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dreamersworldduh · 2 months ago

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HIS HOME

• CLARK KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — To the world, Clark Kent is Superman—the invincible hero, Earth’s mightiest protector, and a symbol of hope and strength. He’s the one who soars through the skies, battles formidable enemies, and saves countless lives without a second thought. But to you, he’s simply Clark—the shy, kind-hearted farm boy from Smallville you’ve loved since high school.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 10k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! - Here's a little fluff for my favorite farm boy, I recently watched the Superman teaser and got a little inspired.

The early morning sun began its slow, graceful ascent over the towering skyline of Metropolis, sending soft, golden rays spilling through the sheer, cream-colored curtains of Clark Kent’s cozy apartment. The delicate fabric diffused the light, casting a warm, ethereal glow across the room. The gentle illumination danced over the simple but thoughtfully chosen furnishings: a well-loved leather armchair tucked into the corner, a sturdy wooden bookshelf overflowing with novels and framed photos, and a vintage record player resting on a low cabinet—small tokens of a life built together.

Beneath a thick, plush comforter in the center of the room’s focal point—a spacious, inviting bed—Clark and his longtime boyfriend, Y/N, lay entwined in peaceful slumber. Their breaths rose and fell in a quiet, harmonious rhythm, filling the serene space with a sense of intimacy only shared by two souls deeply connected. The soft weight of the comforter enveloped them, shielding them from the crisp morning air that lingered just beyond the windowpane.

Though Y/N remained fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady, calming rhythm, Clark was already awake. His piercing blue eyes, usually sharp with focus and responsibility, now gleamed with tenderness as he quietly admired the man sleeping beside him. For a few precious moments, the weight of the world slipped away—no urgent headlines to chase, no distant cries for help demanding Superman’s strength—just the quiet stillness of their shared sanctuary.

Clark’s gaze lingered, tracing every familiar line and curve of Y/N’s face. His fingertips, rough from years of fighting battles no one else could, hovered just above Y/N’s skin, hesitant to disturb the peaceful spell. He followed the delicate slope of his jaw, the curve of his lips—soft and slightly upturned, as though he were dreaming of something sweet—and the dark, feathery lashes that rested gently against his cheeks. How many times had he memorized these details? How many mornings like this had he silently counted himself lucky?

Here, in this stolen moment before the world woke up, Clark was simply Clark—the man who had fallen in love with his best friend back in high school and never stopped. His heart swelled with the same overwhelming emotion he felt every time he realized he got to spend another day with the person who grounded him, made him laugh, and saw past the cape to the man beneath.

As the sun’s rays grew bolder, stretching farther into the room, the stillness was broken by the sudden, jarring beep of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Its sharp sound shattered the tranquility like glass meeting stone.

“Morning,” Clark whispered, his deep voice warm and soothing, rich with a love that couldn’t be contained. His hand gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s forehead, his touch as tender as the sunlight now spilling across the bed.

Y/N blinked slowly, his eyelashes fluttering. He shifted slightly beneath the thick, plush comforter, its weight a soothing barrier against the crisp morning air. He could feel the solid, steady warmth radiating from Clark’s body beside him, grounding him before he even opened his eyes fully. His fingers twitched reflexively, seeking out the comforting presence he knew was there.

When Y/N’s half-lidded gaze finally focused, the first thing he saw was Clark, lying on his side, already awake. His piercing blue eyes gleamed softly, filled with a quiet intensity that made Y/N’s heart ache in the best possible way. Clark’s expression was open, vulnerable, and utterly disarming—like he was seeing something precious he still couldn’t quite believe was real, even after all these years.

A sleepy, instinctive smile tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. He stretched slowly, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed and the quiet stillness that lingered in the room, allowing the peaceful moment to settle over him like a familiar melody. His fingers reached up lazily, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his face before his hand drifted down to rest gently on Clark’s chest.

The steady, reassuring thrum of Clark’s heartbeat pulsed beneath Y/N’s fingertips, calm and unwavering, like the rhythm of the earth itself. He let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing further as he nestled closer, resting his head against Clark’s broad shoulder. The fabric of Clark’s soft, well-worn T-shirt felt cool against his cheek, contrasting with the warmth radiating from his skin.

“Good morning,” Y/N murmured, his voice rough with sleep but laced with tenderness. His words were barely above a whisper, soft and warm like the first light of dawn filtering through the window. His hand idly traced slow, lazy patterns across Clark’s chest—small, unconscious shapes made in quiet affection.

Clark smiled, his hand moving with gentle certainty to rest on Y/N’s lower back, his fingertips drawing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. His touch was familiar yet reverent, a silent promise etched into every small caress.

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the faint glow spilling through the window, signaling the start of another day. The world outside slowly stirred to life, but inside their shared haven, time seemed suspended—just the two of them in a bubble of warmth and love that felt untouched by the outside world.

“What time is it?” Y/N asked softly, his voice still tinged with sleep and curiosity, though there was no urgency behind the question. His fingers continued their gentle, aimless tracing, not yet ready to break the fragile stillness of the moment.

With a reluctant glance, Clark shifted his eyes toward the worn alarm clock on the nightstand. Its glowing red numbers silently ticked forward, marking the steady march of time. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he registered the hour. “It’s 7:15,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a quiet breeze through the still room.

Y/N groaned playfully at the answer, dragging one hand down his face in mock exasperation before propping himself up on one elbow. His hair was delightfully tousled, a few stubborn strands falling across his forehead despite his half-hearted attempt to smooth them down. “We really need to get up,” he said, though the lack of conviction in his voice betrayed him. His fingers brushed lightly against Clark’s arm, lingering there as though reluctant to break the warmth of their embrace.

Before Y/N could move any further, Clark’s strong arms tightened around his waist with effortless ease, pulling him back down into the secure circle of his embrace. His hold was firm yet tender, a perfect blend of strength and comfort, silently promising that he wasn’t ready to let Y/N go just yet.

“Not yet,” Clark whispered, his voice soft but resolute, filled with quiet intensity. His piercing blue eyes met Y/N’s with such tenderness that it made Y/N’s breath hitch for a moment. There was something profound in that gaze, something unspoken yet unmistakably clear—love, deep and unyielding.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking upward in mild amusement despite the way his heart seemed to swell in his chest. “Clark, we really should—”

“Do you know what today is?” Clark interrupted gently, his tone playful but tinged with something deeper—something meaningful. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his expression equal parts teasing and expectant.

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in conversation, before a quiet laugh bubbled up from his chest. He let his forehead rest gently against Clark’s for a moment, savoring the warmth of their closeness, before pulling back just far enough to meet his eyes again.

“Of course I know,” Y/N replied softly, his voice steady but colored with affection. “It’s our anniversary.”

Clark’s smile widened, his eyes shimmering with something unmistakably radiant, though there was still a spark of playfulness there. He shook his head slightly, brushing his thumb tenderly over Y/N’s cheek, letting his fingers trail gently down to his jawline. His touch was reverent, as if the moment itself were fragile and precious.

“Not just any anniversary,” Clark corrected, his voice dipping lower, resonant with emotion. “It’s our ten-year anniversary.” His expression shifted into something more serious, almost reverent, as though the weight of a decade spent together was something sacred—something he still couldn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to have.

Y/N’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise softening into something far deeper, warmer. His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he simply cupped Clark’s face with both hands, his thumbs tracing gentle, familiar lines along his jaw. His touch was slow, deliberate—a silent answer filled with love and devotion.

“Ten years,” Y/N echoed, letting the words hang between them like a whispered vow. His voice was quiet but steady, thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

Clark’s expression softened further, his smile turning just a little more playful as he leaned forward, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to Y/N’s forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and reassuring, before pulling back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze again.

“And I’m not letting you out of this bed until we properly celebrate…” Clark whispered, his voice low and teasing but laced with unmistakable sincerity. His arms tightened just a fraction, drawing Y/N even closer. “…Starting right now.”

Y/N laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with both affection and amusement. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice light but affectionate, fingers still tracing slow, loving patterns across Clark’s chest.

Clark only smiled, leaning in to press another kiss—this time soft and lingering—against Y/N’s lips, sealing the promise between them with quiet certainty.

Y/N pulled away, letting out a soft breathy laugh, his lips curving into a playful smirk as he rested his hand gently on Clark’s chest. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the steady, familiar rhythm of Clark’s heartbeat—strong, unyielding, and comforting in a way that felt like home. His fingers absently traced small, lazy circles over the fabric of Clark’s worn T-shirt, savoring the warmth radiating from his skin.

His eyes sparkled with affection, though there was a teasing edge in his voice as he arched an eyebrow. “Clark,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with mock sternness, “if we celebrate right now, neither one of us is going to make it to work on time.”

Clark chuckled, his deep, resonant laugh filling the room like a warm embrace. It was the kind of laugh that made Y/N’s heart swell, as familiar and comforting as the dawn’s first light. His smile widened into that boyish, slightly mischievous grin Y/N had fallen in love with all those years ago—a grin that still made his knees weak even after a decade together.

“You make a compelling point,” Clark admitted with mock seriousness, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze softened as he took in every beloved detail of Y/N’s face—the curve of his cheek, the sparkle in his eyes, the way his lips quirked in that teasing smile that always left Clark feeling utterly captivated.

Before Y/N could fire back with a witty retort, Clark moved with effortless grace, gently shifting his weight as he rolled over, pinning Y/N beneath him in one fluid motion. His strong arms braced on either side of Y/N’s head, caging him in—but his touch was tender, protective, filled with nothing but love. Y/N gasped softly in surprise, though his eyes gleamed with amusement and affection.

Clark leaned down until their faces were mere inches apart, his breath warm against Y/N’s skin. His gaze never wavered, tracing every familiar feature with reverence, as though memorizing them all over again.

“I guess I could try to be responsible…” Clark whispered, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, “…but where’s the fun in that?”

Before Y/N could respond—or even fully process the words—Clark dipped his head and captured his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His mouth moved with unhurried purpose, savoring the connection as though time itself had ceased to matter. The kiss was deep but tender, filled with emotion that words could never quite capture.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Clark’s warm lips trailed away from his, leaving a path of feather-light kisses along his jawline. Clark’s mouth lingered just below Y/N’s ear—his most sensitive spot—his breath sending pleasant tingles down his spine. His lips brushed gently against Y/N’s neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that ignited a warmth deep within him.

A quiet, breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips as he arched into Clark’s touch, threading his fingers through Clark’s thick, dark hair. He tugged gently, earning a soft, pleased hum from Clark that resonated against his skin. “You’re impossible,” Y/N whispered, though his voice trembled with love, his words holding no real bite.

Clark pulled back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, his expression soft but still tinged with playful defiance. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with warmth, love, and something far deeper—something timeless. “Ten years,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently across Y/N’s cheek, his touch reverent and tender. “I think we’ve earned a little celebration… even if we’re a bit late.”

Y/N laughed again, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though he made no effort to move away—he never could when Clark held him like this, when he looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. His heart swelled with overwhelming affection, threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of it all.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Y/N whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion as he tugged Clark down into another kiss—slow, deep, and full of all the love and devotion he couldn’t put into words.

Clark’s grin widened against Y/N’s lips, his expression radiating pure joy. “I know,” he whispered playfully, echoing the familiar words that had been exchanged between them countless times—but now, they held a deeper, more profound meaning.

In that moment, nothing else existed—no alarms, no deadlines, no responsibilities. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of their shared breath, the warmth of their intertwined bodies, and a love that had endured a decade and promised to last a lifetime.

By 8:15 a.m., the quiet intimacy of the early morning had dissolved into the familiar rhythm of Clark and Y/N’s weekday routine. The warmth of their shared bed now felt like a distant memory as they moved through their cozy apartment with practiced ease, the comfortable chaos of a typical workday morning unfolding around them.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the crisp aroma of toasted bread and the faint trace of Clark’s cologne lingering in the hallway. The kitchen was alive with quiet energy—drawers opening, shoes being slipped on, phones buzzing with notifications. The distant hum of Metropolis traffic outside was a constant, blending into the comforting sounds of home.

Clark stood at the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie still undone around his neck. He poured steaming coffee into two familiar mugs—one emblazoned with the bold “Daily Planet” logo, and the other featuring a playful “World’s Best Partner” design, a sentimental gift from Y/N on their fifth anniversary. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, steady and sure, as though even the smallest tasks carried a quiet significance in their shared life.

“Babe, have you seen my laptop charger?” Y/N’s voice called from the bedroom, tinged with mild urgency. His words were punctuated by the sound of drawers sliding open and the soft rustle of clothes being shifted around.

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head fondly as he set the coffee mugs on the kitchen table. “Check the shelf by the desk!” he called back, his voice warm and familiar. In one smooth motion, he looped his tie into a perfect Windsor knot, fingers moving with expert precision—years of balancing superhero duties and tight Daily Planet deadlines had honed his multitasking skills to near perfection.

Moments later, Y/N emerged from the bedroom, holding his laptop charger triumphantly like a prize. His collar was only half-buttoned, his sleeves still unrolled, but he already looked every bit the driven professional Clark had admired from the moment they’d worked side by side as young interns. His hair was slightly tousled, still settling after a rushed comb-through, making him impossibly endearing.

“Found it!” Y/N announced with mock triumph, flashing Clark a cheeky grin as he hurried toward the kitchen. He grabbed his “World’s Best Partner” mug from the table and took a long, appreciative sip, savoring the warmth that seeped into his fingertips. A contented sigh escaped his lips. “You’re a lifesaver,” he said with sincere gratitude, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Clark smirked, leaning casually against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “I try,” he teased lightly, though his gaze softened as he watched Y/N sip his coffee, soaking in the familiar comfort of their shared morning ritual. It was in these small, ordinary moments that Clark felt the fullness of their life together—steady, warm, real.

Y/N gave a quick glance at the microwave clock—8:17 a.m. They were cutting it close but still technically on time if they hustled. He grabbed his well-worn messenger bag from the back of a kitchen chair and slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease. “Let’s roll,” he said with determined resolve, already mentally running through the day’s to-do list.

Just as Y/N reached for the door, Clark’s fingers gently brushed against his wrist, halting him with a soft touch. “Hey,” Clark murmured, his voice lower now, edged with something deeper.

Y/N turned, brow raised in curious question. His expression softened as he met Clark’s gaze, recognizing the quiet emotion shimmering in those piercing blue eyes.

Clark’s smile shifted into something far more tender, his earlier playfulness replaced by sincerity. “Happy ten-year anniversary,” he whispered, his voice rich with meaning, as though he still couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to be standing there, sharing this life with the person he loved.

Y/N’s expression melted instantly, the rush of the morning forgotten. He leaned in, cradling Clark’s face gently in his hands, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. The world outside seemed to pause, leaving only the warmth of their shared breath and the quiet rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.

“Happy anniversary,” Y/N whispered back, his tone filled with unwavering love. His fingers lingered against Clark’s jaw for just a moment longer, as though reluctant to let the moment end.

With one last shared smile—intimate, knowing—they turned toward the door, ready to face whatever challenges the bustling city had in store. Whatever the day might bring, they would face it together—just as they always had, and always would.

Clark stepped through the revolving doors of the bustling Daily Planet building, adjusting his signature glasses out of habit as he took in the familiar symphony of the newsroom’s organized chaos. The air buzzed with the electric energy of a new workday—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and conversations overlapping as reporters exchanged leads and debated headlines. The faint scent of fresh ink and brewed coffee lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the newsroom’s relentless pace.

A small, contented smile tugged at Clark’s lips as he strode across the polished marble floor, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tile. He felt right at home here, even after years of balancing the double life of award-winning journalist and Earth’s greatest protector. Still, even amid the familiar hustle, his mind lingered on the peaceful morning he’d shared with Y/N—the warmth of their shared coffee, the lingering kiss at the door, the whispered “Happy anniversary” that still echoed softly in his heart.

He was halfway to his desk when he found his path blocked—ambushed, really—by two familiar figures: Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, his closest friends and trusted partners in journalistic crime. Lois stood with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised in playful expectation, while Jimmy hovered just behind her, his ever-present camera slung over his shoulder like he was ready to document something groundbreaking.

“Alright, Kent,” Lois announced with a sly smirk, tilting her head in that knowing way she always did when she was on the verge of uncovering something. “What’s the plan?”

Clark blinked, momentarily thrown off by her question. He adjusted his glasses again, a reflex whenever he felt caught off guard. “Plan? What plan?” he asked, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

Jimmy let out an exaggerated scoff, stepping forward with wide-eyed disbelief. “The plan, Clark!” he urged dramatically. “Don’t tell me you forgot! It’s your ten-year anniversary with Y/N today!”

Clark’s eyes widened ever so slightly, though he quickly schooled his expression into one of practiced calm. “Wait—how do you two know about that?” he asked, his voice tinged with mild suspicion but tempered by curiosity.

Lois rolled her eyes, her smirk widening. “Please,” she said with mock disdain. “I’m a journalist, Clark. It’s literally my job to know things.”

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m, like, super observant. You’ve had that goofy, ‘I’m-so-in-love’ look plastered all over your face for days.” He gestured dramatically around the newsroom. “It’s practically headline news at this point.”

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

Lois stepped closer, her sharp eyes softening just a fraction, though the spark of mischief never left. “Seriously, though,” she said with a bit more warmth, “you do have something special planned, right? Ten years isn’t just any anniversary.”

For a brief moment, Clark’s mind drifted to the small velvet box tucked securely in the inner pocket of his coat—the one he’d been carefully keeping out of sight all morning. The memory of its weight was reassuring, grounding him in the quiet certainty of what the evening would bring.

“Let’s just say…” Clark began slowly, his lips curving into a knowing smile, “…I might have a few surprises up my sleeve.”

Jimmy let out a dramatic gasp, clearly intrigued, while Lois arched an approving eyebrow. “Now this is a story I’m dying to see unfold,” she quipped, already imagining the possibilities.

Clark chuckled, brushing past them toward his desk. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he called over his shoulder. “No spoilers… even for journalists.”

Lois smirked knowingly while Jimmy fist-pumped in silent excitement, already speculating wildly about what Clark’s “surprise” might be. The newsroom’s steady hum continued around them, deadlines and breaking news still demanding attention—but for a brief moment, Clark allowed himself to savor the quiet anticipation bubbling within him.

Tonight would be more than just a milestone—it would be the start of something even greater. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Y/N’s face when he finally revealed what he’d been planning for weeks… and slipped that ring onto his finger.

The day carried on as usual—but for Clark, the countdown to that perfect, long-awaited moment had already begun.

The streets of Metropolis teemed with life far below as Superman soared effortlessly through the crisp morning sky, his iconic red cape billowing behind him like a banner of hope. The sharp edges of the city’s glass-and-steel skyline glinted in the morning sun, casting streaks of light across the bustling streets below. His keen eyes swept across the familiar cityscape, ever watchful, always ready.

The city pulsed with its usual symphony—honking car horns, hurried conversations, the rhythmic clang of construction equipment, and the distant chatter of morning radio shows drifting from open windows. The steady thrum of Metropolis’ indomitable spirit surrounded him, grounding him even as he hovered hundreds of feet above. To anyone else, it might have been overwhelming—chaotic—but to Clark, it was the heartbeat of home.

He had just finished assisting the Metropolis Fire Department with a hazardous warehouse fire down by the docks. The acrid scent of smoke still clung faintly to his uniform, though the crisis was long resolved. He allowed himself a rare moment of pause, suspended in the sky, arms crossed, his cape trailing like a protective shield over the city he’d sworn to protect.

Then something familiar tugged at his senses.

Cutting through the tangled web of urban noise, a voice—distinct, beloved—filtered clearly into his super-sensitive hearing.

Y/N’s voice.

Clark’s breath hitched as he stilled mid-air, hanging weightless against the wind. His sharp focus zeroed in instantly, his hearing filtering out the static of the city until only that familiar voice remained. His heart clenched with longing and quiet relief.

He traced the sound to the upper floors of a gleaming high-rise in the heart of downtown—the unmistakable, foreboding silhouette of LexCorp Tower, its sharp edges and mirrored surface reflecting the cold morning light. The sight alone made his jaw tighten, tension rippling through his frame. No matter how many years passed, Lex Luthor’s presence in Metropolis remained a constant thorn in his side.

But then Y/N spoke again, and Clark’s protective instincts flared.

“Yes, Mr. Luthor… I’ll have that report on your desk by noon,” Y/N said, his voice steady and professional, though Clark detected the faintest trace of exhaustion beneath his practiced tone. “I’ve already confirmed the logistics team’s data… Yes, sir, I’m double-checking it now.”

Clark exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He could see Y/N in his mind’s eye—sitting at his immaculately organized desk, surrounded by gleaming tech and cool, polished steel decor, the harsh blue glow of holographic displays casting soft light over his face. His back would be straight, his sharp, tailored blazer fitting perfectly across his shoulders—a detail Y/N always insisted was necessary to “look the part.”

Clark’s chest warmed with quiet pride. Despite his unease about LexCorp—a company built on moral ambiguity and dangerous ambition—he knew Y/N. Driven, capable, relentless in his pursuit of success, yet unfailingly kind. He trusted Y/N implicitly.

Lex Luthor, on the other hand…

Clark frowned, his protective instincts prickling. Even now, he couldn’t entirely banish the concern that came with knowing Y/N worked within arm’s reach of one of the world’s most dangerous men. He strained to listen for anything out of place—any shift in Y/N’s voice, any hint of tension—but all he heard was focused professionalism.

Then, suddenly, Y/N’s voice softened—barely above a murmur—as though he believed himself to be completely alone. His tone turned warmer, more personal.

“…And maybe after work, I can figure out how to surprise you for once, Clark…”

Clark’s breath caught.

There was the faint rustling of papers, followed by a quiet, almost wistful chuckle that tugged at his heart.

“Ten years… Can you believe it?” Y/N whispered, almost as though speaking only to himself.

Clark’s expression melted into something achingly tender, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest that even the cold steel of LexCorp couldn’t diminish. For just a moment, he allowed himself this stolen glimpse into Y/N’s day—a reminder of the life they’d built together, of love that had endured through battles, secrets, and the challenges of his double life.

He hovered there, suspended in the stillness of the morning sky, wrapped in the memory of Y/N’s voice and the unspoken promise threaded through those words.

Then, from several blocks away, a sudden wail of police sirens split the air, snapping him back to reality. His gaze hardened instantly, his senses shifting back into sharp focus. The city needed him again.

But before he shot off into the wind, he cast one final, lingering glance toward the gleaming spire of LexCorp Tower, his voice a whispered promise meant only for the wind to carry:

“I love you, too.”

And then, in a streak of red and blue, he vanished into the sky—ready to protect the city he called home, and the man he loved more than anything.

The familiar creak of the front door closing echoed softly through the stillness of the cozy apartment. Clark Kent stepped inside, his broad shoulders relaxing as he shrugged off his thick, charcoal-gray overcoat. He smoothed out its fabric with practiced care before hanging it on the brass hook by the entryway, a small detail Y/N had insisted on installing when they first moved in together. The air smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla from a gently flickering candle on the bookshelf, mixing with the warm, inviting scent of home-cooked meals from memories past.

The apartment was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the dimmed overhead lights and the warm sparkle of fairy lights strung along the window. Framed photographs of shared adventures lined the walls—a snapshot from their first vacation, candid moments from friends’ weddings, and even a picture of Clark holding a grinning Y/N on his shoulders at a summer fair.

But tonight wasn’t just another ordinary evening. It was their ten-year anniversary, a milestone woven with laughter, challenges, and countless moments of quiet, steadfast love. Tonight, Clark intended to mark that journey in a way neither of them would ever forget.

With steady deliberation, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and carefully retrieved a small, velvet-covered box. He set it down gently on the cool marble countertop, as though the magnitude of what it held weighed heavier than any feat he had ever accomplished as Superman. His thumb brushed over the soft fabric of the box, tracing its edges with reverence. Inside rested a simple, timeless ring—delicate yet strong, much like the bond he shared with Y/N. He had spent months searching for the perfect piece, envisioning the way it would look on Y/N’s finger every step of the way.

Drawing a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and gently closed the box. The evening wasn’t going to prepare itself. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his strong forearms, and turned toward the kitchen. Fresh ingredients were laid out precisely as he had planned—Y/N’s favorite meal, every detail considered down to the garnish.

Moments later, Clark turned his attention to the living room, the heart of their shared memories. It was a space shaped by comfort and familiarity, where countless evenings had been spent wrapped in warmth and laughter. He moved with quiet purpose, selecting a small stack of their favorite movies from the shelf—classic comedies that never failed to make them laugh, heartfelt dramas that always left them holding each other a little tighter, and those feel-good romances they could recite line for line. He placed the DVDs neatly on the rustic wooden coffee table, arranging them just so, knowing Y/N would smile the moment they saw them.

Draped over the back of their well-loved couch was a thick, cozy blanket—soft, worn, and infused with memories of lazy Sundays and late-night cuddles. He smoothed out its folds, making sure it was within easy reach for when the night wound down, when dinner was just a memory, and only the quiet comfort of each other remained. A few plump, overstuffed pillows rested at each end of the couch, inviting and familiar.

The soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the window added a magical warmth to the room, their tiny bulbs twinkling like distant stars. On the coffee table, he placed a wooden tray holding two mugs—one ready for hot cocoa, the other for Y/N’s favorite tea, complete with a small jar of honey. A delicate ceramic bowl filled with chocolate-covered almonds—Y/N’s guilty pleasure—completed the thoughtful setup. Every detail was intentional, a reflection of the countless quiet nights they had shared in this very space.

But even as the living room felt ready, Clark couldn’t shake the sense that something was still missing.

He stepped back into the kitchen, enveloped once more by the inviting aroma of the special meal he’d worked so carefully to prepare. The rich scent of seared steak lingered in the air, mingling with the creamy, garlicky aroma of the mashed potatoes he’d whipped until they were impossibly smooth and buttery. The sautéed vegetables—green beans with a light char, caramelized baby carrots glistening with honey, and earthy mushrooms kissed with rosemary—were arranged in a serving dish, their vibrant colors promising comfort and warmth with every bite.

On the stovetop, the red wine sauce had reduced to perfection, its velvety richness gleaming as Clark gave it one last stir. The deep, complex fragrance of simmering shallots, garlic, and wine filled the room, tempting him to taste—but he resisted. This was for Y/N.

His gaze drifted to the marble countertop, where the decadent chocolate mousse cake he had picked up from their favorite bakery waited like the final act of a perfect evening. Its glossy, dark chocolate surface shimmered under the soft kitchen lights, adorned with delicate curls of bittersweet chocolate and a light dusting of powdered sugar. Plump, jewel-toned raspberries rested artfully around the edges, a splash of vibrant red against the dark richness of the cake.

Satisfied with the meal, Clark moved to the small dining table near the bay window. He tugged at the edges of the crisp white tablecloth, ensuring it lay perfectly smooth. Their best dinnerware gleamed in the soft light, paired with sparkling wine glasses and polished silverware arranged with precision. He folded two linen napkins into elegant triangles, placing them neatly by each plate.

At the center of the table sat a modest yet beautiful bouquet—soft blush roses, delicate white lilies, and fragrant sprigs of eucalyptus bound together with natural twine. Their gentle scent mingled with the meal’s intoxicating aromas, adding a romantic, timeless touch. Clark adjusted the bouquet slightly, ensuring it looked effortlessly perfect.

Finally, he lit three slender ivory candles in sleek, minimalist holders. Their warm, flickering flames cast a soft, golden glow across the table, their light shimmering off the delicate crystal and creating an atmosphere of quiet elegance.

With everything in place, Clark allowed himself a moment to pause. The apartment felt magical, transformed by love and intention. Yet his eyes inevitably returned to the small velvet-covered box still resting on the counter, its deep navy surface catching the candlelight like a secret waiting to be shared.

He stepped closer, brushing his thumb once again over its soft, textured fabric. Inside lay the ring—simple yet exquisitely crafted, timeless yet personal. He could still remember the moment he had found it, knowing instantly it was the one. Strong but delicate. Elegant yet enduring. Just like what they had built together.

He imagined Y/N’s face when he saw it—his wide-eyed surprise, the way his breath might hitch, the unmistakable light that would fill his eyes when he understood what Clark was asking. The thought made Clark usually steady hands tremble just a little.

It wasn’t about the meal, the setting, or even the ring.

It was about the ten years of shared memories, of challenges faced side by side, of whispered promises in the dark, and quiet mornings filled with warmth and love. It was about their story—one already filled with so much life and meaning—but with so much more yet to be written.

And tonight, Clark Kent was ready to ask Y/N to write the rest of that story with him—forever.

With dinner prepared, the apartment glowing with warmth, and every thoughtful detail in place, Clark found himself standing in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the collar of his white dress shirt for what felt like the tenth time. His fingers smoothed the fabric, adjusting the top button, then pausing as he reconsidered, ultimately leaving it undone for a more relaxed look.

He straightened his tie, only to frown and pull it loose again. His reflection stared back, resolute but edged with vulnerability, a flicker of nerves in his usually steady blue eyes.

With a slow, measured breath, he adjusted his glasses—pointless, really, but the familiar motion gave his restless hands something to do. The thin frames rested perfectly on the bridge of his nose, though he still fiddled with them out of habit. He braced his palms against the edge of the dresser, leaning forward, forehead nearly touching the cool surface of the mirror.

“This is fine,” he murmured, voice low but firm, as though willing himself to believe it. “You’ve faced supervillains, alien invasions… even world-ending threats.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “This is just… one question.”

But this question mattered more than anything else he’d ever done.

He exhaled slowly, centering himself, and straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back as if preparing for battle. His reflection stared back, still strong but undeniably human—vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

“He’s already said yes… a thousand different ways over the past ten years,” Clark whispered, almost as though speaking the words aloud would steady his heart. “This is just… making it official.”

He ran a hand through his dark, slightly tousled hair, pushing it back in a way he knew Y/N liked. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against his temple as he let out another breath, more controlled this time. He reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out the small velvet box once again.

Flipping it open, he let his eyes rest on the ring inside—simple but elegant, timeless yet meaningful. He had chosen it with absolute certainty, picturing Y/N’s hand wearing it, imagining how it would feel to place it there himself. The thought made his chest tighten—not with fear, but with overwhelming love.

For a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. There were no distant cries for help, no looming threats or urgent responsibilities. In this quiet space, there was only the promise of forever, contained in the small, glinting circle of gold resting in the velvet folds.

A soft, affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the last traces of doubt. His voice, low but steady, broke the silence.

“You’ve got this, Kent.”

Just then, the familiar click of the front door unlocking echoed softly through the quiet apartment. His head snapped up, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and joy.

Y/N was home.

Clark gently closed the ring box, slipping it back into his pocket with practiced care. His pulse quickened, but his hands were steady now. He smoothed his shirt one last time, inhaling deeply, letting the love he felt ground him.

This was the moment. The beginning of something new, built on ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and promises unspoken but always understood.

Y/N stepped inside of the apartment, already shrugging off his coat after a long, tiring day at work. He reached out automatically to flip the light switch, expecting the familiar glow of the overhead light—but paused, his fingers hovering in midair.

Something was different.

The apartment was already softly illuminated—not by the usual bright lights, but by the gentle, flickering glow of candles scattered throughout the living room and dining area. A delicate floral fragrance, light and fresh, mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of something savory and richly seasoned wafting from the kitchen. Y/N blinked, his eyes widening as he slowly took in the transformed space before him.

The usually simple, everyday dining table was unrecognizable—draped in a pristine white tablecloth that gleamed softly under the warm candlelight. Two polished wine glasses stood side by side, catching the soft light like tiny prisms, while their best silverware lay neatly arranged on elegant dinner plates. In the center of the table sat a beautifully arranged bouquet of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and eucalyptus sprigs woven together with thoughtful care. Their delicate petals glowed softly in the candlelight, their fragrance blending seamlessly with the warm, inviting smells of home-cooked food.

Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where a small serving tray waited, holding a carefully plated dinner beneath a gleaming silver cover. Steam still gently wafted from beneath the lid, hinting at something savory and delicious inside. The mouthwatering scent of garlic, herbs, and seared meat hung in the air, making his stomach growl despite the emotional tightness building in his chest.

He took a tentative step forward, feeling his breath hitch as he noticed the living room. There, on the rustic coffee table, was a familiar stack of their favorite movies—the ones they always watched on cozy nights in, when they just needed to be close. A thick, cozy blanket was neatly folded over the back of the couch, inviting and familiar, ready for when the night wound down. Everything was arranged with such intention, such thoughtfulness… such love.

Y/N pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer care and intimacy behind every detail. His heart thudded against his ribs, pounding with disbelief and something deeper, something warmer. Was this really happening? Did Clark… do all of this?

Before he could fully process the scene, a quiet creak of the kitchen floorboards caught his attention. He turned slowly, his breath still uneven, and his gaze landed on Clark standing just a few steps away.

Clark’s hands rested loosely at his sides, fidgeting slightly—a rare crack in his usually steady composure—but his expression was soft, warm, and impossibly tender. His deep blue eyes held an intensity that stole Y/N’s breath—not the intensity of a hero prepared for battle, but of a man utterly, irrevocably in love.

“Clark… what is all this?” Y/N whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

Clark’s lips curved into a gentle, familiar smile—the kind that had always felt like home. His eyes shimmered with warmth, reflecting ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and late-night talks. “Happy anniversary,” he murmured, taking a slow, measured step closer.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, his gaze flickering from the candlelit table to the familiar stack of movies—and finally back to the man who had done all of this. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. “You… you did all this… for me?” His voice cracked, disbelief and affection tangling in his throat.

Clark’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes softening even further. “For us,” he corrected gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet vulnerability.

Y/N felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his heart swelling so much it almost hurt. Every detail—the flowers, the meal, the movies, the candles—felt like a physical manifestation of the life they had built together. A life filled with love, warmth, and quiet, shared moments that meant everything.

His hands trembled as he reached for Clark, closing the space between them in a heartbeat. His arms wrapped tightly around Clark’s strong frame, pulling him into an embrace filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t seem to say. Clark held him just as fiercely, his face burying into Y/N’s shoulder, breathing him in like he was the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s breath hitched against Clark’s neck, a soft, broken sound of love and wonder. Neither of them moved for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, grounded in the familiarity and promise of what they shared.

In that moment, there was no world outside, no responsibilities, no distant cries for help—only them. Two hearts, intertwined and steady, standing at the edge of something new, something even deeper than what had come before.

Surrounded by the gentle glow of candlelight and the quiet warmth of home, Clark held Y/N tighter, silently promising that this—they—would always be his greatest adventure.

And tonight, their forever was just beginning.

The warm glow of candlelight flickered softly across the cozy apartment, casting gentle, golden light over every familiar surface. Y/N and Clark sat comfortably on the well-worn couch, plates balanced carefully on their laps while the familiar sounds of their favorite movie played quietly in the background. The soft crackle of the candles still burning on the dining table blended with the movie’s soundtrack, creating an atmosphere of warmth, intimacy, and quiet joy.

Clark had insisted on serving the meal himself, carrying each perfectly plated dish with the care of someone offering up something precious. The garlic-herb steak, creamy mashed potatoes, and perfectly sautéed vegetables looked like something from a five-star restaurant—but tasted even better. Each bite was rich, savory, and cooked exactly the way Y/N liked it.

“This is so good,” Y/N mumbled around another bite, eyes widening with genuine delight. “Seriously… did you take a secret cooking class or something? How do you always nail this?”

Clark chuckled, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish but clearly pleased. “I might’ve… practiced a little,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “I just wanted tonight to be perfect.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the quiet sincerity in Clark’s words. The love behind every carefully considered detail of the evening hit him all at once—the flowers, the candles, the dinner, the movies—all thoughtfully chosen, all crafted with so much care. He set his plate down on the coffee table, suddenly unable to focus on the food when something far more important was sitting right beside him.

Without a word, Y/N reached out and gently placed his hand over Clark’s, his fingertips tracing slow, familiar patterns across the back of Clark’s strong, calloused hand. The warmth of his skin was grounding, comforting, home.

“You are perfect,” Y/N whispered, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “This whole night… the dinner, the movies, the candles… everything. It’s perfect.”

Clark’s breath caught, his eyes softening as he gently turned his hand to entwine their fingers together. His thumb traced slow, reassuring circles over Y/N’s knuckles, a quiet gesture that spoke volumes.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Y/N continued, his gaze never leaving Clark’s. “But you did. You always do… You always find a way to make me feel so loved.”

Clark’s breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening just a little around Y/N’s hand. His voice was low but steady, full of quiet intensity. “You are loved… more than anything… more than I could ever say.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his heart pounding with affection so deep it felt impossible to contain. Slowly, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against Clark’s, savoring the quiet, shared connection. In that small, still moment, surrounded by the warm glow of flickering candles and the familiar hum of their shared life, nothing else existed—only them.

“Thank you… for all of this,” Y/N whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. “For everything.”

Clark smiled softly, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips gently against Y/N’s in a tender, lingering kiss. It was slow, filled with all the love and devotion words could never fully express. His hand cupped Y/N’s cheek, fingers sliding into his hair as he deepened the kiss just enough to make the world fall away.

When they finally parted, their foreheads still resting together, Clark’s voice was barely above a whisper—but steady and sure.

“There’s still… one more thing.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard, curiosity sparking in his expression. “What do you mean?”

Clark’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached for Y/N’s, threading their fingers together with practiced ease, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of that touch. His heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and anticipation, but the feel of Y/N’s hand in his steadied him, like it always had.

“Come with me,” Clark whispered softly, his voice low but sure.

Y/N blinked in surprise but let Clark gently guide him off the couch and into the softly glowing living room. The flickering candlelight cast a warm halo around them, creating a setting that felt timeless, intimate, and entirely their own. Y/N’s expression shifted from curious to something deeper, something tender, as he felt the subtle tension in Clark’s usually steady grip.

Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe, to be fully present in this moment he’d imagined countless times. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over Y/N’s knuckles—a silent reassurance for both of them. When he finally met Y/N’s gaze, his deep blue eyes shimmered with emotion—vulnerable but unwavering, filled with love so profound it left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…” Clark began, his voice trembling just enough to reveal how much this meant to him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say… something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he stayed quiet, his gaze steady, urging Clark to continue.

Clark tightened his hold ever so slightly, his hands enveloping Y/N’s like a protective barrier, keeping them both anchored in this moment. His voice grew steadier, though still thick with emotion.

“From the very first moment I saw you… back in high school… I knew,” Clark said softly, his eyes shining with memory and meaning. “I didn’t know exactly what ‘forever’ looked like back then… but I knew you were going to be someone important. The someone.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, already brimming with unshed tears as the weight of Clark’s words settled over him.

“We’ve built this incredible life together,” Clark continued, his voice deepening with quiet intensity. “Through moves, jobs… everything life’s thrown at us. And through it all… I’ve known one thing with absolute certainty.” He swallowed hard, his lips quirking into the faintest, most affectionate smile. “I want to spend every day, every moment… with you.”

Y/N’s breath shuddered as a tear slipped free, trailing slowly down his cheek.

Clark’s eyes softened even further as he gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I thought about this night so many times… about what I’d say… but I kept coming back to something you said once.”

Y/N blinked, his brow furrowing faintly as he tried to recall.

“It was a long time ago… back when we first talked about marriage,” Clark murmured, his deep voice softening into something reverent, as if he were holding a fragile, cherished memory in his hands. His gaze lowered for a brief moment, lost in the weight of what he was about to say. When he looked back up, his eyes gleamed with something raw and unguarded—love, hope, and nostalgia woven together.

“‘Don’t marry me just because we’ve been together forever…’” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke the familiar words. “You said that to me.”

The memory hit Y/N like a crashing wave—vivid, intimate, and achingly familiar. It had been during one of those long, late-night talks when the world outside didn’t matter, and the future felt like a distant, untouchable dream. Y/N remembered the quiet stillness of that night, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating Clark’s thoughtful expression as they both lay tangled together, speaking from the heart without hesitation.

Clark’s warm fingers brushed gently over Y/N’s, grounding him in the present even as his words pulled him back to that deeply personal moment. His touch was familiar, steady, and reassuring—the same touch Y/N trusted through every joy, every storm, every uncertain tomorrow.

His voice softened even further, dipping into something more intimate, more earnest, as though he were speaking directly to your soul. “‘Marry me because you want to,’” he continued, his thumbs tracing slow, tender circles over the backs of Y/N’s hands. “‘Because you can’t see yourself with anyone else. Marry me… because you love me.’”

Y/N’s breath hitched as those words echoed through him, every syllable steeped in memory and meaning. They weren’t just words from the past—they were a promise him had once made without realizing how much they would come to define his future.

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, blurring the sight of Clark’s face, but Y/N could still see the love etched into every line, every tender curve of his expression. His gaze held Y/N’s with such fierce intensity that it felt like nothing else in the world existed—just the two of them, tethered by a shared history and an undeniable, enduring love.

Clark’s hands tightened around Y/N’s just slightly—not possessive, but grounding—anchoring them both in the weight of the present. His breath hitched as he whispered, “I never forgot those words… not for a second.”

His voice cracked, just faintly, but he pressed on, his expression resolute and filled with quiet determination. “I don’t want to marry you because of how long we’ve been together… or because it’s ‘what comes next.’ I want to marry you because there’s no one else I could ever imagine standing beside me. No one else I want to build a future with… grow old with.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening as he whispered, “I want to marry you… because I love you.”

Y/N let out a soft, broken laugh, tears spilling freely now as he clung to Clark’s every word.

Clark’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with emotion. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself onto one knee, his gaze never wavering, his hands still cradling Y/N’s as though letting go was unthinkable. With quiet reverence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he’d carried close to him all night. His fingers trembled only slightly as he opened it, revealing the simple yet elegant ring—a perfect symbol of the love they had built: enduring, strong, timeless.

“I do, Y/N,” Clark whispered, his voice raw with unguarded emotion. “I love you… endlessly. I see my forever… and it’s you. It’s always been you.”

His gaze softened further, shimmering with hope, love, and absolute certainty. “Will you… will you marry me?”

The room seemed suspended in breathless stillness—time stretching endlessly in the space between the question and the answer. Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as a choked, tearful laugh escaped his lips. He covered his mouth for just a second, overcome, before reaching down and pulling Clark up into his arms with a fierce, unrestrained embrace.

“Yes,” Y/N whispered, voice trembling but resolute. “Yes. A thousand times… yes.”

Clark let out a shaky, relieved laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N like he never intended to let go. Their foreheads pressed together, tears mingling as they clung to the enormity of the moment—the life they had already built and the future they were now promising.

Time seemed to stop the moment Clark gently slid the ring onto Y/N’s finger. His large, warm hands trembled just enough for you to notice, though his grip remained steady and sure—like he was grounding himself in the reality of this moment. Clark’s ocean-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, swirling with relief, joy, and an overwhelming depth of love that stole Y/N’s breath away. His expression softened as though the weight of anticipation he’d been carrying for weeks had finally lifted.

For a moment, all Y/N could do was stare at the ring sparkling brilliantly in the soft candlelight. Its elegance and meaning were undeniable, but even its beauty couldn’t compare to the way Clark was looking at Y/N—like he were the most precious, extraordinary person in the world, the very center of his universe.

Emotion swelled in Y/N’s chest, leaving him speechless. Tears blurred his vision, but through the shimmering haze, he could still see Clark—standing there, still holding his hand like he couldn’t bear to let go, his breath uneven as he searched your face for reassurance that this was real.

With every ounce of love, joy, and unspoken promise between them, Y/N closed the distance and pulled Clark into the most heartfelt, soul-deep kiss they had ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—it was steady, certain, and profound, like the turning of the earth, like something that had always been meant to happen.

Their lips met with a softness that carried ten years of shared history—nights spent laughing until their sides hurt, quiet mornings tangled in sheets as sunlight streamed through the windows, whispered promises exchanged in the dark when the world felt too heavy. This kiss held all of that—and more. It was the culmination of a thousand moments, big and small, that had built the life they shared.

Clark’s hands came up slowly, almost reverently, cradling Y/N’s face with a tenderness that spoke of how deeply he cherished this moment. His fingers brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his touch light but grounding, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His lips moved against Y/N’s with aching sincerity, pouring his heart into the connection, into the unspoken vow that they would never have to let go.

Y/N’s arms wrapped securely around Clark’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them—only warmth, only love, only them. He felt Clark’s breath hitch ever so slightly against his mouth, felt the way his shoulders relaxed as though the weight of the world had finally fallen away, leaving only this perfect, timeless moment.

The soft glow of the candles flickered gently around them, casting dancing shadows across the familiar walls of their home. The delicate scent of roses and eucalyptus lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the comforting warmth still radiating from the hearth of the kitchen. The world outside seemed to hold its breath, quiet and still, as though honoring something sacred unfolding in that small, candle-lit apartment.

But the only warmth they truly felt was the steady, enduring fire they had always kindled in each other—the kind of warmth built over years of shared dreams, quiet comforts, and unconditional love.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling as they lingered in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Y/N’s fingers gently traced the edge of Clark’s jaw, his touch still trembling from the overwhelming rush of emotion. Clark’s eyes opened slowly, his deep blue gaze shining with love, awe, and absolute certainty.

“I love you,” Clark whispered, voice thick with emotion, as though the words weren’t nearly enough but still everything he needed to say.

Y/N smiled through tears that still shimmered in his eyes, his own voice breaking. “I love you… so much.”

Their fingers entwined again, holding on as though they never intended to let go—and they didn’t. They wouldn’t. This was forever.

Their story—already filled with so much life, so many memories and shared adventures—was only just beginning.

And in the soft, golden glow of their home, surrounded by the quiet beauty they had built together, they stood hand in hand—ready to write the next chapter, together.

#dc x male reader #dc #superman #superman x male reader #clark kent x male reader #henry cavill x male reader #x male reader #fluff #clark kent #henry cavill

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xqueen-of-disasterx · 10 months ago

Text

The winner takes it all

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Scarlett Johansson x fem!reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Scarlett Johansson just hit the peak of her career, she had everything: money power glory. One thing was missing, the Oscar. After she finally won the award she found a special way to celebrate her win with her perfect little girlfriend as a helper.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, dom!scarlett, sub!reader, alcohol use, oral, object insertion, recording of sexual activities, Oscar in places they shouldn't be, degradation

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!

𝐀/𝐍: I swear | was drunk while writing this l'm not a weirdo okay 😭

𝐌.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Third times is the charm, right? That’s what Scarlett thought when she sat in the audience of this year Academy Awards. She was nominated for best actress for her latest movie, last time that had happened her award was stolen from her, but not today, she thought.

She sat in the big theatre room you, her younger co- star turned affair sat next to her, nervously she tapped her fingers over the armrest of the seat. “Scarlett” You called out the older actress had her eyes fixated on the still empty stage. “Scarlett?” You tried again hoping to reach through to her. “Huh? Yes, what’s the matter?” Her fingers still tapping the soft fabric of the armrest. “You’re so nervous” You slip your hand over hers “How couldn’t I be? Have you seen the competition this year? There’s no way I win against Emma Stone”

You chuckled intertwined our hands, it was dangerous you knew that, but luckily no one way paying attention to you. The fact that you shared so much more than just the screen was intoxicating to you, sneaking around the crew to share a few passionate minutes with the older actress. She made you feel the things none of your boyfriends ever could. How she touched you, loved you. But everything had to come to an end, and so did the affair you two had. “You blow them all out of the water” You assured her.

The alcohol did it’s job pretty well in Scarlett’s eyes she had had her faire share of expensive champagne glasses to calm her nerves. And then it got time for the category of best actress. The announcer had the all telling red envelope in hands opening it in exactly that moment. “The Oscar goes too” she slipped out the card “SCARLETT JOHANSSON” The theatre broke out into loud cheers and claps, Scarlett however didn’t even register her name being called she was still in a state of pure shock.

Both you and the director leaned in to give her a quick peak on the cheek and a small “You did it” before she made her way up to the stage to finally accept the thing she never thought she could get.

“You did it” You smiled at her when she made her way into her hotel room. You had sneaked off the after show party to surprise your older girlfriend. Nothing special really just a bit of champagne and lingerie but just seeing you spread out on the sheets made her crazy.

“Now what do we have here” She smirked she was clearly intoxicated and so were you. “Fuck baby girl” She groaned upon seeing your promiscuously clothed body. Later that night she had changed from the big dress to an expensive pantsuit. She slipped of her blazer placing it on to one of the hotel room’s chairs.

“You’re playing with the fire little girl” She chuckled her eyes never leaving your body. She sat her pretentious golden man on the bed side table. “I know what I’m doing” You breathed out. Your eyes meet and she down to kiss you.

Her hands slid over your exposed skin going onto your back. With skilled fingers she unclasped your bra slipping it off your shoulders only to throw it behind her. “Fuck you little slut, I’ve barely done anything and you’re nipples are already hard” Her degrading words forced a moan from your throat.

Her thumbs rolled over your hard nipples, she enjoyed seeing you squirm for her, under her. She chuckled before kissing down your stomach licking over the soft skin of your tummy.

She pressed her nose against your pubic bone taking in a deep breath. She tugged your panties from your legs tugging them into her pant pockets. She kissed your clit kitten licking the bundle of nerves. She paid extra attention to the spot because she knew how needy it made you.

She gave your cunt a few more bold licks bumping the crock of her nose against your over sensitive clit. She pushed her tongue inside your tight heat enjoying not only the taste but also the feeling of your muscles clenching around her.

“Fuck Scarlett” You moaned out your hands gripping tightly into the pillow behind your head. She kept on working you towards the edge of ecstasy until she pulled away letting you huff in annoyance all you wanted she just chuckled.

“Aw” she mocked you “Was my little girl just about to cum?” You shook your head still whining. Her eyes darted to the trophy next to you and a mischief grin was planned on her lips. You knew exactly what she was thinking about.

“Scarlett no” you said with urgency “What? I’m not doing anything” She reached out for the golden man upon closer inspection it had the right shape, you had taken bigger after all. “Well” She started her hands stroking over the stature “don’t you want to make me happy”

“I do but” Scarlett stopped me “No buts baby now spread your legs” You applied to her wishes spreading your legs for the older woman. She hummed in approval her fingers stroking through your slit collecting your wetness on her fingers.

She covers her trophy in your juices on her lips there was still this shit eating grin. She was more excited than a little kid on Christmas.

She held the cold metal against your entrance pushing the head of the stature past your hole, watching in an awe how your pussy ate the metal man.

“Fuck” She groaned as she heard the mewl sounds growing in volume the more the man disappeared. “That’s so hot” She shifted to her knees to reach out for her phone taking it from the nightstand

“I need this for my personal collection” She mumbled pointing the camera to where the Oscar was connected to your body. You both had agreed to her being allowed to videotape you, if she didn’t release it. You both knew that a leak of this video would make it onto every cover of every tabloid magazine. Did you care? Absolutely not. Scarlett even less

The feeling of the cold metal against your walls was intoxicating, you mewled and whimpered. She moved the stature in and out of your tight heat bringing you close to your release. With her skilled fingertips she played with you overstimulated clit loving how your body squirmed under her.

The camera was still on your glistering cunt the camera panting to your face twisted in pleasure. “Fuck I’m gonna cum” She smirked again throwing her phone away to pay more attention to your desperate body. “I know baby” She kissed your nipples with a few more thrust she made you see stars. She let you ride out your high before pulling out the award again watching in an awe how the cum dripped the golden man. “Scarlett” you breathed out still catching your breath “What the fuck”.

Taglist:

@badbitchrebequinha @notaloserjustasnoozer @misscaptainchaos @tashakink @strawberrynatsstuff

#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff #scarlett johansson x fem!reader #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson fanfic #scarlett Johansson smut

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doll-for-you-11 · 6 months ago

Note

She lived alone in the city and was super proud of how independent she was. Her parents had told her to stay even during college but her freedom was super important to her and she moved into her own little apartment.

Nothing fancy, just a single bedroom with a small front yard, overlooking the street. It was convenient too, within a short walk from her campus and as it turns out from her eventual work place.

Over the years she had many guests but no one stayed forever. Guess she was a firebrand and it didn’t really attract too many people to her. She didn’t care because she could take care of herself - financially and otherwise.

That is, until something fishy started happening. Her favourite blue bracelet was missing. At first, she thought she had been forgetful and left it at work or somewhere in the apartment. But then, a week later, it happened again. This time a green pair of earrings. Her stuff was being stolen! She was sure of it.

Between work & socialising she didn’t have much time to interact with her next door neigbours, so she never asked them. But one day, she snapped. Something really special her mom gifted her was gone. Outraged, she drove to a local hardware store. She bought and set up a button sized camera, hidden from sight. It had a wide field of vision and recorded the entire room.

With password encryption and notifications on movement or activity enabled, she felt safe. She let the camera record everything she did. Even, her most private moments. She danced in front of it, changed her clothes in front of it too.

She made love to strangers with the camera recording it and never told them. Even watching those videos back when she was alone, touching her beautiful body to them and making herself orgasm from it.

The robberies seemed to have stopped too. Nothing went missing anymore at all. She was happy and satisfied. Perhaps the thief had never been around. Just a figment of her imagination.

That night, without her knowing though, someone watched. As she stripped out of her dress and laid back on the bed. Pillow between her beautiful legs and a vibrator on her pussy, she went to town.

Her gorgeous body contorted, her moans and breathing getting louder. Unknown to her, someone was stroking themselves while watching. He had always been watching her like this. He gave up on being a thief, but he had hacked the encrypted camera and had access to the feed.

He clicked record, yet another video now in his hard drive. As she furiously masturbated, so did he. Cumming together, but unknown to her.

Three months later, she walked up to her door to find a brown envelope at her step. On it was scribbled ‘For your eyes only.’

Curious, she stepped inside. No address or sender name on it. She opened the envelope and flipped the contents on her desk. Immediately, the blood drained from her cheeks. In shock she looked at the images. High resolution photos of her, touching herself. Using her vibrator. Of her body, exposed.

She felt disgusted, but not at the fact that her photos were sent to her. No, she was disgusted in herself because she felt herself getting wet.

In the same package was a USB drive and a note attached to it saying ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been watching. Left you a gift too.’

With shaky breathing she put the USB into her laptop and opened the video titled ‘Filthy little slut’. It started playing and showed her. Bare body, pillow in between her legs. Vibe on clit. Enjoying her body as she came hard. The hairs on her neck stood on end as her nipples got hard and pushed against the fabric of her top.

She then saw another few files but the one that intrigued her said ‘A gift for my good girl’. She opened it and a video played. A dark room, a screen glowing and a silhouette, clearly a man. He wasn’t the hottest he had seen, or particularly big. But, he was stroking himself with abandon, and she could hear him grunting and moaning. Moaning that was matched by her own. He was playing back her own orgasm and stroking for her.

She took her laptop to her bedroom and laid down with it in front of her. A nervous glance at the camera but she couldn’t help it. Out of instinct, with all shame abandoned by now, she let her hand slide into her underwear. She was now touching herself, to her voyeur. And she was doing it in full view of the camera she set up.

Instead of feeling safe, she felt violated. Humiliated and, strangely, more turned on then ever before. She said ‘please, please have your way with me’… to no one in particular as she orgasmed hard. Passing out with her hand in her panties and her door not securely locked.

She woke up, several hours later. Feeling far more exhausted than usual. Her laptop had been shifted off the bed and all the photos neatly stacked too. Her panties were around her ankles and her pussy felt sore.

She reached down and rubbed her slit, realising there was more than just her juices inside her. A pang of panic and ecstasy shot through her as she started to piece things together.

Grabbing her phone, she opened the camera app and saw it. He came in after she was knocked out. And he was so gentle at first. Mask on his face, he kissed her pussy and made her cum so hard in her sleep. After that, he ravaged her. Looking directly into the camera at it, knowing this filthy little slut will watch it back. He came inside her, over and over again. And then he left the bedroom, but not before waving at the camera.

Turned on like crazy, once again, she swayed from the video she had just seen. She got up, needing to drink some water. Entering the kitchen in a daze, she opened her fridge and grabbed a bottle.

As she closed it, there he was. Mask still on. Looking at her. He covered her mouth and stifled her scream. Took one deep and passionate look at her and said ‘You are mine now, good girl. All mine.’

- 😈😈😈

This is so unbelievably hot 🥵 I think I need to go buy a camera and hope someone hacks it now...

#cnc k!nk #cnc free use #free use slvt #rough cnc #dumb slvt #r@pe fantasy #r@pe kink #bd/sm slave #cnc kidnapping #k!nky thoughts

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badbtssmut · 1 year ago

Text

Sticky Fingers | Maknae Line

When you shoplift at the store and get caught by the manager, a punishment awaits you in the backroom.

Contains: Reader is being sexually punished for stealing, reader gets fucked in various positions, some degrading, rough sex, overstimulation, powerplay, noncon and dubcon elements, vibrator used, cum in face, upside down fucking

Jungkook

“Good, don’t stop sucking until I tell you to stop.” The man ordered, hovering over you, watching you suck his cock. “Should’ve tried stealing from a different shop, might’ve gotten away with it. Dumb little thief.”

You were on your knees in a back room at a store you had just tried to steal from. You had been caught by the owner and dragged into the room. He told you that he was going to call the cops and you panicked, begging him not to. He seemed like he was going to relent but then he said there had to be some form of punishment and that was when he pulled out his cock and demanded that you suck it.

Jungkook groaned. “Keep going.”

You did as he ordered, not that you had much of a choice. You couldn’t afford to have a criminal record and the man had made it clear that if you refused he would call the cops immediately. So you kept sucking his cock, bobbing your head up and down his shaft.

Jungkook pulled away and pulled you up by the arm. He pulled you over to a desk in the corner and placed you on it. He flipped your skirt up and then tugged your panties down.

You hadn’t even realized you were aroused. But the thrill of being caught combined with the fact that you were actually a bit of a slut was enough to turn you on. Your pussy was soaking wet and Jungkook wasted no time lining up and pushing into you.

“A-ah!” You gasped as he pushed all the way into you.

He started thrusting in and out of you, his fingers digging into your hips, using them to pull you back against him, pushing deeper into you.

You gripped the edges of the desk and held on as he fucked you. The wood was uncomfortable but you didn’t dare to speak up.

The door to the room was unlocked, but thankfully no one was out front, otherwise they would hear the sound of his thighs slapping against his thighs, the desk creaking, and the moans and whimpers coming from your lips.

Your pussy felt so full, stuffed with his thick cock. It was throbbing and dripping, clenching around him.

“Sir, I’m sorry…” You whined as he picked up the pace.

”No you’re not.” Jungkook pulled out and flipped you over, the room temporarily spinning.

Jungkook pushed in and started fucking you from behind, the new angle causing him to hit a new spot deep inside of you, a place no other guy had ever managed to reach.

It was overwhelming and you were sure your orgasm was going to come any moment now.

You gasped as the pleasure became too much and you came around his cock, your whole body shaking.

“Not done with you yet, you think just because you had a slutty orgasm, that I’d let you go? That I wouldn't get to fill your slutty cunt with my cum? You think wrong. Your punishment isn't over yet, not until you're stuffed full of cum. You don't want anyone to know that you're a criminal, do you?” He mocked, slapping your ass.

He didn’t stop thrusting, didn't stop pounding into your sensitive hole.

And like that, he kept fucking you until he filled you with his cum.

Taehyung

“Ah!” You cried out as you tried to move away, but you were firmly pulled back by the manager.

“What? You want to steal but not deal with the consequences?” His arm locked in place around your waist as his other pushed the vibrator inside further into your pussy.

You had stolen some items from his store, which led to him catching you in the act. After begging and pleading with him, the manager agreed to not call the cops if you were punished. You weren’t expecting him to demand you suck his cock, but that had only been the start. Now he had you on his lap with your legs spread open and the toy vibrating inside of your pussy.

“Sir, please, I won’t do it again…I swear. Just let me go, please, I promise, I won’t steal anything from your store again. I won't ever come back, I'll even give you back everything I stole…” You whimpered.

Taehyung took the dildo out of you. You felt relieved for a second before you were pulled off his lap and turned around so you were facing him.

He looked you in the eyes as he pushed his cock into you, his gaze unwavering.

“O-oh!” You whimpered, feeling his cock slide into you, your body easily accepting him, your cunt practically sucking him in.

Once he was completely inside of you, the manager started to move. His hips moving quickly, thrusting up into you.

It was a completely different sensation than the toy. It wasn't like anything you had experienced before. He was able to push deep inside of you, and he wasn't holding back.

His movements were almost frantic, a sense of urgency behind each movement.

“You make a better whore than a shoplifter.” Taehyung chuckled. “I'll be taking this as payment for what you've stolen. You owe me. Now, ride me.”

You nodded obediently. You lifted yourself up and began to bounce, the pleasure growing. You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you.

Taehyung leaned back, watching you, a smirk on his face. “Shit, I’m going to fill up that tight pussy. And you're going to take every last drop, aren't you, my little thief?” He mocked.

You could only moan in response.

Taehyung started to buck his hips, matching your rhythm. You could feel your own orgasm approaching, your cunt getting tighter around him.

Your legs started to shake, and you could feel the heat building up in your core, the pleasure building, growing stronger, and Taehyung took over, pounding upwards into you. You cried out as you came around him, your juices dripping out of your cunt and down onto him.

You felt a gush of warmth, the feeling of him filling you up, and he moaned, his eyes falling closed.

“Mm, good girl.” He opened his eyes and looked at you, pushing you off his lap. “Get out of here before I change my mind and decide to call the cops.”

Jimin

“You really thought you could stuff your bag and get away with it? Do you take me for some idiot?” The manager mocked as he bounced you on his cock.

“No… no, sir!” Fuck, you were going to pass out. This man was fucking you just right, you had practically turned into jelly in his arms. Jimin had lifted you off the floor and now he was fucking you mid air, bouncing you on his cock as he stood in the middle of his office.

You had been caught stealing from the shop he worked at and he decided he was going to teach you a lesson. He had ripped your leggings down your thighs and was now plunging his cock in and out of your pussy with an incredible pace. You moaned, clinging to his shoulders for support. You felt so lightheaded.

Jimin looked you up and down, your body limp, a look of pure bliss on your face. He smirked, continuing to fuck you hard. You were such a slut.

You cried out when you felt the pleasure build up, reaching your limit, but just as you were about to cum, Jimin switched positions. He lowered you down, your body upside down, legs hanging in the air. The back of your head and shoulders touched the floor as he held you by the hips, before he started pounding into you again. You cried out. You were so fucking sensitive and he was hitting all the right spots, it was driving you insane.

Jimin was relentless, watching as your body tensed and your face scrunched up. He gripped onto your thighs as he continued to thrust downward, deep into your pussy.

You came, and it was like a million fireworks going off in your head. Your whole body buzzed, and the room began to spin. You felt your legs begin to go numb as your body twitched. Your pussy squeezed around his cock, causing him to moan.

Jimin kept fucking you, even after you came, causing you to moan and squirm. Your legs kicked around, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure, but the manager was holding them down, keeping them spread.

He grunted, feeling his cock twitch. He was close. He fucked you hard, making sure you felt every inch of his dick. You were practically drooling. You were completely dazed.

With one final thrust, he pushed his cock deep into your pussy, unloading his hot cum. You could feel it filling you up, and it made you shudder. You came again.

You whimpered when you felt his cock slip out of you. Your lower body dropped to the floor as he let go of your legs, causing them to land with a thud. You winced.

Jimin stood above you, watching you catch your breath. “Suck me off and we won't have any more problems, got it, thief?” He said.

You nodded slowly, still coming down from the high.

He smirked, leaning down, grabbing a fist full of your hair and pulling you up. You took his cock and started to suck him off, Jimin bobbed you head back and forth, fucking your mouth.

Jimin groaned as his cock hit the back of your throat, feeling your tongue slide against the shaft. He threw his head back, letting out a few moans.

After a while, you were getting tired, but the manager wasn't done with you yet. He didn’t stop until he was satisfied, and when he finally was, he pulled his cock out. “Fuck!” He cussed, jerking himself off until his hot cum splattered onto your face.

#bts smut #bts requests #bts x reader #bts smut requests #bts fanfic #taehyung smut #bts smut fanfic #jungkook smut #jimin smut #bts smut story #bts smut reactions #18+ bts content

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kiwiikato · 8 months ago

Text

mommy’s here // ken sato x reader

Chapter One

masterlist

the sound of feet slammed against the floor. a yell tearing the air. the city lights flashed around their eyes as they held their head in their hands. the body lunging forward with as much force mustered.

his breaths were shaky as he fell to the ground. his body trying to compose itself as he rushed away from where the KDF were attacking the kaiju. the kaiju he could not defeat. this wasn't his first time running away from the fight.

he didn't even want to be there. he just wanted to play baseball, but this is what he gets for coming back to japan to help his father. his father that wasn't even there, that lectured him, that left him and his mother alone. he hated this.

he knew it was wrong of him to run from the scene but he couldn't avoid it. he held his left arm that now stung with pain, running to his motorbike that sat hidden in the dark.

"ken, the KDF seem to be using excessive force. shall i plot a course back to the battle?" the voice of mina rang through his ears. his eyes following drones that flew by him. "you know what, imma punch out for the night. let the KDF handle it." his smirk that graced his sharp features quickly morphed into a frown as a call from his dad showed on the inside of his helmet.

"right on time, here comes the guilt trip." he sighed. "he's already left 10 messages." mina's robotic voices spoke out as calls of his dad flashed on his screen. "nope! no thanks, i've had my butt kicked enough tonight. please silence all calls, mina. i need some me time." he said focusing on the road ahead of him.

"after your interview with miss wakita, of course." mina briefly mentioned. his figure shot up quickly while still riding. "wait! with the same lady from the press conference?" "yes ken, the same lady from the press conference. and your an hour late." he could only shift down, but looked up and sped up his bike, zooming past cars as he switched lanes like nothing.

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"i heard you're really good at avoiding hard questions." ami's voice spoke up in the dim lighted room, as kenji only slurped at the noodles in front of him. "mmm! these noodles are killer. want some?" the irony of the situation being him avoiding the statement. "i'm okay. thanks. mind if i record?" her soft voice spoke up as she lifted up phone in front of her.

"mm do your thing." he said, uncaring of the situation. "so you've had an impressive career." she started off. "gold glove. silver slugger. tea?" he spoke up picking up the kettle near him as she dismissed his offer with a wave of her hand. "and yet you've never won a championship." she responded back.

he could only put down the kettle and let out a breathy chuckle. "wow. right for the throat." "it's just an observation." she said calmly. "'just an observation.' sure. you know, there are lots of great players who never won titles." his voice laced with defense as her words. "yes. and some say you're better than all of them."

"some?" he could only chuckle while pulling his cup away from his lips. "you have seen me play, right?" he said leaning in tauntingly. it wasn't hard to deny the cockiness that came with his words. his pride was biggest feature besides the skills he boasted about.

"420 batting average. 624 stolen bases." ami responded sitting confidently, her hand lifting in the air, "but?" kenji inquired as he stretched out the word. "but personal stats don't win championships." "so my ego is holding me back?" he assumed as he poured rhetorical sauce from a cup into his noodles, all while aggravated.

"i didn't say that. and to be honest, i'm not here to discuss stats." her voice was loud, laced with confidence but slight annoyance at his behavior. "then why are we discussing stats?" "because players are more comfortable talking about stats then themselves." she remarked back.

"hey i'm happy to talk about me." "great! because i want to know why. why you avoid most interviews, why you keep your teammates at a distance, and why you left a city that loves you to..." her strong tone slowly went quiet as she saw what the man in front of her was doing.

"you know, your supposed to dip your noodles in the sauce." he could only look at her, his eyes peering out from his sunglasses. "i like doing things my way." he could only tauntingly pour the sauce into the noodles. "okay, let's remind. earlier, i asked about your mother."

the interview slowly passed by as he could only zone out from the questions being asked. he felt himself disassociate from the conversation, his whole body on autopilot till the moment he was back home. it was the one place he could relax and get away from those that pestered him.

he could only stand in the holographic life size park that mina loaded onto the room as his body moved forward, swinging his bat as it slammed against the ball. he could only watch as it shot back into the sky at his force. "yeah! that's what i'm talking about!" he yelled excited. it was short lived as pain erupted from his shoulder, reaching out to hold it from the pain.

the robotic sphere known as mina flew down, scanning his body. "ken, it appears that you have sprained your rotator cuff during the battle." the hologram of the park faded away, resulting back into the usual metal room. he walked away as she trailed behind him through the doors. "yup, that's what i get for saving lives."

"ken, it is your duty to save lives." mina said as she hovered behind him. "yeah well i prefer to save my arm and leave the kaijus to the KDF." he said as he walked towards a long couch. "you know what happens when you leave it to the KDF." he could only chuck mockingly as he sat down.

"yeah. i have a double-double, a chocolate shake, and a good nights sleep. now stop trying to be my mother." he said staring mina down. "i am as i was programmed." he only looked down after, tapping his foot against the bottom of his couch.

a cabinet popped out, almost a cooler, showing drinks inside that rolled around. he could only scoff in shock, looking up surprised. "coconut water?!? mina, did you throw my fancy fizzy drinks?" he interrogated.

"healthy choices, healthy body." he could only sigh as he opened a can of coconut water. he took a sip only to clear his throat in disgust. "mmm, taste just like a fart." he said annoyed. "ken, i wonder if you might consider taking a break."

"from drinking farts?" "from baseball." kenji could only look up at mina in shock. "give up the one thing that puts a smile on my face? sorry. no. tv please." mina listened to his command, the tv turning on in response.

the screen showcased the scene from where he had fought the kaiju from above. "more destruction today as the KDF and ultraman battles neronga. as one witness told us..." the news reporters voice quieted down as the news now showed an older lady.

"i love ultraman. always have. he's done so much good in the past." "thank you citizen." kenji told the tv as he rained the coconut water in a cheer. the older lady began to talk. "but he's been gone for months. and now that he's back, it's like he doesn't really care. i mean look at this."

kenji could only sit and stare. "i didn't even want this gig. and now everybody's coming at me." he said getting ready to turn off the tv. until something caught his ear. "but it wasn't all bad. i thought the situation was a lost cause when ultraman bolted from the scene. until someone else came in."

kenji could only stop in shock, confused at what she was referencing. "they came out of nowhere, helping to stop neronga. i don't know who it was but they were just as big as ultraman himself. thank you new hero, thank you."

he stared at the tv as it displayed scenes of someone fighting neronga. 'who was this? where were they this entire time?' another metal hero ran towards neronga, slamming into the kaijus body as they wrestled them down. grabbing its horn, they pushed it down, the kaiju roaring out as a laser shot from its mouth.

the new person summoned a shield as they jumped away from the attack. they could only crouch down in response, jumping into the air, only to land on its back. they grabbed their horn once again, small cracks showing from the force of the heroes grip.

wrapping their arms around its torso, they lifted neronga up. kenji could only watch as they flipped them over with intense strength, body slamming neronga to an already destroyed building, knocking them unconscious. the hero could only stand up proudly, only to jump away from the cameras.

the footage ended there as he stared in disbelief. "who is that? where the fuck did they come from mina?!" he yelled as he turned the tv off, his hands raking through his hair. as far as he knew, he was the only hero here. the only person that had this duty passed down to since his fathers injury. right?

mina could only stare at his face of shock, examining the situation. "ken, please calm down. letting your emotions react this way will cause you to undergo stress, affecting your strained shoulder."

he could only huff out intense breaths, slowly calming down as he moved to sit back down on his couch. 'what was that? why am i barely hearing about them now? why did they only show up after i left the scene? do they work for the KDF?' his head produced question after question, trying to think of what could have been happening.

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soft footsteps walked up stairs till they stopped in front of a door. the source of the noise raised their hand, knocking on the door there times. the door opened slightly, leaving a small crack open. the person behind the door took notice of who knocked. quickly the door opened, shushing them inside the room. "good job on finishing your task (y/n), i am proud of the progress you have made."

they could only smile softly at the praise, giving them a bow as a sign of their gratitude. "thank you professor sato. i could not have come this far if it was not for your help." the pair sat down, slowly getting lost in new tactics that they could use for the next battle.

#ultraman rising #ultraman #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ken sato #professor sato

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ponderingmoonlight · 6 months ago

Note

I love your writing, you are very talented. Can I request a story about Sanemi? The story goes like this: “On the day when all the hunters are fighting Muzan, Sanemi's wife went into labor (could you put his wife giving birth to triplets?). I love you darling.

Sanemi's wife giving birth during the Infinity Castle Battle

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You were so sure your husband will guide you through the delivery of your triplets until the fight between Muzan and the demon slayer corps - including Sanemi. Will you make it all on your own? And will your husband return to your side in time?

Warnings: this is pure drama and I cried a little while writing lol, never gave birth to a child so sorry if this is trash, big angst but fluff in the end, ENJOY 🤍

The night air is thick with tension, each breath you take carrying the weight of what is happening just beyond the horizon. You can feel it in your bones, a concerning anxiety that creeps up your spine and settles in your racing heart. Tonight is the night, the one you dreaded for so long—the final battle against Muzan Kibutsuji, the king of demons.

But for you, the darkness that threatens to consume the world is nothing against the raging in your own body. It was a risk all along and you knew it since Shinobu delivered the news to you. Getting pregnant at such times, carrying for a child in the middle of an endless battle? And to top it all off…With triplets?

“We’re gonna figure this out. Together. After all, I’ll rip off the head of anyone who gets too close to you!”

“You really don’t need to do that, Sanemi.”

The warm words of your husband linger in your mind while you stare at the dark ceiling. Oh, how much he cared for you this whole pregnancy, slaughtering demons in record time only to return to his wife a couple hours later. He did what he could, always stayed by your side and made sure everything went fine.

Until he had to leave. The contractions started early that evening, subtle at first, but now they come in waves that steal your breath and make you clutch at the sheets of the futon beneath you.

"Sanemi..." you whisper his name into the empty room, knowing he isn’t there to hear it.

Your husband is out there, fighting with everything he has, determined to bring an end to the nightmare that claimed so many lives already. He promised you that he’ll return, that he’ll come back to you and the children you carry.

“I’m here with you, Lady Shinazugawa. Breathe with me.”

But those promises feel fragile in the face of such overwhelming danger. Your midwife grabs your hand gently, her warm eyes desperately trying to comfort you.

Another contraction hits, this one stronger than the last. You bite down on your lip to stifle a cry, not wanting to alarm the Kakushi who are stationed outside the door. They are truly kind, offering their assistance constantly, but you sent them away with a forced smile and a shake of your head. You want to do this alone with your midwife, to bring your children into the world in the quiet peace of your home rather than in the chaos of battle.

But peace is a passing thing tonight.

You close your eyes and focus on your breathing, the way Sanemi had taught you during those brief, stolen moments of calm, like the midwife has shown him multiple times. He has always been so strong, so determined, and it is that strength you hold onto now. You imagine him beside you, his hand clasping yours, his voice a soothing balm against the pain.

“You can do it, darling. Just think about your breathing, concentrate on my voice. Let’s do this together.”

But as the hours wear on and the contractions grow closer together, you know you can’t do this without him. The pain is becoming unbearable, and your body betrays you, muscles tensing and convulsing as the babies make their way into the world.

A knock at the door breaks through your fog of pain, and a Kakushi enters, his face pale with concern.

“Lady Shinazugawa, please, let us help you. We’ve sent for Lady Kocho’s Tsugoko - she’ll be here soon.”

“I’m truly sorry Lady Shinazugawa, but a doctor is unavoidable at this rate”, the midwife adds while wiping away your blood that covers her hands entirely.

You want to protest, to insist that you can handle this on your own, but the words die on your lips as another contraction takes hold. The Kakushi rushes to your other side, his hands trembling as he helps you lie back against the futon together with your midwife.

“Just breathe,” the midwife murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’re doing so well. They’ll be here soon.”

You nod, biting back the tears that threaten to spill over. You never felt so alone, so vulnerable, and yet you know you have to be strong—for your children and for your husband who risks his life in battle at this very moment for you.

Time seems to stretch and contract in strange ways, and you lose track of how long you labor, each contraction blurring into the next. The room is spinning, the pain almost too much to bear. Just before your eyes threaten to flutter shut, the door bursts open and reveals Aoi.

She immediately takes charge, her hands steady as she examines you.

“You’re doing wonderfully. It won’t be long now” she says with unusual gentle voice.

You can only nod, too exhausted to speak. The pain is relentless, a constant wave crashing over you, but there is a flicker of hope now, a sense that the end might be in sight.

“Sanemi…” you whisper again, your heart aching for him.

You want him here so bad, want him to see the birth of your children, to hold them and know that they are safe.

But as another contraction grips you, you know that wish is impossible. Sanemi is out there, fighting for his life, and you have to trust that he will return to you as soon as everything’s over.

“Hold on. The first baby is almost here. Just one more push”, Aoi’s voice cuts through the haze.

You gather every ounce of strength you have left, every bit of resolution you can collect, and with a cry that echoes through the room, you push.

And push.

The sound of a newborn’s wail fills the air, and for a moment, everything else fades away. Aoi holds up the tiny, squirming form, her eyes shining with pride.

“It’s a boy,” she announces with a warm smile and tears glistening in her eyes.

“Shinobu-san will be so proud of you.”

Tears spill over your cheeks as she places the baby in your arms. He’s so small, so perfect, with a shock of dark hair and eyes that blink up at you, unfocused but curious. You hold him close, your heart swelling with love.

But there is no time to linger. The next contraction hits you with full force, and you know the second baby is on the way. Aoi takes the firstborn from your arms, handing him to the Kakushi who remained by your side, and then she was there again, guiding you through the next birth.

The second child comes more quickly, and soon you are holding another tiny life in your arms - a girl this time, with her father’s fierce eyes and a shock of white hair that makes you laugh through your tears. You and your husband always wondered about how your children will look like.

“You really want them to have my hair? Hell no, I don’t want my kids to look like they’re 80 right from the start.”

And still, there is one more.

By the time the third baby arrives, you are beyond exhaustion, barely able to keep your eyes open. But you force yourself to stay awake, to see your third child. Another boy with a face so like Sanemi’s that it takes your breath away.

You hold all three of them close, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. They are perfect, each one of them, and despite the pain and the fear, you know it had all been worth it.

But even as you hold your children, a part of you remains stuck to the battlefield, to the man who risks everything to protect you and them. You pray that he’ll return, that he’ll survive this night and comes home to you.

Hours passed in a blur of exhaustion and overwhelming love. The Kakushi and midwife tend to the babies, cleaning them and wrapping them in soft blankets while Aoi ensured that you were stable until she was forced to leave as well. Everything seems peaceful – too peaceful.

But as the first light of dawn creeps through the windows, a new tension fills the air. The Kakushi who remained by your side was called away as well, his face pale as he listened to hurried whispers at the door. Your heart clenches with fear, knowing that whatever news arrived can’t be good at all.

“Do you…”, you begin, your voice trembling with worry as you try to talk to your stressed midwife.

But before she can answer, the door slams open and your heart leaps into your throat.

There he stands, his haori torn and bloodied, his eyes wild as they search the room. Can it really be him? Is it really possible that he…returned? In the matter of second, your tired eyes fill with tears, take in his sight. It really is him. He really made his way back to you.

“Sanemi!” you cry, relief flooding through you.

In an instant, he is at your side, his hands reaching for you as if to reassure himself that you are really there.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”, his rough voice mutters, strained with worry.

“I’m fine. I-…I’m fine,” you breathe out, your eyes overflowing with tears while taking in the sight of him.

He looks exhausted, battered from the battle, but he’s alive.

Your husband is alive.

“I’m fine, Sanemi. And so are they.”

His eyes follow yours to the three tiny bundles in your arms, and for a moment, he simply stares as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand trembling as he touches the soft cheek of the nearest baby.

“They’re… ours?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nod, smiling through your tears.

“Two boys and a girl. They’re perfect, Sanemi.”

His breath hitches and you catch a glimpse at the glimmer of tears in his eyes when he gently takes the baby from your arms, cradling him as if he is the most precious thing in the world.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“Just like their mum.”

You watch as he carefully holds each of your children, his eyes softening with a tenderness you’ve rarely seen. This is a side of Sanemi that few ever caught, a side that is all yours.

“They’re strong,” you add, your voice soft as you watched him with your daughter.

“Just like their father.”

He shakes his head, a rough laugh escaping him.

“No, they’re strong like their mother.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, needing to feel the solid warmth of him, to know that he’s really here.

“You came back to us,” you whisper, the fear that had gripped you all night finally releasing its hold.

He looks at you with his intense but somehow empty gaze.

“Hell, yeah, I promised you I would, didn’t I?”

You nod, a smile breaking through the tears.

“Yes, you did.”

Sanemi leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then to each of the babies’ heads, his expression softening with each touch.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he vows, his voice a low, fierce whisper.

“No matter what fucking demon wants to kill me. But it’s over now, darling. It’s finally over.”

You believe him, with every fiber of your being. The battle is over, and you all survived. Your family is whole, and that is all that mattered.

“What about the others, are they alright-“

“No. Let’s talk about that another time. Right now, I just want to stay here like this for a while”, he interrupts you.

As the first rays of sunlight stream into the room, you lean into Sanemi’s embrace, your heart full to bursting with love for the man who chose you as his wife back then.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @vrystalius @sanemifucker @blunderland

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helenanell · 9 months ago

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A Breath Of Life || Part Two

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Part One

Pairing(s) : Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi - Reader x Art x Tashi

CW: MDNI - Smut. Infidelity (kind of?). So much love and lust. ANGST. Manipulative behaviour.

Notes: Fem!Reader, No use of y/n. This is really just me exploring my own bisexual panic some more. Spoilers for the film.

Wordcount: 4.2K

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The moment you won the match that sealed your victory at Wimbledon, the applause was rapturous.

And yet, Tashi’s triumphant shout was louder to you than hundreds of clapping hands.

The sound of her celebration became yours, and when you let out a yell of your own, your racket falling from your hands, you became one with her.

After that, her eyes did not leave you. You didn’t look but you knew it to be true, just as you knew the sun was shining onto your shimmering skin; Tashi was an incomprehensible being bearing down on you.

When you lifted the Venus Rosewater Dish above your head–the silver trophy given to the women’s single’s winner–your smile was beatific. Not because of the rush of adrenalin, or the way your spirit had been buoyed by finally achieving what you knew you could, but feared you wouldn’t, but because you knew that in your victory Tashi had found her own.

It had taken over a decade, but together you’d realised your dream.

You knew deep down that you could have made it without her, but it would have been tasteless; a honeyed feast turning to ash in your mouth.

Achieving the title with Tashi by your side had turned everything technicolour. All of your senses were heightened and your sense of self revitalised.

You lived for tennis and Tashi had helped that life become something glorious.

When you stepped off the court it felt like a kind of conquest: your domain now stretched beyond the white lines that had so far confined you. You had taken more than a trophy, you had stolen space in people’s consciousness.

You would not fade into the annals of time because your name had been recorded- it was to be engraved in metal which would be buffed into an unmissable shine.

Even as you stepped into the plush locker room, you knew the winning moment was already being replayed and analysed. It made you smile to think that as commentators noted your form, they were publicly voicing the effects of Tashi’s coaching on you, to the entire world.

You felt burned by her, but not as if she had branded you, rather that she had subjected you to such heat, that the very makeup of your body had been altered.

Now, you're sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room with your head hanging low, sweat still dripping from your face when the door opens.

You shoot to your feet, your beleaguered body screaming at you to slow down.

When you turn, you find Art standing in front of the now closed door.

The sight of him takes away your breath.

He is here too.

In your greatest moment of euphoria, when you’ve never felt more tangible–more real–you get to be near him. Suddenly, all of the time that had passed between you didn’t matter.

He's with you now.

Art leans back against the door, hands going into the pockets of his immaculate navy pants. A matching blazer that has been left unbuttoned stretches across his muscled torso, his sunglasses hanging from the neck of his white shirt.

His cropped blonde hair is messy enough that you know he's been running his hands through it; with anxiety and elation he’d been dragging fingers through the blonde locks as he watched you play.

Art has become something beyond handsome to you. Retiring has returned his vitality and it has been a stunning metamorphosis to witness.

But it's change you’ve made yourself witness from a distance. The two of you have not been in a room alone together since he’d hidden in your bathroom as Tashi had convinced you to let her become your coach.

For the first few months, things had felt far too fragile to acknowledge what had happened between the two of you. You and Art had come to a silent understanding that you needed the time to build back up a foundation with Tashi.

If you were to remain in each other's lives, you needed solid ground.

But you had just won Wimbledon. You had just given Tashi a victory. Did either of you have the fortitude to go on denying yourselves?

It has been a solid minute since Art entered the room and neither of you have shifted so much as an inch.

You’re fixed on the spot, watching him as he drinks you in. His gaze is laying possessive claim to your body, noting all the places the white vest and skort are clinging to your sweat-slicked curves.

But it is when his eyes settle on your face, that a sort of peace soothes his expression.

“You were amazing.”

You can’t help but smirk, allowing yourself to feel cocky for once. “Of course I was, I won.”

Art’s cheeks dimple with the strength of his grin.

“It’s not about the win. It’s how you moved when you played- like you could bend the whole world to your will. It was so beautiful. And you…” He pushes off the door and walks right up to you, chests almost brushing as he nudges your chin up with his finger. “You are so, so stunning.”

As he leans in, even though you don’t try to stop him, words of weak protest pour out of you.

“Art we shouldn’t. Not here-“

He cuts you off with a taunting kiss, his tongue trying to prize your lips open as his arm wraps around you.

His hand shifts up the sweaty material of your vest and lays his palm flat against the heated flesh of your lower back, all while his other hand trails up your outer thigh and beneath your skort to grab your ass.

You lean into him, hands wrapping around his neck and only when he draws back to kiss his way along your jaw, do you have a chance to speak again.

“Art, Tashi will be here soon. If she sees-“

“She won’t care.”

Your brow furrows, but the confusion isn’t enough for you to stop his lips moving over your neck. “What?”

As Art answers, his hand leaves your rear to dip beneath the waistband of your skort. You shiver as the pads of his fingers tickle all the way down, toying with the top of your underwear.

“You are all Tashi sees now.” Art clarifies, proceeding to nip at your exposed shoulder with his teeth. “You’re her everything. She could walk in on us right now and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

That gives you pause, indignation spiking at his easy dismal of Tashi.

You pull away from Art and he groans quietly but lets you go, his expression remaining completely content.

“How can you say that?” You ask, growing irritable even as you let him take your hand in his.

“Because you’re everything that I couldn’t be for her.” He says.

You sigh exasperatedly. “What does that mean, Art?”

You don’t know why you’re asking, as you’re certain you already know the truth of it.

Art smiles, his other hand lifting to smooth a few sweat slicked strands off of your forehead. When he’s finished, his fingers settle with running over your cheekbone.

“It means…that you are all of her dreams realised. She resented me because every time I played, no matter how well, she knew it was nowhere near as important to me as it would have been to her had she never been injured. She hated me for not wanting it more….but, you have enough passion for tennis to play for the both of you. I never had that much to draw from. So, as long as you keep winning like you just did, she’ll love you. She’ll love you because you’re doing her justice.”

After giving that insight that rang so true it almost hurts your ears with its incessant clamouring, Art leans in to kiss you again. You place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back.

“You felt like you were playing for her and it made you miserable.” You argue, hurt by the thought that his behaviour towards you is just rooted in gratitude that you have lifted the burden off of his shoulders.

“It was different for me.” He answers simply. “I was miserable because I knew none of what I did was enough. I was still failing her. Tashi wants to watch great tennis and I didn’t give her that. You will. You are giving her that.”

The way Art was speaking was producing within you a burgeoning unease; he was steady and assured, like he’d spent a long time thinking about this. And there was an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure to his speech.

A large part of Art was elated that the burden had been shifted onto you.

But could you really hold that against him? You had seen how he was bending and breaking under the weight, it was why you’d told him to retire.

It was now your job to keep Tashi’s heart beating, you had known that the moment you’d agreed to let you coach her. That had been your choice and one freely made.

So Art was right, you had to keep winning and you had to do so spectacularly.

This was not a fresh revelation of course, but the possibility that Tashi wanting you close to her was entirely contingent on tennis, began to terrify you.

You estimated you had a good five years left before you’d likely be forced to retire, but then what would become of you? Would Tashi even care to have you in her life after that? You were not bound to her like she was to Art by their daughter.

As if he can feel how your mind is whirring through the skin of your cheek, Art tips up your chin again and claims your mouth for another kiss.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing.

“When I think about all that you are, tennis doesn’t even register.” He says sincerely, placing a sweet peck to your lips.

You cherish his touch and ach for more, but it isn’t quelling the panic ripping into your insides like wind whipping up in preparation to become a storm.

“Art, I can’t- I need to tell Tashi what happened with us.”

No anger or irritation appears on his face at your blurted words, but his other hand falls onto your back so he can pull you closer and you can tell he’s definitely upset about something.

“What happened?” He rasps. “You’re placing what we have in the past tense. Is it not still happening” His fingers press into your skin proprietorially.

“I can’t lose her, Art. But I also can’t lose you.”

“Then tell her.” He says, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it.

“You’re agreeing just like that? It’ll ruin your marriage.”

His lip tugs up in the beginning of a bitter smile. “Tell her. It won’t change how she sees you.” he affirms “Then you should ask her about Patrick.”

You barely have time to process his implication when the door opens.

The two of you pull apart as Tashi’s head pops in. She looks entirely unbothered as her eyes glance off her husband before settling squarely on you.

“Get in the shower, we’ve got to get moving.”

And just like that she’s gone again.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

“Do you need him?”

Tashi’s question catches you off guard.

You’ve both been sitting in silence- her nursing a glass of wine and you with herbal tea as you both look out across the London skyline. Lights of skyscrapers are strung out across the black like fairy lights.

You know who she’s talking about, but you’re terrified to acknowledge it.

You stop yourself from giving into the instinct to peer back through the open sliding door and into the hotel room where Art is watching TV.

“In what way?” You ask, fiddling with the handle of your mug, still looking forward.

Tashi huffs, putting her glass down and then turning to you, kneeling beside you on the outdoor couch. She takes the mug out of your hand, setting it on the nearby table before curling her fingers around your chin and forcing you to meet her unflinching stare.

“Will Art improve your game or will he wreck it?” She sees your eyes widen and shushes you, stymying the words that had been gathering on your tongue. “This isn’t about me. I’m your coach, so I need to know that you’re going to keep giving this your all.”

“I will.” You nod furiously, still held in her grip.

Tashi’s eyes flicker down your lips before finding your eyes again. Her hair is loose and being blown into your face.

“I need you to tell me that if he’s watching you in the stands, that you won’t choke.” She says. “What the two of you have needs to light a fire in you, or it fucking dies. Do you understand me?”

“I won’t choke.” You insist, your tone hard.

Her full lips press into a pleased line. “So are you going to keep dominating?”

Slightly breathless, your eyes fall to where your fingers have been absentmindedly brushing her knee. You let your digits outstretch and as your eyes return to Tashi’s, you tentatively run them over her scar. You feel her shiver.

“I’m going to keep dominating.”

You both go still, and just as the corner of her mouth tugs up, she’s leaning in. You inhale a sharp breath as her lips just skim yours. She holds there, not pressing any further.

When Tashi speaks, you feel her lips form the words against your own. “Then you do whatever it takes.”

You truly couldn’t say which of you closes the distance, it feels more like an external, undeniable force driving the two of you to converge.

When Tashi begins to move her lips against yours, her hand cradles the back of your head, twisting into your hair and pulling. You can’t help but let out a soft moan into her mouth, a hand landing on her waist and digging into the thin fabric of her silk shift.

Tashi draws back first, her hot breaths on your face as she presses two fingers to your throbbing lips.

The question that comes out of your mouth has no malice or jealousy behind it, just an aching curiosity: you want to know her completely, in the way that you used to, and Art’s words from the locker room told you there was something you don’t know.

“Tashi, what happened between you and Patrick?”

She doesn’t rear back, she doesn’t slap you like she might have, she just lets out a slow almost contented breath.

“I slept with him.” She admits calmly. “A few years ago in Atlanta, and the night before the Challenger match against Art.”

All at once the visceral passion of that match makes so much more sense and even though you’re aware how twisted it is, you laugh.

“You forced them to have the best match of their lives.” You say, your tone warring between disbelief and awe.

Tashi answers with another brief, but ardent kiss to your lips, before she’s rising to her feet, her demeanour steady. Her expression is already returning to the stern set of your coach.

“You need to get to bed. It’s a busy day tomorrow. Your physiotherapist is here at eight am. Nutritionist at eight-thirty.”

You nod in agreement, lips still tingling as you rise to your feet.

The night breeze stirs your hair and the thin fabric of your robe. Only when you turn do you see Art leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, the fabric of his grey shirt strained against his muscles.

When you meet his gaze he smiles so fondly that, combined with the residual heat of Tashi’s contact, you’re set ablaze.

Right now you have both of them.

“Stay here with us.” Tashi asserts, running a hand over Art’s arm as she passes him to head inside the room.

“No need for you to go wandering down the hall in your nightgown again.” Art continues, the corner of his lips lifting as he holds a hand out to you.

You take it, letting him draw you inside.

When the two of you reach the massive Queen bed, Art pulls back the sheets and you crawl happily into the middle of the mattress.

All at once your exhaustion hits you, the softness cradling your aching form both lulling you into drowsiness and making your limbs remember each strained movement of the day.

Your eyes fall shut, so you’re not sure who it is who causes the bed to dip, but you lean into the warmth irregardless.

Art’s toned arm wraps around your torso as he draws the back of your body to be flush with his front. He’s already pulling hair away from your neck and laying lingering kisses there, when movement in front of you causes your eyes to flutter open.

Tashi’s standing in the bathroom doorway opposite you, her form backlit by the warm light as she finishes rubbing lotion to her arms.

She watches Art holding you and she notes how he’s kissing you, a frenetic vibrancy takes over her expression.

You hold her gaze as she switches the bathroom light and walks over. When she crawls under the covers, one of Art’s hands is moving past the neckline of your robe, his thumb running over your nipple.

You sigh, your head falling back against Art’s chest, but your hand is moving forward across the mattress, searching for Tashi.

It’s such a terrible idea- an act that will join you all in another irrevocable way, but you have to have it. You have to have them.

If you’re going to play tennis with Tashi as your coach and Art still in her life…you can’t choose. You can’t separate yourself from either of them.

Your hand makes contact with Tashi’s as she lays herself right in front of you. She intertwines your fingers and leans down to kiss your chest, her lips skimming your collarbones.

Art draws his hand away from your breast and his touch travels down your body, between your legs.

You moan as Tashi’s mouth explores your chest, her tongue brushing over the swell of your breasts all while Art is pressing his knees between yours from behind. Now more open to him, he bunches your robe in his hand and rucks it up until it’s gathered at your waist. He pulls down your underwear.

When Art’s fingers begin to tease your centre, your gasp is lost as Tashi covers her mouth with yours, her free hand threading into your hair.

Between the two of them, you find security in the ecstasy they draw out of you. Your entire body is flushed and sweating, cheeks red and chest heaving.

You’re beyond overwhelmed, but you try to savour every small touch and shift of their bodies.

Mostly you’re trying to remember the sensation of Tashi, because you have a feeling this may never happen again with her: even in your addled mind as Art begins to roll his hips, a finger pressing inside you, you’re aware that for Tashi this could simply be a form of motivation. You know that if she thought you needed this now, in order to keep playing the way you had today, then she’d do it without question. She’s motivating you.

But is that all this is for her? It certainly means a lot more to you.

Tashi was the first woman you had been attracted to, the first person to make you question the limited nature of your desires as a young woman. And then she’d been your best friend, you’d loved and wanted her…and then you’d lost her.

You both knew this wasn’t a sustainable dynamic, it would likely never be repeated, but for now you would savour being desired by the woman who had awoken yours so long ago.

Right as Art presses another finger into you, plunging them the two in almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world, he whispers in your ear:

“Are you okay?”

Tashi is still kissing you, but draws back when she hears the question, her lips plump and glistening. She’s giving you the chance to answer, you realise.

The glorious tightness inside you worsens, friction growing as they stop touching you.

“Yes.” You whine impatiently.

Art chuckles into your neck as you grab his wrist and guide him back into you, his fingers curling inside your warmth.

But Tashi’s lips don’t return to yours, instead she leans down and presses them to your forehead before she’s crawling out of the bed.

You’re not worried by her retreat because you’ve always been able to read her face. As she backs away, your orgasm drawing closer as Art fucks into you with his fingers, you see that she isn’t regretting anything. In fact, she’s pleased. Not necessarily with what’s happening in front of her, but because Art–someone she has loved and still loves in her own way–can give you the intimacy she can’t quite bring herself to.

You play tennis for Tashi and Art loves you for both of them. You think you can live with that.

Even though you know you could, you don’t begrudge Tashi for any of it. She’s given you this. She’s given you Art and in as much as she can, she’s given you herself.

As she slips out of the room, no doubt to go to her Mother’s suite and to her daughter, you are entirely content.

Once you’re alone, you buck up into Art’s hand, your ass grinding against his hardness. He groans deeply against your neck and you almost cry out in protest as he pulls his fingers from right when you’re so close to release.

But you are not left bereft of him for long. His arm moves beneath you, bracketing your chest with his hand and settling with a soft grip against your throat. He pushes down his pyjama pants.

It’s all too much when he begins to tease his hardness against your core.

“Art. Now.” You reach down and dig your nails into his now bare thigh with force.

As his grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly, Art complies and pushes himself into you from behind. He sounds drunk as he whispers into your hair:

“This will never be enough.” He thrusts into you with sweet slowness, letting you feel every tiny thing. “I’ll never have enough of you.”

So lost in the pressure of him moving inside you that you’re alienated from your capacity for speech, you can’t find the language to tell him how this feels for you; you can’t tell him how much it means.

Then he speaks again, his movements becoming more forceful: “I’ll never have all of you will I?”

You whimper as his hand that’s not on your neck dives between your legs, adding pressure with his fingers even as he fucks you.

“You do have all of me.” You answer raggedly, relinquishing free movement entirely as he cradles your body so restrictively.

He’s like a snake, tingling around your form before consuming your entire being.

“Tell me it wouldn’t change anything if it was just us.” Art begs, his breath catching in his throat and body shaking. “Tell me I’d be enough for you.”

He thrusts again and you almost break with your shuddering release. You don’t try to remain quiet, crying out into the night. Art continues to move in you, desperate in more ways than one.

“I can’t Art.” You admit, tears of pleasure and a sweet sort of pain gathering in your eyes. “I can’t tell you that. We need- we need them. B-both of them.” You stutter out, relinquishing yourself to your euphoria.

Them. Them being Tashi and Patrick.

You don’t understand Art without either of them. You don’t understand yourself without them.

Everything was in relation to them, even the sex you and Art are having right now isn’t just about the two of you. And you both know it.

An indecipherable noise comes from Art as he pulls out of you, and in a blink, he’s rolled you onto your back and is pressing himself into you again.

His pace becomes rapid as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hips snapping against yours.

You wrap your legs around him, driving him deeper as his body begins to tremble.

When Art comes apart, draping himself over you as he gathers himself, a tear of utter confusion rolls down your cheek and falls into his hair.

Whatever comes next, at least you know you’ll never be alone. Art is a part of you. Tashi and Patrick are part of you.

Without each other, there is no survival.

#challengers movie #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x you #tashi x reader #tashi duncan #mike faist #zendaya

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cthene · 2 years ago

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Is Fox Mulder the most comically-brutalized protagonist in television history? Not only is he shot and beaten up on a regular basis, but the list of extreme and exotic injuries he accrues over the course of the series has got to be some kind of TV cop record. The man is mind-wiped by the military in only the second episode. For any other TV cop, that would be a career-defining event, but it’s just a day in the life of Agent Spooky.

Bro was cocooned by carnivorous insects, thrown out of a nuclear submarine into the Alaskan tundra by an alien bounty hunter, beaten up by an invisible gorilla. He was experimented on in a Siberian gulag, drowned in the Bermuda Triangle, tortured by Neo-Nazis. I wonder what getting Freaky Friday-ed by a malfunctioning UFO cloaking device does to your gonads. How much radiation has he been exposed to? Someone test this man’s hair follicles. How many mysterious bodily fluids has he dipped his finger in and tasted at crime scenes? Dear God, someone test him for HIV. Imagine being the FBI doctor who administers his physicals.

Remember when the Shadow Government was putting LSD in Mulder’s water tank? Our boy got blown up in an underground train car and resurrected in a Navajo healing ceremony, and that’s not even the last train car he would get blown up in. One time, his lungs were filled with mutated tobacco beetles. Hoss let a quack doctor give him ketamine and drill a hole in his goddamn skull. In an unrelated incident, he had a chunk of his brain stolen. He was locked in a padded cell, trapped inside of a video game, and— of course —abducted by aliens. Fox Mulder was fully dead, and then came back to life after being exhumed, and nobody even seemed that surprised when he rolled up at the J. Edgar Hoover building like nothing had happened.

Am I missing anything? How is this man still alive? His body must be like a pillowcase full of broken lightbulbs. Every time he moves, you just hear crunching.

#the x files #x files #fox mulder #mulder #txf

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empty-movement · 2 months ago

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Someday, Shine With Me...

It's Christmas Eve. It's 1997. You actually went to see the AWESOME Utena Musical over the weekend, and you have rewatched your VHS tape recordings of the last episode a dozen times.

You've been jamming out to Internal Clock, Municipal Orrery. You obtained a time machine to pour over episode commentaries by Ikuhara and Saito that cover the last three episodes. You've already stolen the script from be-Papas' office. You've even got a screencap gallery of it!

You've been watching along with some other internetizens, because forums are cool.

You've been staring at the insane art drop by Akemi Hayashi for this month's Animage Magazine:

You've been poring over the to-be-released creator commentary, transcribed by Vrai Kaiser, whose articles about Utena have been living rent free in your future head all year:

There are two meanings to the Japanese word utena. One is “the calyx of a flower.” That’s also the meaning of the title, of course. The thing that supports the beautiful petals; the one with the noble heart. And the other meaning of utena is “tall tower or pedestal.” We translated this into a visual: the tower at the center of Ohtori Academy, the one with the Chairman’s room on the top floor. And the dueling arena located deep in the woods is the same. In the early stages of production, when the story wasn’t firmly established yet, this was one of the aspects I most wanted to visualize and produce for the screen. A world where demons roam. In its center, a tower called the “Tower of Revolution.” Whosoever can remain victorious in his battles against the demons can reach the pinnacle of the Tower of Revolution, and at the same time receive the power to revolutionize the world; the power that changes the rules of the world. However, when he reaches the pinnacle, he learns the world’s governing laws. He faces the ultimate choice: will he stay nobly, beautifully powerless? Or will he accept ugliness into himself and gain absolute power? He desired both. Or rather, perhaps he couldn’t choose either. His mind in anguish, he divided himself in two. His “noble heart,” and the “adult with absolute power.” And so. With one last wish that the day would come when someone would awaken him, the “noble heart” that had lost its body, in other words the prince, fell into a deep sleep. Early on in the series’s conception, I kicked around the idea of placing something like the above at the heart of the story. Later, after several changes, it became the tale as you know it, but without a doubt, he did reach the pinnacle of the Tower of Revolution. It was a place where “eternity” dwelled. And “eternity” turned out to mean perpetual sleep. The prince (Akio) who became an adult while in perpetual sleep lost something. What he lost was “the power to create an enjoyable future.” Revolution means gaining “the power to imagine the future.” The prince chose to sleep on, and the princess chose to wake up. At the top of that tall tower, the princess bid farewell to the prince. No – she wasn’t the princess any longer. She quit being “a person (thing) ruled by someone.” The victory bells rang, but there was no “tower (rule)” beyond them now. She’d learned where freedom lay. She crossed the threshold of that “Door of Revolution” which had always been closed to her before, and began walking. The “girl’s revolution” lay in the girl’s future. “Wait for me…Utena.” The world (the stage) is free and wide.

You're not ready for Utena to end. Which is good, because it isn't going to. Not for you. Decades from now, Utena will still be here, speaking to you. Challenging you. Changing you.

#revolutionary girl utena #rgu #sku #shoujo kakumei utena #utena #utena tenjou #anthy #empty movement #utena meta #utena resources #i know it's not christmas eve just yet i am in the middle of working six of seven and the cognitive load of scheduling this post is just to

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moonlight-prose · 2 months ago

Text

A CASE OF YOU

➻ under the mistletoe

a/n: i fear i am obsessed with this pairing before i've fully put out the series. all i want is to be trapped in a cabin with them during winter. this was posted once before but was getting lost in the tags/for some reason i couldn't see it. so i am retrying. there is another winter fic of them coming hopefully this week! i got this idea and wrote it in one go, but i am thoroughly in love. enjoy something spicy and sweet my loves! divider by the amazing @saradika-graphics.

summary: simple acts of love at the end of the world draw the string tight around the three of you. even if all it takes is some mistletoe and kisses on a cold winter's night.

word count: 2.8k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader x old man!logan howlett

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, romance, love, fluff, logan is a little shit, filthy makeout sessions, squirting, dirty talk, spit, explicit activities, threesome.

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Don’t drop me okay?”

The scoff echoed louder than he intended, fingers digging sharply into the meat of your thighs. “Not gonna drop ya bub.”

“I’d believe you if I didn’t have proof from the Halloween party-” A smack to your leg shut you up quicker than expected, your mouth open and heart fluttering at the feel of your thigh rippling. “Logan!”

“You were takin’ too long,” he muttered, soothing the spot with a soft brush of his thumb.

Tradition didn’t happen often in your stolen time together. Winter called for the swirl of frost to build on the outside of the cabin, snow packing along wooden walls and a doorway hung with a wreath of greens and reds. The world stilled—time an inconceivable factor—in order to get the three of you to find your way back to one another in a cabin you claimed as your own. Home felt different on the outskirts of a town stuck at the end of the world.

Holidays were sparse. Scattered amidst the tragedy that became an everyday story told over and over again. Each ending wrapped up the same way—a death sentence signed the second the world fell to pieces overnight. Nightmares were tinged in golds and greens, the soft feel of flannel wrapped around your naked body—heat pouring off two bodies littered with scrapes and scars.

They clung to what normalcy remained. The tree pushed into the corner of a small living room, a record player discovered in Logan’s basement two months before. The first time you hummed along to an old fading tune about mistletoe they nearly tripped over themselves to find you—each enraptured by the echo of joy after they were buried in pain.

Two days ago you found a small bunch of mistletoe wrapped neatly in a red ribbon on the kitchen table. A small token of their affection in a time where even that was difficult to give.

“Is it straight?” you asked, adjusting the bow with a huff. “Can you see it?”

The rumbling emanated from his chest when your head ducked down to catch a glimpse of his face. Only to find his eyes latched onto the swell of your breasts beneath the soft green sweater dug up in an old store years ago. You cherished the luxury of its cashmere feel; even if a hole gaped at the very bottom hem now stitched over with black thread.

Where Logan stood mere seconds ago—a smirk plastered across lips you bit this morning—you found a man transfixed at the thought of bare skin and nipples that begged for the searing heat of his mouth. Slick pooled in your cotton panties, his nose flaring at the heady scent—fingers harshly carving their way into your skin. He was voracious for you—hungry enough to take what you so often gave.

“I think you lost him darlin’.”

“Fuck off Miller,” Logan barked, reluctantly dragging his gaze from the shape of you to glare at the man propped against the doorway.

Snow gathered in his unruly curls, gloves discarded at the side table and jacket draped over a hook near the back door. Joel Miller never failed to steal your breath with a single look. With brown eyes that once were darkened with pain, he watched you with a gleam of joy—his lips curled into a crooked smile you felt practically press to the skin of your throat.

He changed as the years went by.

There was no doubt that the grief he harbored would outweigh yours and Logan’s. The sinister curl of anguish still tugged sharply at his heart during the winter holidays. His memories vivid and bright with the image of Sarah, of time spent in the warmth of his old home in Texas.

You could remember your first year here—his failed attempts to participate even as his heart screamed for that familiar numbing sensation he knew well. The nights spent wrapped in his by a dying fire—a separate body pressed to your back. Christmas was drenched in poison until you gathered him with your touch and poured the antidote down his throat.

“It looks perfect,” Joel said with ease, ignoring how you were still propped on the larger man’s shoulders.

Smiling, you curling a hand into Logan’s hair—tapping his temple to let you down. “Thank you for it.”

“Don’t look at me sweetheart.” His gaze shifted to a silent Logan who helped you slip back down to the floor, an arm wrapped tight around your waist. “It was all his idea.”

The rapid pace in which he averted his gaze confirmed Joel’s words before you could ask the question. Logan Howlett wasn’t a soft man when you met him. In fact, he came off as a brute who raised a daughter more feral than him. Falling for him didn’t come without its struggles; the fight he put up to beat Joel at his own game nearly turned you away from him.

But beneath the layer of armor, entwined with bones coated in metal and agony, you could see a man who longed to be held with the reverence of forever. He didn’t prefer being alone. He settled for it.

When you arrived in his life—enticing and as sweet as biting into a fresh summer nectarine—he understood that his past would never be a deal breaker for you. He was the man who clawed his way through an apocalypse, protecting a young girl tied to his hip. Someone weary and withered with age, yet longing for a place to belong.

Cupping his scruffy cheek, you turned his gaze back to your soft smile. “Is that true Logan?”

The tough exterior crumbled to the ground—hazel eyes softening at the utterance of his name. “‘S a tradition,” he mumbled, curling a hand around your wrist. “I don’t want you to lose your traditions.”

So that’s what this feeling burning a hole in your chest was.

Practically unbearable the longer you tried to come up with a name. Only to find its definition staring you straight in the face.

Love.

You loved him. You love them both.

You couldn’t think of a time where you didn’t love them—where your paths hadn’t crossed yet—and found that wasn’t a past you wished to reside in. They were your home, your future wrapped in flannel and tied with a shitty red fading bow.

“Fuck. Come here please,” you breathed, tugging him down with a gasping breath.

Kissing him felt endless. His lips were rough on your soft ones, hands quick to grab your hips and haul you to his chest. Blood rushed to your head, fingers twisting into his hair as he met your intensity with a wave of his own. Mind numbing, blissful, and everything you never thought you’d have.

He licked into you with a harsh groan, teeth scraping your bottom lip as the mistletoe hung above your heads—taunting Joel to come closer. To see how Logan’s tongue looked smearing his own spit along your teeth.

The shuffle of boots fell on deafened ears attuned only to the soft grunt you pulled from the man before you. Becoming lost to his touch felt like its own gift. How he gripped your ass to press you close, yet his lips softened in their relentless need to consume you in whatever way he could. You didn’t become aware of Joel standing behind you until his own hands slid up your ribs, curling to cup your breasts through the cashmere fabric.

A string of saliva connected Logan’s lips to yours as you pulled away to breathe. The gentle touch of Joel’s calloused fingers pinching your nipples drew a soft breathy moan from your throat. His lips latched to your neck—teeth scraping the sensitive skin with a sound of his own.

More often than you intended you found yourself trapped between them and their insatiable cravings. Logan would fuck you for hours, nestled between sore thighs and chafed skin. Joel would one up him with his mouth, sucking your clit hard enough to have your legs clamped around his neck. A cry of his name bouncing off the walls of your shared home.

“Go on bub,” Logan mumbled, nose brushing yours as he stole another chaste kiss. “Give him a kiss.”

You were turned before you could comprehend his words, Joel’s hands finding purchase where Logan’s once sat. A soft game of tug and war between men who would drop to their knees if you asked. Men who killed to keep you safe—their fiery natures subdued by the oxygen you stole from their lungs.

“Gonna gimme a kiss darlin’?” Joel asked, lips sliding along yours.

The answer was obvious but you were too dazed to respond with words brimming in snark. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s a good girl.”

Tenderness poured out of his kiss and filled your chest with a warmth you knew well. He didn’t take as often as Logan. Far more interested in what he could give. Yet both ached to be given purpose, to be put to use. Even if you got tired of them at the end—a conclusion that would never come to pass. How could you ever choose to let them go? You’d never be able to live without them.

He sucked on your tongue with a hoarse moan, Logan’s hands pushing up under your bra to toy with your hard nipples. The shiver that wracked your body made him chuckle into your ear—the hot trail of his tongue dragging down your neck as Joel languished in the feel of your tongue. It drove you mad how easy they managed to rip you apart. How fast you fell into their touch with a burning need of your own.

“How’s he taste?” Logan breathed, sucking at your earlobe.

You pull away, dragging in a lungful of air. “Like coffee.”

“Gotta be better than that,” he mused. “You were eatin’ him alive.”

The mewl slipped off swollen lips. “Logan.”

“Bet you taste better. Ain’t that right Miller?”

Joel’s chuckle echoed in your other ear, a rasp that had your toes curling on the hardwood floor. “Taste’s like fuckin’ heaven.”

Your eyes slid up to the mistletoe that taunted them further, a gasp torn from the base of your chest as Joel’s hand tugged at your shorts. Cold fingers pushing your panties to the side with a soft bitten out fuck. Surviving them was never an option. Not when they drew every nerve in your body tight with endless pleasure—setting a fire beneath your already hot skin.

Two fingers slid through your wet folds, a punched out groan drawing your attention back to Joel’s crimson face. He watched himself touch you. Stuck on the sight of how you parted for him, how your thighs unconsciously opened to let him explore the familiar expanse of your body. He would spend eons worshiping you and never tire of the way you reacted.

“Looks like it too,” he said more to himself.

Logan heard him loud and clear. “Tell me baby. Do you like the mistletoe?”

Nodding slowly, you felt two thick fingers plunge into your sopping pussy before any words could form in your hazed mind. Your head fell back onto Logan’s shoulder, hips canting into Joel’s touch with a breathy whine that made him grin.

“There ya go,” Logan cooed. “Open up for your old men. Let us have some fun.”

It was only a matter of time before you unraveled. They could see it in the way you struggled to breathe properly, your mouth parted in a silent cry of their names permanently lodged in the back of your throat. Nothing prettier had ever graced their lives before you. Their reason to live, to keep finding their way home—discarding boots by the door and jackets on hooks.

You were forever when the prospect of it seemed impossible to have.

“She’s so fuckin’ wet,” Joel grunted, curling his fingers until they struck right where you needed. A sob wrenched from your mouth, thighs trembling around his hand. “Drenchin’ my hand.”

“Yeah?”

“You hear that darlin’?” Joel’s voice dragged you back with its lilting tease. “That’s it huh? Right there?”

“Y-Yes!”

Logan’s hand dropped from your waist, his fingers prodding at your entrance where Joel’s currently ripped you to pieces. Dragging out sounds you didn’t know you could make. Hooking two fingers into you from behind, Logan swallowed your shout with a searing kiss. His broad hand cupping your chin to angle you closer—each noise muffled by the wet heat of his tongue finding yours.

They worked in tandem to drag you towards the edge. Where Joel pulled, Logan pushed. Two men finding their rhythm in the confines of your writhing body. You’d been stretched before, but this felt different. As if each of them were intent on striking that soft spot along your fluttering walls. Slick pouring out and coating their hands as the loud squelching echo bounced off the walls.

If you weren’t pressed between them you would have collapsed. Your knees giving out and body curling in on itself as they pounded into you with biting groans and harsh breaths.

“C’mon bub. I can feel ya achin’ for it.”

And you were. You were screaming in your head to finally be thrown into the depths of ecstasy. But your voice only existed in cries and garbled words that sounded eerily similar to their names.

“Be a good girl and cum,” Joel growled, grinding his palm into your throbbing clit.

The release ripped from your body with a broken sob. Your legs kicked out and your body arched as they broke you even further. Pleasure strangled the air from your lungs, tearing through you like a fire without end. A bliss that threatened to break you beyond any type of repair they could offer. You were a ball of nerves completely and utterly gone for them as you struggled to keep your head above water.

“There it is,” Logan hummed, smiling against your cheek at how you gushed over their fingers. A splash of your release hitting the hardwood floor. “Made such a pretty fuckin’ mess for us baby.”

A soft whimper was all you could muster, your eyes slipping shut as Logan wrapped you in his arms. Joel releasing you with a soft huff.

“Gonna grab a towel.”

You tracked his shuffling as the breath returned to your lungs. Logan’s nose a soft press against your temple—his lips warm enough to pull you back to the present. Time seemed to fall away in their presence. A limited escape within this haven the three of you created—a place you could fall in love all over again.

“How are you?” he murmured, thumbs curling along your waist.

You hummed, brimming with contentment. “Good. Even if I can’t feel my legs.”

The laugh you got in response was all you could have hoped for. His hold grew tight as he shifted to settle you in his lap on the floor. This is what you longed for, what you dreamed of in the early stages of your relationship. When friendly gestures were all you could give and the idea of love felt so far away.

“How’s that? Better?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, curling into his chest. “Perfect.”

“‘Course you chose the fuckin’ floor.” Joel’s voice once again had you wrenching your eyes open with a grin. “Not like my knees are shot to hell.”

“We can move to the couch you old fucker,” Logan snipped, gathering you close as he clambered to his feet.

Finding Joel’s hand you tugged him to fall in step with your trembling legs. “Baby.”

He lit up at the sound of your voice. “He’s gotten enough of your time darlin’.”

Logan scoffed, draping himself on the couch. “And you’re one to talk. What with all those late night conversations in here.”

“Not my fault you sleep like you’re already dead.”

You giggled, falling delightedly into Joel’s chest as he settled with a grunt. “Always fighting.”

“I’m not fighting,” Logan remarked. “I’m explaining.”

“Is that what you tell Laura?” you asked, quirking your lips at the sight of him scooting closer. With a huff he dragged your legs into his lap. “Or does she do that to you?”

“Ellie does it too,” Joel muttered. “Never not fightin’ with me.”

You smiled, the simmering ache of love igniting anew in the base of your chest. “I can see where she gets it from.”

Logan’s laughter filled the space, yours soon joining as Joel bit at your shoulder to keep you in check. Even in the midst of tragedy—stuck at the end of the world—you understood that your path would always curve towards them. A destined fate that carved itself into your ribs long before you were born. They were your permanent space in this horror story.

Your forever even as you ran out of time.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #old man logan #my writing

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