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hrrtshape · 17 days ago

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　　the great hall dining guide : five stars or food poisoning? 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　back to the masterlist　

no hunger in hogwarts. the great hall is an empire of excess, a temple to the art of never saying no to seconds (or sevenths). the long house tables are stacked with plates that fill and refill as if controlled by some benevolent, slightly overbearing god-parent who cannot fathom the concept of "i'm full."

hi, i'm emma, i shifted to my marauders dr, i'm here to yap.

　❛❛ when to show up ?

breakfast : starts at 7:00 am, but nobody with a sense of self-preservation gets there at the crack of dawn unless they have quidditch practice or are a first-year who still thinks hogwarts runs on a logical schedule. prime time is 7:30–8:30 am, when the food is still hot and everyone is too groggy to engage in unnecessary morning conversations. if you come after 9:00 am, expect half-warm toast and a few sad sausages.

lunch : served from 12:30 pm to 1:30 pm. 12:30 is the best time if you want first dibs on everything, but the best people-watching happens closer to 1:00 pm when people start arguing over last-minute essay deadlines. if you’re running late and slide in at 1:25 pm, good luck – you’re getting whatever’s left.

dinner : 6:00 pm sharp, ends at 8:00 pm. 7:00 pm is the sweet spot – not too early that you look overeager, not too late that you get the rejected drumsticks and a dubious slice of treacle tart. sitting down at 7:45 pm means you're scavenging for whatever scraps are left like a victorian orphan.

　❛❛ where to sit ?

slytherin table : best for hushed scheming, power lunches, and exchanging contraband under the table. do not sit here if you can’t handle judgmental side-eyes while buttering your bread.

ravenclaw table : ideal for finishing homework mid-meal. also where people pretend they’re above caring about gossip while actively eavesdropping on every conversation. the back half of the table is safer if you don’t want to hear someone dissecting 17th-century wandlore at 8 am.

gryffindor table : loud. expect at least one person standing on the bench telling a story that is objectively not that funny. best if you enjoy chaotic meal settings or want to be involved in something ridiculous before you’ve even finished your juice.

hufflepuff table : safest bet for a peaceful meal, but you will 100% be roped into sharing your food. the friendliest seating arrangement, but also the most likely to involve a group discussion about everyone’s day when you just wanted to eat in silence.

professor’s table : do not sit here unless you have a death wish.

　❛❛ what to eat (and avoid) .

best breakfast items : the porridge is solid (literally, if you come too late), but the best move is the warm croissants with honey. also, the lemon & apple pasties are basically a cheat code if you want to smuggle food out for later.

lunch must-haves : steak and kidney pie is better than you’d expect. if there’s a soup option, proceed with caution, half the time it’s delicious, half the time it’s some medieval potion that smells like a transfiguration accident.

dinner essentials : roast anything is good, but the yorkshire puddings are a religious experience. also, the treacle tart is worth elbowing someone for.

what to avoid : the questionable fish dishes. boiled meant. you don’t know where that’s coming from, and you don’t want to. also, anything neon-colored. if it looks like it belongs in a potions class, it probably does.

　❛❛ general survival tips .

don’t drink the pumpkin juice if you’re not in the mood for it. it’s literally everywhere, and by week three, you will hate it.

bring your own condiments if you care about flavour. hogwarts food is good, but nobody in this castle has heard of seasoning unless it's one of those other-culture-nights.

do not, under any circumstances, take the last dinner roll unless you want to start an inter-house war.

sitting too close to the staff table means your meal comes with a free ethics lecture from mcgonagall. proceed with caution.

　　q & a .

　❛❛ what is breakfast like .

if you’ve never had breakfast in the great hall, you’ve never truly lived. that’s not hyperbole, that’s just the facts.

and the thing is,,,,,, it wasn’t just about the food. it was about the ritual. it was about getting there early, half-asleep and draped over the table, while the house elves sent up silver platters of steaming porridge and eggs and enough bacon to make even the most dedicated vegetarian question their life choices. it was about the lazy hum of morning gossip, about james and sirius trying to one-up each other with increasingly absurd breakfast combinations (once, i watched sirius put marmalade on a sausage. we don’t talk about it).

breakfast started early, before the sun had fully stretched its arms, and ended when the professors decided we were done loitering. if you weren’t there by the time mcgonagall sat down, you were basically on borrowed time.

　❛❛ what is lunch like .

lunch at hogwarts was less of a meal and more of a tactical battle. the great hall would be an absolute warzone of students rushing in from classes, half of them looking like they’d barely survived whatever horrors had just unfolded in transfiguration.

the food appeared at exactly midday, no earlier, no later. if you showed up late, you were fighting for scraps, and by scraps, i mean you’d be left with 99 choices for meals instead of 100. scarcity, i know.

lunch was also prime time for food theft. you could be having an entirely normal conversation and, in the blink of an eye, your pumpkin pasty would be gone. sirius was the undisputed king of this, the man had the reflexes of a thief in victorian london. i once watched him steal an entire shepherd’s pie from remus’s plate without breaking eye contact. it was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

　❛❛ what is dinner like .

hogwarts dinners were the closest thing to divinity i’ve ever known. long wooden tables overflowing with everything you could possibly want: roast chicken, yorkshire pudding, steak, treacle tart so good it made you believe in love again. it was opulence, it was luxury, it was the kind of meal you dream about when you’re in some sad, muggle diner trying to convince yourself that soggy chips and watery gravy are ‘fine.’

　❛❛ special occasions .

feast days at hogwarts were another level. halloween, christmas, the end-of-year banquet, these were events. these were festivals of indulgence. the house elves pulled out all the stops: whole roast turkeys, mountains of roast potatoes, rivers of rich, golden gravy, cauldron cakes stacked like towers. desserts that defied logic and probably several laws of nature. on halloween, the hall was covered in floating pumpkins and eerie green light, and the food had a vaguely chaotic energy to match (one year, the treacle tarts actually screamed when you bit into them. highly unsettling, but still delicious).

christmas dinner was something else entirely. it was warm and glowing and endless. crackers snapped, jokes were told, and dumbledore drank enough mead to make even him slightly ridiculous. it was the kind of meal you thought about for the rest of your life. it was family, it was home.

　❛❛ what’s the deal with house-elves?

the hogwarts kitchen operates with the ruthless efficiency of a five-star hotel run by creatures legally bound to service.

a hundred or so house-elves live below the castle, working in near invisibility, preparing all meals and sending them up through enchanted pathways that deposit dishes straight onto the great hall tables. you cannot see the elves. you do not hear them. but you know they exist, like the wizarding world's most overworked stage crew.

you can also visit them in the kitchens. they're nice, say hi.

　❛❛ can you request food?

hogwarts was a lot of things, but it was not a restaurant. if you wanted something specific, you either made a pilgrimage to the kitchens and begged the house elves (a move so shameful it had to be done in absolute secrecy. or if you like....really, really, really charmed them) or you suffered in silence. sirius, of course, once tried to get the great hall to serve "a proper fry-up" at dinner, only to be met with silence and what i can only describe as deeply offended energy from the floating candles.

but somehow, it didn’t matter. because the food was already perfect. and now, i have to live knowing that no meal will ever come close to a great hall dinner. it’s fine. i’m fine. i’ll just sit here, eating my disappointing, mortal food, and pretend my soup isn’t deeply depressing.

　❛❛ what about drinks?

again, pumpkin juice. an obsession, a tyranny, a strange fixation. every meal, every table, a seemingly infinite supply. there is also water, milk (cold, in small glass jugs, looking like something out of a victorian schoolhouse), and for the older students at special occasions, a sweet, non-alcoholic mead that tastes like it wants to be alcoholic but isn’t. butterbeer, tragically, is an off-campus luxury.

　❛❛ is there a meal schedule? like certain things on certain days? or do they just pile every type of food on the table?

hogwarts operates on a structured but generous meal plan. weekday breakfasts, always got your staples. porridge, toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, and the occasional wizarding oddity like blood pudding for the particularly cursed among us. but sundays are for extravagant brunch spreads. croissants. kippers. jams that taste like childhood summers. it’s as if the house-elves know that sunday means stress, existential whatever, dread, so they soften the blow with flaky pastry.

lunch is always dependable, usually soups and sandwiches or something hearty if you’ve got a double potions period ahead. dinner, though, is where the patterns emerge. mondays are classic british, shepherd’s pie, roast beef, yorkshire pudding. tuesdays are usually a little more continental, pastas, stews. fridays are always a feast, usually something big and festive. then you have the seasonal changes: october brings pumpkin-infused everything, winter means more roasts, few first weeks of summer term leans into fresher, lighter meals. but yes, the mainstay staples are always available. if you want treacle tart on a wednesday, it will be there.

　❛❛ there’s wizard candy and drinks, but is there any other food? i’m sure at some point wizards put magic in any food they could think of just to see what would happen.

oh, absolutely. you’re thinking like a true hogwarts student. you know someone, at some point, tried to put magic into a loaf of bread just to see if it would slice itself (it did, but then it also tried to slice other things). beyond the standard chocolate frogs and pumpkin juice, wizarding cuisine includes a fair bit of magically enhanced food. firewhisky actually warms your throat as it goes down. fizzing whizzbees lift you half an inch off the ground. there are soups that change flavour as you eat them, pies that hum lullabies if you’re up late studying. and don’t even get me started on the experimental drinks at the three broomsticks, someone once ordered a 'black hole brew' and forgot what year it was for a full hour. but the cuisine is basically muggle...just hexed.

　❛❛ do the meals cater to dietary restrictions?

100%. vegans, vegetarians, allergy-havers. you’re covered. a muggleborn slytherin from third year complained about the lack of plant-based options, and the next morning, an entire section of the breakfast table was dedicated to oat milk, tofu scramble, and wizarding equivalents of nutritional yeast. hogwarts may be stuck in some medieval ways, but food evolves.

　❛❛ what happens if you miss a meal?

if you’re lucky, a friend grabs you something before the food vanishes. if you’re unlucky, you’re breaking into the kitchens like a desperate raccoon. the house-elves don’t mind, though, if you’re polite, they’ll feed you like a long-lost child. if you’re rude, they’ll 'accidentally' give you a soup that turns your tongue blue for a week.

　❛❛ is there coffee?

yes, but it’s wizard coffee. stronger than espresso, borderline narcotic. one cup and you’re writing your entire transfiguration essay in ten minutes. two cups and you can see through time.

　❛❛ how do holiday feasts work?

absolute carnage. christmas and halloween feasts are legendary. enchanted decorations, endless courses, puddings that explode into confetti when you cut into them. the easter feast is basically a chocolate overdose. sometimes on valentine’s day the desserts start murmuring love poetry. dumbledore's delighted. everyone..... horrified.

　❛❛ is there a limit to how much you can eat?

only in the sense that your body is a fragile, mortal thing. the food itself is infinite. the house-elves could, in theory, keep producing it indefinitely. but, you know, you eat four servings of steak-and-kidney pie and you’re just going to be��that person in the common room later.

　❛❛ do different houses have different food preferences?

subtly, yes. the great hall offers everything, but certain tables lean into certain dishes. gryffindors love big, hearty, comforting food. ravenclaws lean into the more intricate, delicate meals, think pastries and complex soups. slytherins have an eye for the finer things, often going for the more gourmet options. hufflepuffs love food that feels like a hug: freshly baked bread, warm pies, things that remind you of home.

　❛❛ are there midnight snacks?

not officially, but yes. common rooms have snack stashes. and if you’re clever (or just have the marauder’s map, wink wink), you can always sneak down to the kitchens. the house-elves will feed you, no questions asked. some students take it a step further and befriend the house-elves outright. those students never go hungry.

　❛❛ how does the food appear? is it just magic or is there a system?

magic, but with logistics. the food is prepared in the kitchens directly beneath the great hall, then it’s levitated up and appears on the tables at the precise moment it’s ready. no waiting, no serving, just instant gratification. it’s dangerously efficient.

　❛❛ how does hogwarts source its food? is it all local, or do they magically import things?

combination of both. they have magical greenhouses and farms for most fresh ingredients, but certain things, exotic spices, imported sweets, get brought in magically.

　❛❛ are there ever surprise meals? do the house elves ever just decide to switch things up randomly?

sometimes, if there’s an occasion or they just feel like it. but the menu is largely set because consistency is part of the magic.

　❛❛ are meals ever used as punishment? do detention students get different food or are they made to help the house elves prepare meals?

not officially, but some professors (like astronomy) have been known to send students to do menial kitchen work as a form of discipline. nothing cruel, just hours of potato peeling.

　❛❛ has there ever been a kitchen-related disaster? a spell gone wrong, a cauldron explosion, a food fight?

yes, frequently !!!! misfired enlarging spells, self-chopping vegetables getting too enthusiastic, enchanted ladles starting fights. house elves keep it under control, but it’s not unheard of for a whole batch of treacle tart to suddenly gain sentience and try to unionise.

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nouearth · 9 months ago

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small things like these.

pairing. clark kent x male reader.

word count. 12.2k.

summary. a moment like having a cup of overly-sweet, sugary coffee spill all over you was one of the reasons why you'd been charmed by a clumsy man named clark kent.

content warning. fluff, eventual smut, corenswet!clark, top!clark, bottom!reader, strangers to lovers, brief lois lane mention, yearning!friends, clark has a sweet tooth, kissing, rimming, blowjobs, praising, sweet verbal, size difference, body worship, breeding, sweet and passionate love-making!

a/n. i recommend listening to the normal people soundtrack while reading!

I: MAY.

It all started with a crash.

The smell of gasoline was poisoning. Cars were lined up like dominos, passing gas from one engine to another, and the scent was festering in Clark’s nostrils, its rotting smell seemingly quadrupled by the summer heat. That was the charm of the city. The smell, and the constant scream of car horns as traffic began piling up. In the eyes of his folks, Clark can see his Ma and Pa doubting his sanity had they ever witnessed Metropolis. His Ma would shake her head in disapproval at the size of his apartment, and his Pa would be overstimulated into disbelief as the trio held hands and swam their way through the swarm of people who were simultaneously being chased in pursuit by one reminder:

FASTER! YOU’RE RUNNING LATE!

“Oh, crap—“ Hugging the coffee cup to his chest after switching arms, Clark rolled his sleeve up to check his watch. Quarter to nine. “Crap, crap, crap, crap!” Panic finally set in, charging Clark forward into the sunny abyss of office-workers.

This would be the last time he would grab coffee right before work. He’d paid for the consequences already by nearly missing his morning meeting multiple times. Heavy emphasis on nearly as his shoes would audibly skid from turning from one corner to another upon the race he had against the clock, as the slippery leather of his shoes would nearly make him take a tumble if he hadn’t corrected his footing once he began sprinting to his cubicle, and as he sat down in the uncomfortable seat of his chair, only to rise back up once Mr. White made his entrance, nearly missing roll-call. Out of relief, Clark would take a sip of his Frappuccino. The whipped cream deflated from the race, though its vanilla flavor was unaffected as the foam happily danced on his tongue, mixing deliciously with the sweetened coffee. he would feel himself replenished with energy the more sips he took. “Damn you…” He would gulp, licking the vanilla foam off his lips, repentant in his mutter, “Why do you taste so good? Right when I’m supposed to let you go, you reel me back in…”

Clark was a certified Metropolitan.

“Sorry—I’m sorry—‘Scuse me! Passing through—“

Nearly there. The man was a mountain of muscle, sturdy and well-knit upon first glance, but Clark used his muscles for good, to protect others in situations where they needed him for leverage, not to harm. Upon instinct, he turned a shoulder for a woman to pass through, sparing little contact, then another when a father chased after his kid. It was hectic, his cup of coffee almost losing his grasp in midst of the scuffle, but Clark managed to find a silver lining in the crowd in midst of the clock ticking: the revolving door to the Daily Planet, an entrance Clark has become irrevocably beholden to.

“S-sorry!”

A man yelled out, “Watch it, asshole!” In midst of bumping shoulders.Few met his height. Many would either desire to have his height, or to be in the arms of the man who towered over 6’4. Though, in the morning of Metropolis, most if not all deemed it a nuisance.

Breaking out of the herd of people, Clark felt liberated. His legs moved in larger steps, and his elbows spanned from his sides like how they normally should as he ran into the revolving door and pushed against the partition to turn. He checked his watch again. Three minutes left. “Come on, come on—“ One hand squeezed his cup of coffee, and the other clasped his ID badge. His fingers felt slippery from the condensation of his drink, so he squeezed harder, pacing forward to the elevator, then faster when the elevator opened with only a single patron, you, occupying the space.

Faster.

Clark’s thighs were on fire.

His watch, two minutes.

Faster. Almost there.

Clark let out one last breath as he was nearing, holding it out in preparation to stop the elevator door from closing. A relief of a smile came to spread across his face when it opened to accommodate his charging entrance from a few feet away. Usually, he was met by an expression of irritation by anybody who was occupying the elevator, but you looked bewildered, your eyes opening wide milliseconds later upon realization.

Fear, as your mouth opened to shout, “W-wait! S-slow down!”

It was all in slow motion, watching your face contort to a various of expressions, and then nothing, as Clark clenched the cup of his drink with the force akin to batter hitting a home-run, popping the lid off the cup in process, and spilling the Frappuccino onto the frightened man, with extra vanilla whipped cream and all. All you needed as a cherry on top of your head, and you were ready to be sold as a Monday lunch special.

Maybe his beginner’s luck was running out of flame.

II: MAY.

Luckily, not many people seemed to use the bathroom in the morning. They must’ve gotten it all out of their system before coming to work. You were bent over the sink, wiping your face with god-knows how many paper towels.

“Just my luck…” You grumbled, squinting at your reflection in the mirror as you wiped the corners of your eyes, then your forehead, and then your ears. No matter how many times you’d lave your face with water, you felt sticky, gross, and worst of all, you looked like a mess. You still had your hair and clothes to clean, the smell of vanilla syrup sickening to your nose. The latter was definitely going to require an insane amount of bleach and arm grease to get the coffee stain off.

The door swung open not too long after, and in came the culprit who’d painted your clothes in brown and white, wide-eyed and panicked like he was searching for a lost puppy, then apologetic and defenseless as if he was the puppy that ran away.

“Shoot, I’m so, so, so sorry—“ He brought his hands to his head, pulling at the messy dark curls of his hair. You side-eyed him, responding with nothing but silence, and then a crinkle of the paper towel as you squeezed out the water.

“Save it.” Your tone was pointed, though you didn’t necessarily mean for it to come across as aggressive as it did. It was already a bad start to your day. Your milk expired, you ran out of frozen breakfast food, and the bakery you liked to visit in the mornings temporarily closed for renovations. All forewarnings to this very moment, where you had been cleaning whipped cream out of your hair. You held out another damp paper towel towards the man, and then waved it when he simply stared, or rather embarrassingly gawked at the mess he had created. “Get my neck.”

“Y-yeah… Of course.”

Silence. You weren’t sure how long you two have been at it, but you’ve managed to fill the trash can half-way with the paper towels. In complete, utterly awkward silence. His touch was delicate, the paper towel gently cascading over your neck in small swipes, even though you’d shown him that you were more than capable to pierce through him with your glare alone. Laser beams would ricochet off your reflection, bounce off the tiled walls of the bathroom, and somehow strike him through the heart and tear that oversized vest right off of his large frame.

The anger only settled when the man repeated his nth apology, moving onto wipe your hair clean. You closed your eyes to calm yourself, breathing out a deep sigh, because it was a mistake. You were having a bad start to your day, and… so was he? Wouldn’t be a surprise. Mondays were notorious in fucking up the week.

“It’s… fine. Not like you meant to do that.” You looked at him through the reflection, his brows scrunched from hyper-fixating on every lock of hair that was blessed with his whipped cream. Was he always this handsome? And why is he towering over you? Why is he so close?

“Who gets a Frappe in the morning though?”

“I—Black coffee doesn’t really help me stay awake.” A nervous laughter now that you were making conversation with him. It was the complete opposite of how he physically looked. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. “Nor does it taste that good.” He muttered, cleaning the last lock of your hair.

“I would tell you to watch your sugar, but I’m guessing… you got that down?” You didn’t mean to make a comment on his broad body, but the difference in stature was laughable. “(M/N). You?”

“I-Uh, Clark. Clark Kent.” He washed his hands in the sink next to you, lips opening to what you could presume to be another apology. You’ve only met him for fifteen minutes, but you were beginning to catch his habits.

“Okay, Clark.” You stepped forward, crossing your arms, and you could feel the rattle of his gaze as he glanced at you from the reflection. “I work downstairs, at the gift shop. You can apologize by bringing me lunch for a month straight.”

“Wait—A month?! T-that’s kind of expensive, don’t you think—“

“Hey, you can make it yourself. Get it from the supermarket. Scraps from a restaurant’s garage bin nearby. I don’t really care.” You leaned against the counter, stifling a smile as Clark looked rather charming flustered like this. “If you were really sorry, you’d be committed to making up for it nonetheless.”

“That’s a little extreme for someone you don’t know…?”

You shrugged, then turned on your heel. “Spilling a drink on someone isn’t exactly an ideal way to introduce yourself, you know.” Dusting your fingers of water droplets, you began your exit. “Also, I need a new shirt.”

“W-wait—“

“See ya, Mark!”

“It’s Clark!”

Maybe his luck was just beginning.

III: JULY.

“So…? Ready to guess?” The smile on Clark’s face was filled with anticipation. He watched you chew the contents in your mouth in an obnoxiously poised manner, an inside joke between the two of you as you two had been binging on cooking competition shows. You tilted your head in thought like the pretentious judge on one of those shows, pausing mid-chew like something strange had collided with your tastebuds, then continued as if it had faded away. “Come on, I’m dying here.”

You swallowed, taking a sip of water to wash down the bread. “Hey, I need more than a bite to figure the ingredients out!”

“(M/N), you’ve practically eaten half of the sandwich already.” Clark took his half of the sandwich and sank his teeth into the pillowy bread.

“Look who’s talking.” You rolled a piece of white bread in between your thumb and index finger until it formed a ball, and playfully threw it at Clark’s shoulder. “I didn’t get to eat dinner last night.”

It was a strange feeling in Clark when you said that. His chest swelled a little, as if his heart kicked it from within. “Why’s that?” He slowed his chewing to clear his ears, putting aside his tastebuds for his attention.

“Well, they’re expanding the gift shop, so they’re asking me to work longer hours to help out. No one else said yes, and I need the money, so there was no question about it, you know?” He watched you dust off your fingers on a napkin. He knew of your habits now. Take a sip of your water, which you did, then fully settle your arms onto the table, unabashedly gazing into his eyes to give your tastebuds a break. His eyes altered to the tip of your tongue, peeking out to lick a crumb off your lip, and Clark mirrored onto himself.

It was a secret vaulted in the deep abyss of Clark’s stomach - well, not so much considering Jimmy liked to run his mouth - but your eyes were his favorite parts about you. Even when they were seemingly set aflame on the day he’d met you, your orbs have since had a way to reel him in like bait and never seemed to have let go. He would find himself free-falling into what soon felt closer to home with every second that would pass by.

“Doesn’t mean you have to skip dinner, though.”

There was a breeze. Gentle and swaying like the jazz music playing in the balcony of the café. It sifted through your hair like sugar would through fine mesh. One got caught on a few strands—wind— and it blew back to recognize your features with the sun, beaming on features that Clark would someday have the courage to say he adored.

“Why? You thinking about bringing me dinner too?” He doesn’t like that you tease him so effortlessly. Clark also doesn’t like how easily flustered he gets, which prompts the cycle of teasing to begin with.

With hesitation, he tried it himself once, saying something about how you looked good enough to eat or something when you styled your hair back for a change. Though, what came out was something along the lines of: “You look like you eat good enough,” and Clark would rather forget that interaction even happening.

“Haven’t stopped bringing you lunch, if you think about it.” The memory of his first meeting with you brought a smile to his lips, and yours as well, because you two tend to sync thoughts.

“Yeah, two months now… When’s that going to stop?”

“It’s a routine now. I don’t think I can find it in me to suddenly stop feeding you.”

“Hm, you’d make a good boyfriend, Clark.”

“Yeah…”

IV: AUGUST.

“Nervous?”

The powdery top note of your hairspray tickled your senses. You counted in your head, holding back a layer of Clark’s hair in your palm. One, two, three, four… Once you reached thirty, you released, sealing the pushed back fringe in place with another layer of the grooming product.

“How can you tell? Do I look nervous?!” He’d been chewing on his lip, playing with his fingers, moving in his seat. It was like a toddler, but unlike a toddler, Clark was an adult. An adult who had enough awareness to refrain from making any sudden movements while someone had a scalding hot styling iron in their hand.

“Clark, you haven’t stopped shaking your leg since you sat down—“ You delicately pulled a curly strand to the front of his forehead, and it was another reminder how easily Clark could pursue a career in Hollywood. If only journalism hadn’t been such a strong passion for him. Though, with the way his nerves had been electrifying his body—maybe he made the right call in the end.

“Oh—Sorry… I’m just—I don’t know. What if I mess up? I say the wrong thing to Lois, and then she hates me forever? Then what? She tells the entire office about what a terrible—”

“Whoa, I think you’re thinking way too far ahead here. What happened to you being Mister Optimistic all the time?” You ushered him to get up from the seat, and then handed Clark his dress shirt and tie. “Besides, I don’t think Lois would do that. If you like her, that must mean she has some type of soul.”

“I guess so.” Clark muttered, changing into his shirt. Perfectly tailored to his body contrary to the oversized button-downs he was used to wearing. “You wanna hang out after?”

“Uh… you sure you’re going to be free? And not… you know,” Your brows raised, giving Clark a knowing look, and it was that flush of skin that you secretly adored coming in hot, boiling on the apples of his cheeks as Clark quickly deciphered what you meant.

“I don’t sleep with people on the first date, (M/N).” It was priceless. The horror on Clark’s face upon the accusation, his orbs retracting like he’d seen a spaceship landing on earth for the first time. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud at his confession while tidying up his living room.

“I know a lot of people do! I just had to make sure.” You waited on the couch as Clark changed, replying to missed messages, scrolling through updates on multiple social media accounts, until you heard Clark approach from behind.

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat, announcing his presence, and you turned upon the sound. “Looks okay?”

It was Clark.

It was Clark, but a more refined version of him. Not that he was sloppy in the first place, but simply… you could see him clearer, his own confidence radiating like it had finally discovered an escape to its freedom. His eyes, clear blues that sparkled even when the approaching night began casting shadows through his blinds and onto his glasses. It helped that you styled his hair back too, framing his face for the whole world to admire, and most importantly, for his date to as well. You reminded him to stand tall, and he took that into consideration through his posture straightening, and his chin raising.

“Y-yeah, you look… great.” It was infectious. His smile while he admired himself through his mirror. His dimples smiled back at him, and you felt your own lips curling on their own, like you’ve eaten a candy that was too sweet for its own good. “Lois is going to love it.”

Cavity-inducing.

“Yeah? Oh—I have to pick her up soon. So, you’ll be here, right?! I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if it goes well—“ Clark let out one last breath, then a shake of his arms, and he found his nerves rattling up again despite as he approached the door.

Ten steps closer than before to Lois.

“It’ll go well, I promise!” It was his moment. Clark’s moment. Yet, you felt weird about it. You wanted to look at him for longer, a sudden greed to keep him in his apartment for longer.

“All right… wish me luck.” He turned to look back at you, appreciative in his smile, but his eyes looked guilty, meaningfully longing akin to the way he had looked when he spilled his drink on you.

That’s right.

“Good luck.” Apologetic, you remembered when he finally exited the room, and closed it shut.

Clark gave you cavities.

And like all cavities, you needed to get rid of them.

You needed to get rid of Clark.

V: DECEMBER.

It was partially his fault, wasn’t it?

There was no doubt in mind that you and Clark have been spending less time together. Clark was never a big texter, but he found himself messaging you a lot more often to make up for the fact that he had rarely seen you the past few weeks. Lunch was spent with Lois, dinner was with Lois, drinks were with Lois, binge-watching TV… with Lois.

“You’re always talking about Lois…”

It was why he preferred meeting up, because you never answered your phone, especially these days. If he was lucky, you’d spare him more than four messages a day before saying goodnight.

You never liked saying goodnight, and neither did Clark. By preference, Clark liked to fall asleep on the phone with you where he would catch your snores, and the embarrassment of it all would keep you awake for a little longer, at least until it was Clark’s turn to retiring for the night. It felt safe, knowing that he wasn’t - to some extent - alone in his bed. That he could mumble your name in his sleep, and you’d toss in bed, his voice ricocheting off into your own dreams.

It felt intimate.

“Hey, give me a call whenever you get back. Lois and I found this really cool aquarium you’d really like! I got a turtle keychain for you too.”

“(M/N)? Hey, I totally forgot about dinner last night! Work’s gotten so busy, and then Lois wanted to go out, and my parents were calling, so—Let me make it up to you? We can go to that diner you’ve been talking about.”

“Hey, (M/N)! Didn’t see you at the shop today… Doing okay? Not sure if you got the sandwich I left for you on the counter. Or maybe someone had stolen it. But text me? Let me know?”

“It’s Clark. Why am I telling you—I saw you the other day, but… you seemed like you were in a rush? I’m guessing renovation is taking a toll on you? Give me a call…”

“Hey, uh… Listen, If I did something… Will you let me know, please? I-I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening here, between us, but… I just. I miss—”

Clark didn’t want to seem obsessive. Absolutely not.

But this was getting out-of-hand. He was panicking. He’d been panicking for the past few weeks since this whole charade had started. It was only right for him to worry like this, about his best friend. To go from aligning his lunch breaks with yours to sitting stone-faced at his cubicle with a half-eaten sandwich in his Tupperware was a huge disruption to his routine. It was like the world had turned against him in solidarity. Knowing his own mind, Clark deserved it.

There had been a farrago of missteps, too many of them to count, for Clark to simply shrug it off and see the silver lining through them for the next day, for the next week, or for the next month. It wasn’t like before he’d met you, where he would simply get caught in a long line of office workers waiting for their coffee, and then received a free pastry because they had messed up his order twice. Or how he would sleep through his alarms, where his body clock fortunately alerted him awake before traffic would begin to dominate the streets.

No, this was different.

He’d earned a raise since then, for his great work on profiling the Superman, but it was all he did now. When it wasn’t Superman, it was being Superman, and Clark wished there was someone to talk to. To celebrate with, now that he can splurge a bit more on himself. To vent towards, about how it was obvious that he’d been holding Lois back since their relationship started. To shout with while he watched a movie because the killer had been in the main character’s house all along. To lament towards, because Lois had called it quits, yet in spite of that, it wasn’t as painful as the way you had been treating him. To scream out the month’s omen with, because maintaining this double-life of his was wearing him down.

Moments of happiness, catapulting his memories of you with laughter and warmth, had felt like a wound. A piece of him was broken. He felt hollowed out - a pineapple without its core - more so than ever, losing you as quickly as he had became friends with you, as quickly as he had fallen for you. Spineless, if he just watched you slip out his fingers and float away.

He needed to bring you back. He needed to tie you around his wrist like a balloon, like how his Ma and Pa would when they took him to the fair as a kid. At least if you float away again, he’d chase after you like he should’ve the first time.

If luck was on his side, you’d let him hold your hand and cruise the winter sky together. And if a miracle was in the palms of Clark Kent, he’d reckon voyaging the four seasons as one would turn over a new leaf.

VI: DECEMBER.

The air was frigid. The glass pane of your window shivered against the cold, frost webbing your reflection from corner to corner as you peered out into the city. Noses red and cheeks flushed, symptoms of the freezing cold as they endured the walk home. Careful steps across the sidewalk, into the street, as flakes of white fell to the earth.

For an alien, it would summon silence. Those sparkling crests that would melt upon contact—an invasion they would yell in terror as the flakes seeped into their skin like acid. But for humans, people like you, it brought laughter. Giggles pierced the air, couples holding each other close to gather heat, but to also keep each other from slipping, and the world had only felt warmer despite the snow’s best efforts.

Your smile reflected off the joy radiating off of multiple passersby. Kids with their guardians. Dogs with their owners. Parents with their own parents. The holiday was nearing, spirits ramping in midst. As the streets emptied, leaving you in nothing but the cruel howl of the wind, you couldn’t bring yourself to caring about your favorite celebration. There was little need for your participation if you didn’t have anyone to spend it with.

To be completely honest, it was your fault.

Clark was happy. He was happy to have someone who shared the same interest in him. He was happy that Lois could bring the best out of him, either out of his work or out of his personal ambitions. Lois would make Clark the man his parents would be proud to see after silently agonizing over months on whether the city would be good for him. He was happy to share this new chapter in his life with you, and you had little patience to see him blossom.

You couldn’t bear it, knowing that it could’ve been you.

God, you were being childish. This felt like high school all over again, except… not really considering you weren’t out in high school. You’ve watched enough coming-of-age films to know that the audience would’ve deemed you immature. Worst of all, you would’ve vented to Clark about how foolish the main character was being.

Your romantic experience had been limited to silently crushing on guys in your classes to hooking up with strangers through an app. Maybe that explained why you were acting out. Why you preferred isolating yourself from the root of your happiness instead of surrounding yourself with it. When was the last time you were ever in love? With the family dog? With her puppies? No, actually in love… with a person, with a man.

“Fuck.” The ice cream in your mouth suddenly stung the back of your jaw the longer the spoon sat in your mouth. You’ve been looping Clark’s voice messages, debating on whether it was too late to reconcile, whether he was too upset at you to even want to have you step a foot inside of his apartment.

“I miss you. I really miss you.”

You winced, groaning in discomfort, tensing your jaw as the voice message looped like some kind of hypnotic spell. “I miss you. I really miss you. Miss you. Miss. You. (M/N). I miss you.”

The sweetness bulldozed your molars. It was unbearable. You tended to your cheek, holding onto it as you hastily slipped on your coat and beanie.

Throbbing. Your gums.

Your hand yanked the door open, and you marched outside, into the blanket of snow.

Beating. Your heart.

The cavity was returning, and you needed Clark’s help.

VII: DECEMBER.

Clark had mixed feelings seeing you at his doorstep.

This was not how it was supposed to go. He was the one that was supposed to be drenched from the snow. Shivering like an unkempt toy, with severed electrical currents making him twitch at the modest breeze, at the welcoming warmth. He peered down at you, where you met his gaze. Clark registered a broken and a contrite heart, and he could only respond in complete silence. Frozen in place because the visit was unexpected, but also because you made his heart swell to the point of nearing combustion, and it took all his might to control himself from pulling you into a hug.

“Hi.” You sniffed, wiping your runny nose. There was a stark contrast between your body temperature and Clark’s, he could feel the frost biting his own skin.

“Hi…” Clark took a step closer, but he couldn’t cross the distance between you and him, halting as if there was an ice barrier. No, control yourself, Clark. “I—Come in.”

A wet layer of skin; narrow hills from your eye bags, past the apple of your cheeks, and down to your chin. Crystals would form along your tears if you hadn’t insistent on wiping them clean. You never liked being vulnerable with him. With anyone, for that matter.

Clark stepped aside to welcome you in. You passed one glance at him, hesitant and apprehensive, but the warmth reeled you in, one shoe at a time. He was so close to you. Your arm nearly brushed against his, close enough as if it had almost nudged his elbow.

“You’re freezing—I-I’ll make some coffee.” He headed towards his kitchen, then paused to glance back at you, resembling the skittish reporter you first met as his indecisiveness staggered his following steps. “No, Tea? Hot water? I don’t know—“

“Clark, that can wait… Uh, how about we talk… first?” Clark could see it. He could see how you felt like a stranger in his apartment, a place he’d nearly asked you to move in as his roommate considering you spent so much time here.

You carefully took off your coat, and Clark immediately went to your aide to gather it into his arms and put it on the coat rock. Though, not before letting the smell of your cologne linger in his nose, because god, he missed this.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s… talk.” He gestured towards his couch, tidying up the sweater that was beginning to feel constricting on his body.

Other than a tiny Christmas tree hiding in the corner of his living room, not much had changed. Everything was right where you’d last seen it, including a polaroid Clark took of you and taped to his ‘Wall of Memories.’

Out of instinct, you sat at your side of the couch, and Clark sat to the left, right beside you. Your palms ran over the cotton upholstery, then paused when your finger dipped into a ripped hole you had accidentally created when you two were watching a horror film.

“So… how are you?” Clark was staring. He didn’t mean to, but seeing you beside him felt… unreal. Maybe he was dreaming. The space next to your hand looked inviting, so his own hand naturally found its place, laying it there with his pinky finger barely grazing yours. You’re real. His pinky twitched when your finger brushed against the tip, and you pulled away. No, no. Come back.

“I’m good, well—long story, but…” You sighed, and Clark was patient as you took a moment to gather your thoughts. It was unlike you. Not that it was bad, but it was extremely attractive how outspoken you could be, especially regarding subjects you were passionate about. It was like you rode the ocean waves, swam with large strokes because you had a goal in mind, to convince Clark that mint chocolate chip was the best flavor of ice cream and whatnot.

“Before we catch up, I’m sorry… I don’t really know what I was doing, but it was my fault. I’m childish, I know that. I pushed you away because I was jealous… of Lois. And—please don’t hate me, but I hated how you looked at her. And how she looked at you.“ You breathed, your eyes casted downward like you were ashamed of being capable of human emotions. Then they clenched, because you heard how incredibly thoughtless you were being, yet that didn’t stop the tears from forming.

“And I was supposed to be happy for you, Clark. I mean, I knew I didn’t have a chance to be with you, but I somehow convinced myself that one day, you’d look at me with the same amount of affection you’d look at Lois. I would wait, and wait, and it was getting… painful. I mean, who am I kidding? I should’ve let you adjust first before growing impatient, but it felt like I was being replaced, and I was afraid of the inevitable, Clark—“

Now, you were floating. And out of fear, Clark felt his hand come alive, and spider close to your hand again. Tie him before it’s too late. It was up to Clark to change the trajectory of your descent. The pinkie that had lain next to your own crossed over and locked over yours. The barrier of ice that had been building between the two of you shattered into a million shard and he was frozen. A million of them pierced into Clark’s skin when he took your hand into his, and the clasp of your hand into his had bonded.

“Clark, what—“ Your eyes widened, letting in fragments of Christmas lights to highlight the glossy sheen of the tears welling in your sight.

Without questioning it, Clark pulled you into his chest and felt the crumbled wetness stain his sweater. One by one, his fingers loosened to let go of your hand to support your body with his arms. Strong, thick arms wrapped around your body, fitted snug against you like a vest. There wasn't any resistance from your end, so he held you longer, then tighter in case you’d let go of him.

It had never felt so good holding someone’s weight.

Two hearts pulsed against one another, and then as one as Clark buried his head into your neck in silence, while you rested your cheek against his shoulder. You clutched yearningly at his back, and Clark ran his palm over yours. Completely different motions, yet they told the same story, the same ending.

“I missed you.” In harmony, Clark’s voice mixed with yours. Clark often marveled at it, how often he came into sync with you as a pair. Another, when you mustered up the remaining energy to blindly breathe out a sweet laugh against his neck, and he followed, his soft lips inking your skin with a grin.

He didn’t want the hug to end, but it had to sooner or later. Clark needed to see you, as much as he needed to touch you. Releasing you from his hold, he settled for the middle. Large hands found their way back to the vacancy of your own pair and he leaned his forehead against yours, watching your eyes come back into focus as you gazed upwards, officially sharing his yearning.

“What are we doing, Clark?” It was dangerous. There was a heat to his cheeks that needed to connect with the one festering on your own. A dryness to your lips that needed a fresh paint of balm. Clark silently leaned closer, yet your gaze steadied, like you were silently anticipating something. “Lois…”

“We’re not together anymore.” He revealed once to his parents, and that was that. It was a strange feeling bringing up his relationship with Lois again, considering they’d both healed from it and moved on as friends. It was better that way, felt better too.

Your lips parted for another question, but Clark was quick to answer. “November...”

“I’m sorry—“ Undeniably, Clark’s patience had run its course. He didn’t spare a single second for you to catch your breath. Instead, letting gravity pull the weight of his head until his nose pressed against yours. Multiple forewarning bumps to your septum that made you crease your nostrils, a charming expression he’d later marvel over.

Clark allowed himself to sink further into you, applying all of his weight to push you back into the cushions of his couch to then finally capture your lips for one yearning kiss. It was cathartic. He’d wanted this for months. His mouth on yours, his hand into yours, and now that it was finally occurring, Clark wanted to savor the moment. Your body was reacting prosperously, opening your legs to close the distance between Clark’s body and yours. You wrapped them around his hips, condensing him groin to groin. Gentle tremors rattled down Clark’s spine as he pressed into you, mouth and hip, stirring wondrous feelings that ignited from the bonded bodies. First with the utmost uncertainty, then with a starry vehemence upon catching your delightful little sounds in his lips, in his mouth, on his tongue. He swallowed, releasing your hands to tuck his left beneath your head. A cushion, or a reminder to him, as his thumb carefully caressed your cheek, that this was real, that this was happening. You gasped, occupying your free hands around his neck because you felt yourself slipping. Whether it was off the couch, or from your original state of delusion, Clark was going to catch you no matter what.

“I love you.” Scratch that, he was never going to let you go. Not this time. You had no doubts about that as he repeated those three words into your mouth like you needed convincing, then kissed you again to lock his stubborn pleas in place. His glasses bumped against your face, but the feeling of his mouth on yours felt too good for you to complain.

A breather, you pulled away soon because Clark was stealing your oxygen, and you needed to tell him before you would embarrassingly faint from overdosing on the simplicity of his kisses. You took one look at him, gently pushing his head back before your hands had taken his cheeks hostage and cupped them, analyzing what made you fall for him in the first place. Thick dark curls that fell gently over his forehead. Clark’s eyes fluttered shut when your fingers ran through them, the pressure of his scalp gratifying like a long stretch in the morning. Wide frames that were too big for Clark’s face, but had he gone any smaller, they would’ve completely hid the beautiful blues of his eyes. You straightened the crook of his glasses, grinning because the bewildered look on his face resembled a puppy’s. His physical appearance made your heart skip more than a couple of beats, yes, but it wasn’t the main attribution to your attraction.

Your hand trailed from his neck, to his chest, then to his heart. Boiling, his heart was pulsating rapidly like yours, and you sighed.

Because it was here. This was why you fell in love with him.

“I love you.”

His heart was making popcorn, and the scorching heat was rising to Clark’s cheeks. “Thank, god.”

Clark pressed one kiss to each of your palm before leaning back into you, and continuing where he left off. Your laughter was eaten up by his mouth. Suddenly ticklish as Clark catapulted your lips with an uncontrollable laughter of his own. His body shook with yours, heart pounding at one’s chest to bond with the other as he held you close once again.

Nothing was funny. Just simply relieving.

Now tighter, drawing you into his arms when the collective laughter was enough for the couch to move a nudge and roll your intertwined bodies onto his floor. Clark could laugh all night long with you, something that could pull a world record if there was someone to verify the interaction, but something began aching inside of him when he was reminded of your hips against his, groins rubbing in simultaneous pleasure. He maintained his position on top of you, in between your legs, and seized the opportunity to press against you. When your laughter was interrupted with a stifled whimper, without a doubt, Clark was a goner.

“Can… I?” He leaned up, his curious palms on your inner thighs kept you spread on the floor. You watched inquisitively, anticipating, hardly masking it with a low-effort grin.

“Can you… what? Not sure what you’re asking, Clark.” Your elbows supported your body, leaning onto them as Clark bit his lips at your obvious teasing. You wiggled your hips while his hands did their best to avoid touching you there, anywhere but there, until you gave him permission. Chewing, because he was trying his best to control himself upon seeing your crotch twitch with agony.

“Come on…” His palms roamed the back of your thighs, then towards the front again, because he needed to occupy the anticipation of his sweaty hands. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m not a reporter like you, Clark. Unfortunately, I was never good at deciphering clues or hints. You pulled him down by the collar of his vest, wrapping your legs back around his hips because you loved making him flustered. “Give it to me straight.”

“I—“ Clark surrendered at the touch of your lips on his. Gentle and sweeping, you kissed him like fall of snow, and he melted, whispering into your mouth, “I… want to make love to you.”

His voice registered sweet, in both mind and body. Your tastebuds bloomed when he kissed you again and slipped a tongue in without much warning. Your pants felt tighter as Clark began his antics again and ground himself against you, eagerly rubbing his larger bulge over your own. Clark was a growing cavity, festering right down to the root, but it was no longer painful.

It was indisputably pleasure.

“I’m all yours.”

There was something hidden in Clark’s gaze, something that his glasses had been unfairly shielding from you. You reached up to put aside his glasses and felt your breath hike when the quick glimpse of his gaze matched the avidity of his mark to your neck.

He refused to part from you. Even with the eagerness of stripping you, he needed to be in close proximity. Knit vests off, Clark returned to mark at your neck. Sweaters tossed, he quickly studied your figure and where you were most sensitive with his tongue and palms Wet and warm, you whimpered. Pants kicked, he helped you out of them while he clumsily stumbled out of his. Slow down, you’d laugh with him, and Clark would find his balance with a hug from you before he could embarrassingly take a tumble. A trail of clothing led to his bedroom, where you laid on the bed while Clark sat on his knees, decorating your entire body with the tiniest, yet wettest kisses. He palmed himself to this, squeezing his erection to the restricted pulsation of your own. Every time he ran a marathon of licks up your leg, your briefs twitched. Clark neared closer to your thighs, then inner thighs, every lap, and the twitching doubled.

“Clark…” It accidentally came out as a whine, and you were grateful that it did because you’d been keeping an eye on his clothed erection, watching it unfurl from a stuffy mass to an intimidating thick shaft where it began outgrowing his original side tuck and throb against his left thigh. It would be more than a handful, two if you were being pessimistic.

“Baby, be patient… I missed you.” The pet name came out of nowhere. They didn’t have nicknames for each other, but Clark felt good calling you that, and seeing how your cock began pulsating rapidly at the sound of his voice, he’d reckon it felt just as good hearing it for the first time.

After teasing you with multiple sequences of nearly kissing your bulge, Clark finally caved in and pressed his mouth to where the tip of your erection was hidden. Its location marked with a tantalizing wet spot that made him moan when he could taste your salty leakage through your briefs. Mouthing it, licking it, you watched Clark with an open-mouth, finding yourself mimicking his licks to the open air as you imagined his own erection was in your mouth. You played with your nipples, and it was heaven. You could get off to this. Clark could too, as he began rutting into the mattress, laving the center of your briefs with his wet tongue.

“I wish you could see yourself right now. You look so sexy, so…” Clark never finished his slurry of a sentence, clearly high off of his desire to ruin you. Your lids felt heavy, pinching and twirling your nipples to his languid mouthing like it was your lullaby. His voice came to a complete halt, a beat of silence that you’d come to query, until your eyes immediately widened at the warmth of his mouth surrounding your cock, finding your unspoken question answered.

“O-oh, Clark.. .That’s—mmf!” One hand was fondling your balls, while Clark’s other was stroking himself through his briefs after tossing your underwear to the carpet. His mouth was full. Warm and breached with your stiff shaft. His cheeks hollowed, and your body arced toward the ceiling as a result of holding your moans back.

On the contrary, your body was trembling. Cold tremors electrified every bone in you as Clark explored your cock with his thick tongue, building your excitement to a rattle. He’d secure you in his mouth, sucking and refusing to let you go even when your fingers laced and pulled at his hair, a lazy attempt to push him off, but it only encouraged him to suck harder, lick at the underside of your cock, at your veins, swirling over the glossy tip, tasting the salt you’d produce solely for him, because of him. “S-stop, I’m going to come if you keep—“

“Sorry, you just taste so good…” Reluctantly, Clark pulled you out with a subtle pop, wiping his remaining saliva on the back of his hand. Your cock was twitching in a shiny coat of spit as you and him both watched his masterpiece of a tongue have its remaining effect on you.

“My turn…” It was a declaration. You crawled forward onto all fours while Clark watched in anticipation. He sat up on his knees upon you reaching for the waistband of his briefs. With a slow pull, his large erection sprang free with a heavy bounce, and your pupils dilated. “Jesus, Clark…” You removed his briefs, tossing it to join the floor, and he sat back on his knees while you marveled over his girth. Its size submitted you into silence. A tint of envy, but mainly of wonder as you couldn’t possibly imagine fitting him inside of you.

“Hey, you don’t have to…” Clark could see the fear in your eyes. The intimidation. Though, he would never admit that he was extremely turned on from watching your expression morph into utter astonishment. His cock, however, couldn’t care less. Thick and mighty veins blasted from the base of his raging hard-on to the very plump tip of the bulbous head. It was as equally as inviting as it was intimidating.

“I want to. I’m just… kind of jealous, that’s all.” You laughed to yourself, wrapping a firm grip around Clark’s shaft and watching in awe at how you couldn’t close your fingers around him, even when you had adjusted your hand. Clark’s cheeks were scalding. Was there an adjective to describe someone who was embarrassed, but extremely aroused right now? He’d have to look it up, but he was that. He watched how your mouth practically salivated for him, working him in slow strokes because you were careful not to anger this phenomenon of a creature.

“You’re perfect, wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Where would be the fun in all of this if we all looked the same?” You hummed at the comforting words, somewhat feeling guilty over your cock hardening over such a sweet consolation.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t something you were going to dwell on. You knew Clark loved your body, he would’ve inhaled you whole if he could. As a token of appreciation, you nuzzled over the underside of his cock, lining gentle kisses over the veins that made you the hungry, desperate man you were displaying for him. “I love you.”

Clark would burn this image of you, drooling over the sight of his cock, over the tense of his muscles as you licked his abdomen, sucked at a birthmark on his hip, then hollowed your mouth out to accommodate his erection. “I love you.” He exhaled from his gut, nearly seeing the whites of his eyes as you didn’t spare a second in warming him up to your throat.

“Baby, slow down… You’re going to choke—“

“Mmfggh—“ Sweet sounds. Delicious noises that made his spine tingle, that made his muscular chest puff up as it swelled with so much selfish pleasure. You looked up at him with such pureness, a determination that Clark was afraid to shatter if he made you stop, so he simply watched. Petting your head, brushing strands of your hair that threatened to obscure the parts he’d loved most about you. Your eyes sparked with glee as the salt of his cock watered your tastebuds. You let your hands roam free on his body. One palm admiring the toned muscles on his stomach, the other stroking the inches of flesh that haven’t been in your mouth yet.

Then, your eyes filled with tears, as you became overzealous from your mouth blooming with arousal and heat as you took more of Clark. Past the tip now, your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock to make room for his large shaft. Your cheeks hollowed while you sucked, and you could taste Clark leaking on your tongue again. Thick and salty pre-cum dancing over the bed of sprouts.

“Baby, careful…” Despite his warning, Clark couldn’t help but thrust every now and then into you.

It was difficult stuffing Clark inside of your mouth, but you proceeded. Further and further, you sank your head. Clark carefully held you while his gaze marveled at the warmth of your mouth. You’d splutter into a gag when you lodged him into the back of your throat, cramped and gratifying despite the tears in your eyes. Clark was quick to pull you back in case you choked on your own spit, and he knew you. He knew you were the type to take on a challenge. Before you could complain about him pulling you away, he brought you up for a kiss, meeting you half way as he bent forward. His hand was on your nape, tenderly massaging in case you pulled a muscle, and he smiled at your fluster when he pulled away. A thin line of spit connected the pair of lips, a display of devotion for one another. “You did so well.”

While Clark laid you on the bed once again and reached for lube out of his bedside drawer, you were kissing at the underside of his jaw. He’d left a mark on your neck, so it was only fair that you made your presence known as well. Your teeth nibbled on the stretch of skin as your lips wandered off to suck on a patch of skin on his neck. The smell of his body wash was strong in your nose when you buried your face into him, suckling until Clark’s neck had skipped the initial stage of turning pink, and instead, an ardent red. “Don’t finger me too much. I want to feel you.” Your cock throbbed in anticipation.

“No way, (M/N). I’m going to hurt you if I don’t.” He sealed off any potential retorts from you with a smooch to your lips, and then affectionately bumped his forehead to yours, sparing you a teasing smile. “And I promise you, you’d still feel me even if I spent an hour warming you up.”

Your heartbeat spiked.

You brought your knees up after he placed a pillow beneath your lower back. Clark took his sweet time lubing his fingers and erection. There was an obvious motive behind the gaze he’d spare you. A smugness in the curl of his calming smile. He made sure you were watching as he bucked his hips up when he slimed his cock with a glorious amount of lube. The remaining lubricant was used to lather your rim, and then the surface of your lips as he brought his hand up-close.

“It’s cake-flavored. Haven’t used it yet.“ Clark said with a laugh, pressing his lubed thumb to the center of your mouth.

“Of course it is. What’s with you and sweets?” Your lips parted to let your tongue peek out and take a swipe at the wet layer of his skin. Artificially sweet at first, but it wasn’t unpleasant enough to detract you away from it. After taking multiple samples of the lubricant, you closed your mouth around Clark’s thumb, and that was when the base notes hit your tongue. The scent of vanilla tingled your sinuses, as well as the artificial flavor of the sweet commodity spreading pleasantly on your tongue the more you sucked. It tasted more like marshmallows than a cake, but you weren’t complaining. You pushed his thumb out with your tongue and nodded in approval. “Tastes nice. Why do you need it to taste like cake though—“

“Because I like cake.” With a push of your thighs, Clark was back on his knees again. He haunched over to face your exposed entrance once you locked your arms around your legs, holding your knees to your chest. Then, he flattened his tongue over the smooth surface of your crack. One stripe to sample the quality of the flavor. Another to discover the depth of vanilla blossoming on his tongue. And then another few laps, because your bare flesh tasted infinitely better than whatever was mixed in that bottle of lube.

“Clark…” You wished you could properly watch him. For now, you had to settle on blindly watching the top of his head from the opening of your legs, dark curls bouncing as he eagerly devoured and lapped up the layer of lube that slicked up your opening. His tongue swirled over the rim of your hole, teasing at first, to sample you again, then he pressed his mouth to your entrance. The movement of his languid mouth nipping and mouthing made you pucker. It was an automatic reaction, you clenched, then opened, and Clark seized the opportunity and slipped his tongue inside of you, officially tasting you. “C-Clark! That’s—Mmf!”

Clark was under hypnosis. Everything that was said to him, that was plead towards him while he ate you out was drowned out by the sound of his slobbering. Two palms on your asscheeks stretched you out while Clark thrusted his tongue inside of you like daggers. When you clenched around his tongue, Clark pulled back to carefully push a lubed finger inside of you, spreading you back open. “I wish you could see this right now, (M/N). Your hole’s so pretty.” He looked up at you, lips beaten red and his fringe tousled, while he pumped two fingers inside of you now, smiling at the way your body had a mind of its own, floundering within your own hold, completely stripped of insanity and instead, disheveled over the smallest touch. “You look so pretty.” Your cock twitched in solidarity.

For someone who made it seem like he absolutely got no action, Clark was a natural talent in pleasing you. His fingers were thick and deep inside of you, curling at various spots you hadn’t even brushed once in your lifetime. You bit your lip, writhing in suppressed arousal, and Clark would watch in awe as he simultaneously licked around your rim and thrusted his fingers inside of you. Three now, spreading, twisting, and churning in and out of you smoothly with the help of a fresh paint of lubricant. His thick pecs bounced with every draw of his fingers, sweat beginning to form over his neck and shoulders as the heat between you and him only escalated. He broke out into cold sweats, watching you unravel your sanity before his very eyes, and Clark was eager to be the cause of your destruction, for you to equally ruin him.

You’d let your legs collapse onto the bed a while ago, but it was fine, because once you were properly warmed up, Clark took matters into his own hands and balanced your feet over his shoulders, pulling out and orienting his hips before you. He slicked his cock in another layer of lubricant, the smell of vanilla mixing pleasantly with his arousal, and he leaned for a sweet, but confirming, pushing your knees towards your chest in the process.

“I love you.” He softly whispered into your mouth, forehead to forehead. Words of affection that you couldn’t possibly imagine growing tired of. Your stomach was in knots, your heart tugging one way, and then another, as you two shared a gaze. A silent one, but surely meaningful because you felt close to tearing, looking into his sweet, adoring eyes. It nearly ripped when he repeated those three words again in your ear, gentle like the kisses he was adorning the shell of your ear, ticklish like the way he had been tracing your rim with the tip of his cock.

“I love you…” It came out as a purr, and you gave his shoulders a loving squeeze. I’m all set.

Upon the completion of your breath, Clark pushed his hips forth. Slowly, you felt your hole opening. Wider, as it took in Clark’s hot pulse. Gasping, as it was a struggle to fit the head of his cock inside of you. Your body naturally reacted in pushing back the intrusion out of your body, swelling around the plump glans and clenching to prevent him from moving any further. “C-Clark—“

“M-mm, relax—“ He grunted in the depth of your mouth, distracting you with another open-mouthed kiss. But Clark was persistent. He was nearly there. One more push, and he was in. He used the back of your thighs as leverage, pushed your legs further back, and pushed with careful might. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to break through the barrier that refused to let you two bond. Clark was pushing. You were pushing back. It was a battle for territory, a toll on your body as you broke into cold sweats. You inhaled at the increasing soreness, but nonetheless endured because you’d endured worse.

You’d lived through the loneliness that was your life without Clark, and that was absolutely unbearable compared to this. The thought of spending eternity with him reconciled you with near pleasure. You two would go on to do everything together. Holding hands with him in public would be a no-brainer as you helped him shop for a new suit. You’d celebrate his promotion over dinner, either homemade or a fancy restaurant, because Clark deserved the luxury of life. And if all things go well, he’d reward you for staying by his side and supporting him with a ring. Nothing too grand or magnificent, because you were never too keen for the lifestyle of the wealth. And knowing Clark, he’d ramble about how he could buy another engagement ring if you weren’t happy with it, completely forgetting to ask you about the inevitable: Will you marry me?

Exhaling once more, you brought a hand to his nape and gently pushed his forehead to yours. Then his nose squished with yours when you felt your body arched off the bed in response to Clark finally breaching inside of you with one tantalizing thrust, goosebumps fluttering over your skin and amplifying the soreness by tenfold. “H-hh! Clark!” You choked out, straining your neck as your body felt like it was burning. Scalding with pleasure and pain all at once.

“I got you. I got you, baby…” Clark slipped an arm beneath you, cushioning your body when gravity pushed you back onto the bed. He began lathering your neck in pacifying kisses, stilling his hips while doing so. “Doing so well, doing so good. You feel so good, you know that? You make me feel so good.” Clark was drunk on the grasp you had around his cock. So tight, you felt so tight, and he anticipated what you’d feel like beyond the first few inches of him.

“You’re okay?” For moments now, he’d been kissing you to divert your attention from the pain. Wiping beads of sweat off your face with the back of his hand. Massaging your chest and playing with your nipples. Anything to get your body to relax. Though, the most effective remedy was when he gazed into your eyes and rambled. Clark knew that. He felt your muscles loosen when he’d make a silly joke, or when he’d bring up a memory about losing his shoe at work. Touching was the easiest effort and you loved the weight of his palms on you, but you were most sentimental about Clark finding other ways to temporarily shift your mind to a sanctuary. All in all, the power of his humility was a force to be reckoned with.

“I’m okay… Just been a while.” Your lips slurred against his, kissing Clark again, extremely appreciative of his patience. “Think I’m all good now. You can move.” You confirmed with a gentle pat to his cheek.

“I’ll make you feel good.” It was a promise.

Clark kissed at your ear. “I’ll make you feel like you won’t want to stop when we’re about to end.” A symptom.

His lips moved to your neck. You shivered at the ghosting of his mouth, of his tongue, before he’d rightfully claim another spot on your neck as his own.

Clark reeled his hips back until only the tip was left inside of you. You whimpered at the emerging heat, but it was beginning to become bearable.

“I’ll make you feel like you were made for me.” You felt yourself split into two when Clark brought himself forward. A gasp slipped when you felt your hole stretch. And then continued to push itself to its limits as he worked himself inside of you with gentle and subtle thrusts, until Clark was an inch deeper. The grasp you had on his shoulders was extreme, egg-shell white as the sweat in your palms threatened to loosen your grip. The husk in his voice trembled while you swelled around him. Rapid pulsations embraced the thick veins of his cock, seemingly massaging him out of appreciation, a token of your gratitude because pleasure had finally materialized in the loss of your agony.

The toned muscles of Clark’s thighs slapped into the back of your sweaty thighs with every thrust. A salacious sound that wouldn’t cease. Louder. Harder, when Clark was comfortable enough to properly move inside of you. “Because you are.”

Properly stir your insides. Your face said it all. Your sight blasted as you watched Clark with dilated pupils, mouth agape like you had better counter to the flattery of the man’s words. Instead, you found yourself choking back on them. Words. They would’ve been affectionate words. They came out as stifled moans because it was embarrassing for Clark to see you like this. Grunts when Clark lodged himself deeper inside of you. He was just as motivated by a challenge as you were. The challenge of making all sorts of delightful noises fall from your mouth out of your own will.

Sweat dripped off of him like he’d just returned from a blacksmith. A sweltering fire would heat him up. Not to burn him, but to make him pliable enough for the blacksmith to shape the perfect man out of Clark’s flesh and bone. A chisel to carve out the deep dips in his upper traps, where your palms loved occupying. Another at his waist, where you’d hold Clark to help him dig you deeper. Then a hammer, used to forge the sturdy muscles on his athletic body. Deep hills and valley, crafted over his pecs and abdomen to let his sweat drain onto your body.

“You’re made for me, as much as I’m made for you.” Clark murmured.

A vow.

With that, Clark mounted you, both of his palms grounded to the space by your shoulders to stabilize his catapulted position. He pushed his full weight on top of you. Your legs folded towards your chest, alongside the sink of his body, until your knees signaled the end of their mobility. A kiss to your left calf to keep you alert, a bite to the other to warn, and Clark propelled his hips forward without the intention to stop. Further and further, your mouth and eyes widening as he tunneled through your contraction, until his cock was deeply-rooted fully inside of your hole. Clark settled himself inside of you with a yearning groan, and you retaliated with staggered cry.

“C-Clark, I feel so… full. Honey, fuck—” Your skin prickled with goosebumps knowing that Clark had fully breached your hole. There was no doubt about that, yet your hand snuck down to blindly confirm the achievement, to see if you could slot your hand between his pelvis and your ass. But Clark was pressed flushed against you. No gaps. Only the thick hairs of his pubic region came into contact with your fingers, and your cock twitched.

You were completely and utterly full to overflowing.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, baby. You feel so good. So warm. So… tight.” Clark huffed out a few breaths and slid his cock nearly out before slamming it back into you.

“U-uh-huh.” You panted at the sight of his arousal. How gratifying it was to Clark, being inside of you, to the point where his eyes would roll back, and then feel the need to slow his deep thrusts, because he was close. You could tell. You could feel his cock throbbing harder. Veins hotfooting a nearing high as you stimulated his aching muscle, and you were stroking your leaking dick to the feeling.

“I love this… I love you. I love making love to you.” His cock hammered your insides, the thick head of it raking past your sweet spot. It made your cock tremble, your glans crying out with thick, teary pre-cum. When your moans hiccuped a pitch, Clark realized he had mined gold.

“C-Clark, I love you—“ Your firm cock slid through your closed fist every time he moved, the creaking of bed springs following every motion of his thrust. It wouldn’t be long before you made a complete mess on your body. “Oh, god—“ Clark clasped his mouth around your tongue, greedy to feel your moans ricochet off the walls of his cheeks, and into the depth of his throat. Veins charged his arms as he pinned your hips to the bed. You were floating, higher and higher. The roam of your hands, over his sweaty pecs, his shoulders, his neck, his abdominal muscles, his arms—you were stimulating Clark’s body so he doesn’t stop. Motivating him to blind you with his devotion, starry skies and all.

“P-Please, Clark. God, that’s so good. You feel so—“ Forehead to forehead now, Clark was watching you passionately through heavy lids, alternating his gaze from the silent plea in your eyes, to the beaten and swollen muscle of cock in your jerking fist. All while he throbbed inside of you, overwhelming you with the pulsating of his thick cock veins, making love to your hole with the refusal to stretch his approaching climax.

So close, you were so close. You held Clark by his neck with one hand, and refused to let him pull away.

Faster and faster, his cock consistently drilled into your prostate, drumming against it with a deep swivel of his hips and more, until you couldn’t hold back your cries. Your pulse raced as your cock twitched with your heartbeat, speeding the flicks of your wrist to outpace Clark’s thrusts.

It was a tense battle to see who’d erupt first. Harder. Harder. Faster. You were a mess, and so was he. You made him a mess. A drunk intoxicated by carnal desire. Sweat clung onto his fringe, yet he had never looked so attractive, powering into you like a madman, impaling you with his love, with his devotion, with all of his might, brute force, through gritted teeth. You gripped him hard by his biceps, unsure of whether your cries of pleasure were heard between the thunderous sound of his thighs connecting to your asscheeks and the creaking of bed springs. You took a chance to cry out again, to warn him that you were close.

“C-Clark, I’m going to come…” The bubbling feeling had been too irresistible to delay any longer. Clark locked eyes with you upon your alert, and groaned. His tongue came out to skim the bottom of your lip, and you strained forward to cover his mouth with yours, sealing the pair of lips in a slow kiss, contrary to the rapid rhythm that had overtaken the rest of your body, and it stole your breath and made you all dizzy. Your cock only needed three more pumps.

Clark panted a few quick breaths, bracing his body in anticipation by clutching onto your hips until his fingers had turned white. “Want to see you come from my cock…” What you heard in his murmur was beyond want.

It was need.

Two.

You reminded Clark that you were going to come.

One.

His forehead pressed hard against yours, and he switched his gaze to your jerking fist.

“Clark—“

“Let it out. Show me how much you love me.”

You yanked your hand a millisecond before the inevitable, and Clark watched in pure bliss, maintaining his thrusts as your cock erupted with white. Thick shots of cum catapulted across your body with the aid of Clark’s thrusts drilling semen out of you. Layers of creamy ropes messily inked your body from abdomen to chest, and that was all it took for Clark to spill his load inside of you.

His hand like claws on your waist, he pummeled your insides for a few more seconds, delivering your ass with powerful thrusts, and you sobbed out in between breaths, clutching a bundle of his hair in both fists. Finally, Clark grunted, unloading himself inside of you with a scalding bite to your lips. You felt his cock pump, his balls jolting as it drained itself inside of your cavity, filling you up with an unspoken affirmation that you were his. He pushed his cum deep into your hole, powering through the cold tremors overhauling his body, and resumed thrusting inside of you.

Shallow and slow, but enough to spread himself all over your walls. Enough to remind you of the memory when you had been claimed as his, in case you’d ever forget.

You shuddered, dropping your legs to wrap them around his waist, because you could never forget. Couldn’t if you had tried. Not when he was milking his orgasm into you, dumping his warm seed into your hypersensitive hole until he filled you to the brim. Not when you prevented him from pulling out, because you pressed the heel of your feet into his lower back, and countered his thrusts with swivels of your pelvis, gluing him shut to you.

Until you were bonded to him.

“I love you…” Lethargy in his voice, his eyes closed. Clark worked so hard, and you immediately rewarded him with a slow kiss, embracing him close to you after.

“I love you.” He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, evidently gratified by your response as you felt the corners of his lips tug into a smile. You murmured sweet praises in his ear, petting the back of his head to calm the electrical currents stimulating his body.

“We… have a lot of catching up to do, by the way.” Clark suddenly spoke, and your eyes weakly opened, inquisitive over the strange tone in his voice.

It was also funny. How absolutely massive the man was, yet in your arms, he was cuddling up to you as if he wasn’t aware of his own weight plastering you.

“Yeah? Something on your mind, or you wanna save that for tomorrow?” You idly twirled a piece of his hair around your finger, windmilling it out of affection.

“I mean, I guess so? It’s been on my mind since we’ve met. And it’s been killing me on the inside.” The stubble on his chin tickled you when he lifted his head to look at you. The expression on his face suddenly made his warning seem all the more significant.

Concerning, as you propped yourself on your elbows and frowned. Despite your risen position, he was insistent on continuing to rest his weight atop of you, not that you had minded. “You’re kind of scaring me, Clark. What is it? Did you get fired or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I—It’s just…” He stammered, then heavily exhaled. Thoughts of regrets plagued his mind at first, but he trusted you. You could see it in the light of his eyes. “Okay, here it goes. You know... how I’ve written multiple articles about Superman?”

“…Yeah? Got you on Perry’s radar, didn’t it? He seems to only like talking to you, which is impressive. Not surprising though—”

“Yeah, well… It’s just—there’s a reason why… he only sees me.”

“Why? Is it because he saved you or—”

“Clark, what are you doing with your eyes?—“

“Wait, holy crap—“

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

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queeniewithabeanie · 3 months ago

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The Starved College Student

Dpxdc Prompt #14

There is a certain point of liminality where ectoplasm no longer becomes toxic for a human to ingest. When you become a ghost you have to survive purely off of ectoplasm.

There is a spectrum in between these two spots and the point that Jazz lands on in that spectrum is the can-safely-eat-and-survive-off-it-but-also-should-not-soley-live-off-it dot.

This becomes really great when she moves to Crime Alley for college and does not have enough money to spare for food. She get use one of her parent's gadgets (modified by Danny) to extract ambient ecto from the Gotham air and sustain off of it for however long she needs.

Which is why she keeps on refusing the free food the Red Hood gives out, and not for the reasons he seems to think.

"It's not poisoned y'know. Despite the whole anti-hero thing I don't really go around murdering civilians."

She stares at him where she assumes his eyes are underneath the helmet and deadpans, "I know."

"I know for a fact you haven't eaten anything all day. You've been out for 12 hours tutoring kids and no one has seen you take a single bite of anything."

She stares again, "I know."

"If you knew you'd be smart and take the food!"

Not if that means someone else can't get as much, she thinks. Jazz knows that Hood runs out of food all the time. There's too many people that need it and not enough to go around.

When she turns away from him she gives a sad smile and whispers, "I know."

So she goes to walk back to her crappy one bedroom apartment to drink her ecto and survive another day. She thinks about how while she knows it isn't toxic to her the taste of the ecto makes her want to gag and vomit. She thinks about the delicious smell of the food Hood had practically shoved in her hands.

She slows down a bit, but keeps on walking away.

-------------------------------------------

Jason tried his best to care for those in Crime Alley. He would make sure the working girls were payed and respected, the street kids had access to an education, the broke college students got enough to eat, and anything else he could try to do to help.

Sadly, unlike Bruce, Jason was not made of money and did not have access to infinite resources. He had built up enough of a reputation that the working girls knew to come to him if they needed him, though they rarely did anymore. He would give older students the textbooks and, if he had time, lessons they needed to keep up with their education and tutor the younger kids.

For the college students, most of them barely had enough to scrape together 1 meal a day. The soup kitchens (that weren't fronts for trafficking rings) usually prioritized younger kids. And even though everything in the Alley was dirt cheap, if you can't work full time no one will hire you.

This led to Jason giving out most of the excess food he got to the college students in the Alley, most know that he is trustworthy and to take what they can get.

What Jason can't understand is this why this red-headed, six-foot, non-gothamite is refusing food! He knows for a fact that she is going on an empty stomach most days, but still refuses a single bite.

He's surprised she hasn't keeled over yet.

Jazz Fenton is a mystery, and Jason is still a detective even without the World's Greatest by his side.

This mystery gets a lot more urgent when he one day see's the woman chugging a glass of lazarus water.

#i needed to do a jazz prompt at some point #not my fault anger management slipped in here somehow *shrug*#anger management ship #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #jazz fenton #jason todd #crime alley #jazz is Not doing good #she really needs to eat some actual food #queenie-prompts

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miaoua3 · 2 months ago

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Be My Sin.

Pairing: priest!joshua x stripper!f!reader

Genre: smut (MDNI), piv sex, oral sex (f! receiving), religious trauma/inner conflict, slight angst from joshua’s side (thoughts about regret, religion and such), stripper x priest, virgin! joshua

Warnings: mentions of r@pe and p€dophilia as the reason why joshua’s faith in god is wavering, and once again, smut (MDNI)

Description: after years of being a priest, joshua starts questioning his faith in god after receiving some upsetting news. what was supposed to be a walk to clear his mind ends up being a walk straight to his most delicious sin-you.

Note: THIS IS FOR MY POOKS EAT UP HOE (also keep in mind that a lot of thoughts on religion may or may not reflect my own thoughts about it lol). another note: i really said porn WITH plot lmao this one is looong boys, buckle up.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

it must’ve been two hours already since the bartender slid a whiskey neat across the counter and towards joshua. and for the past two hours, joshua has just been staring at the glass and how the low light of the bar has been reflecting in the dark liquor, thinking if he should give into the temptation and break his promise that he made to god, or if he should just get up and leave.

in the 12 years of his life as a priest, joshua has never been more confused, angry and scared like he has been since he heard the news this morning.

joshua takes ahold of the glass and spins it around, and just….thinks.

should he or should he not?

at this point, the whiskey has gone warm, probably not even in the drinkable state anymore, but he wouldn’t care about it.

as long as it makes him forget this whole day today, he’s willing to down even poison.

being betrayed by a friend always hurt him the most. it’s sad, really, feeling pity and disappointment towards the people you once felt nothing but love and affection for.

but this…this is much more than just betrayal.

this is his friend going against everything they have been taught while on their path to become priests.

his friend since childhood, who inspired him to do better and devote his life to spirituality, who guided him towards being a better person.

he was charged with sexual assault of a young girl.

she is only 7 years old.

a bile starts rising up joshua’s throat the more he thinks about it, how he trusted him and saw him as some form of a hero. and so, before he can even think about it, in hopes that it will stop him from indecency that is puking in the bar, joshua picks up the glass and downs the whiskey in one, breaking his sobriety of almost 15 years.

the liquor burns his throat, the aftertaste on his tongue not all that pleasant, it actually makes him scrunch his face in disgust.

joshua then raises a hand and orders another one.

and another one.

he stops counting how many he orders after that.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

joshua is stumbling over his feet as he drunkenly walks on the side walk, observing the pretty city lights and cars as they pass him by. he isn’t sure where he’s headed, letting his absent mind take him wherever it wants.

after the bartender called the last call, he thought that a walk would help him clear his mind. so, after paying for all his drinks, he just…started walking. and he hasn’t stopped for an hour now.

he stumbles as he tries to stop and look at the window of a shop that sells mostly technology, a bunch of tv’s on display behind the window.

he stops to look at whatever ads are being shown on the screen, vision blurry and hazy due to the insane amount of alcohol that is in his blood right now.

his eyebrows immediately scrunch in pain at the pictures that are being shown to him, his hand unconsciously coming up to rub his chest right where his heart is over his black shirt.

bunch of children just running around in slow motion, happy smiles and missing teeth the only things joshua’s mind can focus on.

this is what children should look like, happy and carefree. how could anyone even think about doing things so atrocious and vile to them, like he did? how can anyone harm the ones who least deserve it, who are nothing but pure and innocent?

there’s nothing joshua loved more than when children would come up to him after the sermons and talk to him, seeing children being so curious and mildly confused about the complex that is a religion. it always made him so happy to explain them the things they would ask about in the most simplistic way possible, sometimes even struggling to find the right words to explain things as to not make them even more confused.

seeing the good in people, especially in the young ones, always made his heart swell up with hope and love towards them.

now he isn’t even sure if there’s any hope left in his heart, only rage and hurt floating on the surface of it.

he watches the tv’s for another minute or so, overcome by the thoughts of the terrible day that he it has been today, from the moment he got the news this morning, him struggling to get through the morning sermon, turning away people that wanted to go to the confessionals to him and get the heavy stuff off their hearts, all the way to him downing the alcohol as if it were water.

finally turning away from the window of the shop, joshua attempts to start walking again, stumbling only minimally, only to come to a stop yet again as a wave of nausea hits him.

his hand shots out automatically to grab onto the street light, closing his eyes as he tries to focus on not spilling out his guts right on the middle of the sidewalk.

he’s taking deep breaths in and out when he hears some loud voices from across the street, drunken laughter mixed with it. he opens his eyes to look at what it might be.

a tall old building stares back at him, the bottom part littered with glaring neon signs, one in particular catching his attention. a silhouette of a woman in a martini glass, one leg kicked up to show off her high heel, hands thrown in the air as to signify that she’s having a good time.

huh. a strip club.

normal and sober joshua would never admit this out loud-or while alive for that matter, considering his profession- but he was always a bit curious about strip clubs. naturally, he has met his fair share of sex workers, he even helped a few of them get from troublesome situations where they were being threatened or abused, always ready to help anyone in need regardless of their background and/or profession.

he has never been in one though, as he had no reason to go.

his bloody eyes watch as a white convertible rolls up to the club, parks and turns the lights off. and then, like some sort of angel, steps out what he can only describe as the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on, all short skirts and tops, hair swishing around as she turns her head while she locks the doors of her car, before she proceeds to walk up the stairs and inside the building, disappearing as easily as she appeared.

joshua swallows harshly, unsure if his throat is dry due to the hot summer night that he finds himself in or because of the woman that just made him realise that heaven was more than just a place that he will officially never see.

before he can rationalise his thoughts, his legs start moving all on their own, walking across the street (and almost getting hit by a car that he didn’t see in the process) and through the door of the strip club.

he never had a reason to go inside a place like this, right?

well, one reason was just found.

he struggles as he walks through that type of curtain that is made out of beedy tussles, almost choking himself with one as he tries to get it out of his face.

the scene in front of him makes him freeze in his place, gulping heavily due to unfamiliarity of it all.

in the centre laid a stage in a shape of a martini glass, just like in the front. on both sides of the stage there were many leather chairs, the kind that you can just hear squeaking under your ass simply by looking at it. a part of the stage was covered by red curtains, the type that you can just tell are heavy and velvety to the touch. above that, on the wall, hung another neon sign.

angel’s heaven.

how ironic.

joshua walks to the left, where a bar with a few busy bartenders can be seen, patiently waiting on his turn to order.

before you ask- only water for him from now on.

he wants to remember everything he’s about to see.

as he waits, he can feel the people judgementally looking at him because of the uniform that he has yet to give a fuck about, the roman collar poking at his neck even after years of wearing it, the black shirt and pants making him look at least a bit presentable.

when his turn finally comes, he orders himself a water, drowning it in one go before he shyly asks for another glass.

as he pushes through the mass of people, he finally comes to where the leather chairs are. he decides to stay standing as it gives him a much better view of the stage.

just as he was turning his head left and right to look around, joshua notices the lights dimming around him and shining brighter on the stage, making it the main point of the room.

suddenly, some sexy jazz music starts playing, the kind where you find yourself imitating the sound of the trumpets. the red curtains get pulled to the sides harshly, revealing 4 figures behind it.

only then is the setup shown to the audience, the neon sign outside making much more sense now that joshua can see two gigantic martini glasses with a stepping stool on sides of it. in between them there are two tall poles.

joshua watches as two women on the ends carefully yet sexily climb the stepping stools so they can get into the martini glasses, making the liquid inside it splash on the sides. while they are trying their best to make it as sexy as possible to get into gigantic glasses, another two women present themselves to the public, wearing lacy and ever so sexily red lingerie.

men around him start to whistle and cheer, the one closest to the stage already throwing dollar bills at them, but joshua can only focus on one of the women that is on one of the poles, swaying her body, hips and hair to the jazzy rhythm.

you. the woman from earlier.

the reason for his sin.

he watches carefully as you wrap one leg around the pole, spinning gently and artistically, your hair swishing behind you. he gulps when you stop spinning, only to get down on your knees and let yourself to sort of dive into the floor, your chest touching the floor, your position giving the audience a beautiful view of your ass cladded in the red lacy panties.

joshua isn't sure if the other woman next to you is doing the same moves as you because his eyes, mind and desires are solely focused on you, but by the cheers of the men, he can only guess that she is.

he continues to watch with a weird feeling climbing up his stomach as you pull yourself back up, staying on your knees as you tilt your head back and play with your hair, your tits moving up and down as you intentionally inhale and exhale extra hard, slowly bouncing on your knees.

you then get back up to your feet-still as sexily as possible-your smile blinding the men in the chairs, and joshua too. you turn around to give men an even better view of your ass as you sway it to the music.

joshua has to remind himself to breathe again, air trapped inside his throat, only noticing it due to getting a bit lightheaded.

but that just might be the alcohol.

or you.

the cheers continue as you and your partner spin on the poles, throwing money and words like ''yeah baby, spin that ass! take that bra off!'', making joshua only mildly uneasy and annoyed, maybe even a bit jealous.

the show continues for half an hour, closer to 40 minutes, and joshua watches you and only you the entire time. at the end, you and the other stripper do the last spins before you slowly come to the stop, slowly stepping on your feet as the music cuts off.

the cheerful screams suddenly turn into those of slight disappointment as the two women (who joshua hasn't even looked at once) step out of the big martini glasses, to join you and your partner for the final bow. while you wait, you scan the crowd for the potential customers for one-on-one sessions, smiling and waving a bit to the ends who scream for you, when you suddenly notice in the far back, watching you with mouth agape, the most beautiful face you have ever seen illuminated under the neon lights of the club, his cheeks noticeably rosy even from a distance.

and then you notice his attire.

huh. a priest.

how ironic.

as you smile at him, both with certain gentleness and sinisterness, joshua's heart drops to his feet.

oh how much fun are you going to have with him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

joshua never walked faster in his life, tripping tipsily over his legs as he reaches the bar he ordered his water from.

the second he’s in front of a bartender, he’s slamming his hand against the bar to balance himself up, and with desperate eyes asking the bartender “how do i get into the vip? are there private sessions with the dancers? private rooms maybe? how much would something like that cost? actually never mind, i’d pay however much it costs-“.

the bartender just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for joshua to realise that his rambling is a bit distasteful as well as embarrassing.

as it registers in his brain just how judgementally the bartender is looking at him, making him blush a little in embarrassment, shyly whispering “I apologise”.

seeing that he’s finished with the rambling, the bartender explains “there is vip section but that is for groups of 4 or more, so i’m guessing you are not interested in that.”

joshua just nods along, waiting for him to get to the part that he wants to hear about.

the bartender then continues “we also have private rooms for one-on-one sessions. you can pick the dancer, but if they’re busy with another customer or with the vip section, you can either wait for them to be done or request another dancer.-“

having heard enough, joshua interrupts him “is the pretty dancer-the-the one on the right pole-is she free? nobody booked her already, right?"

the bartender yet again gives joshua an are you serious right now? look, prompting joshua to look down bashfully, mumbling yet another "i apologise", scratching the back of his neck due to the awkwardness that has ensued.

seeing that he can speak freely again, the bartender continues "yes she is free, would you like me to book you a session with her?"

joshua nods enthusiastically, eyes shining brightly both due to the alcohol and excitement.

after paying for a double session, joshua follows the instructions given by the bartender and walks straight ahead until he reaches a hallway, where he turns right and enters the third door on the left side.

the room is isolated from top to bottom in some sort of leather material, probably as a way to sound proof the room of...everything and anything that might go on in it. in the centre of the room, there is a black, circular table with a pole going right through it. right in front of it stood a noticeably low black leather chair, intended for the customers, joshua assumes.

with unsure steps, joshua walks over to the chair before he takes a seat, looking around and observing the very weird room.

suddenly, the door that he has just walked through open, revealing your beautiful self wrapped in a silky white robe. joshua's breath catches in his throat upon seeing the sight in front of him, how beautiful you look so up close, how you radiate absolute confidence and effortless sexiness.

you look down at the chair only to see joshua in it, a smirk immediately appearing on your face.

"well aren't you a fast one, father. or should i say...", you pause for a moment to take a few more steps and grab the chair, leaning across the chair until your lips are right by his ear, the smirk spreading by every passing second.

"...daddy?", you finish, barely containing your cackling.

joshua just makes a face of disgust, if you were to look up the definition of the word "ew", you'd see his face right next to it instead of a complicated sentence.

expressing as much, joshua ushers out "ew, no, don't call me that, that's just- yeah no.", finishing his rant with a full body shiver.

cackling at his reaction, you proceed to walk over to the table. before sitting down on it, you quickly take off your robe and throw it somewhere to the side, beyond caring about it this far in your career.

joshua gulps as he sees you sitting on the table right in front of him, your red heel grazing his pants as you go to cross it. he tries really reaaally hard not to look at your exposed skin and how the lingerie clings to your skin. force of habit maybe? or maybe he's clinging onto the little hope he had left in himsef.

chuckling at his behaviour, how skittish he was, wiggling around his chair and looking away, all while redness greeted his cute cheeks, you start questioning him.

"so, father, what brings you here?", you tilt your head as you look at him, waiting for an answer.

joshua finally looks back at you, making it very evident that he's focusing on your face only. gulping yet again, he answers "just...thought i'd come and see what a-a place like thi-this would look like-", but before he can finish the sentence, you interrupt him.

"that's not what i meant."

joshua looks startled and confused, looking at you questioningly.

smiling a little at him, you stand up before him and come closer, your legs parting his own. joshua's eyes bulge out of its sockets so much that they look like they're about to fall out any second. his eyes follow the silhouette of your body-starting at the legs, and how glowy and shiny they looked under the blue light of the room. next were the hips that were right in front of his face. joshua had to swallow harshly as he eyed the red underwear hugging your lower body-the lacy material, how see-through it was. unintentionally he paid extra attention to your tummy and how cute it looked to him-somehow it made you look more human.

finally, his eyes skim over your tits, just briefly however, before he finally comes to look you in the eyes again.

you smile at his flustered expression, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear. using the free space between his legs, you place on of your knees there, his half hard crotch already pressing against it. grabbing the chair right by where joshua's head is, ever so slowly you lean in until your noses are almost touching.

with your eyes locked now, you whisper in the little space between you two.

"what are you doing here, in my room?"

it takes joshua a bit to find his words due to being absolutely and incandescently in awe of you. his eyes are flying all over your face, taking in your beauty. if somebody were to watch the scene unfold from the sidelines, they would think that joshua might be in love.

with earnestness swimming in his eyes, he looks you directly in the eyes as he stutters out "because you are the most beautiful woman i have ever seen in my life. i just...i had to."

his response evidently stunts you, because the gentle smile from your lips slowly fades away, something between amazement and dumbstruck appearing in your eyes instead.

nobody has ever said something so...nice to me.

and you look. you look and you search in his eyes. for doubt. for earnestness. for honesty.

placing a hand on his cheek, you whisper ever so quietly.

"i'm going to kiss you now."

not giving him the time to overthink it, you lean in and gently kiss his lips. joshua, in return, starts feeling like he's having a heart attack, but doesn't pull away.

only a fool would pull away from the most beautiful women's kiss.

once you let your kiss naturally fall apart, joshua just blinks at you, his whole face red and his eyes as big as saucers.

you place the other hand on his other cheek as well, leaning your forehead against his. rubbing his cheeks to calm him down, you whisper "touch me, don't be shy" before you kiss his pouty lips again.

the man in question responds to your kisses but makes it evident that he's a bit unsure, a bit scared, and that he's letting you take control and lead the pace of the kiss.

after a minute or so of your kissing, of your tongue invading his mouth, of gently biting his lower lip to tease him and so that you can hear that little noise of surprise leaving his mouth, joshua finally places his hands on the back of your thighs-gently, of course. instead of grabbing them and using his hold to pull you onto his lap like you want him to, he just...hold them there, kind of like he's supporting them in case they might give out beneath you.

not liking this, you bite his lip again, this time a bit harder, sort of as a warning, before you pull away to look him in the eyes as you say one word only. one word that will unravel the true beast within him.

"harder."

just like a light switch, something changes in his eyes, before he grabs the back of your thighs harshly and leaning back in to kiss you like a starved man would.

his kiss is bruising, and it hurts you so good-the way his lips perfectly wrap around your own, the way his tongue dances and battles for dominance against your own, the way his hand squeeze and release your thighs periodically.

everything he does hurts you so good and deliciously.

sensing that you leaning down like this might be a bit uncomfortable for you, he uses his hold on your legs to pull you towards him, making you straddle him.

getting his cue, you oblige happily, sitting yourself on his lap, maybe but just maybe wiggling a bit on his lap to tease him, which seems to go exactly according to your plan. his hands immediately grab onto your bare ass, squeezing so hard, like he's trying to ground himself, to anchor himself, all while moaning directly in your mouth.

being naturally moved by his hands on your body, you unconsciously start rocking your hips back and forth, making joshua squeeze your ass cheeks even harder, to an almost bruising degree.

suddenly, a thought strikes you like a lighting making you part your lips with the man beneath you.

joshua just looks at you, somewhat scared, somewhat questioningly. but before he can start puking out all of his questions, you tilt your head to the side as you ask him.

"i never asked for your name, and i imagine you wouldn't like me calling you father the entire time, so. what is it?"

joshua just blinks for a few seconds before he answers "joshua, my name is joshua."

you smile at his words before you grab the back of his hair, making the man drop his mouth open as he moans at your action.

smirking directly against his lips, you compliment him "good boy", before you are kissing him to the degree of insanity.

using the newfound knowledge that pulling his hair does it for him, you use the hold on his hair to push and pull his head in directions that you want him to so you can kiss him under all the possible degrees there are. tilting his head to the left, you let your tongue battle against his own. he tries to put up a fight, but inevitably loses the moment you pull his hair even more.

somewhere between the minutes of being lost in your kisses, joshua starts rocking his own hips upwards, right into your barely covered crotch. just as he realises what he's doing and is about to pull away and apologise, you moan needily in his mouth, pressing your hips stronger against his own.

finally having had enough of his gentlemen-ess, you grab one of his hands from your ass only to push it in your own underwear.

joshua gasps at the action, blushing like crazy. looking you directly in the eyes, you just respond to his visible doubt.

"stop being a gentlemen and fuck me already."

....well.

still holding back a bit, joshua starts off slowly, rubbing his fingers over....something. considering that he has never done any of this, joshua is proud of himself for even being in this position in general. he always thought that...sex will always remain an unexplored territory, considering that he's a priest and all.

having sensed that joshua has never fingered a woman ever, you pull back, using his knees to balance your hands on.

looking him directly in the eyes, you order him with all seriousness.

"take my panties off."

joshua looks at you like a deer caught in the headlights for a second, before he looks down at your underwear just as confused, wondering how he's supposed to take them off while you are still sitting on his lap.

rolling eyes a bit at this, you help the poor man by adding "rip them off."

cue more startled looking at you.

gently taking the sides of your underwear, joshua exhales before he harshly pulls on the red fabric. it ends up ripping much easier than he thought it would.

huh. maybe he was stronger than he previously thought. or maybe the underwear was just that flimsy.

having been freed of the panties, you come to crowd his personal space again, taking his hand in yours again, making sure to keep the eye contact with him.

"okay, welcome to 'how to finger a woman 101' class. it's not hard math, you just have to know that every woman is different and likes different things, as well as that there are things all women like."

joshua furrows his eyebrows, if this were a cartoon, a question mark would start flying around his head just about now.

instead of explaining what all those things could be, you just bring his hand back to your pussy. you make his fingers spread you open, showing him where the magic happens.

hoarsely, you say against his lips "now i'll teach you what i like."

joshua, ever the good boy, just nods his head, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he exhales shakily.

taking over his fingers and keeping yourself open for him, you nod downwards, to your glossy and wet pussy.

"see the little bundle of top?", joshua looks down and nods when he notices the bundle in question, gulping at the sight beneath him, fingers and mouth itching to get them on you.

"rub it. gently."

joshua's eyes search for permission in your own for a second, only starting once you nod.

he uses his point and middle finger to gently and slowly rub circles on your clit, watching out for your reactions. you exhale slowly, eyes automatically closing the longer he goes on,

"put more pressure. and a bit faster."

as if he were your servant, joshua obliges immediately.

your moans are all the validation he needs, enjoying how it rings in the shell of his ear, how pretty they sound. like a tune that he himself is making.

gradually and mindlessly, joshua applies even more pressure and starts going faster, getting lost in your pretty noises and lust-filled air. he doesn't even know when he starts, but suddenly he notices that his lips are on your neck, licking, kissing and sucking on the skin there.

your moans get louder, which is exactly what joshua wanted. you're getting so lost in the pleasure that you feel the need to grab onto something, or else you fear you might fly away. you search for something to hold on, only finding his hair in return.

pulling on it harshly makes joshua moan loudly against the skin of your neck, his fingers rubbing your clit even harsher, even faster.

"don't stop."

you pull his head even closer, moaning away in his ear, curses and his name mixed with it the faster you approach your end. joshua, in return, doesn't stop what he's doing, just like you tell him. his lips bite your neck harshly, some sort of animalistic urge to mark you, to make you his taking over his mind.

legs squeezing around his, spasming and shaking as you're reaching your orgasm, you almost scream in his ear "fuck! don't sto-ah, i'm cumming, i'm cumm-"

you never get to finish that sentence as your finish interrupts you. throwing your head back, you pull on joshua's hair so harshly he fears he might lose the hair you are pulling on like a maniac.

riding through your orgasm, joshua finally starts slowing down when he notices you running away from his touch. figuring you have came, he finally stops, eyes immediately looking for your approval and review.

forehead coated in sweat, skin glistening, eyes still shut in pleasure-joshua thinks this might be the most beautiful sight he has ever witnessed.

opening your eyes, you smile at his cute expression, with red cheeks and sparkly eyes.

ready to give him a response, you pull his face towards your own, kissing him passionately, relaxing in his hold the moment his arms wrap themselves around your waist.

parting your lips, your hand gently grabs his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheek.

looking him directly in the eyes, so he know you mean every word you're about to say, you praise him.

"good boy."

your words setting him off, he immediately goes back in to kiss you, to eat you alive. grabbing your thighs, joshua then stands up while holding you, making you gasp in his mouth.

he lays you not-so gently on the table in front of him (not that you are complainig, you are loving this rough and wild joshua), his mouth biting your lower lip harshly. your nails imbed themselves in his back, pulling on his shirt, trying to pull it off him.

being sick of his own shirt, joshua pulls away to quickly take it off, revealing a surprisingly ripped and muscular build of his.

your breath catches in your throat, mouth salivating to get your hands on him.

grabbing the front of his pants, you pull him harshly towards you. taken aback by this move, joshua falls over you, luckily reflexes coming in handy and using his hands to catch himself and not squish you beneath his weight.

you immediately grab his face and pull him back for a wild kiss, his tongue responding enthusiastically to your own entering his mouth. and his hands? oh they have a mind of their own. grabbing your thighs and hiking them up against his hips, before they shamelessly grab your tits, squeezing them over the red material of your bra.

wanting- no, needing to feel them bare, joshua pulls away for a second in favour of ripping your bra from your body, snapping the front of before he pushes it aside.

his mouth immediately wrap themselves around your right nipple, sucking on them like an animal.

you arch your back at the contact, hands grabbing onto his hair harshly as you moan loudly.

letting the boy have his fun for about a minute, enjoying the way he's sucking on your tit, how he lets himself go and bite the skin of it, marking it with the imprint of his teeth. you let him have his fun for about two minutes before you are pulling his hair harshly until his face is in front of your own.

exhaling against his lips, you utter.

"fuck me. now."

normally joshua would kill to do as you say. normally. but the urge to get his lips on your sweet little pussy wins over that.

without answering you, he lowers himself until he is face to face with your lower body, eyes trained to focus on you.

his breath that leaves his mouth grazes the skin of your pussy, goosebumps appearing on your skin as it does.

eyes filled with desire, he says the words that will come to haunt your dreams for years to come.

"teach me how you want it. how you like it."

and then his mouth is on you, starving as ever. his lips-it's like he's trying to make out with your pussy, not afraid of getting messy, his spit dripping down. sucking on the clit, his eyes focus on your face for a reaction. your back arch the longer he keeps sucking and kissing you down there.

hands grabbing onto his hair, you pull onto his hair, almost as if you are trying to get more of him, to get him deeper inside of you.

getting your cue, he lets his tongue prod and explore your entrance for a bit, before he let it fully enter your hole, swirling it around, gathering your taste on it so he can taste you as he swallows.

seeing by your moans that you like it, he replaces his tongue with one finger, slowly pushing it inside of you.

throwing your head back at the feeling of fullness, you moan at the way he pushes the finger in and out of you, slowly twisting it each time. while he fingers you, joshua focuses his lips back again on sucking on your clit, using his tongue to flick it before he wraps his lips around it and suck it.

distinctly joshua registers you moaning "more", which he immediately responds with pushing another finger inside of you.

he keeps on going in a relentless pace, fingers pushing inside of you faster than they pull outside of you. while his fingers are working you, his mouth focuses more on his own pleasure, drinking your juices as if they were honey.

you let him eat you out for a few minutes, let him work out another orgasm out of you. but not only that-you let yourself enjoy, actually enjoy being with a man. a man who, presumingly, has never touched a woman this way before yet does a better job in satisfying you than all those fuck ass, try-hard man in power who only care about themselves.

a man who makes you feel like a woman.

feeling yourself reaching the finish faster than before, you forcefully pull his head, ignoring his hissing in pain, until his mouth are kissing your lips this time.

although his mouth aren't on you anymore, his fingers certainly are, still pushing inside of you at the relentless pace. you basically have to moan out "you had your fun, now fuck me", because joshua certainly wasn't stopping.

seeing as he was almost in a trance, eyes glossy and hazy, you take the situation in your own hands. literally.

grabbing the hem of his pants, you feel his front up in order to find the zipper, feeling up joshua's bulge in the process. finally feeling it, you pull it down to your best abilities, considering that joshua is distracting you with his kisses.

you pull harshly on his pants, just wanting them off of his sexy ass (that you felt up in the process of getting rid of his pants-nice and juicy, you must admit). with his pants you also pull down his black underwear, his dick jumping out freely.

you push joshua's chest a bit so you can actually look down and see his dick.

to say that you are very pleasantly surprised is an understatement. his cock is so...beautiful. with a pinkish tip, it slightly curves to the right. although not the thickest one you have seen, he's still definitely up there, with his size as well.

you take him and you pump him a few times, smiling widely the way joshua's pretty moans fly out of his mouth involuntarily.

guiding his cock to where you need him the most, you hear joshua exhale shakily. in excitement or fear, is the only question.

you put your hand on his cheek, making him focus back on you. looking at him with gentle eyes, you try to reassure him a bit.

"it's okay, if you don't want to, you can still walk away, baby. it'd be a shame, considering i don't see a face this pretty in here that often, never mind between my legs."

joshua weighs his options for a few seconds, but deep deep down, in his soul, he knows what the right answer it.

he has sinned plenty already today, what's one more?

and with that thought, he grabs the base of his cock and starts pushing inside.

after a minute or so, you both moan in unison as he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against your own. joshua has to take a moment to recollect himself and pray to god that he doesn't cum right there right that second with how much you are squeezing him.

your long nails claw at his naked back, sure to leave scratches for tomorrow to be seen. the way he fills you up, the way he makes you feel full and good. it's a little too much for you, it makes you want him even more, and you want him now.

pushing your heels against his ass, you signal to him to start moving which he does.

he starts off slow, taking his time, like he wants to remember it all, to remember you. he rocks his hips against your own so deliciously, you can't help but let the moans escape you.

gradually, he fastens his pace until he catches a rhythm that suits you both, skin slapping the only sound in the room besides your panting and moans.

he masters the moves pretty quickly, his moves rolling more so than hammering, just like how you like it.

his tip keeps on hitting your sweet spot over and over again, the tension in your tummy starting to slowly build again because of it after a few minutes of him going at it.

joshua notices how you start to squeeze more tightly around his cock, how you are trying to milk him dry-and succeeding, by the looks of it.

naturally, he starts going faster, until he's just chasing his high. his hips slam against your asscheeks, leaving the skin red and tender to each following contact of his hips.

the entire time he's fucking you, joshua is either attempting to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth and all, or he's just keeping them there, touching your own as he's moaning and groaning.

his sounds make you go insane, from him moaning while saying "pussy so good" to groaning out a "god, fuck" every now and then.

it all messes with your head.

it all makes you want him to cum. now.

you hug his shoulders and brace your heels against his back, trying everything to keep him as close as possible. your mouth end up right by his ear, moaning one thing over and over again.

"cum for me."

joshua chases both your and his high, holding back from giving you what you want until you cum first.

your pleasure first, then his.

he wants you to milk him dry as he's cumming, not a second earlier or later.

he keeps on fucking you, repeatedly hitting your spot until you scream "i'm cumming!" right into his ear. you squeeze around him so tightly that it triggers his own orgasm, spilling inside of you, coating your walls white in his cum.

he groans as he finishes inside of you, riding out both your orgasms, his hands clawing at your thighs, pulling you closer until his balls are right against your ass.

once he feels that he's overstimulating both himself and you, he stops, but he makes no move to pull out, letting himself fall on top of you instead.

for a minute or so, you two just breathe as you hold each other, his face buried in your neck with his eyes closed, blissfully basking in the glory of the post-orgasm.

once you regain your breath, you post a question that only a fool would say no to.

"wanna go again?"

#seventeen #svt #svt x reader #fypシ #tumblr fyp #fypage #smut #joshua x you #joshua #joshua svt #joshua x reader #joshua hong #priest joshua save me

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yanderenightmare · 10 months ago

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Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, noncon, virgin reader, corruption kink, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Thinking about Demon King Sukuna and how he receives a virgin for his harem every new moon. Most are unfortunate townspeople who’ve come of age—but you’re something he can savor even more, something truly special.

The silk kimono you’d been dressed in is easily ripped from your body, leaving you bare. You’d been warned not to fight or run, that he’d only sooner kill and eat you—but you keep your faith and try and escape anyway.

All your life, the temple has taught you of Ryomen Sukuna—that he’s a harbinger of carnage and death. You’d feel better offering your life to the Gods than allowing it to remain captive by the likes of evil.

He only grabs and manhandles you with nothing more but a sadistic laugh, catching your hair in a fist as he pulls you up until only the tips of your toes are left grazing the floors—and even then, he has to bow nearly half his length before he’s leveling your eyes with his.

“My patience is a fickle thing, turtledove. Run again, and I’ll treat it like a real hunt. Which would be a real shame… I so hate spilling holy blood before I’ve made it filthy with sin.”

You're thrown onto a large round bed next. It catches you with a bounce while he crawls after you, taking hold of both your ankles and swiftly pulling you beneath him.

His chest is marked with demonic seals, and so is his face, where he looms above you with a deranged smile. Raking his claws up your legs and thighs, he spreads and pushes them flat against the bed while his other two hold your crying face, cupping your cheeks with both thumbs hooking into the wet of your mouth, playing with your tongue as you sob. When he shows you his and its black markings, you scream, feeling as though he’s pouring poison down your throat as he feeds you its length and knots it with yours.

You choke and sob while you share each other’s spit, feeling tarnished and forsaken by all that you held sacred—wondering why the heavens would allow this to happen as the weight of his manhood finds rest between your thighs, upon your mound and tummy, where it grows fat and warm.

His hands leave your face and switch places with the other two, freeing them for what he plans on doing next. Wrapping one around himself, he gives it languid tugs while soaking in the sight of your poor little cunt trembling in fear of something it only barely knows what is. His other hand pets it soothingly in mockery, tickling the slit, making you shake.

His stomach then splits open like a cut, baring teeth and a tongue that only earns your horrified expression—crying as it drools over you, jutting out to lick the tender place you so wished had remained untouched. You whine in shudders as he squeezes your throat and bares down over you, staring at you with keen bromine eyes, amused with your fall from grace as you come undone.

“You taste sweet,” he moans against your lips while his other mouth slurps at your core, also groaning.

You’re naïve for thinking it’s over where you blink away tears, but he doesn’t blame you. They never teach you the truth in temples, only childish lies that leave you ever vulnerable to the outside world and ever sweeter for him to ruin.

“I apologize for clipping your wings, angel. But I must say… depravity suits you better.”

Nothing. Not a prayer or plea leaves your lips as he tears through and fills you up. Only a choked gasp that dies midway. You bite into your lip, squeezing your eyes shut—ready to accept a death that never comes. Instead, there’s a living hell, and you can only scream as it consumes you.

Your whimpering is delicious, caught beneath him, panting every time his hips snap forth and storm your clingy insides, gushing for him like he knew you would be—sweetly surrendering all your worship to him and honoring him as your new god.

Perhaps he won’t feast on your flesh once he’s done as cute as you are. He wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a bit. Teach you how to serve him properly. Paint you with his seals. Make you his favorite pet.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

#yandere sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sukuna #yandere ryomen sukuna

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sukirichi · 10 months ago

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VIRGIN KILLER TRIO !! & their habits

→ oliver aiku + karasu tabito + otoya eita

→ nsfw. smut. wrote this impulsively on my notes because karasu has me feeling things. aged up characters. toxic men. fingering. oral (f receiving) otoya is a cheater (canon but i love him) unedited. size kink kind offf. aiku hits it and quits it.

+ I NEED AIKU SO BAD. i also hc that karasu is a manwhore but he would teeat you so well <3

it’s hard not to catch sight of the virgin killer trio in every afterparty. there’s oliver — the smooth talker who can never remember a girl’s name, karasu — who reads your every move and can tell from across the room how badly you want him, and otoya — the quietest of them all. but don’t let his demeanor fool you. rumors have it that he’s as great in bed as he is at breaking hearts.

pick your poison, they said. don’t let the night go to waste, they said.

but all is easier said than done when oliver has forgotten his cold beer on the counter as he presses you against it during a party. he calls you names that are outright dirty and should not have made you this wet. he smells like smoke and liquor — like danger, like everything you should avoid. you know he won’t remember you the next morning and you’ll most likely wake up in an empty bed. no notes, no small gift left behind. it would be hard to tell he was ever there if it were not for the ache between your thighs and the bite marks he’d left all over your skin.

oliver fucks like the way he wins — luring his opponent and trapping them against him until you give in and submit. what’s the point of fighting anyway? you know it’s futile. you should just let him do as he pleases — to hammer into you from behind, his large hands squeezing your hips in a vice-tight grip. oh no, he’s not letting you go. he’ll keep you there until your thighs quiver and your head drops down to the pillow, the sheets drenched with sex and sweat. he’ll keep you there until his legs are tangled with yours, your tongue lolled out as he fucks out the most delicious moans from you.

oliver aiku is dirty, intoxicating, and when he leaves his mark on you, he only has one goal in purpose — to ruin you for any other man who comes next.

karasu is different. he’s sweeter, more tender with his words and gestures. he doesn’t seduce you right away. no, he likes to watch his prey first from across the room, letting his gaze wander to your pretty face and picturing if you’d look better when you’re finally coming around his cock. when he makes himself known, it’s too late. he’ll know everything about you already, just like how he knows he’ll have you putty in his hands by the end of the night. the only thing left is to prove his theories right — don’t even try to think you can hide your weaknesses from him. he can read you like an open book. he can tell from the hungry way your eyes roam over him that you’d take it like a good girl, and your eyes would roll back when he slides himself in deep.

unlike aiku, karasu doesn’t cage you under his arms and suffocates you. this isn’t a battle for him, because battles mean there’s equal chances of winning, and there’s none of that in the bedroom. karasu knows he’s stronger and has the upper hand. he knows you’re entirely at his mercy when he pins your hands above your head, his long fingers locked around your wrist. and oh, he’s sweeter, so much sweeter. he calls you beautiful and gorgeous. he worships you and leaves kisses on your body, murmuring sweet nothings like a mantra against your skin. he isn’t rough, but he fucks you hard and deep. hard enough you’re seeing stars and your toes are curling, pussy fluttering around his girth. and when he’s pushed you to the edge, he’ll make sure everyone at the party knows who made you feel that good.

karasu doesn’t leave a note. he stays the night and kisses you again, his eyes droopy in a post sex-haze. he gives you his number, because why not? he sure wouldn’t mind sleeping with you again the next time you run into each other.

the next time you attend these events, it isn’t the dominant oliver or endearing karasu who charms you. instead, otoya comes unexpectedly — slithering his way into your heart (and pants) before you could realize it. he’s subtle, and doesn’t stand out much from the crowd. it comes like a shock to you when you find yourself pressed up against a wall in a random hallway with his lips against your neck. he doesn’t say sweet things like karasu, or teases you on how you’re such a dirty whore like oliver would. no, otoya speaks with his words, and you get the message clear enough when he’s pumping his fingers in you. he’s quiet still, giving you only breathy moans and low groans when you squeeze around him — but by the heavens, he sounds the prettiest.

there is nothing quick and swift when it comes to otoya, unlike how he is when he’s speeding through the field. he takes his time with such confidence and patience that karasu would lack, since he’s too eager. and he touches you in the gentlest manners briefly reminding you of karasu, but when otoya looks at you, it’s different. with his handsome face above you, his reddened lips parted with a shuddering breath, and his eyes narrowed as he watches your cunt swallow him to the hilt. he isn’t the sweetest, but he is the most romantic. lacing his fingertips with yours, otoya swallows all your moans in a devouring kiss. his hips plunging into you in a way that you’re sure you’ll feel him for days. and he kisses like he means it — kisses your sweet pussy with his eyes closed and rough hands kneading your ass like a starved man.

and when he leaves, it’s with a hole in your heart. otoya is a silent killer, who comes and disappears into your life, but not without ensuring he’s more than just a silly fuck. because otoya didn’t have to make out lazily with you, or ask about your passions. he didn’t have to be genuinely interested in getting to know you and smile like he’s fallen in love. he didn’t have to hide that it was all a mistake — that he was already with someone else, and simply couldn’t ignore his needs when you set foot into the room and your scent got him hard.

and when the regret sinks in, otoya will barely look you in the eye. he doesn’t stay the night because there’s someone waiting for him at home.

he doesn’t ask for your name or number because it’s easier to pretend nothing happened between you. just as silently as he made his way to your heart, otoya leaves with a final resounding click of the door being shut.

because just like his friends, otoya never stays.

and they’ll be on their way to find their next conquest.

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kisshae · 4 months ago

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i hate fruits ──── ★ ⠀ YU JIMIN !

PREC𝒾S , loving karina feels like biting into the ripest, most forbidden fruit—deliciously sweet yet laced with danger. every glance, every touch is a temptation that lures you deeper.

🕸️ —PAR𝒾NGS , best friend!karina x lovesick!fem reader ft mark (nct), intak (p1h), manon (katseye) ★ genre , wlw friends to ??? angst uni au wc 3.2k warning(s) kissing arguments??? reader is down BAD for karina

? - now playing california, beabadoobee

"I hate fruits," you mutter under your breath, staring at the apple in your hand. the skin is shiny, almost too perfect, just like karina's smile. you know you shouldn't want it, shouldn't be this obsessed, but here you are, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

she's standing there, laughing, the carefree joy radiating from her like sunlight.

for a second, everything feels normal. but you know better. it can't be. it never will be. every laugh, every glance she sends your way—each one is a temptation you can't resist. you wish you could just walk away, cut this twisted obsession out of your life before it eats you alive.

but instead, you stay, glued to her every movement, slightly begging for the next moment to drag you deeper into this pit of sweetness.

you take a bite of the apple. it's too sweet. too perfect. like karina. and just as poisonous. you don't know why you keep doing this to yourself, why you keep letting her in.

every bite makes you want more, but you know you'll regret it the moment you finish.

you can't tell her. you can't even tell yourself the truth. that you're in too deep. that you love her in a way that's wrong, twisted even. but there's something inside you that wants it—needs it.

you wish you could hate her, even for a moment, just to break free of this suffocating feeling. but how could you? everything about her is so... perfect?

it's not like you haven't tried to ignore it—her. the crush. the obsession. the way your heart races everytime she's near. but impossible. you can't escape her, not when she's in every class, sitting just a few seats away, laughing with that same carefree smile that makes you want to scream and kiss her all at once.

you tell yourself it's fine. it's just a phase. you're best friends. that's but every time she looks at you, you swear you see something deeper in her eyes, something more.

it's like she knows. like she can see straight through you, into the mess of tangled feelings you can't make sense of. and she doesn't say a word.

but that's the problem. she doesn't need to. her silence is just as loud as her laugh. and every second you spend with her, every moment where your fingers accidentally brush, it feels you're unraveling.

"are you coming to the party tonight?" karina's voice breaks through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

you nod, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even though your insides are a storm.

"yeah, i'll be there." your voice is steadier than you feel. maybe too steady. "good," she says, glancing at you with that smile that makes your chest tighten. "I'm glad. it wouldn't be the same without you."

a flutter of something—hope, maybe—spreads through you, and you bite back a nervous laugh. "I'm not that important."

karina raises an eyebrow, her expression softening just a little. "you're not important? I don't know about that. you're always there when I need you."

you swallow, your throat suddenly dry. her words are innocent enough, but it feels like a knife twisting inside you. every word she says to you, every compliment, makes this crush harder to bury.

"i'll see you there," you manage, the words tasting like a promise you know you can't keep.

as karina walks away, you can't help but watch her go, the ache deep in your chest growing stronger with every step she takes. you want to shout it all out—to confess, to scream, to finally stop pretending. but instead, you stand there, watching her disappear into the crowd, and tell yourself that you can still walk away. that you can still hate this.

but the truth is, you can't.

the party is loud, the air thick with laughter and music, but none of it matters. you're here, but your mind is elsewhere. you keep scanning the room, trying to focus on anything but karina.

your friends, intak and manon, are talking to you, trying to pull you into the conversation, but your attention keeps slipping.

they don't see it.

they don't see that every word, every smile feels hollow when karina isn't in your line of sight. you force a laugh here and there, nodding along, pretending to care. but it's hard to concentrate when karina's across the room, talking to mark.

there she is, laughing, her blonde hair catching the light, flipping it over her shoulder as if she doesn't realize how perfectly she shines.

you feel a sudden tightness in your chest, a sour jealousy stirring deep within you. it's ridiculous. you shouldn't feel this way. you shouldn't care. but every time you see her smiling with someone else, every time someone else gets to share her attention, it's like a knife twisting in your gut.

mark's leaning in a little too close, and the way he speaks to her—soft, casual, like they've known each other forever. you want to scream, to run over and pull her away, but you just stay frozen, watching, feeling sick as you try to ignore the jealousy gnawing at you.

"hey, you okay?" intak's voice pulls you back into reality. you glance over at him, forcing a smile, but it's tight.

"yeah, i'm fine." your voice comes out a little flatter than you intended, and manon raises a brow, but she doesn't say anything. she just gives you a concerned look before turning back to the crowd.

you try to focus on them, but your gaze just keeps darting back to karina and mark.

watching as mark leans in just a little more, his hands resting on her shoulder, and it takes everything in you to not turn away. you can't stand it.

you hate how they're laughing together, how easily he's standing close to her, the way she seems so comfortable.

but you can't stop staring.

"are you sure you're okay?" intak asks again, his voice laced with concern. but he doesn't know. he can't know what it feels like to watch karina be so effortlessly close to someone else.

you just nod, forcing a smile again. "yeah, i'm good. just.. tired."

and you pray they won't notice how your gaze keeps drifting back to her, how the pit in your stomach grows deeper with every passing second. you try to shake it off, pretending to be present in the conversation with intak and manon. but it's impossible.

the room feels suffocating, your thoughts drifting back to karina and mark every few seconds. you need a break.

"i'm just gonna grab another drink," you mutter, already turning towards the kitchen. you don't wait for a reply, the words hanging in the air behind you as you make your way through the crowd.

you move quickly, pushing past people, desperate for something to occupy your mind, even if it's just the simple act of refilling your cup. the kitchen is quieter, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

you find the liquor and start pouring, the sound of the liquid hitting your glass oddly calming for a moment.

but then you hear the soft click of footsteps behind you, and you freeze. it's manon. you can tell by the way she moves that she's not buying the act.

"you're not fooling anyone," she says quietly, leaning against the counter next to you, arms crossed.

you don't look at her, focusing on the drink in your hand. "I'm fine," you mutter, but the words feel weak even to you. manon doesn't respond right away, just watches you, her eyes sharp.

"you're not fine. you're barely holding it together.' her voice is soft but firm, like she's seen through every wall you've built.

you bite your lip, but the words won't come. she's right. you can't keep pretending. the jealousy, the ache, the way you feel like you're drowning every time you see karina with someone else—it's all too much to handle. you feel like you're about to snap, and all you want is to hide, to escape this mess of emotions.

just as you open your mouth to say something, anything, the kitchen door swings open, and there she is.

karina.

she steps in, her blonde hair glowing under the light, and her eyes immediately find you. there's a slight frown on her lips, and she's moving towards you, her usual playful energy replaced by something more possessive.

"what are you two doing here?" karina asks, her voice a little too sharp, a little too curious. she looks at manon, then back at you, and before you can answer, she steps closer. "i've been looking for you."

manon raises her brows, but doesn’t say anything, stepping back and giving you both some space.

karina doesn’t wait for an invitation—she slips her arm around your waist, pulling you gently toward her. It’s sudden and clingy, almost desperate, and the shift catches you off guard.

her fingers lightly grip your sides as she leans into you, her body close in a way that makes your breath catch. “let’s go somewhere else,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, her face just inches from yours.

there’s a possessiveness in her touch, like she’s marking her territory, and you don’t know wether to pull away or pull her closer.

“karina…” you say, the words barely coming out, your heart racing faster.

she doesn’t let go. instead, she tugs you along the hallway, ignoring any protests you might have. “you’re not staying here. you’re with me tonight, okay?”

you glance over at manon over karina’s shoulder. she’s watching the two of you leave, her gaze unreadable.

karina doesn’t seem to notice, her focus solely on you, her hand still wrapped around your waist like she can’t bare to let you go.

you wonder if she feels it, too—the way the air between you shifts when she’s this close. you wonder if she knows how much you need her, how much you crave her touch. but you can’t ask her that. you can’t let her see how deep this is.

not yet.

karina doesn’t stop tugging you along until the cool air hits your face. the noise of the party fades as she pulls you onto the porch, the door clicking shut behind you.

for a moment, there’s silence.

just the two of you under the glow of string lights, the muffled bass of the music vibrating through the walls.

you try to steady your breathing, your heart still racing from the way she grabbed you, from how close she was just moments ago. but the look on her face stops you cold. she’s not smiling. she’s not laughing. there’s something sharp in her expression, something that cuts straight through you.

“what’s going on with you and manon?” she asks, her voice low but tinged with something you can’t quite place—anger? jealousy?

you blink at her, caught off guard. “what are you talking about?”

karina crosses her arms, her hair falling over her shoulder as she tilts her head, studying you like she’s waiting for you to confess to something. “you too looked… close. i didn’t like it.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out at first. finally, you manage, “manon’s my friend. what’s wrong with that?”

her jaw tightens, and she takes a step closer, her eyes locked on yours. “it’s not that. it’s the way she looks at you. like she wants something more.”

you let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “that’s ridiculous. she doesn’t—“

“she does,” karina interrupts, her voice rising slightly. “and you just… you let her. you don’t see it, but I do.” your chest tightens, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“why do you care, karina? she’s my friend. you can’t just pull me away and act like this everytime i talk to someone.”

her lips part like she’s about to say something, but then she hesitates. her gaze flickers, and for a moment, she looks almost vulnerable. but then the mask slips back into place.

“because it’s not just ‘someone’,” she says, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “it’s her. and I don’t like it. I don’t like the way she looks at you, the way you let her be so close to you.”

your heart skips a beat, the weight of her words settling in your chest. you don’t know what to say. you don’t know what to feel.

“karina…” you start, but she shakes her head, cutting you off.

“i’m your best friend,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “i’m supposed to be the one who… who knows you best, who’s there for you. not her.”

the air between you feels heavy, charged with something unspoken. you want to ask her why she’s really upset, why she’s acting like this. but you’re afraid of the answer. afraid of what this might mean for both of you.

instead, you take a step back, needing to breathe, to think.

“you don’t get to decide who i’m friends with, karina.” you say quietly, your voice firm despite the storm raging inside you.

her eyes widen slightly, and for a second, you think she might argue. but she doesn’t. she just stares at you, her expression unreadable, before finally looking away.

the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until she finally whispers, “i just don’t want to lose you.”

the words hang in the air, and you don’t know how to respond.

because the truth is, you’re already lost. lost in her. and she doesn’t even realize it.

you step forward, closing the gap between the two of you, your breath hitching as you take her in. the glow of the porch lights casts soft shadows over karina’s face, highlighting the blush that blooms across her cheeks and nose from the chill.

her lips are slightly parted, her breath visible in the frosty air.

your hands move before you can stop them, gently cupping her face. her skin is cool under your palms, but it sends a warmth through you that you can’t explain.

karina doesn’t pull away—she just blinks up at you, her eyes wide and searching, like she’s trying to understand what’s happening.

you let your gaze roam, tracing every detail you’ve memorized a thousand times but can never get enough of. the curve of her jaw, the way her lashes flutter uncertainly, and then—her lips. they are slick with gloss, glistening faintly in the dim light, and you can’t stop yourself from staring.

the faint scent of cherries reaches you, sweet and enticing, it’s like everything else fades away.

your heart races as your eyes meet hers again, and for a split second, you hesitate. but the longing, the ache, is too much to hold back. you lean in, closing the distance, and then your lips are on hers.

it’s soft at first, tentative.

her lips taste just like cherries—sickly sweet yet intoxicating, sending a rush through your veins that’a equal part bliss and madness.

it’s overwhelming, dizzying, like taking a bite of forbidden fruit you can’t resist, no matter how dangerous it feels.

for a moment, karina freezes, but then you feel it—her kissing you back.

her hands flutter uncertainly before finding their place, one gripping your arm, the other resting lightly on your hip, as if she’s trying to ground herself in the moment. the kiss deepens, and it’s everything you’ve held back is pouring out all at once.

for a moment, it feels perfect.

her lips moving softly against yours, hesitant but searching, and the way her hands hold onto you makes your chest ache with something too big to name.

your pour everything into the kiss—all the longing, all the frustration, every stolen glance and unspoken words.

but then it changes.

her grip on you tightens, but not in the way you expect. she tenses, pulling back slightly, and before you could fully register what’s happening, her hands push against your chest—firm, almost frantic.

you stumble back a step, your heart dropping as she stares at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “what the hell am I doing?” karina whispers, almost like she’s asking herself.

her lips are still flushed, her breath coming fast, but there’s a distance in her gaze now, like she’s retreating somewhere you can’t follow.

“karina—“ you start, reaching out instinctively, but she jerks away, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as if to ward you off.

“no,” she cuts you off, her voice trembling. “this…this was a mistake.”

the words hit you like a slap, sharp and unforgiving, and all you can do is stand there, rooted to the spot.

“I shouldn’t have…” she shakes her head, her blonde hair catching the faint glow of the porch. “I don’t know what I was thinking. this can’t happen.”

her words sting, but it’s the look in her eyes that twists the the knife deeper—fear, confusion and something else you can’t quite name.

“karina, please, just listen—“

“I can’t!” she snaps, her voice breaking, and the crack in it makes your chest tighten. she takes a shaky step back, her hands trembling as she brushes hair out of her face. “I don’t know what this means, and I… I can’t deal with this right now.”

you watch helplessly as karina backs away, the distance between you growing with each step.

finally, she turns and rushes back into the house, the door slamming shut behind her. the muffled sound of the party seeps through the walls, but it feels like it's miles away.

you stand there in the cold, the taste of cherries still lingering on your lips—a sweetness that now feels unbearable. the air feels heavier, colder, and you sink onto the porch steps, burying your face in your hands.

the porch feels colder without her, the air biting against your skin as you sit there, staring blankly at the ground.

the noise of the party is a distance hum, muffled and meaningless. all you can focus on is the lingering feel of her lips, the warmth of her hands, and the way it shattered in an instant. you trace your thumb over your bottom lip absentmindedly, tasting the faint sweetness that still clings there.

cherries. so sweet it hurts. so intoxicating you can't breathe.

you lean back against the railing, closing your eyes against the ache building in your chest. "I hate fruits," you murmur, your voice a hollow echo of the chaos inside of you.

the sweetness, the temptation, the inevitability of being consumed—it's all too much. but the worst part isn't that you kissed her. it's not even that she pulled away.

the worst part is that, for a fleeting moment, she kissed you back.

because now you know. you know there's something there, something real and terrifying, and you can't take it back.

the door opens behind you, the noise of the party spilling out again for just a second before it clicks shut. you don't bother looking up. it's not her. you'd know if it were her.

instead, you sit there in the quiet, letting the cold seep into your bones, wondering if you've just lost the one person you can't live without.

and somewhere in the back of your mind, a thought blooms, sharp and persistent: 'i don't hate fruits. I hate myself for loving them.'

#aespa #yu jimin #karina #aespa x fem reader #aespa imagines #karina x reader #yoo jimin #wlw #kisshae #aespa karina #aespa x reader

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