needy whimpers and groans.

Rafayel attaches his lips to your neck and starts to nibble at the sensitive skin. You let out needy whimpers when he hits your sweet spot and you curl your leg around his waist, your deprived pussy needing friction- anything.

His hard cock hits your cunt and you both react with breathy whines. The tarp crinkles and the material squeaks a bit when Rafayel leans down and lowers his head by your throbbing clit once more, his tongue darting out and circling the bundle of nerves. Not holding back anymore, your back arches off the tarp as your moans fill the air.

“Fuck, you taste so good.”

Rafayel's bare arms lock against your legs, keeping them spread as he feasts on you. His tongue trails lower and swirls around the entrance of your eager hole, his whole face practically buried between your folds.

“Augh- right there…” you whisper breathlessly. “N-no, where are you going?”

Your fingers curl into his hair when you feel him start to pull away. He hovers over you again and places his hands beside your head. His lips find yours and he starts to rut himself against your cunt.

“F-fuck.” Rafayel whimpers against you and lets out a long hum. He becomes annoyed at the thought of ending so soon when you two just barely started. “I wanted to savor this moment, but baby, I can’t. I need you. Please.”

He pulls back slightly, the intensity of his dark, smoldering eyes locking onto yours with a passion that ignites a fire deep within. They seem to plead silently, urging you to utter the words that linger on the tip of your tongue, a promise of unspoken desires hanging in the air between you.

“Please, Raf, don’t make me wait.”

His hand trails down between your naked bodies and grasps his aching cock. He slides it up your folds, coating it in your wetness before slowly sliding in.

You both moan in unison as your gummy walls envelop his cock. Rafayel’s face is buried in your neck, as one hand holds up his weight and the other tangles in your hair.

He starts to thrust in and out, and your toes start to curl. The room becomes heated fast as the sinful sounds of skin slapping mix with filthy moans.

“Mm, fuck, you feel… so good.” He pants in your ear and his tongue darts out to lick the shell of your ear. “My beautiful muse.”

His words help tighten the knot in your lower tummy with your cries become louder with every thrust as you desperately try to chase your release.

Sloppy kisses are placed along your face and his moans become ragged groans as he too is close to cumming.

“I— augh!.”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too.”

Words are really hard right now. Your mind was too cock drunk to even think straight. Rafayel lets out a choked noise and his thrusts start to falter slightly.

Dazed, your hand brings his face in front of you so you can see his pretty eyes. “F-finish with me.” Though your words are slurred and lazy, he understands completely.

His hips thrust even deeper into your hole as his body starts to shake. Your orgasm washes over you and you cry out, muscles tensing.

Before you can even recover, Rafayel pulls out of you, emitting a small noise at your sensitive walls. He roughly grabs your hips and turns you over on your stomach. The sweat on your body smears the once beautiful artwork covering your skin. The tarp shifts at the movement.

“One more, cutie, please,” Rafayel bends over your form and places another tender kiss behind your ear. “Can you do one more for me?”

You nod tiredly and he picks up your legs and spreads them once more. His fingers are placed in front of your mouth and you close your lips around them. Your tongue swirls around his digits for a good few seconds before he pulls them out.

“Good girl.”

You let out another breathy moan when his hand reaches down to finger your already stretched-out hole, ensuring you’re wet enough for another round. His long fingers are buried deep within you and your sore hips push back to rut against them.

When Rafayel pulls his hand away, there’s a long strand of cum connected to his fingers. He takes them in his mouth, humming in satisfaction at the taste.

It’s slippery when his cock finds its way to your slit again. With a slow push, he enters you again and bottoms out.

His thrusts are sloppier this time as he lays on top of you in the prone bone position. Your mind is hazy and blurred from pleasure and borderline overstimulation. The way his vulgar words are quietly whispered in your ear as if he wants to ensure you those words are for you and only you.

“You like it when I top, huh?” His words are a bit broken as small gasps and grunts are caught in between. His hand brushes away the hair sticking to your forehead from sweat and he places a tender kiss to your temple, while his other reaches under your stomach, forcing you to arch your hips.

“Mhm!”

Rafayel’s fingers find your clit once again, a broken cry escaping you in the process. The familiar coil in your tummy appeared again as your second orgasm of the evening was quickly approaching.

Loud whimpers started to leave Rafayel as well and he whines at his own orgasm building up.

“T-together, my love?”

That’s all it took to send you over the finish line. Both of you cry out in ecstasy as you finish together.

You can feel his hips stutter from his release, but Rafayel quickly pulls out before he can cum inside you a second time. Rafayel watches in a euphoric bliss as his cum shoots out all over your back in spurts before lazily trailing down your ass. The colors he had painted on you earlier were heavily faded, smeared, and now mixed with his white seed.

A content sigh escapes him as he rolls off of you and gathers you into his arms. Rafayel places loving kisses over your sweaty forehead and hair. Your fatigue quickly caught up to you and you felt like a limp noodle in his arms.

“Do you want me to start cleaning you up or would you rather lay down for a while?” He asks as he grabs a small rag sitting on the nightstand and starts to wipe the cum and sweat off your body.

"Can we just stay for a moment?" Your hand finds his resting on top of your hip, and you lock your fingers together.

"Of course, I'll start the bath in a few minutes." Rafayel brings your locked hands to his lips and kisses the back of your hand. "I love you, my muse."

----------

Bonus:

"So like... now what?"

The next morning, after freshening up, Rafayel laid the fully dried tarp against the bed. His lips were pursed and his arms crossed as he studied the tarp covered in paint.

The once-pristine white tarp had transformed into a chaotic canvas, splattered with vibrant paint that danced across its surface. The delicate designs he had painstakingly created were completely obscured, lost beneath the bold colors. Only a few faint handprints and the rough outlines of your limbs remained, turning the simple canvas into a wild abstract masterpiece.

The glass of cold-brew coffee in your hands jingles and Rafayel turns to you.

"What do you mean 'now what'?"

"I mean do we throw it out now? Or fold it up maybe?"

"We can't throw it out! This is art, this is our love, this is-"

"Porn."

[biblical-chronicles]

Observe

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where you force Noel to carefully observe how beautiful he is [18+]

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It started with a magazine.

Noel hadn’t been looking for it but there it was, sitting on the studio table like it had been placed there just to fuck with him. He wasn’t even sure who it belonged to, but the second he saw your face staring back at him from the glossy cover, he reached for it without thinking.

You looked unreal. Dressed to the nines for some event, standing on a red carpet like you owned the whole fucking world. The headline was some over-the-top nonsense about your “jaw-dropping” look, but Noel barely registered it, too caught up in the image itself. The way the cameras caught the gleam in your eyes, the effortless way you carried yourself—it was enough to make something tighten in his chest.

Then, he turned the page.

And there it was.

Noel Gallagher punching above his weight?

The words hit like a slap. A passing remark buried in some fluff piece, probably not even meant to be taken seriously, but it didn’t matter. His grip on the magazine tightened as his eyes skimmed the rest.

An unlikely pairing, but somehow, it works. Noel Gallagher, the ever-broody Manc, managing to land one of the most effortlessly stylish women in the business? Fair play to him. She could have anyone, but for now, it’s the Oasis man at her side.

For now.

Noel shut the magazine with a sharp snap, jaw clenched, and tossed it back onto the table like it had burned him. Suddenly, he felt like a right idiot for even picking it up.

He’d always known it, hadn’t he? That you were too good for him. It wasn’t a new thought—not by a long shot. But reading it like that, spelled out so plainly for anyone to see… Christ.

It got in his head.

---

At first, you didn’t think much of it.

Noel had always been a bit fo a grumpy bastard, always carried himself with that sharp-edged indifference. But this was different.

He was quieter now. Less present. Kept a deliberate space between you, like an invisible line had been drawn that he refused to cross. At night, when you curled into him, instead of an arm pulling you closer, there was a mumbled excuse, a shift of weight, the warmth of his body leaving yours sooner than it should.

And worst of all?

He stopped observing you.

No more lingering glances from across the room, no more quick, shameless once-overs when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The gaze that once held amusement, desire, was now nowhere to be found.

It went on for a few days. Too many. And now, watching him nurse the same drink for the better part of an hour, avoiding your gaze like it might pin him to the spot, you decided you’d had enough.

You leaned forward on the sofa, elbows on your knees, watching him like you were trying to work him out. “Alright. Spill.”

His fingers tapped idly against the glass. He didn’t look up. “Spill what?”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t be a knobhead.”

Noel’s lips twitched—half a smirk, gone before it could settle.

“You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“I’ve not been acting weird.”

“Oh, right. So you always act like you can’t stand me touching you?”

That got him.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, his grip tightening around the glass before he slowly set it down. Still, he wouldn’t meet your eyes, staring at the table like the answer to whatever existential crisis he was having might be found in the wood grain.

You sighed, shifting forward, plucking the glass from his hand and setting it aside. Before he could protest, you reached out, fingers curling under his chin, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to look at you.

“Noel.” Your voice was softer now. Steady. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

His lips parted slightly, an answer hovering there, but then he shook his head, huffed out a laugh that held no real amusement.

“S’nothing, love. Just me bein’ daft.”

“Bullshit.”

This time, the smirk almost stuck.

But then it was gone again, lost to whatever was gnawing at him. His shoulders tensed beneath his shirt, his whole body locked up like he was bracing for something.

You exhaled slowly, thumb brushing along the stubble at his jaw. “Come on. Tell me.”

A beat of silence. Then, finally—

“Just… I dunno.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it any louder would make it worse. “You could have anyone, y’know? Proper anyone. And yet, you’re here. With me.”

Your brow furrowed. “And that’s a problem because…?”

He scoffed, barely shaking his head, like he knew how ridiculous it sounded but still couldn’t help feeling it. His hand lifted, raking through his hair in frustration. “Forget it. S’stupid.”

You reached for him again, fingertips just grazing his arm before he pulled away.

“No, it’s not stupid.” Your voice was firm, no room for argument. “You’ve been distant, pushing me away, all ‘cause of what? Some daft insecurity?”

His head snapped up at that, something flickering in his eyes. “Maybe.”

You sighed. Christ. You weren’t going to get through to him like this.

Then—an idea.

“Come with me.”

Noel frowned. “What?”

You didn’t answer. Just grabbed his hand, pulled him up from the sofa, and led him through the apartment, stopping in front of the full-length mirror by the wall, quickly grabbing a chair to sit him down.

Noel just followed you with his eyes as he sat, shoulders tense, jaw set like he was bracing for something. His reflection met his gaze for half a second before he dropped his eyes, exhaling sharply.

“Dunno what we’re doin’ here, love.” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You ignored him. Instead, you moved behind him, running your hands over his shoulders, feeling the knots of tension beneath your fingers. He was always like this—locked up tight, carrying more weight than he let on.

Your fingers traced along the collar of his shirt before slipping under the fabric, pressing into his skin. “Look,” you murmured.

He shook his head, resisting.

Your grip tightened in warning. “Noel.”

Reluctantly, his gaze lifted to the mirror again.

You took your time, undoing the first button of his shirt. Then the next. Slowly, deliberately, watching his reflection as his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the rise and fall of his chest growing unsteady.

“You never look at yourself, do you?” you murmured, pressing your lips to the side of his neck. “Not really.”

He gave a weak scoff, but it died in his throat the second you slid his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Your hands mapped over bare skin, tracing every dip and ridge, every scar, every inch of him that he refused to see as anything but ordinary.

To you, it was anything but.

Your fingers grazed over his ribs, his stomach, dragging slow, reverent touches across his skin. “This,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “is gorgeous, and it's mine.”

Noel’s breath stuttered.

You trailed your lips lower, along his bicep, over the veins lining his forearm. “Mine.”

His eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back, trying to escape the weight of it, but you caught his chin, forcing him forward.

“Don’t look away.”

His lashes flickered, mouth parting slightly as you guided his gaze back to the mirror. His face was flushed, lips red from biting back whatever wanted to slip out. You could see it, the fight in him—the part of him that wanted to shake this off, make a joke, deflect.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let you tip his head up, let you run your hands over his chest, his stomach, feeling him tremble under your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, lips grazing over his skin. A kiss to his collarbone. Another to the center of his chest. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

Noel’s breath was shallow, chest heaving as you kissed him again, this time with more urgency. His lips parted slightly, allowing your tongue to slide against his, tasting him, feeling the heat of his mouth. His hands clenched around you, as though he couldn’t hold onto you enough.

“Look at me, Noel,” you murmured between kisses, pulling back just enough to study his eyes. His gaze was wild, glassy with desire. His body trembled in your hands, but it was a different kind of tension now, a kind of need you’d only seen glimpses of before. He didn’t pull away. In fact, his chest pushed against you, desperate for more.

Slowly, you ran your hands over his skin, fingertips grazing his chest, tracing each muscle as if you were savoring every inch of him. You could feel his breath hitch when you lightly scraped your nails along his sides, and you smiled into his skin, kissing him softly again, this time at the corner of his mouth, lingering there.

His chest heaved with every breath, his hand twitching at his side, desperate for some kind of release. You could see the struggle, feel the shift as he began to let go of that ever-present wall he built around himself. Slowly, carefully, you reached for the button of his jeans, your fingers tracing the waistband before you slipped your hand inside, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric.

He stilled, a shudder running through him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice breathy, filled with adoration as you pressed your lips against his neck, slowly biting down gently, hearing him gasp in response. His hands were on your back now, his fingers digging into your skin as he instinctively pulled you closer.

You pulled away to look at him, gently brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, watching as he struggled to meet your gaze. But you wouldn’t let him look away—gripping his face gently, guiding him to meet your eyes again.

"Look at yourself," you whispered. “You’re perfect.”

His eyes flitted to the mirror, catching the sight of his flushed cheeks, the way his chest heaved with each breath. His expression wavered, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but then he softened, leaning into your touch.

As you kissed him again, you did so deeply, fully, showing him how much you craved him, how much you loved every part of him. The pace of your kiss grew more fervent as you worked your hands lower, skimming over his skin, watching his body arch into yours.

His head tipped back slightly, his eyes flickering between the mirror and you. You could tell he was struggling, trying not to let go. But there was no stopping the way his body responded to you.

“Watch,” you breathed against his lips, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, forcing his face gently so he couldn’t look away. His eyes were wide now, reflecting the intensity of the moment as he watched the way you touched him. Your hand steadily stroking him with the occasional press just below his head making him moan.

With every tender caress, you gave him nothing but praise. “So fucking beautiful. Everything about you is absolutely breathtaking.”

His breath hitched as the intensity of your touch and words drew him closer to the edge. He moaned softly, trying to hold back, but you weren’t letting him. You picked up your pace and pressed your lips back to his, barely able to kiss him through his string of moans.

As you pulled away a thin strain of spit connected you, both of you looking at it before it broke, soflty landing against his chin.

“Look at yourself, Noel,” you said softly, pulling his face toward yours with a steady hand, guiding his eyes back to the mirror as you continued stroking him, now picking up the pace. His chest heaved as you kissed him again, soft but insistent, whispering into the kiss.

“Can’t look away, can you?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear, the teasing note in your voice making him shiver.

He let out another low moan, the sound more strained now, a desperate acknowledgment of what was happening. His eyes stayed fixed on his reflection, unable to tear away from the sight of himself at this point.

Then you stopped for a moment, only to start again, faster now, his body bucking instinctively into your touch as he let out a breathless cry.

You knew it wouldn’t be long now, so you kissed his neck, your hands continuing their relentless movement, keeping him on the edge, making sure he stayed in the moment.

And then it happened.

A breathless gasp escaped his lips as he came undone, his body shuddering under your touch.

As he came down from the moment, you continued to kiss him, each press of your lips a promise. “I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, “You’re gorgeous… Every inch of you, never doubt that.”

_______________________________________-

hope you lot liked this, sorry for the later than usual upload, love ya !!

[dailyd0ses]

A Rose Without Thorns Pt. 2

Mama Rose from Gypsy on Broadway x Female Reader

The night stretched on, but for the first time in what felt like years, Rose slept.

It wasn’t a deep sleep—she tossed and turned, mumbling in her dreams, fingers twitching as if she were still conducting some unseen orchestra—but it was sleep nonetheless. And in the quiet hours before dawn, when the city outside your window softened into a gentle hum, you found yourself lying awake, thinking about the woman now resting under your roof.

Rose Hovick. The infamous stage mother, the woman who built stars and burned bridges, who had spent her life chasing dreams that never truly belonged to her. The same woman who, just hours ago, had been sitting on a cold bench with nowhere to go.

She was a force of nature. But even storms had to settle eventually.

By morning, the scent of fresh coffee filled the apartment. You were already up, seated at the small kitchen table, flipping idly through a newspaper when you heard the shuffle of footsteps.

"Smells good," Rose muttered, voice rough with sleep.

You glanced up to see her standing in the doorway, draped in her fur coat over the same dress from last night, though now slightly wrinkled. Her hair was tousled, but not in a careless way—it softened her somehow, made her look less like Madame Rose and more like just Rose.

"Hope you take it strong," you said, pushing a mug toward her.

She let out a tired chuckle as she sat across from you. "Darling, after the life I’ve had? The stronger, the better."

She took a sip and sighed, her whole body seeming to deflate just a little.

For a while, there was only the quiet sound of coffee cups clinking against saucers.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"So, what’s your story?"

You raised an eyebrow. "My story?"

"You took me in last night like it was nothing," she said, studying you over the rim of her mug. "Either you’re a saint, or you’ve got your own ghosts keeping you up at night."

You smirked. "Maybe both."

Rose hummed, as if she weren’t entirely convinced, but she let it go.

Instead, she leaned back, tapping her fingers against the side of her mug. "I don’t know what the hell I’m doing," she admitted.

"With what?"

She gestured vaguely. "With this."

You tilted your head. "With staying here?"

"With..." She hesitated, searching for the words. "With letting someone help me. With letting myself stop for once."

That caught your attention.

"You’ve never stopped before, have you?" you asked gently.

She gave a short, humorless laugh. "Not once."

You studied her for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. "Maybe it’s time you did."

She scoffed. "And do what, exactly?"

You shrugged. "Figure out what you want. Not for June. Not for Louise. Not for show business. Just you."

Rose fell silent at that, her fingers tightening slightly around her cup.

It was a terrifying thought, wasn’t it? She had spent her whole life chasing dreams on behalf of others. What was left when there was no one left to chase for?

Finally, she exhaled, shaking her head. "You really are something, you know that?"

You grinned. "So I’ve been told."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but there was something else in her eyes now. A quiet curiosity. A shift.

"You could stay," you offered before you could stop yourself. "At least for a little while. Until you figure things out."

Rose arched an eyebrow. "Are you always this generous with broken women?"

"Only the interesting ones."

She let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. "You’re dangerous, kid."

You smirked. "Not half as dangerous as you."

For a long moment, she just looked at you, something unreadable flickering across her expression. And then, ever so slightly, she nodded.

"Alright," she murmured. "I’ll stay."

Rose stayed.

At first, it was temporary. A few days, she told herself. Maybe a week, just until she figured out her next step. But days turned into weeks, and weeks stretched into something that neither of you bothered to name.

She made herself at home in small ways. Leaving her fur coat draped over the back of your couch. Setting her coffee cup in the sink but never actually washing it. Fixing the placement of your picture frames with an absentminded precision, as if she were arranging props for a show.

She still carried the weight of years spent fighting, pushing, demanding—but in your space, she started to ease, bit by bit.

One night, you found her in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a dish with the same intensity as if she were directing an orchestra.

"You don’t have to do that, you know," you said, leaning against the doorway.

She scoffed. "What, you think I don’t know how to do dishes?"

"I think you’ve spent too many years having other people do them for you."

She smirked. "Well, maybe I’m finally learning to fend for myself."

"That’s assuming I kick you out," you teased.

Rose turned her head slightly, giving you a long, unreadable look. Then, to your surprise, she sighed and muttered, "You’d be a fool to keep me around, you know."

"Why’s that?"

"I ruin everything I touch." She rinsed the dish a little too forcefully, the water splashing over the sink. "Everyone leaves. Even when I give ‘em the world, they still go."

"You didn’t give them the world, Rose," you said gently. "You gave them a dream. There’s a difference."

She stiffened.

For a moment, you thought you’d pushed too far. But then, she let out a breath and shut off the sink.

"You’re a smart one, aren’t you?" she muttered.

You smiled. "So I’ve been told."

She grabbed a towel, drying her hands with slow, thoughtful movements. Then, she turned to face you fully, leaning against the counter.

"You never told me why you took me in that night," she said.

You shrugged. "Because you looked like you needed it."

"That’s it?"

"That’s it."

She studied you, her sharp gaze searching, as if trying to decipher a script that hadn’t been written yet.

"You know, I’ve never—" She stopped herself, clicking her tongue. "Ah, never mind."

You tilted your head. "Never what?"

She hesitated.

Then, with an almost defiant lift of her chin, she said, "Never been looked at the way you look at me."

The words settled in the air between you, delicate and dangerous all at once.

You swallowed, holding her gaze. "And how do I look at you?"

Rose exhaled sharply, like she couldn’t believe she was even having this conversation. "Like I’m more than just the mess I’ve made."

You took a step closer. Not too close—just enough to let her know you were listening. That you saw her.

"You are more than that," you said softly.

She didn’t look away.

For once, Rose—who had spent her whole life running, chasing, fighting—didn’t retreat.

Instead, she nodded. Just slightly. Just enough.

And for the first time in a long, long time, she allowed herself to believe it.

[bitchinbarzal]

Shut Me Out | K Kaprizov

summary: kirill isn’t handling his injury well and he takes it out on his girl.

-

Kirill's days had blurred into one long cycle of frustration. His injury was still healing, but it felt like time itself was moving too slowly. Sitting in their apartment, he had spent hours watching the Wild play—just as they had done the day before and the day before that—but it wasn't the same. Not being on the ice, not feeling the rush of the game, the roar of the crowd—it was all a distant memory now. Instead, he was left here, on the couch, immobilized. And, if he were being honest, he was angry.

He was angry at the situation, at the injury, at himself.

Y/N had been trying her best to keep him company, bringing him his favorite snacks and sitting by his side. She’d even begun watching games with him, though her interest in hockey was more out of love than any genuine passion for the sport. She tried to engage him in other ways, suggesting they go for walks, or that he try watching a new show, anything to distract him. But it all felt like a blur of activity that didn’t change anything.

This morning, she had brought him coffee and sat down next to him on the couch, offering words of encouragement. But he had been distant, barely acknowledging her, his focus entirely on the TV.

"Hey," she said, sitting beside him and watching his eyes stay glued to the screen. "You’ve been watching the game for hours. Maybe we should do something else for a bit?"

He didn’t answer right away, just let out a deep sigh, and then muttered, “I'm fine.”

Y/N frowned. “You sure? I can tell you’re not feeling great.”

Kirill set the remote down and turned to her. “I’m fine, Y/N,” he repeated, his tone sharper now. “I just don’t want to talk right now.”

She recoiled, surprised at the bite in his voice. "I just want to help, Kirill. I’m worried about you. You’ve been stuck here doing nothing, and I feel like you’re pushing me away."

“I’m not pushing you away," he shot back, his voice rising. “I just don’t need you all over me. You’re treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can’t function without your help.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at his words. She had been nothing but caring, trying her hardest to support him through a tough time, and now, he was acting like it was too much.

“That’s not what I’m doing!" she snapped. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

"I want you to stop treating me like I’m broken!” Kirill’s voice cracked a little, the frustration of the last few weeks pouring out. "I’m not a kid. I don’t need you constantly asking how I feel or what I need. I just... I need space."

Y/N stood up, taking a step back from him, her eyes wide with shock. “Space?” Her voice trembled. “You’ve been on the couch for days. You haven’t left this apartment, Kirill. You don’t want space, you want to shut me out.”

His expression darkened, his jaw clenched. “Maybe I do want to shut you out. I just... I just want to feel like myself again, without everyone hovering over me.”

“Everyone?" Y/N blinked, almost laughing bitterly. "I’m the only one here. I’m the only one who cares about you like this, and you're acting like I’m a nuisance."

The words hit him harder than he anticipated, and for a moment, he faltered. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing away from her, trying to control the mess of emotions swirling inside him.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” she said, her voice softening as she watched him. “I just hate seeing you like this. You’re in pain, you’re frustrated, and I want to be here for you, Kirill.”

He turned to face her, his eyes tired, and there was something vulnerable in them that he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. “I don’t want to need anyone, Y/N. I’ve always been the guy who handles things on his own. I don’t know how to lean on someone, and it’s killing me.”

Her heart clenched at his confession, the sharp edge of his words now sounding hollow and raw. "You don't have to handle it all on your own," she whispered, taking a step toward him. "But I can't help you if you don't let me in."

He stared at her, his eyes shifting from frustration to something else—something softer, regretful. "I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice quiet now. "I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I just... I hate feeling useless. I hate that I can’t play, that I can’t do what I love."

“I get it,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But that doesn’t mean you have to push me away. You’re not useless, Kirill. You’re still you. And I’m here for you, no matter what."

He let out a shaky breath, rubbing his eyes, as if trying to erase the frustration that still lingered there. He looked at her, really looked at her, and the weight of his words sank in. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he whispered. "I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t helping. You’re the only person who gets it. I just... I didn’t want to seem weak."

Y/N walked over to him and gently cupped his face in her hands. “You’re not weak, Kirill. You’re human. And sometimes, even the strongest people need help.”

The apology was slow, but it was there, and she could see it in the way his shoulders sagged with relief, in the way his eyes softened.

"I don’t want to be this guy, the one who shuts you out," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I hate being like this. I hate feeling like I’m not good enough when I’m not playing."

She smiled softly, tracing her thumb along his cheek. "You’re more than good enough. You're more than hockey. You’re you. And I love you. And I’ll love you even when you’re sitting on this couch all day, feeling sorry for yourself."

He chuckled softly, his hands moving to her waist as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair. "I promise I’ll try harder to let you in. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re not important to me."

Y/N smiled into his chest, feeling the weight of the tension finally lift. "I know you’ll try," she said, breathing him in. "We’ll figure this out. Together."

And for the first time in a long while, Kirill allowed himself to believe it.

[whatdoidosatoru]

are you still watching?

sebastian/fem!reader | ao3 sebastian suggests a movie night to unwind after a long week... slutty froggy pjs shenanigans ensue wc: 2.5k cw: fluff and smut, blow job, face-fucking, riding, overstim, mating press, creampie, biting, pet names 18+ MDNI

fall never stops making sure i have the least amount of free time possible. it is ruthless, with storms and ruined crops, with all the days my poor animals cannot go outside.

it’s exhausting, fixing all of those messes, but i refuse to let sebastian throw himself into it with me. he’s got enough on his plate with the game he’s developing, still doing his freelance programming. he offers, of course, it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t itch to help me when he sees me all exhausted and muddy after a stressful day.

so when he suggests we have a movie night, just us two, one friday evening instead of going to the saloon–i jump on the opportunity. that morning as soon as those words left his mouth i was melting into his embrace. careful, froggy, you’ll spill coffee all over yourself , he chuckles as i quickly steady my hand, placing the mug carefully on the side and wrap my arms around his pale neck. the kiss is so warm, soft, full of understanding. i fix my beanie and finish the coffee before heading out to work, now with a bounce in my step.

i hurry into the bathroom, shouting i’ll only be a few minutes, i really need a hot shower. he responds with his signature chuckle, having already found a movie for us to ignore while we make out or fall asleep.

the fields are a mess. weeds have taken over some of my pumpkins, making me curse the shit out of them as i carefully remove them, spending hours on my knees in the mud. once it gets dark, i run back inside, barely escaping the rain that starts chasing me. i murmur a grumpy greeting to sebastian, who was already in his pyjamas and on the couch, setting up a movie for us to watch. the blankets are carefully arranged around him, uncovering the very spot on his body where i usually slide onto his lap to cuddle while we relax before sleep.

the shower relaxes my muscles, soothes my skin, washes out all the dirt from my hair and face. i walk out a new person, fresh and clean and ready to sink into our soft couch, wrapped into a cocoon of blankets. a new person – that forgot her clean underwear and pyjamas in the bedroom.

okay so maybe not completely new. still the same scatterbrained me that sebastian always promises he fell in love with so ridiculously hard and fast it’s a miracle his bones aren’t still broken.

so, with my fresh and clean body wrapped in a bath towel, i pad my way to the bedroom, passing between the tv and sebastian where he’s still sitting in the very same position on the couch, the blankets uncovering my seat. those silly frog pyjamas on, slightly pushed down as his hand is placed around his hard cock that he’s gently stroking. i walk into the bedroom and–

oh …

with a slightly embarrassed expression, i retrace my steps until i’m closer to him.

“baby…” i drawl, my eyes falling down to where his thumb slowly rubs over his cock head, so sweetly like he’s caressing a lover.

“yes, froggy?” oh there’s a layer of smugness in that voice. he knows what he’s doing to me, sees my throat bobbing while i swallow saliva gathering at an alarming rate.

“baby why… you’re not even waiting for me?” reluctantly, i lift my gaze to meet his pretty eyes, noticing the self-satisfied smirk as he watches me struggle.

my hand grips the edges of the towel tighter, holding on for dear life as i try not to immediately look down at his cock again, that pretty, girthy thing just begging to be kissed.

“i’ve been sitting like this since before you walked back in, pretty. you just didn’t notice me.” that thumb rubbing over his tip slides back down and he keeps stroking himself up and down. my heartbeat quickens, the air becomes thicker, my mouth is suddenly too empty. all i can think about right now is licking a long strip along his shaft and making him moan out loud. “c’mere,” he pats his lap, the pattern of cartoon frogs on the fabric covering his thighs almost making the situation comical, if it weren’t for his deliciously spread thighs and the outline of his balls under the bunched up material under his cock.

it takes me a couple of seconds to remember how to move my feet. walking is harder now than it was just a minute ago when i took quick, fleeting steps towards our bedroom.

i leave slightly damp footprints, my skin is still wet from the shower, but i drop the towel that was keeping me covered up as soon as i reach his legs. the fluffy blue fabric pools on the floor and i sink to my knees. his hand doesn’t slow down its movements on his pretty cock, but i boldly lean in and lick a slow stripe to his tip, feeling him twitch ever so slightly on my tongue.

the taste of his skin lingers on the tip of my tongue as he pulls his cock up a little, allowing me to grab the bunched up fabric and pull down those pyjama bottoms, freeing his balls that i quickly take into my warm mouth, one by one. his knee bounces then, at the same time as the back of his head meets the back of the couch.

sebastian lets out a pretty moan as i gently suck on one testicle while holding the other in my hand, tenderly caressing it while keeping my eyes on his bobbing throat. letting out a little hum i snap his attention back to me. back to how my tongue swirls over him. he releases his cock, letting me take over. carefully, lovingly, i hold it in the same way he did, leaning forward a little to press a gentle kiss to the head before sliding it between my lips, inside the warmth that is my mouth, a wet pretty hole for him to savor the feeling of.

“fuuuuck, you’re gonna be good for me, yeah?” i look up at him as he speaks, my eyes wide and doe-like, the way i know drives him insane.

i briefly nod, of course i’ll be good for him , and sink him deeper into my warm mouth, down to my limit. his hips buck upwards a little, having me nearly swallow him whole. obediently, i remove my hand from his shaft and place both my palms onto his thighs.

“ready?” his voice is ragged already, the need is practically dripping from his every word. i nod in reply, letting him take the lead.

i take one more breath before his hands caress my wet hair, holding onto it firmly with those long, slender fingers.

my throat relaxes just in time, for he starts moving me along his cock, using my sweet mouth as a toy while my lips close around his girth.

drool collects at the corners of my lips, and he keeps going, slipping curses and praises alike between his bitten lips, telling me just how beautiful he finds me as i’m swallowing his needy cock. sebastian looks as if he’s ascending, like he’s touching heaven through the pearly gates of my teeth.

“pretty… ah pretty girl… i’m– ohhh i’m gonna cum, okay?”

my eyes stay peeled, watching as his eyelids flutter shut, dragging out long curses while he picks up the pace, now lifting his hips in time with moving my head. the back of my throat is already sore, but i hang on, letting him use me to his full pleasure, giving him my face to fuck whenever he wants it.

a pathetic little whimper leaves my lips, pools around the base of his cock as he asks my permission, as always. it’s always a yes, or a little whining noise, always an imperative that i taste his sticky cum on my tongue and drink it like it’s the elixir of life. 

his grip tightens in my hair, the movements of his hips get more erratic as he reaches his peak, spilling his release into my mouth, making my throat constrict as i swallow around his thick cock head. sebastian’s voice is raspy, broken as he exhales, groaning lowly. he twitches while my mouth takes in everything he gives me.

“there we go,” his breathless voice comes out soft, loving, “so good for me, so good .”

sebastian gently caresses the top of my head, breathing heavily as he comes down from the intense high, lowering his eyes to meet mine as he grins.

slowly, i lift my head, letting his pink tip pop out from my pouty lips with a soft sound. it’s all slick with my saliva, shining under the lights of our living room. i press a gentle kiss to it, smirking as he twitches and gasps from such soft contact.

“fuuuck, pretty, that’s it,” he drawls, holding me by the waist as i settle, “that’s my good girl. can’t just give you one load, can it?” his head snaps back to look at me as i trail my hands up his torso and under the pyjama top.

my towel stays on the floor as sebastian pulls me up into his lap. my legs slot beside him, straddling his bare hips as i lean down to kiss him. it’s impossible to stifle the giggle that leaves me when he smacks my ass, jiggling the flesh with his strong palm. he helps me, lifting my hips to let me sit on his pretty cock, still hard as he enters me, making me throw my head back and groan.

he joins me, cursing under his breath as i sink down onto him again, the familiar stretch never getting old. 

“been feeling needy, hmm?” i tease, a smirk painted on my face as he beckons me with a quick motion of his chin.

“you’ve no idea, froggy… i nearly started without you.” with that confession he reaches my lips, capturing them in a hard kiss as his hips buck upwards into me. 

“ ah– fuck, i’m gonna–” i attempt, gasping as he bruises me, leaning lower to take my nipple into his mouth and hum around it. 

i whine, rolling my hips against sebastian’s as his hands grip me tighter, pulling me against him harder and rougher than before. needily, he wraps those arms around me, bringing me closer and fucking into me faster. he pulls moan after moan from my throat, letting me breathe only to bite delicious bruises into my collar bones.

my breasts bounce against him, grazing his skin with my nipples with each hard thrust of his sweet tip against my soft walls. it’s almost unfair how quickly he has me unraveling, shaking, and stuttering right here on his lap as he relentlessly moves.

“ mmm come on, pretty, i’ve got you.” he murmurs, vibrating my sensitive nub and sending me over the line. my warm walls contract, i shake and i whimper as he moans, switching to the other breast, biting the plump flesh and continuing his quick thrusts. “good girl, there we go,” he releases my breast from his mouth, kissing where he bit earlier, “you can give me another, yeah? one more… just one more.” sebastian doesn’t wait for me to come down from my high, he pulls me down against him more desperately, so wanting as my weeping cunt swallows him over and over as he grunts into my chest. 

relentlessly, he pulls me by the hips faster, overstimulating me to high heavens as his cock prods at my sweet spots with every move. yoba, i always forget how good it feels, no matter how many times we do this. especially when he gets like this, insanely horny like we haven't fucked in a month.

i don't know whether to curse or praise his high sex drive when he flips me over onto my back, immediately climbing over me to push my knees almost up to my chest. 

the cushion seams of the couch dig into my back, but i can't pay attention to them, to anything that isn't sebastian. like in a daze, he leans over me and kisses me tenderly while pushing his thick cock into me again. different angle, getting so much deeper as he kneels on the couch. i moan directly into his mouth and the sound almost invigorates him.

he thrusts into me with the energy of a hundred shots of espresso, desperate to feel my warm, soft walls close up around him, tightening like a vice to keep him inside and drain him of all his pent up energy. 

eyes rolling back, head dipping into the pillow, i shake. gripping his arms pressed into the cushions beside my head, i squirm, my whines get higher in pitch as he curses, leaning in to drag his sweet lips against mine.

the lewd sound gets louder with each passing second, skin against skin, his balls against the plump flesh of my ass. it’s so loud, so hypnotizing, rhythmic beat paired with heavy breaths from sebastian’s lips and whiny curses falling from my mouth.

already getting overstimulated, having been pushed into the next high from the first one, i’m whimpering under his touch. he presses his fingertips into my skin, leaving little indents as he holds on for dear life, anchoring himself in me as if he’s not actively punishing my sweet spot with his relentless cock head. 

our breaths soften, heartbeats slow down, our foreheads connect. his lips start looking for mine, desperate for tender kisses while i lower my shaking legs, feet finally finding purchase around his waist. i hold him close, gently, carefully. sebastian melts on top of me, finally spent as his energy fizzles out.

“fuck… fuck , pretty i’m gonna– you gonna cum with me?” his syrupy voice drips onto my tongue as i moan, grabbing at his back to pull him closer, pressing him against the backs of my thighs as his hips falter.

a few more rough thrusts against my soaked pussy and he’s done, groaning when my cunt pulls him in, keeps him inside where he’s warm and welcome. holding him tightly to ensure every drop of his release is contained inside me, where it should be. 

“longest… week… ever…” he mumbles, lazily kissing me as my legs keep him still, keep him inside me warm and snug.

“never going a week without sex again…” i agree, weakly returning kiss after kiss, gliding my foot over his hips, down to his mid-thighs where his sloppily pulled down froggy pyjama bottoms sit. 

the screen changes and i catch it from the corner of my eye. we’ve completely ignored the film sebastian put on earlier and now the screen is darkened with a passive aggressive message in the center, are you still watching?

sebastian snorts, turning his head away from the screen and resting against me.

“i ain’t watching shit unless it’s my wife’s tits bouncing, thanks, nutflix.” he murmurs, a smug half-smile stretching his lips as he checks for my reaction.

“you need sleep,” i giggle weakly, feeling his weight on my chest, “you’re talking nonsense again.”

“shhhh,” his finger finds its way to my lips, resting on them as his breathing slows, “love you too, froggy.”

i chuckle, resting my eyes as we settle down. “love you baby.”

[cinnamoncilla]

My s/o in my fame dr

Chris Evans- SIGH HES SO FINEEEE

status:future/endgame

Before:Chris will listen to my new album(emails i can’t send💌) and he was amazed by it and started stalking my instagram(all during july) liking a few ect. He likes my third post and decides that he wants to DM me and he does!!! i Obviously reply and we go from there texting online til meeting in September for the first time

Drama: Four months into talking (November), Chris knew I was the one from the beginning—ever since we met. One night, his anxiety kicks in, and he starts thinking, What if she hurts me? and What if it’s not meant to be? What if I never get over this? Overwhelmed by these thoughts, he decides to call an old hookup, leading to a one-night stand(he lost a baddie for an old hookup😞).Somehow, word gets around, and about a week later, I find out—Tana Mongeau(that’s so random LMAO) is the one who tells me. Furious, I immediately start texting Chris, going off on him. He’s extremely apologetic but doesn’t reveal the real reason behind what he did—he just keeps apologizing. I refuse to forgive him.During this time, we aren’t communicating. He feels as if he’s lost his other half, like there’s a hole inside him(😼-how feel writing that). Desperate for advice, he turns to his family—his mom, brother, sisters, etc. They give him a hard time but still support him, telling him to give it a little time, that I’ll cool down, and that when I do, he should go to me.Two weeks pass(that’s ALL i can do😖), and he finally reaches out. He sends me a long message, asking to see me so he can explain everything. I respond, agreeing to meet him at his house in LA.When I arrive, we sit on the couch, and he pours out all his emotions. He tells me how he felt during our time apart, why he did what he did, and how much he regrets it. He apologizes sincerely, with tears in his eyes, and asks me to give him another chance. I start crying too. He finally confesses that he loves me.I open up about how I’ve been feeling, and through my own tears, I tell him I love him too. At that moment, we decide to fully commit to each other—officially, officially together, devoted, and now truly dating.

i just needed a bit of drama there btw all this is happening in 2021 btw during this time we aren't like together together but we kinda are and kinda not so it wont be cheating what he does but it would still be hurtful due to the connection we have.

love trope : soulmates,twin-flame,fated love , and love at first sight

Controversy: his fans will suspect he’s dating me and will hate me cuz of it (stole they man 🤭) talking abt our age gap and me ect how crazed fans do ofc

Extra: - it will be like a supernova for us and everybody around can feel it too. The moment we lay eyes on each other, time stops for us. It literally feels like a slow motion supernova. our eyes glow up, our hearts skip a beat and then begin to beat faster with each second. our body’s will feel weightless and electrified at the same time. Electric and sizzling atmosphere between us, Chris will look at me like he just discovered a black hole in front of him. It’s that feeling we had as a little child in kindergarten, when we had our first 'crush', this feeling of pure excitement and joy. Pure and electric.our souls recognize each other, but we are not aware of it. Not in that very moment. We feel it, but we don’t know what it is. we will just stare into one another, until one of us says something. It’s just seconds, but for us it will feel like minutes. Time stood still as we saw each other. Chris is the first to say something.He will feel something he never felt before and he doesn’t know what it is, that’s why he is a little bit irritated. this feeling when we forget a word or name, we know that we know it, but in this very moment we just can’t remember. That’s how he feels, i seems familiar to him, but he never saw me before.He finds me very attractive and stunningly beautiful. It’s the energy/aura that i radiate that he’s drawn to. This feeling of familiarity haunts him. “How can she feel so familiar without knowing her?”The way i looks, my voice, everything is like a forgotten memory for him. It seems like he doesn’t really flirt at our first meeting, as he is irritated by me (in a positive way), i makes him nervous and he doesn’t want to screw it up. him giggling and blushing like a child when im is around. i will somehow remind him of his childhood or makes him feel like a child again? Either way, we both will feel very familiar with each other other.

long ass post for what?? But nothing less for my man

(who i dedicated my “love look so pretty on you” album to which you could find through my account with a playlist included 🤭)

[vampiricstoryteller]

Safety Net

Im back yall, here’s a new Richette smut I’ve been working on. It took me a little bit to find a groove with this but I do like how it’s turned out. This a modern AU one. I love modern Annette and Richter. I hope yall enjoy! Thank you for reading!

Summary: Annette takes care of Richter after a grueling month of working with Juste

Read on A03 here

All mistakes are my own

Warnings: Explicit smut, AU, Modern AU, cursing, Juste is super OC but it’s for the greater plot

If there was one thing Richter hated, more than anything, it was the month long business trip his grandfather, Juste Belmont, went on every other year. Nothing came remotely close to being as awful as the time he had to spend with his mothers father. Not that time he broke his leg when he was eight and had to stay in bed for weeks. Not when, at fifteen, he’d had that severe allergic reaction to kiwis and ended up in the ER. And not at twenty two when his father died and he’d been handed the keys to a multi-million dollar company. None of those even held a candle to the dread that locked into his chest when he would get the notification on his phone from the European side of the business.

Because it meant that Juste came to the states to check in on business “across the pond”, he came to stay with Richter’s mum; make snarky comments about the food she cooked and use up all the laundry detergent while never replacing it. He came to terrorized the employees that idolized him and unfairly challenge the ones that didn’t. He came to make Richter’s life hell, especially during the work week where he would follow Richter around and question every decision the youngest Belmont made.

Didn’t matter what it was, when Richter made a decision his grandfather had comments about it. If Richter picked sushi for lunch, Juste questioned why not something a little less raw. If Richter chose paint color number 4834, Juste needed to know why he hadn’t gone with 4835 instead. When they sat down to discuss models designs and reference points that should be paid attention to, his grandfather could and usually would rebuke them all.

Every. Single. One.

It was fucking infuriating.

Richter’s been in charge of the company for three years now. Their stock has risen, they’re on track to have the highest grossing year ever in their history and he’s already been honored by the national board. He’s the youngest CEO in the entire Belmont line, and his grandfather couldn’t give two shits about any of it.

He just wants to give Richter migraines for an entire month.

If he could get away with it, Richter would strangle him. But his mother would never forgive him and jail would completely ruin the fashion sense he’s been so meticulously building. Not to mention, if he ends up in jail his girlfriend will break up with him. And there’s nothing in the world Richter fears more than losing her.

He’d been dating Annette for just over a year. Fourteen months to be exact. And they’d been some of the happiest months of Richter’s life.

Annette meant everything to him.

She cared about Richter on a level so deep that he often felt like he was having the perfect fever dream. Annette believed in him, she encouraged him to be different than the men who came before him, she challenged his inner integrity and she kissed him like there had never been any other man on her mind ever. He’s certainly not thought about any other woman since the day they met, she clears them all by a mile at least.

Richter loved Annette, she was it for him. He already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Which is why two weeks before his grandfather is set to arrive, he sits Annette down and tries to explain that his grandfather is the destroyer of joy and if he sees that Richter is happy he will try to ruin it.

She’d laughed, hugging him comfortingly and said. “It’s only a month, Richter. We’ll make it through it.”

Then she crawled into his lap, kissing him as she promised even further, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Richter knows that.

And he knew she was right, they would make it through the month long visit from Juste; but would his sanity be the same when the old man finally boarded that 7pm flight six weeks from now?

He wasn’t so sure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once his grandfathers plane lands, the days immediately begin blending together. There is nothing that the old man won’t complain about. This time he even has one locked and loaded when he greets Richter at the car pick up line.

“You couldn’t have had one of those golf carts waiting to bring to you?” Juste grumbles, his long hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“The walk is good for you after sitting on a plane for so long.” Richter replies evenly, picking up the older man’s suitcases and loading them into the trunk.

“Suddenly care about my health do you?” Juste asks, looking him over a few times as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

“No but mum does and me picking you up was her idea so,” Richter shrugs, closing the trunk and walking around to the driver side. “Come on, I’m trying to beat traffic.”

His grandfather doesn’t reply but he does get into the car, even going as far as rolling down the window.

“There’s something different about you, this time Richter.” The older man comments as the car pulls away from the curb. “You’ve got a pep in your step.”

He grunts in reply, refusing to give his grandfather any kind of information to take and run with. As they merge into traffic, Richter sends up a slightly prayer to the spirit world for his ancestors to give him strength to deal with their own bloodline.

By the second week of his grandfather’s visit, their conversation that morning he arrived seems like it happened years ago. To think that it’s only been fourteen days since then makes Richter want to vomit. There’s been a never ending stream of steady stress since the old man lit that cigarette and told Richter that he seemed different.

Juste had been relentless in his pursuit of what exactly had changed Richter since last they saw each other. He keeps Richter at the office longer and longer every day, wanting to go over things six or seven times even though they come out perfect the first three. He demands Richter meet him earlier and earlier, calling him until he answers and drags himself out of bed; away from Annette. Which was crushing Richter’s soul little bit by little bit each time.

It eventually gets to the point where Richter isn’t even sure what day it is anymore. He remembers sometimes when people greet him in the mornings, but the more time he spends with Juste the more people around them avoid them. Even in the building cafeteria, if Richter and Juste enter it, by the time they’ve gotten their plates, everyone else is gone.

Isolation is one Juste’s favorite ways to pick people apart, Richter’s known this since he was a child but this time around; the loneliness eats away at his heart. Being away from Annette for days at a time and then only seeing her when she’s curled around his pillow asleep makes Richter feel invisible.

They text, which isnt the same but it’s something and Richter desperately clings to any kind of normalcy he can find. Annette constantly sends little “I love you, be strong” messages throughout the day and each one wraps around Richter’s heart in a short of protective shield. She sends lunch to his office almost daily, orders his favorite snacks and tucks them into his suit jacket pockets days in advance so they can be a tiny surprise to brighten his day; and often leaves dinner waiting for him in a microwaveable container for when he gets home at those god awful times past midnight. He would be lost without her and Richter has never been more aware of it than he is now. She is a saint, she is heaven sent and when Richter can have a thought that doesn’t trace back to his damn grandfather again, he is going to dedicate a lot of his time to giving her the world.

Annette’s genuine love and care for him is the only thing keeping Richter from jumping off the roof and flipping Juste the bird on the way down. He cares too much about her to leave her, especially not when she’s sticking by him through his.

Richter just has to grit his teeth and bare it, for two more weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the day finally— finally —comes, it starts raining in the morning and doesn’t stop. Effectively delaying Juste’s flight hours into the night. What originally was a 3pm flight shifts to a 6pm one, then 8pm, and finally 10pm. They’ve just finished eating a late dinner when Juste’s phone gets another notification and Richter fears he’s going rip his own hair out from frustration based insanity if his grandfather tells him the flights been canceled.

But thankfully Juste looks up and instead tells him his flight will be boarding soon so it’s time to leave. Richter throws away his half eaten burger that he hadn’t really wanted anyway and tries to stay level with the speed limit as he all but races towards the airport.

His chest is tight the entire way, the uncomfortable prickle of tears in the back of his throat makes Richter want to scream. Even as an adult, running a million dollar company, he still crumbled under the pressure of his family name. Logically, he knows the expectations are bullshit and that if he would ignore them the way his mother and Tera managed to so eloquently do he would be much happier. But his mother and Tera had to go all the way across the ocean to “ignore” the expectations that Juste and his father before him rained down on them. Richter would be damned to hell before he let an old man chase him away from the life he had here in the name of “tough love”. He wouldn’t allow it.

As he turns into the drop off land of the airport and shuffles into the long car line, Richter bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds to stop the tears. He won’t give Juste the satisfaction. He refuses.

“You do good work here, Richter.”

His grandfather’s words bring all ten thousand of his thoughts to a screeching halt and Richter nearly slams on the breaks.

“What?” He snaps his gaze over to the man in his passenger seat.

“Your building runs like a well oiled machine, much better than two years ago when I was here.” Juste says casually. “This girl you’re hiding from me—.”

“I’m protecting my—.”

“This girl you’re hiding from me is very good for you, I hope she’s here to stay.” Juste says firmly.

When the next spot opens, Richter pulls in and throws on the hazard lights, unbuckling his seat belt.

“You don’t need to meet her.” He states trying to keep the threat out of his tone.

Juste chuckles, taking his time to gather his carryon, phone and wrapped lunch Richter’s mother made him. “You’re right. I don’t. Keep up the good work Richter, see you in two years.”

His grandfather is out of his truck and around at the trunk to get his suitcases before Richter can think of anything to say. The migraine behind his eyes is almost unbearable now and he can’t even begin to try to have coherent thoughts beyond getting home. Once his grandfather disappears inside the busy airport, Richter pulls away from the curb and doesn’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He unlocks the apartment door with a shaky hand at 2:27am. He’d nearly fallen over in the elevator and he was pretty sure the next time he could think he would embarrassed by how badly he parked his truck down in the building garage. But that was a problem for later, Richter didn’t give one flying shit about anything other than taking off his clothes and crawling into bed with—

He pushes open the door expecting to be greeted by darkness. Instead, the soft hum of the tv and the gentle glow of the color background lights are waiting him. Annette is sitting on the couch, in a pair of blue panties and a black tank top with her legs crossed and her Switch in her lap. The soft hyper sounds of Mario Kart jingle in Richter’s inner ear but his brain can’t make heads or tails of the sight before him. Annette is awake, for the first time in a month Richter is finally able to bring himself back to her. He has made it out of the iron claw grip labeled family, he can breathe again and just be with her.

She looks up, her beautiful brown doe eyes lighting up the second she sees him.

“Richter!”

She unfolds her legs, placing her game on the couch and practically leaps towards him. He catches her, he always will no matter how tired or mentally exhausted he is; and the warmth of Annette’s body against him sends shocking waves of emotion through his entire being.

Richter folds around her, wrapping his arms tightly around her frame and holding her to him; his face seeking out her neck. She hugs him back, just as tightly and just as fiercely, her small finger tips gripping his shoulder blades. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath shuddering a bit when tears wet his eyelashes.

“Oh Richter.” Annette soothes softly. “It’s okay, it’s over.”

Richter nods, he kisses her neck before pulling back slightly. “I just didn’t expect you to be waiting up.” He says trying to smile. “I missed you.”

She smiles, reaching up and smoothing her thumbs over his eyebrows; pressing away the frown he didn’t know was there.

“I missed you too.”

They pull apart, only so she can close the door and Richter can shed his jacket and shoes.

“Are you hungry?” Annette asks.

“No, later. I just want out of these clothes, maybe a shower and sleep.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, pulling his eyebrows back down into the frown she just tried to rid him of.

“Come on then, plan A it is.” Annette says gently. She turns the tv off before taking his hand and leading towards the bathroom.

Upon entering, Richter blinks twice and looks around in surprise. Annette’s lit several candles, strategically placing them around the large bath tub he’d specifically had installed at her request five months ago. It was deep enough that they could comfortably sit and bathe together without feeling cramped. Richter had been skeptical at first but baths with Annette were soon high on his list of favorite things to do with her.

It was exactly what he needed right now and warmth spreads through his entire body when she turns on the hot water, plugs the tug and starts to add a combination of their favorite oils. She smiles prettily at him when he doesn’t immediately begin moving, his brain still sluggish despite the tiny flames of energy he felt finally being around her again.

“Take some ibuprofen. Brush your teeth. Take off the rest of your clothes. I’ll keep an eye on the water.” She says, already seated on the lip of tub.

Richter salutes her lazily, happy to hear her chuckle in amusement at him. It feels like it’s been years since he’s heard her laugh. He does as she requested of him, taking the pain pills, brushing his teeth, sneaking in a quick piss then taking off all of his clothes and stuffing them into the bathroom hamper.

When he returns to the side of the tub, Annette has turned off the water and slid down into the tub at the end where the curve of the bottom doubles as a seat.

“Come on.” She grins up at him.

Richter raises an eyebrow. Normally, he would be the one sitting there and Annette would sit either on his lap or between his legs if he was helping her wash her hair. He wasn’t sure they’d ever traded places in this way before.

“I might crush you.” He says rather lamely but Annette only rolls her eyes.

“I’m not a doll, Richter, you of all people should know that.” She smirks then splashes the water a bit. “Come on, don’t waste all this heat.”

Richter chuckles and climbs into the tub slowly, so not to slosh the water over the sides. He settles between her dark, pretty legs; leaning back against her chest her while her slim hand reaches around and presses on his sternum.

“Just relax Richter, it’s been a long month for you.” She says, kissing the shell of his ear and making him groan.

The water smells like honeysuckle, lavender and just the barest hints of cucumbers, the heat of it already turning his pale skin red as steam rises in slow waves all around them.

“Thank you,” Richter says, feeling his body sinking into the water. “For your patience and the lunches and the notes and the texts, all of it.”

Annette wraps her arms around his neck, her nose pressed into his hair behind his ear and she grins when he shivers.

“I love you Richter, I knew we’d make it through this. We just had to be patient, the time was going to pass no matter what. What would I have gained by making it difficult?”

He chuckles, gently grabbing her hands and bringing them to his lips so he can kiss the soft skin.

“I love you too Annette, I’m so glad that you let me.” He murmurs against her fingers.

They sit together for several long minutes, soaking in the heat and basking in each other’s presence. She washes his hair, fingers massaging his scalp and his temples. Her fingers are like magic, finding just the right pressure points to alleviate the throb in his head every so slightly. He’s pretty sure he lets out a pathetic moan or two that he’s grateful Annette’s nice enough to ignore.

Her fingers work their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, over his shoulders and biceps then back round to his chest. Richter watched her small hand, fingers spread wide across the broad plains of his pecs and he bites his bottom lip when she starts to slowly massage her way down.

“Annette.” He murmurs, eyes fluttering when her fingers dances along the lines of his stomach. She traces out his abs, teasing him as she playfully dips lower only to drag her fingers back up.

She giggles when his hips rock up a few times to try and bump her fingers against his half hard cock.

“Be patient Richter.” She whispers kissing his ear. “Relax and enjoy it.”

He closes his eyes, soft colors dancing behind the lids in the same patterns that Annette’s fingers are drawing on his skin. Breathing deep through his nose, Richter lets the last of his muscles relax completely. Annette seems ready for it, she never falters in her ministrations; instead she finally dips her right hand completely down and wraps her fingers around him.

The whimper that escapes Richter is pathetic. He knows it. But he doesn’t care. He’s had no time to himself for a month, he’s had this migraine for a month, his brain has been running twenty four hours a day for the last month. He’s allowed to be pathetic right now.

And it’s not like Annette would ever judge him for the sounds she’s able to pull out of him. She lives for them, and Richter lives for the things she’s willing to do to hear them. It’s a win win situation for both of them.

She licks the shell of his ear, twists her hand around his cock twice and Richter’s mind goes blissfully blank. His breath hitches, hands fisting and his teeth dig into his bottom lip.

“A-Annette…”

“Does that feel good, Richter?” She asks softly, her breath tickling his ear in a way that makes his spine tingle. She swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the precum around the plump head.

“Fucking yes —Annette.”

She digs the nails of her hand still on his chest into his skin, making him hiss through his clenched jaw. His hips start meeting her hand with every stroke, fucking up into her tiny fist with thinly veiled desperation.

“Richter.” Annette sighs softly,

His forces his eyes open, looking down at her pretty dark hand squeezing and jerking his weeping, hard cock. The contrast between them starts to curl Richter’s toes and his back arches when Annette opens her hand leaving just her thumb and index finger nestled under the pink engorged head, twists her hand again and Richter sees stars.

He shouts, he know he does and one of his hands grips her calf hard enough to leave deep bruises but Annette continues to stroke him as a thick stream of cum bursts from him. She kisses at his ear, biting at the shell and pinching the lobe between her teeth.

Richter thinks for a moment that he’s going to pass out and drag them both under the water.

The feeling passes, only because Annette is there to help him come down slowly. She massages his hips, gently pinches at his sides and whispers playfully in his ear until he’s able to open his eyes again.

“I…I love you—so much, Annette.” He mumbles.

“Good,” she says kissing his cheek. “Cause I feel the same way about you.”

He chuckles tiredly, a yawn sneaking out of his mouth. Annette pats his stomach,

“Come on; let’s get you into bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They end up cuddled together under the sheets. Richter tucking Annette close to him, his arms holding her tight like she’s his lifeline. And at this point he’s pretty sure she’s is.

“I want to go on vacation.” He mumbles, his face buried in neck. “Like, tomorrow.”

Annette laughs softly, her fingers intertwining with his that are spread across her stomach.

“Sleep first,” she all but demands. “Then we can talk, over breakfast.”

Richter smiles against her skin, she had know idea how excited he was to be back able to make promises of conversation and meals together.

He would never let himself be to too tied up to do so regularly again.

The End…

Thanks so much for reading y’all! I hope you liked it!

Evie 🤟🏾

[theheartcollecter]

GHOUL

Fem!Reader x Monster!141

Chapter 4: Dain

Warnings: none (lmk if I missed any)

A/n: I don’t have a scheduled posting time but expect a new chapter every week!

“Quite the show you put on ova’ there.” I turn my head to see Simon walking along side me in the halls. Black hoodie, worn jeans, a pair of sneakers, and, of course: his mask. Simon hasn’t talked to me much these past days so I try to cherish every moment with the hulking wraith.

I let a smile ghost over my lips, “Thanks. Hope I didn’t scare you away.” Simon’s eyes find mine. “Scare me away? You’d ‘ave t’ do much worse.” His words are so true it stuns me for a moment, i turn my gaze towards the floor as the two of us keep walking to the barracks. The emotions welling up inside me are banging at my heart to be let out, to express every thought that has ever crossed my mind about the men who saved my life. They weren’t perfect, sure, but they were enough. Enough for me. I had seen how they lingered close to one another, small touches here and there that give away their closeness. I would if I could squeeze in; if I too could receive small touches from them.

Simon is quiet the rest of the way, he opens the door for me when we get to the barracks. “Gaz made some biscuits earlier. Want some?” I shake my head. “Who’s Gaz?” I mutter as Simon opens a container filled with chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen. “Kyle,” Simon says between bites of the sugary dessert, “Gaz is his code name.” I hum, “Humans foods taste like ash to Ghouls. I guess you weren’t aware.” I explain as I sit down on a stool in front the kitchen island and lean my chin on my palm. Simon grunts in acknowledgment, finishing the rest of his cookie. “How long have you been working with the Task Force?” I question. Simon comes around the other side of the island, leaning his back onto it. He crosses his arms, with his sleeves no rolled up I can see his muscles bulging under his ombre arms. I must have been staring the way Simon looks at me, almost predatory. A lamb in a wolf’s den, although I am certainly not as helpless as a lamb, I proved that much this morning. “Almost ma whole life. How long you been a Ghoul?” I sigh, “Its all a bit blurry now, but two or three months.”

Ghouls lose almost all memory of their human lives after being turned. I remember my parents and some close friends but other than that I couldn’t tell anyone what my routine was or where I went to school. “I know what it’s like.” Simons says, his voice snaps me out of my sulking. “To feel different, like a monster.” I stare up at him with a deeper emotion: appreciation. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words come from someone. I’ve ate so many Ghouls sometimes I do wonder if I’m even a Ghoul anymore. Maybe I’ve turned into some mutation, an outcast who belongs to no group or family, with no friends or companions. Simons hand caresses my shoulder, “Don’t ‘ave to feel that way, me and the boys got you now.” I touch his hand to make sure it’s real. The feeling of belonging to something, someone. “Thank you.” I say it so quietly I’m not sure if he even heard me, but a nod from him reassures me. “Go get cleaned up, you stink from training.” I chuckle a little before rolling my eyes and getting up. With one last glance towards Simon, I head to my room.

I strip myself in the bathroom, there are no scars on my body, but the memories still remain. My milky hair, crimson eyes and unusually sharp canines. Stepping into the shower, the warm water runs over my body. I scrub floral scented shampoo in my hair, and then soap on my body.

When I get out I change into some sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. Opening my door and walking down the hall I’m greeted by the boys sitting at the dinning room table discussing something. “Ah, Bonnie. Come sit down.” Johnny pats a chair next to him. I sit, looking at the papers on the table. A couple unrecognizable faces, but one stands out. Red eyes and blue hair, unmistakably a Ghoul I knew. “Ya know ‘im?” Kyle asks. “Yes.” I respond, but my eyes are still trained on the Ghouls face. John grunts, “We’ve got a new mission, hoping you could help us. These men ‘ave been using this Ghoul, it’s gotten outta hand.” I meet his eyes, “Who is he, sweetheart?” “I used to be friends with him when I first turned…but something changed, and he led me to the Ghoul you saved me from.” I bite the inside of my lip. It feels vulnerable to admit this, almost embarrassing that I’d be so dumb to trust him. Him. Dain. He was kind at first, showed me how to use my Kagune and hunt properly. But then..he got involved with a bad bunch.

Johnny clasps my hand, his blue orbs staring into my vermillion ones. “Ya don’t have ‘t do it,” his voice is soft, like he’s speaking to a lover. “Ya can say no.” My lips part, then close again. I look at the others, none of them say anything in rebuttal to Johnny’s statement. “No, I can do it. What do I need to do?” I look at John, my hand still holding Johnny’s on the table. “Kill him?” John sighs, “If that’s what has t’ happen, then, yes. But if ya can get ‘im away from the others, then keep ‘im alive.”

The boys talk some more as afternoon turns into night, they finally get up to head to the mess for dinner. “Want anythin’ love?” Kyle asks, I shake my head. He smiles at me. God, it’s like the sun shining. “Did Cap’ tell you that’s my shirt?” My face contorts in confusion, “Oh, it is?” I look down at the shirt and now I realize it’s a couple sizes too big. Kyle laughs, “Ya look cute in it.” He winks and leaves out the barracks with the others. My face feels hot, I look down at my sock-clad feet and let a dumb smile cross my face.

Taglist: @sleepisfortheweakpooh @sugarrush-blush @caffieneaddictt18 (lmk if you want to be added or removed)

[cayliecoltrane]

i love when you talk weird inflections to me baby. here’s a teeny tiny redraw

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

not to sound like a broken record but i love my friends so fucking much

[floral-hex]

January 2024: well, I can’t get my antidepressants anymore and this withdrawal makes me want to kill myself. From now on I’ll just raw dog these feelings so I never have to deal with these side effects again.

June 2024: I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. The world is ending. We’re all walking through the end times and whether I die soon or the world collapses in on itself, I can feel the simultaneous emptiness and crushing weight of the end. There is nothing.

[unpopularly-opinionated]

Okay I’m feeling emotional af lately (gay, I know) so if this post offends, it’s not meant to but fuck does having a crush as a gay suck infinitely more than if I were straight. Like no hate to straight men, crushes suck in general, but when you throw in being gay into the mix it’s so much worse.

Because like look, if a dude likes a girl, the worst case scenario is she isn’t interested, right? Sucks, but whatever. Maybe there’s another man, maybe she’s happy being single, who knows and who cares. There’s plenty of other women out there for you to go for next. And if god forbid she’s not interested AND a lesbian, well like who cares, right? That’s almost actually a relief for you because it means you never stood a chance, no man does.

But when a gay likes a dude…well see now your odds of success are lower and not only that but your odds of not only being crushed but DESTROYED are higher too. Best case? Similar to a lesbian woman, he’s straight and therefor not into you. Sucks, but thus is life, and the majority of dudes are like that so we just have to learn to live with it unfortunately. But the absolutely worst possible scenario? I’m talking 9/11-levels of absolute emotional destruction? Is if the dude is GAY and still isn’t into you. That shit makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery before shortly being isekai’d to hell via Truck-kun. Because on the surface you’re like “Holy shit, I did it! I found another gay man! I actually had a crush on a gay man this time and didn’t waste my time on a straight man I could never have!” And then the truck hits you going 80mph when you find out that he’s still not into you because shit, that means it’s really you he’s not into.

Anyways, day #19,003,234,348 of wishing I was straight. Tired of having to run the emotional calculus day-by-day to determine if a man is gay and into me, and constantly second-guessing whether I even WANT to know the answers to either of those questions because knowing will sever the blissful thread of ignorance that I’ve been barely hanging on by.

[haileys-out2]

I’ve been told to make this caption from one of my photos (yes this is me in the photo). I have no control over any of this, I’ve been told what tags to use and how long the post is to be pinned to the top of my page. 😥

The post is up for three months (until June 8) and I am scared about how long I’ll get!!

P-p-please be nice. I d-d-don’t want my life ruined!! 😭😭😭

Update. If this post hits 100 REBLOGS I have to get a larger plug and dildo.

Update 2. You are all mean (specially @count-alta with your 20-odd reblogs)😤😭😭 I now have to get a larger plug and dildo. If it gets to 300 REBLOGS then I have to make a Discord server to show that I am in fact wearing the cage and plug 😭😭😭😭 this is getting both out of control and expensive

Update 3. It hasn’t even been a week. 😢😢 I’ve been instructed to add note milestones. I’ve only been given a couple for now but more will be added if any of you suggest something my dominant likes.

Update 4. I’m back from a brief hiatus from Tumblr while I settled into a new job, and I discovered that this post really took off. I now have to make discord (coming soon) and I’ve been given a new Reblog MILESTONE. If this post reaches 500 Reblogs I will have to start HRT. If it hits 1000 Reblogs then I have to find a man to fuck me on camera 😭😭😭😭. Please be nice.

Update 5: whelp it’s done. My Discord server is live

1500 notes: I have to keep myself hairless from the nose down.

1700 notes: Make an Amazon Wishlist and add 100 toys and clothes for anyone to buy. Anyone who buys them will get a free show with what they bought

1800 notes: my hair must be grown out

2000 notes: I have to resume my BambiSleeps regimen

2500 notes: Practice deepthroating the current sized dildo twice a week

2750 notes: I now have listen to Bambi sleeps every morning, afternoon and night on my days off

3000 notes: Sit on a 7-inch dildo 2 times a week for 30 min

3250 notes: I have to start using she/her pronouns

3500 notes: I have start wearing a bra everyday

3750 notes: Use a large plug now

4000 notes: I have to start an OF (ManyVids and webcamming as well once I find a better living arrangement)

4250: I have to film myself suck cock

4500 notes: i can only ever cum from anal

5000 notes: I can only wear androgynous clothing. Nothing overtly masculine

5100 notes: Sit on an 8-inch dildo 3 times a week for 30 min

5400 notes: Listen to Bambisleep hypno every time I do anal

6000 notes: edge with a Hitachi magic wand for 30 once a week

6500 notes: start using a ball gag whenever I do anal

7100 notes: Once a week I have to film myself anal training and share it to the discord channel

8000 notes: Sit on a 9-inch dildo 4 times a week for 30 min

8500 notes: I must listen to ALL hypno that is sent to me

9000 notes: The Hitachi edging session becomes twice a week

12300 notes: Clicker train myself to get horny to the thought of cock

13200 notes: Use an XL plug now

13500 notes: Only use 10-inch toys from now on sit on it 6 times a week for 30 min, once a week use a 12+ inch toy

15000 notes: I have to get either bottom surgery or an orchiectomy

20000 notes: I have to be spit roasted

25000 notes: I have to be the center of a Blow Bang

32500 notes: I have to be the center of a Gangbang 😳😳😳