#its so empty... goofy

[jils-things]

don't you just love a frugal partner 🥺

[corpsentry]

there’s something so epic about hetero chinese period dramas and i think one part of it is that there is absolutely nowhere in the narrative i could exist.

lately i’ve been on a western media detox— i’ve cleaned english language music out of my playlists and have never been able to stomach western dramas anyway, so that part is easy�� which might seem funny, because if i’m in singapore and i hate it and i won’t touch american music then what’s left? the answer is the false binarism of chinese period dramas, at least for me. the badly written ones are misogynistic and stupid and the better ones are less of those things, but regardless the world that emerges is clean-cut and easy to parse. there’s someone to root for and someone to hate. there’s a girl and a boy. there’s the comedy and the drama, the sheer thick drama, the music that signals to you precisely how to feel before the scene even starts going

try to jam a fifth culture transnational transgender they/them with 2 mental illness and 1 autoimmune disease into this world and it simply doesn’t work. and that’s kinda epic lolzers! it’s like watching high fantasy, or super hardcore sci-if. it both represents a simulacrum of the real world and is so far from the reality you know that you understand it as a hypothetical universe, one that disincludes you on principle. i exclude myself from the story and in doing so fangfei from moyuyunjian’s steely gaze becomes all the more important. i give so many shits and laugh and yell and spectate. but i am safe from the eyes of its inhabitants. if i entered the story it would break. so i sit outside of it, clapping by myself

in other news, we gave up on mysterious lotus casebook 16 episodes in. there are many character archetypes in these shows that i can no longer stand; the salacious sexy seductive supervillain lady is not necessarily one of them but the way they did miss ‘this man didn’t even Look at me when all men fall at my knees so i hated him’ ‘no one is allowed to steal buttchin from me’ jiao was way up there. surely a woman can have multiple personality traits and yet you would think from this drama that that is not at all true. and the strange harem that grew around li lianhua despite his absolute loser attitude— like i get it, he’s the gintoki of this show, that’s hot, but the way the women who were into him were written made me want to Eat Horse. it bothered me that di feisheng and lianhua’s homo as fuck dynamic was so intriguing and them + fang duobing was a winning trio but all the women in the show were written like complete fucking ass, and one of the big antagonists being a woman, the stakes throughout were not only lost to me but also Pissed Me Off. also, that case about the corpse flowers dragged on forever and all my pocky wilted

I Just Think, women deserve better in these damn stories. make them slutty as hell, sure, but make them other things too and i mean this in the most generous sense. slutty and proud. slutty and weird. slutty and oblivious. literally anything at all so they don’t come out cardboard flat from all angles. this is why i have a personal vendetta against the ditzy clueless female protagonist as well because if everything stems from the fact that she doesn’t know shit it’s like please someone Please tell her shit i’m on my hands and knees begging. give her more to chew on she’s dying of boredom over there

this is why i liked the so called antagonist of blossoms in adversity best (spoilers ahead). he was cruel as hell to huazhi and gu yanxi’s only parental figure. he was paranoid and selfish and lonely and craved a son’s love from the one person he couldn’t hold onto. in the end he is pushed further and further by huazhi, who won’t give in, to isolate yanxi from the people he loves and to lash out at those people as a way of punishing yanxi. and when he dies it’s because of his own distrust, his own negligent parenting, his absent cruelty from decades of insomnia and lack of faith in his people. but he cries for yanxi, and there’s something so human about that. to think of evil not as a first principle but rather an adjective for a verb that is set in motion by other events. to be honest, i haven’t seen such thoughtful writing in any chinese period drama before or after that and i strongly suspect i will never see such writing again in this genre but man, it was so fucking good (spoilers end).

in the meantime, i’ve dragged my mother to moyuyunjian/the double for the return casting of liu xiening and wang xingyue who are Eating so hard. they’ve got wang xingyue done up with the sluttiest makeup and liu xiening is breaking my heart with her pout and her Sassy Mean constitution and this is a revenge story, yes, but it’s a double revenge story. it’s a grief story. and fangfei is carrying more on her shoulders than lingbuyi imo, and doing so with much more grace too. her step mom’s a dick but she’s a smart, 5d chess playing dick who wears hot shades of green so i’m personally interested enough to keep watching (something lotus casebook DID NOT accomplish with their epic female antagonist…. mein gotte). and the princess too. unhinged as hell but god, so charismatic. and beautiful, with scary big eyes and the sweetest head tilt. fun fun fun! that’s fun character writing right there. the comedy might be too straightforward for my tastes but everything else is kind of hot and sexy And after the coming of age ceremony when jiangli appeared amidst the flowers i felt my throat close up even though we saw her for all of one (1) episode). i was like yes. they got me alright. i Care now

really that’s all that matters isn’t it. we want stories about people we care for. we want to give a shit. why else would we listen to the stories of other people. we are looking for us and the people we love in them

oh also moyuyunjian soundtrack goes hard as hell i love a little three step waltz. here’s a pic from the ‘gym’ for ur time. guten night

[crows-of-buckets]

You know, generally I'm kinda like. Eh on the writing of the Inquisitor because a lot of times it can come off as bland and naive but like. GOD I wish there were more scenes like this one specifically. It gives a sense of gloating, cunning, and just a general 'Ive outsmarted you and there's nothing you can do about it' vibe that I just. Wish carried on through the game. Because this is one of the few times where I was like 'yeah this person is leading an organization. I can see why they were chosen, outside the mark on their hand' don't get me wrong I do like inquisiton but man I would have loved for them to lean into why they were made Inquisitor in the first place

[pikkish]

i know next to nothing about wh40k lore but boltgun was great

[vacalimpia]

despite how mych i wished for the semester to end because of how work heavy it was now that it did I realize that the daily worry of "oh my god I have to get this done or ITS OVER better pack up for another 10 hour stay at college" became essential to my days, suddenly i feel aimless 😭

what do you mean that the things I did for procastination and to ignore my responsabilities are now just normal leisure. what do you mean i do not have work I have to do after this or i die how am i expected to just goof around without the dread of getting work done looming over me /lh

[kiddokori]

things i like about totk so far: the depths,

i am going to be so completely honest i thought id be able to think of more. um. this is awkward

[13eyond13]

.

[abimee]

i think my enjoyment is always adding a little seasoning to every fictional character to make them feel a bit mote human in a way that having some sort of somewhat loserish characeristic can bring. like when i talk about hades smoking indoors or althaea watching childrens movies as a menopausal person. like not even to say that what i describe about characters is to be a point of comedy or to laugh at them but i think when a character is too smoth they need something about them that just feels a bit goofy. do you know what im saying. this is why i talk about yshtola and urianger making gravity bongs in the storage room of the waking sands

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

I remember you said something about Kuron getting a tattoo once? How would he go about it? Something complicated and cool he put a lot of thought into OR did he just do it on a whim?

Like hes walking down a street or something, sees a tattoo studio and decides to wing it?(bc Shiro would NEVER)

Oh definately both, like the first tattoo he got was definately an impulse decision tramp stamp he lowkey regrets. However the other tattoos do have a lot more thought put into them, and have lot of motifs related to death, rebirth, freedom, individuality, anger and other such things. Like both Kuron's love for literature and symbolism and his tendency to mythologize himself really just bleed into him coming up with some really meaningful but also edgy tattoos

[ratatatastic]

and lets check back in on what our only goal scorer of the game is doin— oh

florida panthers @ boston bruins game 3 | 5.10.24

[starlightsearches]

All Yours

"I'm going to fucking ruin you." / "I won't apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken." / "I don't want anyone else. No one can make me feel like you do."

@somethingvicked tagging you because I accidentally deleted the original ask 😬 just wanted to say thanks for the request and a big, fat SORRY for taking so long. i was scrolling through my drafts the other day and saw this was like a year old and the shame managed to motivate me enough to finish this. Ooops again and I hope you enjoy!! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always cherished 💖

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

AN: 18+ only!!!!!!, car sex, partially-clothed sex, piv, semi-public, titty worship, humping, dacryphilia, unwarranted jealousy, porn with a little plot, eddie's self-depricating at the beginning but he fucks like a god, very possesive! eddie, multiple orgasms, one (1) mention of pregnancy but it's off-hand and mostly unrelated to the sex, unprotected sex, I took the spirit of the prompts more than the literal wording, this is very different for me and maybe rushed? idk you tell me 🙃

Eddie always jokes that you're his second love.

His van—with its stained upholstery, rattling frame and the battery on its last leg—was here first, he says. And despite everything previously mentioned, he treats that car like his baby.

So when he slams his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the window, it wouldn’t take a genius to know something is up.

Eddie sits silently in the half-light, gripping at the steering wheel with both hands and gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin turns white.

"Everything okay?"

He won't even look at you when he shoves the key in the ignition.

"Sure," Eddie says, but there's a bite to his voice, quiet over the roaring grind of the starter, "why wouldn't it be?"

The car does start—despite his abuse to the engine—and you prop your feet up on the dash, raising your brows as he tears out onto the empty street.

"Ohhh-kay. Is this about—"

You don't even get a chance to take a guess.

"It's not about Steve."

Eddie spits Steve's name at the window and the passing trees, their leaves blurring into inky smudges. You watch his jaw tick, eyes flashing from the road to the rear-view mirror, but never to you.

His resolve falters with the press of your hand against his on the gearshift.

"Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask if this was about Patrick Swayze?”

The speedometer ticks up for a quick beat, and then drops, and Eddie squirms in his seat.

He steers off to the right, and the van shakes as the tires bump off the smooth pavement to the gravel edge of the road, little twigs snapping off on the trees outside against the fading paint.

"Fuck," Eddie grumbles, quiet, like he's having a conversation with himself. His fingers catch in his curls when he takes the other hand from the steering wheel. It's dark out here, away from the street lights, but you still catch the shine glazing his lower lashes, the way he blinks to keep any tears from pooling there.

"I mean, it's no big deal," you tell him, petting over his knuckles with your thumb, "I just wish you would have said something."

You're not sure what lies were spread to make sure the goofy little pre-teens didn't show up for movie night and try to break down Steve's door. You just knew that—for once—everybody piled on the couch in the living room was of legal age.

It seemed like an exciting prospect when the night started, but everything was pretty much the same: just more beer, and fewer voices shouting about whatever movie you were gonna watch.

Nancy and Robin were a united front when they pulled out Dirty Dancing, and you joined them, mostly to annoy Steve when he pretended he wasn't interested.

Eddie grumbled about the choice, arm slung around your shoulder, but he came around, eventually. Nobody can resist the allure of Johnny Castle.

However many beers you had may have been one too many, though, because as soon as the credits started rolling, Steve had yanked you from Eddie's grasp and onto your feet as Nancy and Robin were cheering jump jump jump and you ran, stumbling into Steve's arms with a surprisingly powerful leap. Then you were floating, high above the living room with a bird's eye view of the crushed beer cans and Hostess wrappers littered over the carpet for one glorious second.

Until you landed in a giggling heap with Steve groaning beneath you, the room shaking with laughter to the point of tears, until Robin threatened to pee her pants.

Now that you've sobered up a little, you recognize that Eddie hadn't been laughing along.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest, eyes big as saucers, pathetic like a little dog who's about to get yelled at for pissing on the couch, and he twists the hand that's resting beneath yours until your fingers intertwine, gives you a squeeze—a move you recognize as an apology before he's got the words for what he's feeling.

"You know I'm not interested in Steve, right?" you ask, squeezing back.

Eddie nods, but his eyes tell a different story. He carries this thing with him—a kind of self-conscious bewilderment each time you reach for him in a crowd, press your lips to his, call him your boyfriend when there are people around to hear it.

It's kind of funny how much it doesn't make sense to you, how you assumed that, deep down, Eddie knew that you loved him, but also how badly you wanted him. That it wasn't some kind of fluke or coincidence or apathy that kept you here.

Eddie's breath catches in his chest, like he's trying not to cry, and you know you were wrong. You're not doing nearly good enough a job at making Eddie feel half as loved as he is.

You slip your hand from his, resting it just above his knee—an innocent start for your more illicit plans—scooting in your chair until you're almost nose to nose, lower your voice into a whisper.

"I'm serious, honey. You've got nothing to worry about."

Your plan is working already. Eddie swallows hard enough you can see his adam's apple jump in his throat, and his gaze keeps flickering from your eyes to the hand you've got on his thigh, climbing higher with each soothing stroke.

"Yeah, I-I know, baby, it's just—" his breath hitches, but he's fighting to get the words out, wet lips parting with a heavy breath as your fingers travel higher, thumb in the crease between his thigh and his crotch, "it's Steve Harrington."

His voice jumps an octave on Steve’s name, and your quiet laughter comes out in little breaths.

“I don't want to talk about Steve Harrington."

Your words hit his mouth in a puff of hot air, and Eddie gasps into the kiss that follows, moaning a little when your palm meets the zipper of his jeans and his swelling cock beneath. The tip of his nose digs into your cheek, one of his big hands finding your waist, trying to pull you closer, or as close as he can with the center console in the way.

"God, baby. Need you- need you so bad," he huffs, but you’re already breaking from the kiss, lifting your hips from the seat as you crawl into the space between Eddie’s warm chest and the steering wheel.

“Then you can have me,” you tell him, settling your weight in his lap, grasping around for the lever that’ll give you a little extra space. The seat rattles back until it stops with a heavy clunk, and Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep quiet when your body lurches into his.

He won’t meet your eyes, looking out the blackened windows, checking the car like somebody’s gonna pop out from the back seat.

“What? Uh, I mean—like, here?”

You take Eddie’s face in both your hands, relishing the scratch of the sparse stubble peppering his jaw. Out of habit, his hands come to rest on your thighs, and you hum in approval.

“Whenever–“ you whisper, shifting your hips back just to bring them forward again, the crotch of your jeans meeting the bulge in his, rattling the chains hooked to his belt loops. Eddie’s neck goes taut, head pressed back against the seat.

“Wherever– “ you place your lips at the delicate skin he’s revealed, just brushing along the column of his throat. When you meet his eyes again, Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.

“And however you want me, Eddie. I’m all yours.”

“You’re all mine,” he repeats back to you, and his hands echo the sentiment, his confidence growing as he moves around to grip at your ass cheeks, pulling you more fully against him until he can grind up on you, his lips at your neck now, planting messy kisses at the edge of your throat that have you digging your fingers into his hair just to keep him there.

Your boyfriend's got a big dick—fucking hung like a horse, although he doesn't seem to know it, and he's already throbbing and heavy in his jeans, bucking his hips into you like he's trying to get you pregnant before he’s even inside you.

"Eddie," you sigh his name, just to admire the feeling of it, and he lets out a groan that has you dripping, the damp fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt and dragging over your clit with each shift of his hips.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, and you hardly notice his hands at the zipper on your jacket, trailing it down, down, down until he can slip it from your shoulders, gripping at your tits through your tank top.

"You feel so—fuck," he's cut you off mid-sentence, pulling the neckline of your top down until your breasts are free, nipples already pebbling in the cool air. Eddie pinches one of them in between two fingers, the metal of his rings biting at the other until you gasp.

"Yeah?" he repeats, harder this time, the word mumbled into your tits. Eddie's smothering himself, licking and kissing and teething his way as he moves to replace one of his hands with his mouth over the dark, stiff peak.

He sucks the bud between his lips, glides his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sound of your moans fills the car, and suddenly the pressure of his cock isn't enough when there's so much fabric between you. You can't pull away, though, not with how his free arm has circled your waist, forcing the sway of your hips.

"Eddie," you call out again, but he just grunts, onto the other breast now, fucking devouring you in a way only he can.

He's not stopping, teeth scraping at your skin and his lips pursed, sucking the life out of you while his other hand pinches and flicks the other stiff bud, still damp with his spit.

It's almost frightening how close he's gotten you, and just from this—the movement of his hips and his worshiping mouth.

"Eddie."

There must be something different in the way you say it this time, because he listens, finally, snaking his hand down between your bodies, slipping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside until they reach the apex of your aching cunt. Your vision goes foggy, on the verge of tears from the relief of something solid pressed right up against your clit.

And his mouth doesn't stray from your tits, single-minded in a way only somebody like Eddie could be, sucking at your nipples until they both shine.

His fingers curl, perfect, sitting right where you need them as you grind and grind and grind your hips, brain turning to jelly with the way he's making you feel.

You feel Eddie's teeth bite a perfect circle on the inside of your breast, and that's what pulls you under.

You're practically screaming, and Eddie still won't stop, letting you ride out the perfect feeling of him, maybe hoping you'll remember this moment the next time Steve sees you. Just the idea of meeting up with your friends again after this has you flushing so deep you think you might combust right here.

The sparks fade slowly, your pussy still shaking and empty, wet enough you're sure you've soaked Eddie's fingers and he finally relents, his plump, pink lips tracing your collar bones, stopping at the edge of your jaw. He takes the delicate skin their between his teeth and sucks, hard.

That jolts you from your stupor. You press his head back, one hand on his forehead so you can make him look you in the eyes.

"Hey—that's gonna bruise."

You're scolding has no effect; Eddie's on a different plane now, cocky from making you cum so easily and still a little peeved from earlier, pressing past your hold on him until he can reattach himself to your neck.

"Not sorry," he tells you, marking you up between staccato shifts of his hips, "wanna make sure everybody knows you're mine."

It's impenetrable logic—you couldn't argue with him if you wanted to, and you really, really don't want to when he makes his way to your mouth, kissing you, his tongue against yours and his hot, heavy breaths, one hand balled in the fabric of your tank top at the middle of your back.

"Turn around," he tells you, guiding you into compliance with his hands at your waist, and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you'd end up on the ceiling if Eddie didn't keep his grip on you, pulling you tight against him until your back meets his chest.

It’s like he's touching you everywhere, hands on your hips and your tits and pushing your hair up off your neck—looking for more skin that he hasn't painted yet—so you're not prepared when the chair falls back, left breathless and unmoored, staring at the stained upholstery on the roof of Eddie's van.

"You good?" Eddie asks in response to the gasp you let out, urging your hips into the air as he tugs your jeans and your underwear down around your thighs.

You just nod, too desperate for any explanation, to say anything at all. Eddie's turned you stupid, has you whining into his neck when you lean your head back on his shoulder, looking up at his jaw with wild, tear-filled eyes.

"Gonna ruin you for anybody else, sweetheart," he tells you over the sound of his jangling belt, his hot cock pressed against your back. "Gonna make sure you never leave me."

You nod, fucking rabid when he shifts and you can finally feel the fat tip of his dick at your entrance, smearing the first taste of his cum over your lips.

"Nobody else, Eddie," you promise him, "just you."

Eddie takes his cock in his hand, teasing it over your pussy, nudging it against your clit until you jump in his arms. He grips tighter at your waist, holding you just under your tits to keep you still.

"Promise?" he asks.

The tears that slip down your cheeks and onto his neck must be answer enough, because Eddie slides inside you, just the tip, and the relief at even this small feeling of fullness has you crying out.

Eddie's thrusts are methodical and relentless, slow at first, but they build quickly, his hips slamming into you, his grunts from exertion and from pleasure low in your ear. And you're moaning, too, like putty against him, totally enraptured as you watch the muscles in his jaw flex, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline.

He keeps hitting this spot inside you, has you full to the brim, and you're so wet you half-wonder if your pussy juice is soaking into the seat.

It feels like the van is rocking with the force of his thrusts, steam collecting around the edges of the windows from your shared breaths. It’s obscene how in to this you are, how loud it sounds, the wet squelch of your poor cunt echoing around the interior of his van.

"You're gonna cum for me, baby," he tells you, "wanna feel you squeezing my cock."

Four of his fingers meet at the top of your thighs, rubbing steady circles over your clit. You think you might be screaming.

Eddie has you cumming like you're being raptured, twitching in his lap, tits bouncing as he fucks into you, deeper than before until your vision blacks out and you can't see or feel or think of anything but perfect Eddie Munson and his perfect fucking cock.

It's dark when you come to. Maybe he fucked you blind.

Your vision returns, though, just in time. Eddie's chest heaves beneath you, and he pulls out with a grunt, his cum and yours dripping down your thighs in a sight so lurid it's got you flushing down to your neck.

That's definitely going to stain the upholstery.

Eddie doesn't seem to care, stroking his heavy hands over your thighs, pulling your clothes back into place—gentle where they had been rough, his mouth dotting soft kisses against the back of your spine.

Eddie shifts you around in his lap, let's his big eyes find yours. Your fingers twine with his, and he laughs a little when you kiss at his knuckles.

"You know," Eddie says, cheeks pink and a stupid smile on his face, "now that I think about it, Dirty Dancing might be my new favorite movie. I mean, who doesn’t love Patrick Swayze?"

[nouearth]

when the snow settles.

clark kent x male reader.

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

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 & 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 6.0k ].

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His touch was warm, steady, grounding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you.”

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

“I love you too, (M/N).”

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

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

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

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

He would never waste a single drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C-Clark..!“

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

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

“I know—me too—“

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

“Clark—“

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you… feeling better?”

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

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

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

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

[uns4lted]

ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

pairings: karasu tabito x gn!reader, otoyo eita x gn!reader, kenyu yukimiya x gn! reader tags/warnings: reader and karasu are already together, pre-relationship stage in otoya's and kenyu's! genre: fluff synopsis: the first time the boys realized that they're in love with you. boys being so giddy lol.

── .✦ karasu tabito

It was just a stupid crush, really.

At least, that’s what Karasu told himself in the beginning. Liking you had been easy. You made things fun, kept him entertained with your quick wit and little quirks. Being with you felt like a game he couldn’t lose, but he didn’t think too much about what it all meant. Love? That was too heavy for something that felt so light.

But then there was that moment.

It wasn’t anything big. Just an ordinary evening in his place. You were on the couch, reading a novel, while some random show played in the background. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch with his own phone in hand, pretending to care about whatever it was on the screen.

You sighed, soft and quiet, but enough to pull his attention away. When he glanced up, you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was distant, you were caught in a thought you weren’t planning to share.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice casual, not expecting much of an answer.

“Nothing,” you said after a pause, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I just feel lucky, that’s all.”

You didn’t explain, didn’t even look at him for long. Instead, your hand found its way to his dark blue hair, brushing through it in a way that was both careless and comforting. It wasn’t the first time you’d done it, but something about the way you did it this time made his chest feel tight. You were so at ease that being with him was the most natural thing in the world.

He stayed quiet, watching as you went back to your book like you hadn’t just shifted his entire perspective. It wasn’t just what you said—it was how you said it, it wasn’t something you had to think about. Like being grateful for him was as simple as breathing.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, he’d have some smart remark ready, some way to brush off whatever you were making him feel. But now? He just sat there, staring at you, wondering how he hadn’t seen it before.

He couldn’t pinpoint when the shift had happened. Maybe it was gradual, something that had been building all along. But in that moment, he knew with absolute certainty: this wasn’t just some crush or infatuation. It was deeper than that. You’d become something he didn’t think he needed, something he couldn’t imagine letting go.

Karasu leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. The warmth of your words lingered, settling into places he didn’t even realize had been empty.

Love wasn’t supposed to sneak up on him like this. Somehow, you’d done it anyway.

── .✦ otoya eita

This goofy womanizer doesn’t do love or some shit.

Otoya wasn’t the type to lose sleep over anyone. Flirting came easy, and leaving things just the way they were made it even easier. He knew how to have a good time, how to make someone laugh or blush, but feelings? Commitment? Nah, that wasn’t his thing. Relationships were messy, and Otoya didn’t stick around long enough to get caught in all that.

Or so he thought.

It was late, the kind of night where the city outside his window had shifted to a low hum. You were over, laid across his bed and flipping through a magazine you’d brought with you. He leaned against the headboard, half-listening to you ramble about something you’d found amusing in the pages.

“Look at this,” you said, your voice bright as you held up the magazine. The glossy picture was of some ridiculous piece of clothing—a neon-green sweater with feathers along the sleeves. “Can you imagine someone actually wearing this?”

Otoya smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging up lazily. “You’d pull it off.”

“Oh, please.” You laughed, the sound light and effortless, but your eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You’re just saying that so I won’t roast your fashion choices next.”

“Hey, my style’s flawless, thank you very much,” he shot back, nudging your leg with his foot.

The banter was easy, the kind he thrived on. But he's bothered with the look you gave him, your smile plastered on your lips, the sparkle in your eyes that paused just a moment longer than it should have. That did something to him.

“You’re so full of yourself, Otoya,” you said, shaking your head, but your smile didn’t waver.

“And you love it though,” he retorted, his grin widening.

But as the words hung in the air, he realized how much he wished they were true.

You rolled your eyes and went back to your magazine, oblivious to the way his heart was suddenly pounding harder than it had any right to. He tried to shake it off, but it was no use. His gaze kept drifting back to you—how comfortable you looked.

He didn’t know what was worse: the way you didn’t seem to notice how much of a mess you were making of him, or the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

When you stretched out your arm, holding the magazine over to him, your fingers brushed his for just a second. It wasn’t anything special, just an ordinary moment. But for Otoya, it felt like everything else faded for a heartbeat.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head when he didn’t respond right away.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice too casual. “Just tired.”

That night, after you’d left, Otoya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence felt too loud, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Heard your laugh. Felt the warmth of your smile.

“Damn it,” he muttered, rolling onto his side.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to want someone so badly it hurts. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

You weren’t just another thrill. You’d become something that had him turning and tossing in bed, wondering how the hell he’d let himself fall this hard.

── .✦ kenyu yukimiya

Kenyu had always been focused. Soccer demanded it, and so did modeling. Juggling both wasn’t easy, but he never complained. He’d chosen this path after all. What he hadn’t chosen or even planned for was you.

At first, he thought your support was just a pure act of kindness. You’d always been there, cheering him on, listening when he talked about the challenges of balancing his passions. But over time, it became clear that you weren’t just being polite. You genuinely cared—about his dreams, his struggles, even the small things he sometimes overlooked himself.

The realization didn’t hit him all at once. It came slowly, building with every little thing you did. Like today.

The two of you were at the mall, your idea after he mentioned needing new clothes for an upcoming shoot. Kenyu wasn’t bad at picking out outfits but you insisted he deserved a second opinion.

“Try this,” you said, holding up a sleek black jacket. “It’s simple but classy. Totally your vibe.”

He took it with a small smile, letting your enthusiasm guide him. You had an eye for these things, and he trusted your judgment more than he cared to admit.

As he stepped out of the fitting room, you were waiting, your expression lighting up when you saw him.

“See? I told you it’d look good,” you said, giving him an approving nod. “The fit’s perfect, and it goes with almost everything.”

He turned to the mirror, studying the way the jacket fit across his shoulders. It was nice, sure, but what stuck with him more was the way you looked at him. You weren’t just proud of the outfit but of him too.

"Didn't know you had such good taste." he said, half-teasing. “Maybe you should be my stylist.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d love to, but I think your team would have a thing or two to say about that.”

The two of you wandered through the store for a while longer, you occasionally holding up shirts or accessories, and him silently appreciating the way you paid attention to the smallest details. You truly cared about how he felt in them, about making sure he was confident and comfortable.

At some point, as you stood next to him, you were holding up a scarf and debating its practicality, then it hit him.

This wasn’t just about being a fashion guru or supporting his career. It was about you—your thoughtfulness, your sincerity, and the way you noticed and valued even the smallest things about him.

His chest tightened for a moment that he forgot how to speak.

“Kenyu?” you asked, tilting your head at him. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… thanks for helping me with this.”

“Of course,” you said, brushing it off like it was nothing. But to him, it wasn’t nothing.

After everything had settled, the two of you decided to leave the mall. His thoughts kept circling back to the moment. He couldn’t remember when it had begun, but he knew now that this was more than just appreciation for your support.

He is in love with you.

The realization was unexpected, but it left him feeling lighter, as if he’d discovered something he didn’t know he’d been searching for.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! masterlist

[prettyfilmz]

PHYSICAL TOUCH • JEY USO

authors note: we have officially made it to the end of the love language series. thank you all so much for the support I have gained, it really means the world to me that you all love what i write and knowing some of my favorite authors on here love it too. sorry for taking so damn long to update, school has been kicking your girl's ass and I was really finding it hard to write during it all. but alas we made it!! I decided to end this series the same way I started it...with my baby jey uso. you are in for a treat with this one as this is the longest one shot i've written in the series🤭 well, don't let me keep you too long. without further a due, happy reading my loves and once again thank you💗🎀 p.s. jey looks so sexy with his red and black gear for survivor series🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

summary: jey don't wanna be "just a friend" to you anymore.

tags: 18+ (MDNI), written with black woman in mind, friends who really like each other, smoking, fluff, jey is obsessed with you, dirty talk, unprotected sex, car sex, kissing, biting (slight), small bits of roughness, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), daddy kink,praise, this is goofy lovey dovey shit x10000.

word count: 2.7k words

now playing: red light special - tlc

it’s midnight. the air is crisp with the cool breath of late november, cool enough to give goosebumps but still not enough to bite.  you’re sitting low in the passenger seat of jey’s sleek black charger, legs crossed and dipped in the glow of the dashboard lights.  the subtle scent of ‘black ice’ air freshener mixes well with the slow haze of smoke curling from the joint between your fingers.

jey is sitting easy in his driver’s seat, one hand draped on the wheel, the other arm resting along the back of your seat, fingers casually brushing your shoulder.  his signature chain glints in the dim light from the street lamps as they pass, the soft rumble of the car’s engine making everything feel muted, more… intimate.

you exhale a slow, lazy stream of smoke out the cracked window, watching the way the city lights smear into streaks as the charger cruises down an empty street. a gentle r&b song played low in the speakers, its lyrics matching the faint thrum of tension hanging between the two of you.

“you gon’ pass that or hold it hostage, mama?” jey’s voice cuts through the thick quiet, low and teasing, making heat spark low in your belly.

you glance at him through your lashes, lips quirking into a small smirk.  “why? you need it more than me, greedy?”

he leans over slightly, closing the gap between you, his face a little too close, soft brown eyes locked on yours.  “oh I need somethin’, alright.” his grin is sharp but playful, that familiar flirtation slipping from his lips as easy as breathing.

you roll your eyes, even though a shiver crawls down your spine.  you flick the joint between your fingers, teasing, before finally passing it to him.  his fingertips graze yours when he takes it, the brief touch buzzing through you like a shock of electricity.

the air in the car shifts, as it always does when it’s just the two of you, hovering somewhere between platonic and dangerous.  it’s always been like this for years—friends who flirt too much, share too much, maybe fuck love each other too much.  it got complicated when you started seeing someone else, tried to shut that part of you down.  but now that’s over, and things have been creeping back to where they were.  no labels, just...  whatever this is.

jey takes a slow pull from the joint, his gaze never leaving you.  his lips wrap around it just so, and you hate how your thighs press together on instinct, an action he catches easily.

he smirks as he exhales, letting the smoke drift lazily out the window.  “missed this, you know.  just me and you. you ain't gotta act all tough around me, honey.”

your heart stumbles a little at the softness in his voice, but you keep your cool, leaning back against your seat like his words didn’t hit as deep as they did.  “you're getting soft on me,” you tease, smirking.

jey chuckles in return, shaking his head as he taps ash from the joint.  “yeah, yeah. but you love that shit, don't lie." his hand slides from the back of your seat to rest on your thigh, heavy and warm, thumb brushing idly over the curve just below your skirt.  the touch is familiar, claiming, like he’s always known you’d end up right back here.

you don't attempt to move his hand. instead, you settle into the weight of it, the warmth of his large palm massaging your skin,  biting your bottom lip to hide the little smile threatening to creep across your face. he’s watching you too close, like he is reading all of your thoughts.  and maybe he is—jey’s always known how to read you well with just a look.

he leans a little closer again, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always gets you into trouble.  “come here.”

you glance at him, the warmth in your chest spreading fast, and you know where this is headed.  you could pretend you don’t.  you could play coy.  but you don’t want to. not with him. not tonight.

instead, you lean in, and jey meets you halfway, his lips brushing yours once, twice, before he kisses you properly.  it's slow and deliberate, a kiss that feels like a reminder—like he’s been waiting for this, waiting for you.

his hand tightens on your thigh, and you sigh against his mouth, your lips parting for him, his tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss until you’re clinging to the front of his hoodie, breathing him in like the smoke lingering in the car.

he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours, both of you catching your breath.  his hand drifts higher on your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt with ease.  “I ever tell you how bad I missed you, baby?”

you hum, tilting your head to nip gently at his bottom lip.  “maybe? it would be better if you show me. ”

jey groans low in his throat, his hand leaving your thigh to grab the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss—hungrier this time, all teeth and tongue. his free hand grips your thigh again, fingers digging into your skin.

he breaks the kiss to drag his lips down your neck, biting gently at the spot just beneath your ear that always makes you purr.  you gasp, arching against him, and he chuckles against your skin, his voice low and wrecked.  “that’s it, mama. I got you.”

your mind is already hazy, inebriated in the way his hands and mouth paint your body like a canvas, but it’s just the foreplay.  his fingers trail higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and you shiver, your breath stuttering out in a soft moan.

“you want this?” he murmurs against your neck, his thumb slipping beneath the damp fabric to tease you.  “words, baby.”

“yeah,” you breathe, barely able to form the word.  “please, jey.”

he grins against your skin, kissing you again as his fingers slip between your thighs, parting your lower lips easily. he groans softly at how wet you are, dragging his fingers through your slick folds with a slow, deliberate touch that makes your head fall back against the seat.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with praise.  “so fuckin’ wet for me and I ain’ even taste her yet.”

you whimper, hips bucking against his hand, and he chuckles low in his throat, loving how desperate you are for him.

“you gon’ let me taste her, mama?” he asks, already pulling back enough to maneuver between your legs, carefully leaning over the gear shift so he’s fully in your space.

you don’t even have time to respond before he’s tugging your skirt and panties down, throwing them carelessly into the back seat.  his hands are on your thighs, spreading you wide, your pussy exposed, and glistening for his eyes only.

jey doesn’t hesitate. he dives in, tongue skillfully dragging through your silky folds with a hunger that leaves you breathless, thighs trembling. he eats you like your pussy is the lifeline that is keeping him alive, switching between sucking your clit and fucking your tight quivering hole with his tongue, the sounds are lewd and obscene which only heightens the pleasure for you two.

“s-hit,” you moan, fingers tangling in his hair as your hips grind your cunt against his mouth. he groans in response, the vibration of it making you cry out, the pressure building fast and sharp between your thighs.

“that's it sweetheart,” he murmurs between licks, his voice dripping with praise.  “you taste so sweet, baby. missed this pussy so much.”

you’re close—so close you can feel the knot tightening in your abdomen. your thighs clamp around his head, sputtering expletives and jey doesn’t let up, gripping your hips to keep you right where he wants you.

“come on, mama,” he urges, voice rough and low against you. “make a mess on me.”

that’s all it takes. your orgasm crashes over you, and you cry, back arching as you ride the wave of pleasure, jey holding you through it, his tongue relentless against your clit until you’re shaking, begging him to stop.

but he doesn’t.  he grins up at you, wicked and smug, and keeps going, sending you spiraling into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

“j-jey! w..wa-ait” you gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body shakes with overstimulation.

“shhh, I got you,” he soothes, but his grin says otherwise—more like he loves seeing you fall apart for him, that he’s the only one who can make you feel like this.

and when he finally pulls back, lips and beard glistening with your juices, he leans in close, brushing his mouth against yours.

“you good, baby?” he asks, soft and playful, like he wasn’t worshipping you in between your thighs moments earlier.

all you could do is nod, breathless, and he kisses you again, allowing you to taste the sweet tanginess of yourself on his lips and tongue.

jey pulls back from the kiss, eyes heavy-lidded, but that cocky  grin of his never fades. he leans back in the driver’s seat, hands casually resting on the curve of your thighs, spreading them just enough to tease you with his gaze.  the warmth of your release is still causing your pussy to throb, but it’s not enough to fully satiate your lust. and with the way jey is gazes at you, he knows it too.

“come here, mama," jey murmurs, giving your thigh a quick slap. 

with a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you shift over the console and climb into his lap.  you’re grateful for the roomy interior of the charger as you straddle him, thighs bracketing his hips.  he leans back, hands already roaming up your waist, under your top, squeezing at the soft globes of your breasts like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you.

“you comfy, baby?” he teases, palms pressing into your ass, grinding your bare pussy down against the thick bulge in his sweats. the friction makes both of you groan, and you can’t help the way your body moves on its own, rolling your hips against him.

jey bites his bottom lip, eyes locked on where you grind against him, the wet drag of your pussy staining the fabric of his sweats.  “fuck," he mutters, head falling back against the seat.  “you gon’ ride me just like that?  huh, baby?  make a mess all over me?"

you grin, the pressured heat between your legs building again.  “you always did like it messy.”

his fingers dig into your hips as he presses himself up against you, just enough to make you gasp.  “you know I like you,” he says, voice rough.  “always did."

the words hit you deep—more than they should—and for a second, the weight of them hangs in the air between you.  but you’re not here to talk about feelings, and jey knows it too.

he shifts under you, hand slipping down to stroke himself through his sweats.  “c’mon, baby.  take care of daddy.”

you slide a hand between your bodies, finding the waistband of his sweats and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free him. his cock springs free, thick and already leaking precum, and the sight of it causes you to slightly drool.  you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasing, loving the way his breath stutters beneath you.

“damn, mama,” he groans, his grip tightening on your hips.  “you tryna kill me?”

you smile mischievously.  “maybe.” but you don’t play around with him—this isn’t about teasing, not tonight.

you lift yourself up, lining him up with your entrance, and he watches you with brown, half-lidded eyes, pink lips parted as he waits for you to sink down on him.  and when you do, the pleasurable stretch steals both of your breaths.

“fuck, baby,” jey groans, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as you take him inch by inch, slow and deliberate.  “that’s it...fuckin' perfect. you always take me so good, mama."

the praise hits you like a drug, making you moan as you bottom out, his cock buried deep inside you. you pause for a moment, adjusting to the stretch, and jey's hands roam your body like he can’t get enough of you—palming your ass, squeezing your waist, his thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts under your top.

“look at you," he murmurs, voice thick and filled with something dangerously close to awe. “this pussy was made just for me, huh?"

you roll your hips, slow and deliberate, grinding down on him until he curses under his breath, head falling back against the seat again.  “uh huh,” you whisper, leaning in close to kiss behind his ear, sucking on the lobe.  “all yours, daddy.”

the growl that rumbles from his chest is damn near primal. his hands grip your hips hard, guiding you into a rhythm that’s slow and heavenly, each roll of your hips dragging him deeper into you. the air between you is thick with heat, every breath shared, every moan swallowed by the other’s mouth as you kiss again, messy and uncoordinated.

“that’s it, baby," he groans, breaking the kiss to suck a mark into your neck.  “fuck yourself on me. just like that. good fucking girl.”

you gasp as his teeth graze your skin, the sharp sensation shooting straight to your swollen clit. as if he can read your body, his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with expert precision, circling it in time with the roll of your hips.

“cum for me again, mama,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing.  “lemme feel you cum on this dick.”

you can’t hold back—not with the way he’s filling you so perfectly, not with the way his thumb works your clit like it’s second nature, and certainly not with how the head of his cock presses deliciously against your g spot. your orgasm hits you fast and hard, your whole body tensing as you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as you gush all over him.

“that’s my good girl," jey groans, grinding up into you as your warm gummy walls clamp down around him.  “makin’ a mess all over this dick.”

you’re still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax when jey’s grip on your hips tightens, and suddenly he’s fucking up into you, chasing his own release with rough, desperate thrusts causing you to whine.

“uh uh, take it, baby,” he growls through gritted teeth, hands locked on your hips as he drives into you, relishing in your choked sobs.  “gon' fill this pussy up.  you want that, honey? want me to cum in daddy’s pussy?”

“y-yessss,” you mewl, head burying itself in his neck as you grind against him, every nerve in your body on fire.  “please, daddy. cum in me please.”

the sound he makes is beautiful as he slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills his warm thick load into you, flooding your womb with his seed.

“shit,” he mutters, chest heaving, forehead falling to rest against your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

for a moment, the only sound in the car besides a song playing on low volume is the harsh rhythm of your breathing, the scent of sweat and sex mingling with the lingering haze of smoke.

you stay like that for a while, tangled together, your body still humming from the high of it all. jey’s hands roam lazily over your back, soothing, grounding, bringing you back down to earth and you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

eventually, he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin.  “told you I missed you girl.”

you laugh, breathless and light, brushing a hand through his hair.  “you’re so dumb.”

jey leans back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and boyish, the mischievous glint in his eye making your heart skip.  “yeah, but you love my dumbass.”

and damn it, he’s right.

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[tbaluver]

hello ree <33 i love ur writing so much so i’m finally here to make a lads request !! can i please request an amusement park themed date with sylus x fem!reader ?? :O (it can be a oneshot, drabble, hcs, i’m okay with anything hehe !!) take ur time and thank u in advance, i hope you have an amazing day !! 🫶🏻 -@sanemistar

amusement park date- sylus

pairing: sylus x fem! reader genre: fluff fluff wc: 1.1k a/n 𐙚: hihi bibi!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ eeee thank you so much you're always so sweet luv! <3 i was so happy to see you in my inbox and i apologize for taking weeks writing this ! i hope this doesn't disappoint and if it does then this doesn't exist ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) this post is a lil special bc the format is inspired by you and a lot of my fav writers on here ! enjoy reading and i hope you have an amazing day ! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You pulled your sweater tighter around you as you stepped outside, the crisp breeze creeping to your cheeks. Sylus texted you yesterday that he had a surprise for you but with no context other than to wear comfortable warm clothes.

As you locked the door behind you, your boyfriend stood beside his motorcycle waiting for you.

“Hi sweetie,” A smile curls up on his lips as he wraps his arms around you. 

“So where do you plan on taking me this time?” You asked, tilting your head to study his expression. “Is there some kind of pop up auction? Fighting wanderers? Or....” Your voice trails off, hoping that maybe he’ll give you a hint.

He shook his head, a playful smile on his lips as he grabbed your helmet on the seat. “It’s a surprise,”

-

You hold on tightly to Sylus as he drives you through the city. You watch as the streets that you're well familiar with begin to fade. Glancing around, the night slowly became darker and the city lights became farther. With each turn you watch the streets get unfamiliar and the number of the cars dwindle. 

You stopped wondering when a burst of color pierced through the distance with displays of lights that danced around your vision. Your eyes widened as you spotted the silhouettes of the ferris wheel and the roller coasters that towered against the sky.

An amusement park?

Sylus pulled the motorcycle to a stop, the loud engine of it slowly faded into the background. He removed his helmet revealing his smile that curled on his lips.

“I rented the entire amusement park for the whole night,” He spoke, breaking through your thoughts as he helped you remove your helmet. The vibrant lights of the park reflected in your wide eyes as he continued. “You said you wanted to go weeks ago, but our schedules didn’t line up.”

He extends his hand to help you down, “Sy...” you breathed, your heart fluttering as a goofy grin spreads across your lips.

“Shall we?”

-

Sylus mentioned that all the rides are being controlled by Luke and Kieran. Although you appreciate that you both were going to be alone, you wondered if your safety was truly at risk with the hands of the twins controlling the rides. 

“Miss Hunter! Miss Hunter! Over here!” One of the twins shouted while waving enthusiastically at you. Beside him wobbled the park’s mascot, in which you assume was the other twin inside, its fluffy arms flailing in an attempt to wave at you. 

Your eyes sparkled with excitement as you grabbed Sylus’s hand, tugging him toward the pair to take a picture. “Hi Miss Hunter!” One of the twins whispered from inside the costume, his voice muffled. 

- 

“Where do you want to start off first?”

After finishing taking pictures with the twins, you take in the sight in front of you. The park was completely empty. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy still lingered in the air and the park games and the music were a distant sound in the background.

You stood there momentarily overwhelmed, taking in the amount of choices that stretched out before you. Until your eyes lit up with an idea as you spotted a small gift shop. You grabbed Sylus hand, dragging him toward the shop, his low chuckle trailing behind you.

“Headbands?” A breathy chuckle escapes his lips as he examines the one you give him.

“It’s a necessity Sy,” You continue to browse through the various options you had, making sure you two would match.

“Pick whatever you want, it’s on me.”

-

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit in the front?” You ask, making sure he felt included in the thrill of the ride. 

He let out a chuckle and shook his head, “Sweetie, I’m being generous. You won’t see anything if I’m in the front.”

After finishing a few small rides and trying out a couple of the park games, Sylus suggested trying the scariest ride in the park. The one you had been deliberately avoiding and he knew.

He noticed the way you didn’t even bat an eye in the direction of this ride or even bother mentioning it. The outside of the ride loomed before you like a haunted mansion with sinister sounds echoed inside of it that made your heart race. 

“You’re going to be alright. I’m right beside you,” He assures, placing a reassuring hand on your thigh.  As the seats of the ride locked for the both of you, Luke and Kieran pull the lever to start the ride, waving goodbye as you both disappear into the ride.

Darkness enveloped your vision and without any warning, terrifying sounds erupted around you. Each turn of the ride had your heart racing as scary figures and sounds leaped into you.

You instinctively grabbed onto Sylus while Sylus remains unbothered. When the ride finally came to a full stop you stumbled out, wanting to kiss the floor for gratitude of solid ground.

-

Your feet were killing you. You both explored almost the entire park by now and the last one that was left was the ferris wheel. The one that Sylus suggested you do last. He offered to carry you on his back, effortlessly hoisting you up as he walked you over to the last ride for the night.

As you stepped into the ride, he made sure to lower the bar to safely secure you both in. You both ascended slowly up the ride lifting you both higher and higher, offering a better view of the entire park.

As you slowly reach to the very top of the ride, it comes to a gentle halt. You turned to Sylus, a flicker of confusion in your eyes and yet he remained unbothered.

“Did you have a great time today?” Sylus asked, he smiled softly as he looked at you with admiration.

“Of course I did, did you Sy?”

Suddenly, the night sky erupted with fireworks. Bursts of colors illuminated the canvas of the night sky, some with silly shapes and of course a shape of a crow and a dove.

You watched in awe as the fireworks sparked above you, the colors reflected in your eyes but Sylus was unfazed by the show. His gaze was locked onto you.

As the last firework fizzled into the night, he reached out, gently guiding your face toward his with the tip of his finger. Without any hesitation, he closes the gap between you both as he kisses you softly, his mouth soft on yours. 

“I always have a great time when I’m with you.”

[rottenherbs]

Matchmaker // pt.2 // F.W x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: After your small escapade with Fred, you make your way to the Gryffindor common room to sort the papers and learn a little more about each other.  

Authors note: silly goofy chapter. Honestly I wasn’t going to write at all today, but I found some solace in it. I have to put my family cat down tomorrow and I’m like conflicted in my grief. SO I shall give the people what they want. Part three coming sometime soon —

[masterlist]

Much Love, Saige 

————————

The castle hallways were unsurprisingly empty. It was considerably late at night and most students were barred away in their dormitories; you two just barely made it to the common room before curfew was in place. On the way back you both joked about the romance between students and the stereotypes you find most in your clientele —

“I’d consider myself to be one of the hopeless romantic types.” Fred boasts, his hand on his chest, looking up to the air dramatically. You roll your eyes, both of you halting at the portrait of the fat lady. “But something tells me that you knew that already?” He wagged his eyebrows, nudging you playfully. Ignoring his gesture, you shake your head. 

“Mimbulus Mimbletonia”. The painting swung open, Fred again bowing and ushering you in first. 

”Alright alright, I get it, you’re a gentleman.” You laugh, stepping through the corridor. Fred scoffs, standing jokingly aghast before following you behind. Fred didn’t respond, just smiled to himself watching you walk through the common room.

 Looking around, he noticed it was quite vacant, happy at the prospect that you two could hang out together alone, no one to bother you. Turning to the warmth to his left, he eyed the coveted spots in front of the fireplace that were open for the taking. 

“Pst.” Fred pestered, getting your attention. He cocked his head towards the fireplace, walking over there himself. Plopping on the large couch, his legs spread wide taking up most of the sofa. You walked over, hesitating where you should sit. Contemplating the proximity you’d be comfortable being next to him, the idea of your thighs touching sent flutters through your stomach. Biting your lip lightly, you walked around to the front of the fire, setting your belongings on the floor. 

Fred watched you casually, a small ping of disappointment that you didn’t decide to sit next to him, but grateful that he now had a better view of you. 

Reaching into your book bag, you grabbed a conglomerate of papers, passing a few over to Fred. Outstretching his hand, your fingers grazed each other, the act was temporary and unimportant, but the feeling was everlasting. You released the papers, attempting in any way possible to hide the nervousness that suddenly overcame you.

Fred on the other hand was thrilled, the feeling only making him itch for more contact with you. He took the papers and laid them in his lap, flickering his gaze to you every so often, noticing how fidgety you suddenly became. 

“Alright, let’s see your knowledge on the student population eh?” You cleared your throat, breaking the silence. Fred nodded, shuffling through the papers, fanning them all in front of himself. 

“How do you remember all of this stuff, there has to be thousands of students at Hogwarts.” Fred chucked, suddenly becoming more aware that he in fact did not know the students like he bragged about just hours prior. 

“Actually its there is just over 975 this year.” You shrugged your shoulders. “But honestly, im just in a lot of clubs. Easy to know people's faces and learn about them.” You started 7 piles in front of you, one for each year. 

“Clubs? What clubs are you in.” Fred inquired, his eyebrows raising. He was surprised that you had time for anything outside of schoolwork and your little matchmaking busniess. 

“Um well.” You sat up, facing Fred more directly, thinking of where to start. You held out your hand, beginning to point at your fingers to keep track “Okay so Monday’s, Dueling club and Gobstones, Tuesday mornings there’s charms club before charms class, Dragon club after school. Wednesdays; Slugs and Bugs—“

”Slugs and Bugs?” 

“Yes. Slugs and bugs.” You laughed, looking down at your hands. “I’m running out of room and we're only on Wednesday.” You giggled, dropping your hands to your lap. Freds eyes were wide in amazement and disbelief. 

“That’s why I never see you around. You’re in seven places at once!” He attempted to remember all of the clubs you named off, but quickly gave up, soon realizing it was a lost cause. 

“Yeah i like to stay busy” You shrug, slightly embarrassed. You look back up at Fred, his face still bewildered; you could see the wheels turning in his head. 

“Sooo… What do you like to do?” You ask, bringing him back to reality. He set the papers down in his lap, not even attempting to sort them anymore.

”I suppose just quidditch.” He looked at you, slightly disappointed that his answer wasn’t as grand as yours. 

“Oh yes!! You're a beater right? Tough position if you ask me.” You exclaimed excitedly. You could sense a switch in his demeanor after you responded positivity, secretly enjoying the way his eyes lit up. 

”Yeah. Gotta be at least a little tough if you're getting hit with bludgers.” He raised both of his arms, flexing them dramatically. 

“Maybe you got hit in the head one too many times.” You chuckled, watching the cockiness in his face switch to utter surprise. “I’m kidding im kidding” You put your hands up in defense, laughing even harder. 

“Hey..you've got the brains I've got the brawn.” He laughed, knocking his knuckles against his head, imitating an empty chamber where his brain would be.

Fred relaxes back into the sofa watching you keel over in laughter. Something deep inside him fluttered at the sound of your laugh. The way it enveloped the room, the way it unconsciously made him smile wanting to join in. Something about you pulled him to you; and he loved it. After a little while you caught your breath, getting back to sorting the papers in front of you. Making great progress, Fred just watched you, his thoughts traveling to all corners of his mind; some innocent and some not. 

Watching you made his head spin, the way you sorted the papers, how your hands brushed the hair out of your face, your eyes glancing up at him every so often. His mind was racing. He’d pick up the papers, hiding his face behind the students trying to calm himself down. He wasn’t sure how fast it got out of hand, his body reacting to his thoughts now too far gone, he had to leave. 

Wringing his hands, he felt an overwhelming sense of heat in his body. His body rambling in inappropriate thoughts, mentally kicking himself for allowing him to think of you that way; at least this fast into knowing you. Getting up from his chair, he adjusted his trousers quickly, the movement completely unknown to you, turning and facing away from you,

“I’m hitting the loo! One moment—“ he rushed out of the room, leaving you by the fireplace alone. As Fred left the common room, he immediately shut himself into the bathroom, his face hot from embarrassment. He mentally begged any god or angel above that you didn’t see anything, stress overtaking him. Running the tap, he splashed cold water on his face, cupping his hands lightly and drinking to cool his system. Looking at himself in the mirror, he paused suddenly insecure.

“Get it together Weasley.” He thought to himself. He glanced at his watch wondering how long he had left you alone. Taking another look at himself in the mirror he felt satisfied with his appearance, the blood in his body now flowing with ease. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he set out to meet you again.

Once Fred was out of sight, you glanced around the common room. Huffing lightly, you looked over at his stack of papers on the couch, the students still jumbled together. Taking them back to your pile, you sit, holding them in your hands taking the opportunity to let your mind wander. You started to think about how he looked, how he listened to you so adimentqly. He wasn’t bored by your clubs or how strange you knew about every student in the castle. But mainly you thought about him.

How his body lazily draped over the couch, his long body slightly overtaking the space between you, but in a way that was inviting, and invigorating. He laid comfortably, the conversation between you two so natural. His muscular frame, no doubt from quidditch, even when he joked about his muscles you couldn’t help but noticed how they rippled below his uniform. It was undeniably attractive, the thoughts making you shiver. Shaking your head, you attempted to physically emit the contemplation of any mutual feelings of desire.

Were you jumping too far to conclusions?