#when he wears pink it brings out the pinkness in his face

[hauntedfawnn]

۶♡ৎ Pucker Up Pup ۶♡ৎ (Switch!Rafe x Girlie!Dealer!Reader)

♡ྀི You’re Rafe’s dealer and against your better judgment because you have a soft spot for him, you’ve given him several “I owe you’s”. It’s time for him to pay up and he still doesn’t have your money. But you’ve got something else in mind…♡ྀི

Switch!Rafe, Switch!Reader, Season 2 Rafe, shoe worship (reader receiving), begging, use of cocaine, pussy eating, praise/degradation, spit kink, choking(with a belt), unprotected sex, overstimulation, 18+MDNI!!

“Listen, I - I’m really fuckin’ sorry.” Rafe exhales deeply through his nose and runs his hands through his dirty blonde bangs as he practically paces a hole into your living room rug. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, I’ll get your money. I just - I need some time.”

“Time?” You huff out a laugh. “Rafe, I’ve given you several ‘I owe you’s’ in the last few months and you haven’t paid me once. I’ve been patient, babe. It’s time to pay up.”

“I know - fuck- I know that.” Rafe takes in a shaky breath before pacing toward you. He stops a foot away from where you’re sitting on the couch and looks down at you with those desperate puppy dog eyes that got you in this position in the first place. He’s just so hot and so pathetic. You don’t make exceptions for anyone, but you have a soft spot for him. “Just this last time, yeah? I just - I need a few lines to get me through until I can get your money, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Your promises are starting to become meaningless to me, Rafe. How do I know you’re going to follow through this time?” You cross your legs causing your little white dress to pool at your thighs. You tap your long pink acrylics against your leg as you smirk up at him. “I think you’re going to have to find a way to prove to me you really mean it.”

“I’ll do anything.” Rafe looks down at you nervously as he bites the side of his thumbnail. His bright blue eyes are bloodshot and his pupils are almost black. You can tell he truly is desperate and that’s what makes you cave every time. He just seems so sad and helpless, like nobody else in his life cuts him any slack. It’s not like he’s putting you out anyways, you just like to see him squirm.

“Anything?” You chuckle and lick your bottom lip as your Mary Jane clad foot swings back and forth in front of you.

“Yes, anything fuckin’ you want. Just please.” Rafe looks down at you pleadingly with his plump lips set into a pout and god you want to make him beg and cry for your pussy.

“Alright then.” You send him a devious smile and hold your foot out toward him. “Get on your knees and kiss my shoes then.”

“What?” Rafe’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head and his jaw drops so low you’re surprised it didn’t just fall off onto the floor. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah, I’m dead serious.” You twirl your outstretched foot in his direction as you look at him tauntingly. “Crawl over here on your knees and kiss my feet, Rafe.”

Rafe can’t believe you’re asking him to do that. What’s even worse is he fucking wants to. He meant it when he said he’d do anything you asked because yeah he comes here for the drugs, but what he truly comes here for was you. There’s just something about how he knows you’ve definitely shot people but you walk around with bows in your hair and little ruffle socks on your feet that makes him a special brand of crazy. You’re so sweet and you look so fragile and gentle but he knows there’s a demon inside you that he’s been dying to play with.

“Earth to Rafe.” You wave your hands in front of you and it snaps him from his trance, his eyes flashing to meet yours. “It’s a limited time offer, clocks ticking.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Rafe’s eyes roam your body and he audibly gulps. You’re wearing this tiny little white lace dress, ruffle socks, and Mary Jane’s. You have blue ribbons in your hair and a look on your face that could bring the devil the shame.

“Yeah?” You chuckle and send him a sweet, triumphant smile that holds an undertone of condescension and it makes his cock start to harden in his jeans. “Alright then, be a good boy and crawl.”

You slide your ass to the edge of the couch and tap the tip of your shoe on the ground before holding your foot out toward him again. Rafe runs his hands through his hair and takes in a deep breath through his nose. He drops down into one knee, then the other.

“Just so you know, I ain’t no fuckin’ bitch. I’m only doin’ this for you.” Rafe puffs his chest and it makes you giggle.

“Mhm, tough guy, let’s see how much of that manly pride you’ve got left when I’m done with you. Come.” You snap your fingers and point toward the ground in front of you. Rafe chews the inside of his lip before huffing and crawling forward to you on his hands and knees. It’s a sight to behold. This over six foot man crawling toward you like a desperate little slut with his ocean blue, puppy dog eyes. He stops in front of you and he’s still taller than you on his knees.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.” You giggle and run your foot up his thigh, to his abdomen and up his chest. You lay it on his shoulder and caress his cheek with the tip of your shoe. “Pucker up, pup.”

“Fuck.” Rafe never thought he would ever get turned on by being called that, but he’s so fucking hard now it almost hurts. Your pretty eyes stare up at him expectantly as you bite your glossy bottom lip. The smooth leather of your shoe is cool against his skin and it sends a shiver down his spine. You ghost the very tip of your shoe across his lips and Rafe’s eyes flash to your foot. You tilt your foot sideways again, caressing his cheek and Rafe’s lips follow. He places a gentle kiss on the side of your shoe and it makes your pussy throb.

“You’re so pretty, ya know that?” Rafe’s large hand comes up to caress your thigh down to the ankle as he gives you those wet pathetic eyes. He laces his hand around your ankle and uses it to pull your foot to his lips. He runs them along the leather of your shoe before placing another peck right on the tip of it. Then another. And another.

“Mmm, that’s a good boy, Rafey.” Your voice is saccharine despite the fact that the look on your face is anything but. Rafe can’t hold in the low whine that escapes his throat at your words. “Oh? You like that? You like being a good boy for me?”

“Shut up.” Rafe groans and throws his head back and you lace your foot around the back of his neck so you can pull his body toward yours. You grip onto his silky hair and yank it, trapping him in place.

“Let’s get one thing straight, I’m in charge right now, pretty boy.” You squeeze your calf around the front of his throat, choking him slightly. You giggle and lean in, ghosting your lips against the shell of his ear. “So drop the attitude, mkay?”

“Yeah - yeah, okay.” Rafe shakes his head as best as he can while in your grasp. He could physically break free if he really wanted to. But mentally he feels like he’s at your mercy. He’s never thought he’d enjoy a girl bossing him around in bed but everything you’re doing is making his dick feel like it’s going to explode. You lean back and place a teasing, sticky, lipgloss kiss on his lips before pulling away. Rafe tries to chase your lips but you unhook your leg from around his neck and press your foot into his chest.

“Now, kiss em’ and maybe I’ll let you do a line off me.” You bite your lip as Rafe takes your foot in his large ringed hand and brings it up to his lips. He kisses the side of your shoe down to the back and makes his way to the tip again. He sticks his tongue out and licks from the tip of your shoe all the way to the back. “Oh, that’s so fucking hot.”

“Yeah? You like that?” Rafe mumbles against the leather of your shoe before dropping your foot and picking up your other ankle. He brings your shoe to his lips before giving it the same treatment, kissing it and letting out little flicks of his tongue. You throw your free foot over his shoulder and spread your legs, flashing him your tiny baby blue thong that has a sticky, wet spot in the middle. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“You’re just so hot, all desperate and at my mercy.” You bring your perfectly manicured hand to your lace covered pussy and run your finger along your wet slit. You gather some of your wetness before bringing your fingers to Rafe’s lips. “Wanna taste?”

Rafe takes your fingers between his lips and groans at the taste of you. He swirls his tongue around your digits, savoring you.

“I think you’ve earned your reward, don’t you?” You giggle at the way Rafe nods dumbly in your direction. You pull your fingers from his mouth and reluctantly untangle yourself from him. You lay back on the couch, push your dress up over your hips and unscrew the locket around your neck. Rafe watches with curiously eager eyes as you push your panties down so they’re almost all the way off your ass. You hold the locket right above your pussy and tap your finger against the side causing white powder to sprinkle out in a line across your silky skin.

Rafe leans down between your legs so he can run his nose across your pussy and inhale the coke you so graciously laid there. It had to be the best line of his life. He got hit with a wave of your scent. Candy-like perfume, a hint of weed, and your dripping, wet pussy. Rafe loops his arm around your thigh so he can rub his nostril before he runs his nose along your smooth skin, inhaling your addictive scent.

“You gonna let me taste this pussy, baby?” Rafe peers up at you while he continues to rub his nose along your skin, the tip traveling dangerously close to your throbbing clit. “You smell s’fuckin good.”

“Yeah?” Your chest heaves as you let out a shaky laugh, you love taking control but what you love even more than that is being controlled. And you know if you put your pleasure in his hands, you’ll be putty in them. Rafe lets an experimental flick of his tongue out along your clothed slit and the way your eyes roll back is answer enough for him.

Rafe flattens his tongue and runs it along the lace of the thong covering your dripping pussy. He groans at the taste and swirls his tongue along the material, savoring you.

“Knew you’d be so fuckin’ sweet.” Rafe slides his finger into the front of your panties so he can push them to the side. The cold air hitting your wet heat causes goosebumps to break out onto your skin. That combined with the blue fire that’s practically burning in Rafe’s eyes as he takes in the way your puffy cunt glistens in the low light for him. “N’ she’s so pretty too. I wanna hear you scream.”

Rafe chuckles before leaning down so he can run his tongue through your folds. He moans at your taste as he starts to worship your pussy with his tongue. He shoves it as deep as it can go inside you and flicks it against your walls before pulling back to circle your desperate clit. He swirls the tip of his tongue around it and sucks it between his lips.

“Oh, fuck, Rafe that’s so good.” You whine as you wiggle beneath him and Rafe’s hand comes up to pin your hip to the mattress while he devours you. Two fingers from his free hand circle your entrance before he plunges them inside you. He pumps them in and out of you and caresses your sweet spot with the tips of his fingers and it has your toes curling. “Oh my god, yes!”

“Mmm.” Rafe moans against your pussy as you writhe and let out the sweetest sounds beneath him. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers and his hand on your hip has to push down harder to keep you from wiggling away from him. “You gonna come for me? Come all over my face, baby, give it to me.” Rafe sucks your clit harder than ever as his fingers pick up pace inside you and it has your orgasm wracking over you.

“Fuck - fuck, I’m coming! I’m coming!” Your whole body is taken over by pleasure and your limbs shake as you thrust your hips against Rafe’s pretty face. He doesn’t stop until you’re pushing his head away. When he pulls away from you with that lop sided smirk, your juices covering his chin and lips, it has your pussy throbbing for him again already. “God, I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? Look who's begging now…” Rafe chuckles and slides up your body, his arms caging you in on either side of your head. He rolls his hips against yours and it makes your eyes roll back while a breathy moan escapes you. “You want this dick, baby?”

“Don’t be a tease, Rafe.” You whine and throw your head back and Rafe laughs condescendingly in return.

“I’m a tease?” Rafe grips onto your chin, pulling your face so you’re forced to look him in the eyes. “You prance around here in these little outfits, giving me those fuckin’ eyes.” Rafe smirks down at you devilishly as he shakes your head from side to side. “You practically invented the word tease, Princess. Don’t get it fuckin’ twisted. Just because you had me on my knees doesn’t mean shit, I can still reduce you to nothing more than a babbling slut if I wanted.” Rafe’s free hand grips onto your thigh and throws it around his hip. He leans up on his knees and thrusts his Jean clad cock against your bare pussy as he presses your head into the couch by your jaw. “You want my cock? Beg for it.”

“Come on, Rafe.” You whine as you meet the rolls of his hips with your own. “Don’t be like that, just fuck me, please?”

“Oh, no, no. I’m in charge right now.” He throws your earlier words back at you. “And I know you can do better than that, baby doll.” Rafe reaches down to undo his belt and you can’t help but stare. He pulls it from the loops and then takes it in his hands and snaps it together. It makes both you and your pussy jump. He leans down and presses the belt under your head so he can loop it around your neck and pull it tight. “Now, beg.”

“Please? Please fuck me? I know you’d fill me up so good.” You whine. “Please use me?”

“Now, that’s more like it, good girl.” Those two little words send a fiery hot jolt to your core. Mere minutes ago this man was on his knees for you and now he’s got you bound and begging. He tugs the belt on your neck causing you to let out a little strangled moan. His free hand makes quick work of his jeans, undoing them and pushing them down his hips far enough to free his thick cock. “Gonna fuckin’ destroy this pussy, baby.”

Rafe taps his tip against your sensitive clit, the bead of precum that gathered there mixing in with your own juices. He slides himself through your slick lips before pushing just the tip in and pulling it out again. He teases you with the tip, pushing in just a little more each time. And just when you’re about to start begging again he slams into you balls deep in one thrust.

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Shit.” Rafe groans as he fucks into you at a brutal pace. There’s no build up, no time to think, he’s just ramming his cock into you so deep you can feel it in your guts. He’s hitting spots you didn’t even know existed as he grips your thigh and presses it up to your chest. His other hand still holds the belt around your neck and the look in his blue eyes is nearly crazed.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re so fucking deep!” You cry out as your hands grip onto his shoulders, your long nails leaving red trails along his toned, tan skin.

“Yeah, that’s right, slut.” Rafe chuckles as he smirks down at your sweaty, fucked out form. “Bet you never had anybody in your tight little pussy this deep, huh?”

“N- no, fuck! It’s so good, so deep, Rafey” A bit of drool drips from the side of your chin and Rafe leans down to lick it off. He pulls the belt, using his grip to bring your face so close to his your lips are practically touching.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth.” Rafe pulls his thick cock almost all the way out of you before thrusting back into you with a force that nearly knocks the wind out of you. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for good measure and he spits on it. You swallow it with a hum that gets you a tug on the belt and a filthy kiss in return. “You’re a nasty little girl, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.” Your fucked out smile still holds that tone of mischief that always makes Rafe go crazy and he swears he’s never quitting you after this. He drops his grip on the belt so he can grab onto your other thigh and press it to your chest, practically folding you in half. His dick somehow goes impossibly deeper, so deep he can see it bulging out of your stomach.

“Would ya look at that? You see that, baby? You see me inside you?” You follow Rafe’s gaze and sure enough you can see the head of his cock slamming against the inside of your stomach. The sight makes you dizzy as your pussy clenches around him. “Touch it, then rub your pussy for me until you come around my dick like a good little slut.”

You follow his instructions, putting your hand over your abdomen, feeling the way he’s practically bullying your insides. You slide your hand down further until you reach your needy, swollen clit and rub circles on it with your fingers. You were already so close it only takes a few seconds and Rafe angling his hips slightly different for you to tumble over the edge. White hot pleasure overtakes your entire body as you go rigid beneath him.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ it. This payment enough for you, huh? This fucking dick is priceless, huh baby?” Rafe taunts you as you come around his cock.

“You never have to pay me again if you keep fucking me like this.” You babble as you pull your hand away from your over sensitive clit. But one wasn’t enough for Rafe, he wanted to see you fall apart for him again. He replaces your hand with his own, his big thumb rubbing rough circles on your aching clit while he continues to fuck you deep and hard.

“Yeah? I’m gonna hold you to that.” Rafe chuckles. “Gimme another one.”

“Fuck, I don’t think - I don’t think I have another one in me.” You whine and set your lips into a pout as you pant beneath him. Your pussy feels so overstimulated you can’t imagine coming again.

“Oh, no. You’re gonna give me another one, baby doll. Come for me.” Rafe’s free hand presses into the couch cushion by your head as he angles his hips so his cock is hitting that perfect spot inside you while he continues his assault on your clit. He leans down and licks a long stripe from your collar bone all the way up your cheek before connecting your lips in a messy kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and it’s what sends you into another orgasm. You see stars as it crashes over you. Your eyes roll back and your toes curl and Rafe has to hold your hip down because you nearly fly off the couch from how far your back arches.

“Yeaaaah, that’s it baby, milk my fucking dick.” Rafe’s other hand falls on the other side of your head as his hips pick up speed while he chases his own high. “I’m gonna fill this needy little pussy up with my cum and then I’m gonna watch it drop out before I fill you up all over again, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, fucking fill me, Rafe.” Rafe curses at that, his cock twitching deep inside you as ropes of his cum paint your inner walls.

“Fuck yes, fuckin’ take this god damn cum you little whore.” Rafe growls as he fucks himself through it and it’s all so hot it sends you into one final orgasm right along with him. When you both finally come down from your highs, Rafe flops down on top of you a panting, sweaty mess.

“That was so fucking hot. Oh my god.” You giggle as you run your fingers through his sweaty, disheveled hair. Rafe looks up at you with a goofy ass smile you’ve never seen before and it gives you butterflies.

“Yeah it was. You’re fuckin’ mine now. I’m never letting another man touch you again.” Rafe groans as he nuzzles into your chest. How he can fuck you so good you can’t even think straight and then manage to be absolutely adorable seconds later was beyond you.

“You’re so cute, you know that?” You smile at him sweetly as you rub the apple of his cheek. “I think you ruined me for any other man anyways.”

“Good.” Rafe smirks up at you before leaning up to kiss you surprisingly sweetly. “You really gonna let me slut myself out for some coke now, though?”

“Oh my god!” You laugh. “Don’t push it, pretty boy.” You poke his cheek and he gives you a pout. He looks like the cutest, grumpy little puppy. And he gives those sweet, pathetic blue eyes you just can’t seem to resist. “But yeah, I guess we could work something out.”

Tagging mooties: @rafesheaven @rafescvntyclubgf @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @that-sarcastic-writer @moonlightseranade @loserboysandlithium @songbirdmunson @sarahsangelicdoll @eddiesxangel 🤍

Dividers by @anitalenia

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Florist's Least Favorite Holiday

Steddie || wc: 1.7k || rating: T || tags: fluff, author clearly writing a self-insert story to vent about valentine's day, this is a real thing that happened to me so I wrote about it

Valentine’s day is fucking awful. It’s the worst day of the year, and this year’s no different than the last five Valentine’s days Eddie’s worked in the floral shop.

Don’t get him wrong, all holidays are chaotic. There’s centerpieces filled with sticky sap and sparkles for the winter holidays, cornicopias filled with crumbly floral foam for Thanksgiving, enough lilies for Easter to jump-start his seasonal allergies, and even mountains of red, white, and blue headstone wreaths for Memorial day.

Combine all of the holidays, and weddings and funerals together; and none of them hold a candle to the house fire that is Valentine’s day.

Prepping over a month in advance, Eddie has taken almost four hundred orders for pick-up and delivery for the tiny, backwater town of Hawkins. They’re a small shop, with only himself, Chrissy, and Vickie as permanent workers. Thankfully, this year they were able to hire some temporary helpers to blow up balloons, make candy baskets, and take deliveries. Even with the help, that still leaves everything else to the three of them.

Eddie’s stripped the thorns from over a thousand roses in the past two weeks, sorting them into buckets by color or arranging a dozen into a beautiful bouquet. The best part about his job is usually bringing a design to life, picking the perfect flowers to create an arrangement like a work of art. Yet somehow, Valentine’s day manages to sucks the life out of that too, with little to no creativity between each one-dozen red roses arranged in a fake crystal vase.

Regardless, he’s busting his ass. The newbies have left for both rounds of morning deliveries and the first round of afternoons. Chrissy’s working the counter while Vickie fields complaints. This leaves Eddie to wander the floor, helping confused husbands and boyfriends find the right pick for their spouses.

Working with customers to find something they’re happy with isn’t so bad. He likes guiding them towards answers to questions they didn’t think to ask. Questions like what their spouse wears, how their home is decorated, what their favorite color is, and how each of those are a small clue into exactly what the recipient would love. Every detail helps, and Eddie is, quite genuinely, always happy to help someone who asks– nicely.

He’s on his way back to the counter with an empty bucket in his arms when he spots a guy holding a few roses. Eddie watches, momentarily transfixed, as the man sticks his tongue out in concentration, swiping it over his lower lip. His brow’s furrowed, glancing back and forth between single-stem lavender and pink roses in the display case in front of him. 

Eddie can’t blame the guy, honestly. There’s over twenty different colored roses to choose from this year. Chrissy really went above and beyond to haggle with their suppliers. They’ve got the best of the best, truly something to brag about. 

He sets the bucket down underneath a display table so it’s out of the way as he heads over to help. And damn, the guy’s even prettier up close. There’s a light dusting of moles across his face and neck. The lights in the display case shine golden against his softly styled brown hair. 

Eddie must catch his attention, and the lights reflect the light hazel tone to his russet colored eyes. A goddamn fucking angel walked into Eddie’s shop. Except he’s wearing high-top Nike’s like the jocks used to wear, along with tight acid-washed jeans, and grey Members Only jacket. The guy screams straight, ex-jock, fuck boy, even more evident by the three separate roses in his hand. 

Still, he’s a customer in need. And Eddie is nothing if not a helpful, humble servant.

“Can I help you find something?” Eddie asks. It’s only slightly more casual and flirty than his typical customer service voice. 

The man’s lips part into a soft ‘oh’ as he just stands and stares at him. Eddie quickly glances down at himself, scanning for stray stems or petals hanging from his apron. There’s nothing there, at least nothing worth gawking at. Maybe he’s got something in his teeth? Shit, he should’ve checked first.

“Uhh–,” the man says, intelligently, interrupting Eddie’s own internal spiral– “I was just looking at, you know.” He gestures to the buckets of roses without taking his eyes off Eddie. “I need one more, and can’t decide on a color.”

“Three roses, huh?” Eddie says, the joke rolling off the tip of his tongue before his mortified brain can prune it, “One for each girlfriend, that’s sweet of you.”

Fucking Christ. He wishes he’d kept the bucket of water to drown himself in, like this day can get any worse.

This beautiful, angel of a man scoffs at the unbecoming joke and yeah, Eddie can’t blame him. For someone who not only prides himself on his customer service skills, but also his ability to charm his way into many men’s beds, this is a royally large fuck up.

The man grabs the lavender rose, holding it out to Eddie along with the two other pink and white ones already in his hand. “This,” he emphasizes with the lavender rose, “is for my best friend. This one–” he holds out the pink– “is for my adopted sister.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, before the guy cuts him off.

“And this one–” he shows off the white rose– “is for my Gran. I’m stopping by the cemetery on my way home and thought she’d like it.”

Forget drowning in a bucket of leaf water, Eddie deserves to be crushed under the weight of a million roses, thorns cutting into tiny little pieces. 

“Right,” Eddie huffs, annoyed with himself. He scrubs his hands roughly over his face, like he can erase the embarrassed flush burning up his neck to the tips of his ears. “I’m so sorry, man. I have no idea why I said that. It’s just–” Eddie waves his hand around the store– “it’s been a long day, and sometimes I think I’m funny when I’m really, really not. I’m not normally this awkward, and I’m typically much better at my job.”

At this, the guy smirks, like watching Eddie squirm is entertaining. It’s the least he can do, if his misery makes the man feel better.

“Can you ring me up?”

Eddie nods, thankful how quickly he seems to let the entire confrontation go. They make their way to the counter, Chrissy eyeing him as he asks her to switch for a second. She eyes the customer and nudges Eddie, where he notices a playful smirk on her face. Jesus, she’s nosey. He only rolls his eyes as she walks off.

Doing his best to avoid eye contact, Eddie focuses solely on wrapping up the flowers in the pretty, heart-printed paper they bought specifically for the day, and wraps a matching colored bow to each flower. He feels the unrelenting urge to fix this, unsure why it even matters to him. This guy most likely won’t even be back until next year, just like the rest of the customers he’s helped today. Eddie shouldn’t treat this one customer any differently because he’s cute.

And yet.

“I actually think you’re really sweet!” Eddie blurts, thrusting the packaged roses into the guy’s waiting arms. “Shit, I meant it’s sweet you’re buying them gifts. I didn’t mean you’re sweet. I mean, not that you’re not sweet, I mean– goddamnit.” 

He’s smiling at Eddie, like this is all an adorable spectacle and not the worst experience of every Valentine’s day Eddie’s. God, that fucking smile makes Eddie’s insides melt, blinded by pure sunshine.

“Really?” His voice is playful, if yet a little shy. Eddie buys into it, of course he does, desperate to make up for his flailing. 

“Yeah, definitely sweet– adorable, even. Positively charming.” Eddie’s on better footing now, watching a rosy blush bloom underneath tanned freckles. There’s a line of customers grumbling about the wait, but Eddie doesn’t care, not so long as he gets to keep staring at the literal angel now smiling back at him.

“I’m single, you know.” 

Eddie can’t think to respond over the roaring static in his ears, brain going into full shut-down mode. Did he just–

“What?” And Eddie’s back to being a total buffoon.

It must be cute though, because the guy laughs as he leans forward to grab one of the shop’s business cards next to the register. He writes something on it, then hands it back to Eddie who flips it around in his hands to read it.

Call me, and thanks for your help.

♥️ Steve

There’s a phone number listed below the man’s– Steve’s– name. An actual, honest to god phone number. From a man who looks like he could work in Hollywood for a living. 

Eddie can feel his own face splitting in two with how hard he’s smiling. He reads the simple note once, twice, three times before he remembers where he is and who’s still standing in front of him.

Steve looks hopeful, eyes flitting between Eddie and the note as he fiddles with the bow on one of the packaged roses. 

“Yes,” Eddie practically shouts, glee saturating his tone. “I’ll definitely call you tonight. Well–” Eddie glances around the shop, spotting the scattered empty buckets, piles of dead leaves on the ground, and the stack of unprocessed delivery tickets– “maybe I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And Steve nods, like it’s that easy, and shyly answers, “Can’t wait,” before heading out the door, sending a dorky little wave over his shoulder as he goes.

Somehow, Eddie manages to recover enough of his higher brain power to work the rest of the day. He falls back into routine: boxing vases, filing orders, dumping rotten plant water, scrubbing buckets, and organizing the back cooler. It’s almost midnight by the time he gets home, slightly earlier than he expected.

His feet ache like they always do, and he’s so emotionally drained that Eddie thinks he could go the rest of his life without talking to another customer ever again. Except he thinks, fiddling with Steve’s note, maybe there’s one customer Eddie would talk to again.

Tomorrow, though. Definitely tomorrow.

divider kudos <3

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Loving, All Knowing

Warning: Typical British drinking (alcoholism lite)

Summary: Drunk night out with your girlie! And also Ghost!

Notes: It is too amusing to me to constantly cocktease our readers I apologise for nothing

Word Count: 2,756

ao3 link

It didn’t matter how many times you heard that trainers were in at the clubs; you still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Trainers were for walks, painful heels were for clubbing, alongside bandage dresses that did their best to suffocate you.

You’d considered the trainers several times that night, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to wear them out, so you’d gone with ankle boots instead. They were a good compromise, you thought; they provided ankle support, and with laces, you could tie them tight enough so they wouldn’t rub and give you blisters, but they still had a sky-high heel, so you didn’t feel like you’d given up completely. That, and the skimpy bandage dress that was doing a great job of trying to suffocate you with your own boobs, which you’d hoisted up in a push-up bra. Helen was dressed similarly, though, with her bright pink hair, she was far more eye-catching. Not necessarily a good thing either, considering how many of her exes seemed to be out tonight, making her a beacon for lesbian dramatics. You’d already had to sneakily exit one club to avoid a particular ex of hers who had a penchant for throwing drinks, so you were hobbling across the cobblestones to a different club, praying that whatever drama would surely arise in that one wouldn’t involve a vodka lemonade to the face.

You were only halfway across the street, having had to pause to tie your laces back up, when you heard men shouting from down the road, shouting your name. Damn Helen and her hair! You had exes to avoid too! If it was Matt, you were running for it, untied shoes be damned. You abandoned your shoelace to look over at the group of rowdy men, only to find a familiar face at the centre of them.

Ghost.

It was weird to see him in such a pedestrian environment; you only ever really saw him solo in the middle of the night; to see him surrounded by lads in a busy club street was bizarre. He was dressed the same way he always dressed, blue jeans, black jumper, dark trainers, though he’d eschewed the mask. His face was still in the healing process, though the bruises had faded more, a strange green tinted purple on his skin. You could see that he’d had his hair trimmed too, practically a military buzzcut, a tragedy, right as it had been getting a little fluffy. The men around him were unfamiliar to you, but they looked military, big and beefy, all jostling one another with that typical smug arrogance that came with being in the army. Already, they didn’t feel like your type of men, but Ghost had separated from them and was making a beeline toward you.

Helen had been so distracted by a beautiful woman smoking outside that she didn’t seem to notice the group of lads until Ghost was mere metres away. The look on her face could have made a toddler cry, and she looked at you suspiciously, “Isn’t that that lad from the pub that time?”

“No?”

“Is he the sneaky link you’ve been hiding from us?”

“What sneaky link?”

Helen snorted, “You think we don’t notice? Please. You’ve had a little soldier on the side. That’s why you don’t host girls nights anymore.”

Well, she had you there. There was no time to bicker anymore; Ghost was standing right in front of you, his eyes flicking from you to Helen and then back to you. Helen regarded him haughtily, as she did with all men, “You gonna introduce yourself then? Or are you only a ‘two in the morning u up’ type?”

Yeesh. She really did like to embody the ‘man-hating lesbian’ vibe. It was a great vibe though.

Ghost wasn’t put off and instead offered Helen his hand, “Not my style at all. Name’s Simon.” She looked at him, then at you, and you widened your eyes a touch at her, silently begging her to be nice. She narrowed her beautifully lined eyes as though wishing she could stab her stiletto nails through his fingers, but she took his hand and briskly shook it, and you knew she was doing her best to crush his fingers, “Helen.”

Well, that was about as friendly as Helen got. You laughed awkwardly, trying to diffuse the tension radiating from Helen, “Simon! Hi! Hey! What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head at you as though he was trying to understand how you wanted him to act around your friends. “Just out with the lads. Some of ‘em only got back tonight so ‘m taking them out for a couple drinks. What about you, love?”

“Oh, you know, drinks and dancing.”

Ghost looked down at your heels and then at your face, one brow raised, “You planning on snapping an ankle?” He didn’t wait for a response, dropping down into a crouch, gently pulling your foot forward and redoing your laces tightly, forcing you to place a hand on his shoulder for balance. With one done, he tapped on your other shoe, and you shifted your weight so you could hold that boot out for him to relace, the leather snug around your foot. His fingers trailed over the back of your calf as he straightened back up, “That should keep you all night.”

It took you a good second to bring your brain back into gear; the sight of Ghost practically kneeling down before you, looking up at you with those eyes had filled your head with all sorts of images, wondering if the soldier in him was good at following orders. You needed to find out. You needed to have him on his knees in between your legs.

“You alright, love?”

He was looking down at you as though he was concerned, but you could see the smugness in his eyes, that faux innocence, like he didn’t know exactly what you were thinking about. You blinked away the images in your head, storing them away for later. Helen’s patience was beginning to thin; you could tell by the tapping of her fingers on her arm; after all, it was a girl's night, not a girl's plus Ghost, so you decided to draw a quick end to the conversation, a little emboldened by the shots you’d already had tonight. You leant up as far as you could get, resting both hands on Ghost’s chest so you could press a kiss to his cheek, leaving a little red lipstick mark there, “I’ll text you later, yeah?”

Now it was Ghost’s turn to look taken aback, but only for a second, his face quickly breaking into a wide smile, revealing the scars on his cheeks as the tissue pulled tight. He put one of his hands over yours on his chest, “You need anything you let me know, yeah?” You nodded, and he reached out to gently brush a thumb across your cheek, a tender gesture that made your heart skip and your insides tingle. He leaned in to press a kiss to your head, “Have a nice night.”

With that, he left you to return to his group, the berating from which you could hear even from so far away, though Ghost took no shame in his actions, looking immensely proud. Helen snorted and rolled her eyes at you, though there was no real bite in her tone, “My God, why don’t the pair of you just fuck in the middle of the street? Like a pair of teenagers, you are. Or unfixed cats. It’s nauseating.”

You dragged your eyes away from Ghost and back to Helen, wrinkling your nose at her, “Bite me. Not like you don’t eye-fuck every girl that looks at you.”

She grinned at that and linked her arm through yours, pulling you towards another club, “What can I say?”

A fair few hours later, your feet ached, your calves felt like they were going to cramp any second, and you’d danced so much that you were sure you’d worked off the empty calories of the many shots of alcohol coursing through your system. Helen had given up on her heels and was now walking barefoot next to you, emphatically explaining why it wasn’t her fault that taken women seemed to gravitate toward her. Neither of you noticed that there was still a wedge of lemon in her hair from where the lemonade had been thrown over her. At least you’d managed to miss most of it this time.

Walking in this state felt impossible, especially considering Ghost had tied your shoes so tightly you couldn’t figure out how to undo the knot, trapping you in your heels. You had no choice though so you soldiered on, practically dragging Helen to where the lines of taxis were.

“Little love!”

The shout was practically deafening, several heads turning to the sound, yours included. There he was, still with his mates, but he barged through them to get to you, a waft of smoke trailing behind him. Helen had found a lamp post to cling to instead of you, and Ghost took the opportunity to sweep you up into his arms, squeezing you in a tight hug, his face nuzzling into your neck. Clearly, he’d had about as much alcohol as you. But you weren’t about to complain, still buzzing, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, enjoying the scent of him mixed in with cigarette smoke and alcohol. He picked you up off the ground, and you had just enough time to grab Helen’s arm as Ghost carried you over to where his mates were leaning against the brickwork.

Without a word from you, he dropped you back on the pavement, his arms encircling your waist as he presented you to his mates,

“Wanted you to meet the lads, love.” He named them in quick succession, and you immediately forgot all of their names, mostly focused on trying to stand upright. Although, what did stick out in your mind was when one of the lads, Baz, you think his name was, mentioned how whipped Ghost was.

“Barely shut up about you tonight. You’d think other women didn’t exist.”

Ghost practically purred in your ear, “They don’t. Not to me.”

“Did you know he carries photos of you with him? Sure we caught him wanking in the barracks to one-“

Whatever Baz had to say was cut off by Ghost reaching over to smack him around the head, but it was too late. You’d already heard that delightful little piece of information, and there was no putting that back in the box. Ghost grumbled and hugged you tighter, and you thought one of his friends fake retched at the affection until you realised it was real retching; Helen was puking in the gutter. You wriggled out of Ghost’s arms to stumble over to Helen, rubbing her back as she emptied her stomach into the street, a disgusting rainbow of glitter amongst the chunder. Ghost sniggered behind you, but he reached out to pick up a few strands of Helen’s hair, holding them out of the way until she’d finished.

“Give us a bottle of water lads.”

From the group of men, a bottle of water was produced, and Ghost handed it to you so you could help Helen clear the spatter off her arm and swill the water to get the taste out of her mouth. She groaned, and you sighed, too drunk to be a caretaker but without choice. “I need to get her back home.”

“Where does she live?”

“‘Round Salford way.”

Ghost nodded, and he pointed out a taxi, “Let’s get her in one.”

It was quite cosy with five of you bundled in the back of the taxi, with Helen closest to the door, you on Ghost’s lap, and then two of Ghost’s mates on the other side. The three soldiers were engaged in some army nonsense, but you found it easy enough to tune out, your head resting against Ghost’s chest as his fingers stroked up and down your arm, your hand resting on Helen’s back. When you finally reached her house, he helped you carry her to the front doorstep, where her eternally patient sister awaited her, dragging her into the house. With your charge taken care of, it was back into the taxi with Ghost.

After the lads were dropped off, you were finally on the way back to yours, curled up in the back seat with Ghost, his arm draped around your shoulders as you laid with your arm wrapped around his stomach, half asleep. The idea of having to walk up to your flat sounded like sheer torture, and you were quite tempted to see if you could fall asleep in the taxi, but Ghost wouldn’t allow it.

“Come on, darlin’.”

You grumbled about your shoes, so he simply reached into the taxi and pulled you into his arms, carrying you like a princess. He paid the driver, then whisked you up to your apartment, surprisingly steady considering how much he’d been drinking. There was some fumbling with the locks as he tried to juggle both you and the keys, but he managed, carrying you over the threshold and shutting the door behind the two of you.

Roach and Soap knew better than to come and see you after a night out, knowing that you were likely to try and cuddle with them, so the apartment was quiet as Ghost walked you into your bedroom and laid you down on the bed, moving back to deftly undo your laces, releasing your feet from the prison that was your heels, tossing them back into the living room. You were too drunk to care about propriety, just irritated by the tightness of your dress as you pulled at the zip, trying to get out of the bandage cage. Ghost’s fingers came up to assist, gently tugging the zip down until your body practically busted out of the damn thing. It was too tight, too irritating, so you had no problem letting Ghost gently tug the dress up over your head, leaving you just in your underwear and tights.

When you opened your eyes, having apparently closed them at some point, you saw Ghost crouched at the side of the bed, his hand resting on your thigh.

“You really are gorgeous, you know that?”

You looked down, seeing your own half-naked body, and then back at Ghost, a little bit of sobriety coming back into you. He tugged his jumper off over his head, then immediately pushed it over your head, not giving you much of a choice in being covered up again. You didn’t mind; the jumper was soft, and it smelled like him, and it was warm. It would have been easy to fall asleep like that, but you had other plans. You rolled onto your side so you could look at him, taking into account his bruised and battered face, the harsh features of his face a perfect contrast with the soft, loving way he was looking at you. He really was gorgeous, even if his face was a bit fucked up.

Your hand moved down to his, and you played with his fingers, “You coming to bed?”

“You inviting me?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence, and you could see Ghost grappling with something. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers stroking across your cheek and gently touching your lower lip before he backed up, getting to his feet. You frowned at him, “Where you going?”

Ghost answered you frankly.

“I’m going to have a wank in your bathroom.”

If you had been sober, you might have had more of a response to that, but you were drunk and tired, so you didn’t give it much thought, rolling over in the bed as he walked off, taking your bra off underneath the jumper and tossing it on the floor, then squirming under the covers.

Ghost returned a few minutes later, and you could hear the sound of him undressing, followed by the bed dipping as he got in beside you. His thighs were warm against the back of yours, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you close to his chest, his fingers tangling with yours as he cuddled into your back, pressing several soft kisses to your neck before he let his head fall on the pillow beside yours, joining you in peaceful slumber.

[maitanii]

unfortunate encounter. inui seishu. 2k

It wasn’t his day. It wasn’t his week either—or his month (or even his year). Not that Inui was particularly prone to complaining, but he was pretty sure someone had cursed him.

First of all, there was missing money—a lot of money—from the store’s register. And, of course, the discrepancy had happened during his shift. Which meant that the irresponsible idiot who worked the early morning shift had done whatever they wanted with the payments and, worse still, Inui hadn’t even noticed.

Reason number two: the stupid shirt. Chifuyu had convinced everyone to wear matching shirts for Takemichi’s bachelor party. Seishu’s first reaction was to throw the shirt on the ground and stomp on it, but Draken gave him two choices: either wear the shirt, or Draken would put it on him himself.

And now here he was, with relentless raindrops falling on his head, the pink shirt with Takemichi’s face on it completely soaked, his bike parked on the side of the road, a scratched car in front of him, and a girl crying over the steering wheel.

Shit, shit, shit.

He’d love to pin the blame on the girl, but she had done everything right. It was him who, in his hurry, had forgotten to check his brakes and ended up crashing into her car. Once he recovered from the initial impact, he’d tried to apologize, but the girl had already started crying and was unable to form a coherent sentence. Which meant he’d have to be the one to explain everything to the officers.

Taking the cigarette from his lips, he pressed his phone harder against his ear, hoping the police would pick up faster. He was supposed to be at the restaurant in an hour, and he still had ten minutes of highway left to go. Not a chance he’d make it. Stupid day and his stupid luck. He was never going to ignore Naoto’s advice about warding off bad luck ever again.

“Hello. Yes.” He kept providing the officer on the line with the location details. “Twenty minutes? Shit. Yes, officer. Understood.”

Shoving the phone into his pocket, he barely resisted the urge to smash it against the asphalt. His white Converse crushed the remains of his cigarette under the sole. Inui ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back. He hated the rainy season.

As if the sky could sense his rising heart rate, the rain decided to come down harder. Two minutes into wondering whether his life was even worth it, he figured that if he killed himself on the spot, Draken would bring him back to life just to beat him up. So, reluctantly, he made his way over to the car, where the girl he’d crashed into still had her head resting against the steering wheel.

He knocked on the car door twice. On the second knock, the girl lifted her head sluggishly and turned to look at him. If it hadn’t been for the terrible situation they were in, he might’ve laughed at the red mark on her forehead from leaning on the same spot for too long. But he wasn’t in the mood for jokes, nor did he want to deal with her tears. When she rolled the window down slightly, Inui took it as his cue to speak.

“I know you probably don’t feel like talking. And as hard as it is to believe, neither do I. But I can’t fill out the damn accident report if I die of hypothermia out here. Would you be so kind as to let me into the car?”

The girl stared at him for a few seconds, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Hugging her bag tightly to her chest, she unlocked the door and gestured toward the passenger seat. Inui didn’t hesitate to climb in.

The inside of the Volkswagen smelled faintly of a strawberry air freshener on its last legs.

After two minutes of silence, the girl straightened up and opened her mouth to speak at the same time Inui did.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was going too fast, and since this road is usually so empty, I got overconfident. I’m really sorry.”

“You’re bleeding.”

They both turned their heads to look at each other. The girl swallowed hard when she caught her reflection in Inui’s green eyes.

“Oh, blood.” Seishu reached for his left leg and confirmed that there was, indeed, a nasty-looking wound. “Great. Just great.”

“Let me see it.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” When the girl nodded, Inui felt somewhat relieved. Not to be heartless, but as long as she wasn’t physically hurt, it was one less thing to deal with. Turning his head, he glanced at his bike through the window. He’d left his helmet on the ground, and now it was acting as a makeshift bucket, collecting rainwater.

“Let me see your leg,” the girl repeated, her voice snapping him out of his thoughts. “Please.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. I’ve had friends hit me harder than this. Don’t sweat it.”

“I’m a nurse.”

“Thanks for sharing. I’m a mechanic.”

For the first time since the accident happened, the tension in the air eased, and a soft laugh escaped the girl’s lips. Inui breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, mechanic, at the very least, can you do me a favor and roll up your pant leg?”

Inui raised an eyebrow keeping the poker face. “Roll up my pant leg? Wow, I admit I have nice legs, but we’re moving pretty fast there. Should I light a candle first?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “What? No! That’s not what I meant!” She frantically waved her hands, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. “There’s mud on the path where we crashed! I don’t want dirt getting into the wound—just roll it up a bit so I can clean it!”

“Ah, got it.” Inui nodded with an exaggeratedly serious expression, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. “No candles, then. Noted.”

Seishu took his time rolling up the fabric, his movements slow and deliberate. He’d understood her perfectly from the start, but he couldn’t resist teasing her a little. Force of habit.

The young woman glanced at the wound out of the corner of her eye. It didn’t look too bad, but it would still need to be cleaned and disinfected. She sighed, feeling her eyes begin to well up with tears again. What a perfect day for her period to show up. Just as she was about to bury her arms on the steering wheel, she heard the guy next to her clear his throat.

“If you’re going to cry again, at least give me a heads-up. I think it’d be more awkward if I watch.”

“You’re such a charmer, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” he replied.

She scoffed but couldn’t stop a faint smile from slipping through. Shaking her head, she looked down at her lap, her hands clasped tightly together. “This is a disaster. I’m supposed to be at work in 10 minutes.”

“One of my best friends is getting married in two days. Today’s his bachelor party,” he said, leaning back against the headrest. “Trust me, I’m very aware of the disaster. But hey, at least I’m not dead, and neither are you. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

The young woman shot him a look, squinting slightly. “Is that your way of comforting people?”

“I thought I mentioned I’m a mechanic, not a therapist,” Inui retorted with a sarcastic smile. “Besides, the last time I tried to comfort someone, I ended up getting punched in the face. Not really my thing.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease. “Well, mechanic, maybe you should stick to what you know.”

“Thanks for the advice, nurse,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow. Then, leaning forward, he gestured exaggeratedly toward his leg. “So, are you going to take care of this wound, or would you rather keep crying while we debate who’s having the worse day?”

The woman sighed and turned to face him, finally making up her mind. “Fine, but first, I’ll need something to clean it with. And don’t even think about handing me a used tissue or something worse, because I swear I’ll leave you bleeding.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied with a half-smile. “I’ve got an emergency kit on the bike. At least I did something right today.”

“A miracle” She muttered under her breath, watching as Inui reached out for the door handle. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the first-aid kit,” he said, already pushing the door open.

“Wait! You’re just going to—” Her protest was drowned out by the sound of the rain hitting harder as he stepped out into the downpour.

He didn’t bother hurrying; he was already soaked from earlier. His shirt clung awkwardly to his frame as he crouched by the bike, opening one of the side compartments. After rummaging for a moment, he pulled out a small, well-used first-aid kit. He didn’t even bother trying to keep it dry as he trudged back toward the car.

Sliding back into the passenger seat with a squelch, he tossed the kit onto the center console and brushed his damp hair out of his face.

“Here,” he said simply, flicking open the latch and pulling out some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

She frowned at the mess he was making. “Great, now my car smells like wet dog. You couldn’t just let me grab it?”

“It’s my bike,” he replied, handing her the supplies. “I’d rather not add ‘letting a stranger mess with my stuff’ to today’s list of mistakes.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, snatching the wipes from his hand. “Fine. But stay still unless you want this to hurt more than it already does.”

He leaned back against the seat, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll try my best, Nurse.”

She worked quickly, cleaning the wound with firm but precise movements. He hissed when the antiseptic hit, but to his credit, he didn’t pull away. When she finished wrapping the gauze, she leaned back with a satisfied nod.

“There,” she said, tossing the used wipes into the small trash bag hanging from the dashboard. “Try not to mess it up before the police get here.”

“No promises,” he said with a lopsided grin, flexing his leg experimentally.

“Good,” she muttered, leaning back in her seat. “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, glancing out at the rain as it hammered down on the windshield, “we wait.”

The tension in the car had eased slightly, leaving only the rhythmic sound of the rain filling the silence.

“Do you mind if I turn the radio on?” she asked.

“Not at all” Inui started to get comfortable in the seat and let his forehead fall against the glass of the window.

The radio crackled to life, filling the car with a soft, cheesy love song. Inui snorted. “Great. Mood music.”

The girl rolled her eyes, adjusting the volume. “Would you rather sit in awkward silence?”

He shrugged. “I was kind of enjoying the dramatic tension, to be honest.”

She let out a small laugh, finally seeming to relax. “You’re impossible.”

Another stretch of silence passed, the rain drumming steadily against the windshield. Then, she shifted slightly in her seat.

“I never got your name,” she said.

He considered ignoring the question—keeping things strictly in the “unfortunate strangers” category. But at this point, what was the harm? He’d already bled in her car. That felt like a first-name basis situation.

“Inui Seishu” he finally said.

She gave a slow nod, lips twitching. “Well, Inui Seishu, I hope you know you owe me a car wash after all this.”

He turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And I hope you know you owe me therapy bills for emotional distress.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Add it to your bad luck tab.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “That tab’s already maxed out, sweetheart.”

She grinned, leaning back into her seat as the song on the radio switched to something equally sappy.

[scribes-of-valar]

𝘉𝘰𝘺'𝘴 𝘢 𝘓𝘪𝘢𝘳

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe they just need directions or maybe…

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

Maybe they’re Clark. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

He left you behind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not exactly a morning person. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red kryptonite. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t I?”

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

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

This was never going to work. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[squatch-and-stretch]

Introduced Species

Stanford Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 1,645 words | Axolotl’s Acolyte AU

Fiddleford is briefly lost through the portal, but something else returns with him.

Fic under the cut.

Fiddleford went through the portal. Ford is not entirely sure how long ago that happened, but the subsequent events are as follows;

Ford pulls the dummy back. It remains as a dummy, entirely unaltered by its trip. This is encouraging, though it would be more encouraging if Fiddleford was attached to the line as well.

Ford anchors the rope around his waist to a section of scaffolding, and attempts to follow Fiddleford through. The portal shuts down before he can.

Ford jostles the lever to activate the portal, and presses every other button and switch that could bring it back to life. None of them manage to do so.

Ford screams, punches the steel frame of the portal, and then kicks it for good measure. This does nothing but hurt his throat, hand, and foot.

Ford attempts to reassure himself. He doesn’t know much about what’s on the other side of the portal— Bill was actually quite cagey about that, but then again Ford never really pried— but it didn’t damage the dummy, and Bill has access to that space. Bill might not be Fiddleford’s biggest fan, but he would never hurt him, at least not on purpose, or too badly. Surely, Bill would find Fiddleford, and keep him safe until Ford diagnoses the cause of the premature shut-down and rectifies it, allowing him to bring Fiddleford back.

Ford, hand and foot throbbing, throat aching, begins to retreat towards his sanctum, intending to contact Bill before he starts his repairs.

That’s when the portal reopens of its own volition.

Or, no, that isn’t quite what happens. The portal itself doesn’t power on, but a vortex— swirling pink and sparkling like the night sky— opens in the center. Ford turns to look at it in awe, absently scrambling for his journal before he remembers that it’s safely on the other side of the observation window. He's not willing to look away from the vortex for long enough to retrieve it, especially not when something steps out of it.

It’s tall, humanoid in shape, and wearing a long coat. Washed out by pink light, Ford doesn’t recognize it as Fiddleford until he fully steps free of it, and the vortex closes behind him.

Fiddleford takes a few careful steps, as if gravity is a very new sensation to him. His eyes remained trained on the ground, carefully watching his feet. He’s missing one of his shoes. It’s laying on the floor, actually, on the wrong side of the safety line.

“Fiddleford!” Ford cries as the initial shock wears off, and Fiddleford jolts. The confusion on his features falls away, and his face lights up with a warm, serene smile.

“What happened to you?” Ford continues, closing the distance between them in a few desperate, stumbling steps. “What did you see?”

“I see you,” Fiddleford purrs, and there’s something strange to his voice, accent smoothed away and voice echoing like it was far louder than it actually was. “Oh, look at you!”

He steps towards Ford with a strange gait, like he’s still getting used to having legs. Once they’re nearly chest to chest, he reaches out to cradle Ford’s face in his hands. Surprised as he is, Ford doesn’t even try to move away. His hands are cold and clammy.

He meets Ford’s eyes and smiles fondly. He’s used to that expression from Fiddleford, but something about it is wrong. Ford has never been good at predicting people’s emotions, but even he can tell that this is not how Fiddleford should be reacting to what just happened to him. Maybe excitement could be expected after such an experience, but it’s not what he’d expect from Fiddleford, as prone to anxiety as he tends to be. And besides, this is not excitement, it’s something far more serene. Serenity is not a common emotion in Fiddleford, especially not as of late.

Puzzled as he is by the emotion, it takes Ford far too long to notice the physical changes.

His hair is longer now, maybe even longer than it was in college, and it floats loosely around his head as if he’s underwater. The grey streak of hair around his temple has turned pink, as have the irises around his blown-out pupils.

Ford realizes with sudden and chilling clarity that he may not have gotten his friend back at all.

“Who—“ Ford swallows, unable to tear his gaze away. “What are you?”

Fiddleford just smiles. It’s nothing like the grin Bill has been known to pull Ford’s own mouth into.

“What have you done to Fiddleford!?” he shouts, gripping the wrists of his friend, of what used to be his friend. Is he still in there somewhere? Is there some way to get him back?

The serene smile falls away, and Fiddleford’s brows furrow slightly.

“What have I done?” the entity asks, sounding genuinely troubled by the question, or perhaps just confused. “I have saved him. I am the only reason he is here with you.”

“… what?” Ford says, mind flooding with what could have been. “What do you mean? What would have happened to him?”

The entity smiles sadly with Fiddleford’s chapped lips.

“Oh, you poor thing,” it says, like it’s talking to a particularly pitiful child. “You really have no idea what you are doing, do you?”

Ford suddenly feels particularly pitiful.

“What are you?” he asks again, desperate. He tries to be firm, but his voice shakes around the words.

The entity is quiet for a long moment, before humming to itself.

“I am the Axolotl,” it says. “It’s a pleasure to properly meet you, Stanford Pines.”

Ford shudders at the sound of his full name from Fiddleford’s mouth, in a tone so different from his own.

“… Frilliam?” Ford asks, with no small amount of guilt.

The Axolotl laughs, a soft, pleasant sound entirely unlike Fiddleford’s loud cackles. How long has it been since he heard a genuine laugh from Fiddleford?

“Oh, no, not him,” the Axolotl says fondly, “though I have him to thank for our introduction.”

The Axolotl places a hand on his chest. Ford doesn’t know if ‘our’ refers to his own introduction to the Axolotl, or its introduction to Fiddleford.

“Fiddleford…” he swallows thickly; for one of the first times in his life, he’s afraid to have his question answered. “What happened to Fiddleford?”

“He is right here,” the Axolotl says with the indulgent smile of a teacher answering a stupid question.

“I see that!” Ford snaps, anxiety building into anger. “I see his body, but where is he?”

“He is here,” the Axolotl insists, face falling into a small frown. “He is just… dormant. I am taking care of his body as his mind recovers.”

“What do you mean, ‘recovers’?” Ford asks. He doesn’t like the sound of this thing ‘taking care of Fiddleford’s body’ either, but he has his priorities.

“A human mind, especially one so prone to anxiety, struggles to comprehend what lies beyond the portal in the best of conditions,” the Axolotl explains.

His thumb, on the hand still pressed to his chest, moves back and forth over the fabric of his shirt. Beyond that and a gentle sway, he’s strangely still, a sharp contrast to Fiddleford’s constant movement.

“And his visit was not in the best of conditions,” the Axolotl continues. “The entities that dwell in that realm between realms greeted him with no small amount of aggression. If I had not interfered, there is no doubt that he would have been destroyed, completely and utterly.

“Even I understand how… traumatic that experience would be for a mortal. He is still present within this vessel, but he is resting.”

Ford feels faintly sick. He’s so relieved to hear that Fiddleford is still there, somewhere, but if the Axolotl is to be believed, it was a very near thing.

But that begs the question; is the Axolotl to be believed? Ford was never the best at reading people, and reading people possessed by some unknown interplanar entity proves just as fruitless, if not more so. If it’s lying, it has picked up none of its host’s tells.

Ford struggles to believe it all the same. Surely if there were any threats on the other side of the portal, ones willing and able to destroy a human ‘completely and utterly’, Bill would have mentioned it. As genuine as the Axolotl seems, Ford cannot trust it over his muse.

“You call yourself the Axolotl, but what exactly are you?” Ford asks, watching carefully.

“I suppose I would be best described as a god, though not many who meet me describe me at all,” the Axolotl says.

“A god of rebirth,” Ford recalls. Bill had quickly pulled him away from researching axolotls, but he remembers that.

“Yes,” the Axolotl praises, as though talking to a clever dog. “Death and rebirth, illness and recovery, injury and healing, this is my domain.”

“Then why are you here?” Ford presses, because none of this adds up. “Why did you save Fiddleford?”

The Axolotl tilts his head.

“Have you never caught a fly and released it outside?”

Ford shudders.

“I do not see fit to save every bug that flutters through my domain, but I have some fondness for this one,” the Axolotl raises its hand to Fiddleford’s cheek, cradling his face. “Through Frilliam, he caught my attention, and he has since retained it. He is more important than you realize, Stanford Pines.”

The Axolotl drops his hand and his smile, staring at Ford with sudden intensity. Ford steps away.

“I— of course I realize how important he is!” Ford argues. “He helped me complete my transuniversal vortex! This will fundamentally alter the fate of humanity!”

The Axolotl frowns, like Ford is something to be pitied.

“Yes, there is no doubt about that,” it agrees. “Have you ever considered whether or not it would be for the better?”

[0nlyhere4phil]

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (consent somno)

Sleeping with Simon means you might wake up from the tingling yet comfortable feeling coming from your breast, still disoriented from the slumber, letting out a sleepy whimper as the pleasure keeps coursing through your spine like tiny lightnings.

“Morning.” Simon doesn’t even detach his lips from your nipples as he greets you, lapping lazily and rolling the little peaks with his hot tongue.

“Simon…” Your fingers card through his locks to encourage him, he’s always extra horny in the early morning, but the eagerness in his movements is more evident now than the other days, practically burying his face in your breasts. “What got you so worked up today?” you ask him between the moans caused by his antics, his intentional sucking on one of your sensitive buds makes you unable to hold back a whiny cry of bliss.

“Wake up and see you sleeping in my arms, safe and sound…” Simon huffs out a laugh when he gives your nipples a nip, eliciting a yelp on you “You wearing my shirt, leaning against my chest, just the right angle for me to peek in the collar and see those cute nipples of yours…”

“It’s not my fault, you told me to wear one of your shirts last night.” Your pouty facade can’t be kept on for long, not when he finishes taking good care of your now fully hardened nipples, peppering kisses on his way downwards, as if memorizing your body and claiming his territory again with those pink love bites.

“And you’re the one who chose the thinnest and loosest shirt, ain’t you?” Taking your clothed clit between his lips, he smirks as he dart out his tongue, pressing down forcefully at your core and toying it skillfully, so you’ll throw your head back on the pillow and grind your needy pussy against his lips, begging for more with those sugar-coated pleas. “Fuck, all greedy and soaked just from me worshipping your tits, sweetheart? Who’s the eager one now, eh?”

“Just…Just pull down the panties already, god…” Not enough, your mind screams for more, yearns for his lips directly touching your wet folds.

“Bossy.” He chastises you, like you’re an impatient girl craving for candies, but he won’t deny you—or deny himself, from tasting what he’s been wanting since he woke up this morning.

Pulling down your panties and let it pull around your ankles, not even sparing time to take it off properly, he dives back between your thighs, wet tongue gliding through your core, drinking down those nectar as you reach out and push his face down further, the crook of his nose nudging your clit so good that you roll your hips to meet his consistent onslaught.

“Bloody hell, princess…smells so fucking good.” He groans, a low and half-growling one which only worsen your insatiable desires. Even when he lifts his head slightly to speak, his hands immediately move in, sliding two thick and long fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping and pressing the correct spots to make you scream out his name.

“Trying to wake the neighbors up with those cute moans, huh? ‘m not sure if they’ll feel grateful.” Thumbs spreading your pussy lips, he latches onto the now-exposed clit, bringing you another level of joy by sucking that twitching little thing.

“Simon! Si- oh, gonna…” You try to warn him before you get pushed over the edge abruptly, liquid gushing out and smearing his face, only for him to moan contently and make sure not to miss any drop.

“What a sight…” Straightening up and looking at the pool of mess staining the bedsheets, before his gaze travel to you face, eyes still blurry and cheeks tinted with rosy red, panting and quivering after squirting so hard for him, Simon smacks your pussy teasingly, earning another delectable whimper from you. “Squirting all over the sheets, will have to change it later.”

“Can’t go another round, baby…” You look down at him the moment his lips touch your puffy folds once again, big eyes meeting his dark ones with satisfaction and tiredness, but your protest is cut off by a soft smack on right on your trembling clit, and further words are replaced with moans when he ducks down to resume devouring his favorite meal, pressing a reassuring kiss to your pussy and croon. “Won’t stop until you squirt again for me, you can do it, love, and you will do it.”

[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

[oncasette]

biting the lads men

sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, & caleb x gn!reader

how each of the love and deepspace men react to an s/o that bites them as a way of showing their love.

content: affectionate biting (non-sexual)

sylus loves when you bite him. the first time you did it, he hadn't even batted an eye. simply smiled and moved his bicep closer for you to chomp down to your heart's content.

you tend to use your teeth when you're forced to sit quietly beside him, likely when he's doing something related to onichynus or a business deal he needs to finish up before he gives you his undivided attention for the night. you'll sit either in his lap, curled up in his shoulder, or just next to him under his arm. he doesn't mind if you ramble, but you know better than to expect him to answer all of your hypotheticals while he's focusing.

instead, when you've had your fill of talking to mostly yourself, you'll lower your head against his shoulder and bite down. you don't latch on very hard, but it's enough for sylus to know you're using your teeth.

"am i boring you, kitten?" he asks, setting his pen down in favor of cradling the back of your head. you dislodge yourself at the sensation, allowing him to pull your face up to look at him. he's got that knowing smirk on his face, his other hand tightly wrapped around your hips to keep you from falling as he shifts you to straddle his thighs.

“no,” you hum, tilting your head to nip at his wrist. he laughs, the sound vibrating through your body.

“no? just being… frisky?” a hand slides up under the bottom hem of your shirt to rest on the small of your back. you nod, biting a bit harder when you reach the base of his palm. he hisses.

“are you almost done with your work, sy?” you whisper. you gently kiss the indents your teeth had left.

“i’m all yours, sweetie.”

zayne doesn't really comment on it. after the first few incidents, and the round of questions that had followed, he knows you don't mean any harm by it. rather, he knows it's a way for you to express yourself to him when words seem to elude you.

it always seems to happen when zayne’s already settled down for the evening. unlike when you’re trying to lure him away from his work—when you use lingering touches and gentle kisses to pull his attention toward you—zayne always seems to find you biting him when he’s already got his sights set on you.

the two of you will be spread out on the couch, you sat between his thighs with your back to his chest and his arms around your shoulders, when your teeth latch into his forearm. he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, just smiles softly with a kiss to your temple as he continues to watch the move you’d put on.

“react,” you huff, biting a bit harder near the junction of his elbow.

“what would you like for me to say, darling?” he says, the ghost of a laugh seeping out of him. you shrug, snuggling back further into him with your lips pressed against his bicep.

“i’m bored,” you huff.

“i can tell,” he says softly. his hand slides down your arm to intertwine your fingers together, bringing the pair up to his mouth to kiss the back of your hand. “would you like to do something else?”

“no,” you say, shaking your head. your tongue peeks out to swipe across a recently bitten patch of skin. you always tended to bite him more when there was more skin at your disposal, he’d noticed, leading him to wear short sleeves around the house.

“alright, then,” he says. he settles back down into the cushions and tightens his hold on you. when you latch down on his arm again, all he says is, “i love you, too, darling.”

rafayel pretends to hate it. he'll get all whiny and pouty each time you do it, threatening to kick you out of his studio for abusing him, but he secretly revels in it. he gets this pretty pink flush on his cheeks whenever your teeth make contact with his skin, despite whatever nonsense spews from his lips.

“hey! meanie,” he huffs, yanking his arm out of reach from your mouth. he cradles it to his chest, running his thumb gently over the barely-there indent your teeth had made in his skin. it’s the most offended you’d seen him. almost.

you continue to do it, though, a lot gentler, until one day his protestations actually manage to break through to you.

he fully rolled away from you, turning so that his back was facing you. when you attempted to warm up to him again, placing your face into the crook of his neck and sliding your hands around his waist, he swatted at your fingers until you pulled away. you could hear him pouting, the dramatic sighs and whines.

after that, and after you’d made it up to him the following morning with plenty of kisses, you stopped biting him. rafayel had assumed it was only for the day, making only a comment or two about how he was “bite mark free” for the first time, but when you withheld your teeth from him for a week and a half, he started to get whiny again.

at first, it’d been silent gestures. holding his arm close to your face when you cuddled, making sure you were angled toward his shoulder when you watched something.

then, “why don’t you bite me anymore?”

“you don’t like it,” you say, turning your head slightly to look at him. he’s sitting on the couch beside you, a sketch pad laid open over his lap. it’d stayed blank for the last thirty minutes.

“i never said that,” he says.

“yes, you did,” you laugh. “you called me a meanie and didn’t talk to me for a day.”

“are you sure about that? i probably just called you cutie like i always do and then got… laryngitis or something,” he huffs, his bottom lip protruding out. he drops the sketch pad onto the coffee table before he scoots closer to you. “will you just bite me again, cutie?”

“you want me to?”

if he had any reservations before—which he didn’t— the way your face lit up at the idea was enough to erase them completely. he nods, holding his hand up to your lips, allowing you to nibble as you pleased.

xavier is confused by it, but lets you do as you please. his brows will knit together and he’ll stare at you with those big eyes he always gives you, but he never protests or gives you any indication that he wants you to stop.

the first time you did it, he thought it was an accident. he flinched slightly, but didn’t make a comment besides that. once it started becoming a regular thing, he began to have more and more questions about your motivations.

“starlight?” he asks softly, not moving save for the slightest tilt of his head. your teeth are still latched into his shoulder. you hum in reply, nipping your way across his shoulder and down to his arm. “did i do something?”

“no? why do you ask?”

“you’re biting me,” he replies.

“yeah? i always do that,” you hum, mixing in a couple kisses with your bites before you pull back. you shift so that you’re facing him more. “do you want me to stop?”

he grabs your wrist when you start to pull further away. “no. you can keep doing it.”

“yeah?” you ask, immediately leaning in to bite down on his cheek. his face scrunches, a soft pink hue dusting over the skin beneath your lips.

he's not entirely sure of why you bite, but you never bite down enough to hurt him, and you always seem so happy after you've done it, so who is he to prevent you from latching down every once in a while?

caleb bites you back. he takes it as a challenge. you always bit him when you were kids when you were angry, or, god forbid, he was holding you down for any reason. if he was tickling you, or tackling you, your first instinct was to sink your teeth into the closest body part you could find. he went to school one day with a huge mark on his ankle once, and you never heard the end of it.

now, when you do it, he's prepared. it's almost as if he goads you into it, knowing he'll be able to do it back.

he'll wander around your apartment with a sleeveless shirt on, practically lording his arms in your face, and you have no choice but to chomp down on his bicep.

the moment you sneak behind him, your arms linking around his hips, he's on guard. he knows all your tactics. despite the otherwise gentle touches, he knows the minute your lips wander anywhere close to his arms, he's going to be feeling more than your lips.

he says your name in warning moments before it occurs. within a second of you latching down, he's spinning you in his grasp and attacking your skin with nips and bites of his own. he starts at your neck before traveling down to your shoulder and biting down with the same intensity you'd used on him.

"caleb!" you squeal, pushing his face away despite the stream of giggles leaving your lips.

"what?" he asks, softening his movments. "i'm just giving you a taste of your own medicine."

"only i'm allowed to bite," you counter.

"is that so?" he asks, lifting his head up to look you in the eye again. you nod as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. within a second, though, he's sliding back down to bite down at your shoulder. "i don't think so, pipsqueak."

[elixirfromthestars]

By The Warmth Of The Oven

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. tipsy bucky.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> is it those cookies that smell delicious or is it you?

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Bella @nickfowlerrr ♡ In honor of Can You Feel It? being the first of many beautiful fics I read of yours 🥹🩷 Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

“Smells good…” Bucky’s voice comes out of nowhere from behind you as you grab another tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. You glance over your shoulder to find him sauntering into the kitchen, making his way over to you. 

“Freshly baked cookies always do,” you reply with a gratified grin, placing the tray on top of the stove so the cookies have some time to cool off before you plate them. Your friends had already gone through three batches of them and they practically begged you to make more. It was a nice feeling, almost rewarding in a way, knowing something you made was so loved by your friends. 

“‘m not talking about the cookies, doll,” there’s a bit of a slur in his cadence that catches your attention at the same time that your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to him to see he’s staring at you with a dreamy smile and a twinkle in his eyes, propped up against the counter by his elbow. You frown at his unusual nonchalant demeanor. You’ve never seen him act this way before. 

Your head tilts slightly as you examine him a little closer. There’s a bit of a sway to his stance and his cheeks are tinted pink. “Bucky, are you drunk?” Almost immediately he shakes his head at your question, “No. I can't get drunk,” he replies with an obvious tone, and yet the pouty frown on his face tells a different story. 

“Right, you can’t…” you affirm, mulling it over for a moment,“Unless…did Thor give you some of his special Asgardian liquor?” You ask, stepping slightly closer to him, the apples of his cheeks getting rosier in response. 

“I took a shot. I started feeling funny and came here—felt safe,” he mutters that last part reluctantly, sharing something with you he wouldn’t if it weren’t for the alcohol in his system.

“In the kitchen?”

“With you.” 

Your amusement is replaced with a soft expression at his response. He most likely hasn’t felt the effects of alcohol in decades and a part of him doesn’t know how to cope with the resurfaced inhibitions. The fact that while feeling unwell his first instinct was to come looking for you—it made a warmth spread throughout you that could easily rival the heat of the oven.

You reach out to cup his cheek, soothing the flushed skin with your thumb. He instinctively leans into your touch, his eyes shining with a gentle vulnerability that causes your heart to squeeze in your chest. You and Bucky have always had a flirtatious friendship for as long as you can remember, but it's never gone past that. Seeing him so openly affectionate with you stirs emotions deep within you that you aren’t sure you’re ready to bring to the surface.

“I don’t think the alcohol is going to stay in your system for long, Buck. How about we do this…you wait for me here while I go out and serve the cookies I baked,” his eyes widen slightly and you can tell he wants to protest until you add, “I’ll bring back some hot chocolate for us to share and we can enjoy it along with some cookies while we wait for that liquor in your system to wear off. How does that sound?” You suggest softly and you can see the way he thinks it through before he agrees with a nod.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you plate a few dozen cookies on decorative plates, leaving a handful behind for you and Bucky to share. You make sure to quickly take them out to your friends and serve up two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate before making it back to the kitchen in no time. 

When you meet back with Bucky you find him sitting on the counter where he watches his legs as he swings them lazily to and fro. You observe him fondly for a moment longer than necessary. Trying to commit to memory how carefree and unguarded he is at this moment. When he notices you his face lights up in a way that makes you feel like the most precious person on earth. 

“Here, as promised,” you hand him a mug of hot chocolate which he takes eagerly—too eagerly—as he immediately goes for a sip of it. Before he can, however, you stop him, placing your hand as a barrier between his lips and the mug. His mouth ends up pressed into your palm, and you ignore the heat that finds its way to your face at the softness of his lips brushing against your skin.

“Bucky, it's scalding hot! You’ll burn yourself! Wait until it cools down a bit, please.”

“It’s not gonna burn me, doll. I’m a super soldier. Watch—”

“Bucky!” 

You use the cookies as leverage to coax Bucky into waiting for the hot chocolate to cool down before he drinks any of it. For the next hour or so, you enjoy each other's company. Between the sweet treats and the lighthearted conversations, time flies by in a heartbeat. 

Then, while in the middle of a discussion over your last mission, Bucky does something that completely takes you by surprise in the best way possible—he kisses you. It’s short, but profound in the way he pours everything into it. Every flirtation you ever questioned could mean something more was proven here with this kiss, that it had meant so much more for more than just you. 

You’re speechless when he pulls away beaming as if his heart might burst.

“Looks like I was right.” 

“Huh?”

“I asked myself what was sweeter. You or the cookies. I knew it'd be you,” he states as a matter of fact, drinking up the way his words affect you as much as the kiss had. There’s a part of you that doesn’t believe him, but it's not because of him, but more so because you think you must be dreaming. 

“That's the liquor talking.”

“I've sobered up a while ago, doll.”

You search his eyes for the truth of it all and you find it. This is real. This isn’t a dream. And the yearning that burns bright in his eyes is one you know all too well. It’s the same one reflecting in your eyes as your gazes lock on one another.

“I still think the cookies are sweeter,” you whisper, your eyes shining with a playful challenge despite the way your heart races in your chest with anticipation. He catches on, licking his lips as his flesh hand snakes its way to the back of your head to cradle it gently.

“‘m gonna prove you wrong, doll,” he declares in a huskier tone as he pulls you in for another kiss. And that night, by the warmth of the oven, Bucky continues to kiss you until he successfully proves you wrong. 

[cherrygirlfriend]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ heart-shaped cut-out

pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader synopsis: reader shows rafe her new lingerie warnings: smut, masturbation (f), sexting MDNI! wc: 700 a/n; i saw the new skims heart cut-out lingerie and it was so cute i had to write something about it!! anyway it’s another completely new fic, my neighbors are partying on a tuesday but this is for my nerd!rafe girls.

masterlist ♡ pervert!reader masterlist

you opened the package you'd ordered a week before, your eyes widening in glee when you got a peek of the baby pink fabric. you clapped your hands together, carefully lifting the bralette, admiring the little heart cut-out in the middle. when you'd seen it, you immediately knew you had to have it.

it took about five minutes until you were out of your clothes and changed into the adorable lingerie set, laying on your bed as you twirled your hair biting down on your lower lip as you sent a text to rafe.

YOU: i know we're supposed to meet up in a few minutes for tutoring, but i wanted to ask if you wanted to see some new clothes i got 🥰

you rubbed yourself through the pink fabric of your thong as you waited for him to reply, looking through pictures of rafe, the fabric forming a slight wet spot while your breathing got more erratic, especially when you landed on a picture you'd sneakily taken of his hand while he had been writing down notes. but when your phone finally pinged and the notification came up, you couldn't help the mischievous grin that took over your lips.

RAFE: Sure 😊

you opened the camera app on your phone, starting to record a video. you looked at the camera, biting down on your lip with a smile, before bringing it down to your chest, cupping and squeezing your breasts. your nipples were hard and pebbled through the fabric, and you let out a soft laugh.

you slowly panned it down to the thong you were wearing, showing off the damp patch on it, but now, instead of rubbing yourself through the fabric, you slipped your finger through the heart-shaped cut-out until it met your clit, causing you to let out a slight gasp. you circled and rubbed your clit, letting out small moans for the camera, your thoughts on rafe and the reaction the video would get from him.

after a few minutes had gone by, you dipped your fingers inside of you, gathering some of your arousal and taking your hand out of your thong, showing your fingers off to the camera.

"fuck, 'm so wet..." you moaned, before stopping the video. grinning, you pulled on a sweatshirt that was lounging next to your bed, taking a picture of yourself wearing it.

you went to your messages with rafe, proceeding to send the video you'd taken, keeping your eyes on the screen, waiting for the little 'read' receipt to appear, and it took a few minutes, but once the little grey text appeared, you sent the picture of you in the sweatshirt.

YOU: oops, i sent you the wrong thing, meant to show you the sweatshirt 😅 i'll be in the library soon!

you pulled on a pair of low-waisted jeans, making sure they showed off a sliver of the pink fabric, and even though it took you ten minutes to get to the library, rafe's face was still flushed, and there was still a bulge in his chinos.

"hope i didn't take too long." you said with a coy smile, pulling back the chair and sitting down next to him, more than pleased with his reaction.

"n-no... it's all good..." rafe mumbled, looking down at his textbook. you stretched your arms over your head, letting out a feigned yawn, rafe's eyes zeroing in on the small amount of skin peeking out under your sweatshirt, the boy letting out a breath before clearing his throat, and you immediately knew he'd seen the thong you were wearing, the soaked thong you’d rubbed yourself through.

"so." you turn to him with a bright, casual smile, biting down on your lower lip in the same way you had done in the video, acting like you weren't getting off on knowing how much he wanted you as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before bringing your hand down to rest on the table, touching his just a tiny bit, and even the minimal contact caused his eyes to widen.

"what are you gonna teach me today, rafey?

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ the way of the househusband ❞

☾₊‧⁺...cw : househusband!fushiguro toji x fem!reader, you are megumi's mom, flirting, playful banter, just overall silly and cute domestic life

☾₊‧⁺...lunar's note : just some simple lil toji hcs of him as a househusband! i need some sweet stuff of him without a lot of sexual stuff in it bc let's be real, in a domestic setting he's probably just a big clingy and mildly annoying bear husband

f. toji is never going to complain about being the one staying home, watching over the little gremlin that is megumi. he's got his own ways of bringing in money with that friend of his, shiu, but he's more than content to being the one in the frilly pink apron, cooking for you and the lil' man.

toji didn’t ever expect to get married, especially after how he was treated as a zenin. he didn't know much about love or how to connect with people, let alone you. but when you handed his ass to him with no struggle and a pretty smile on your face at the gym, he knew he wanted you. two years later and a shit load of aggressive flirting, toji ends up with you as his spouse and he wouldn't have it any other way.

so imagine toji's surprise when he's genuinely excited when you tell him your pregnant. he's excited but scared. him? a father? there's no way in hell he has any idea what to do, his own father was nothing but a piece of shit...so what if he turns out like him? but the moment you pop that big headed little fucker out of you, toji can't help but grin, that excitement of being a father and creating memories with this tiny little thing erasing all his fears.

whenever you come home from work, toji's usually in the living room with little megumi, who forced him to take part in the exercise part of his favorite kids show. you don't know how megumi, your one year old baby who still talked in little babbles, forced his massive giant of a father who could kill a man with a look to do 'exercise for baby,' but you know better than to question it when you see the two touching their toes in front of the tv.

sometimes, he's in the kitchen, however, wearing that 'kiss the cook' apron you got for his birthday. toji always wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into a kiss, muttering a 'welcome home’ against your lips before poking your side and going back to what he was doing, proud grin on his face at the little screech he gets from you.

he's started to get better at dodging your hands when you go to poke him back, skirting around the table before going to scoop megumi up. “you would never do such an act in front of 'gumi, would you? what if he starts going around poking girls in their sides, hm? then i'll have to explain to his teacher that his mama can't keep 'er hands to herself.”

toji's got you there...so you back off, opting to press a kiss to babygumi’s little forehead, taking him from your husband’s arms when he makes grabby hands at you. you savor the betrayed look on toji's face, sticking your tongue out at him. he scoffs, rolling his eyes before going back to make sure dinner wasn’t burnt. he’ll get you back for stealing his son from him.

despite what people might think, there’s not really a 'dominant' person in the relationship. when together, the two of you give off some of the most intimidating vibes because of the sheer power the both of you carry. it's not even put off by little megumi, because if he notices his parents looking at you in disgust, he's gonna give you one that's even worse.

toji will never forget the day the three of you went to the grocery store, him in his usual black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, you in one of those same shirts and leggings with megumi in the kiddie seat in the shopping cart, eating from the little snack pack toji made for him. toji swears he walked away for three fucking seconds, and he came back to some...fucker getting ready to chat you up. it’s no surprise anyone that he gets pissed, ready to storm over there and make it clear you're taken.

however, it's clear you don't need him to step in, and damn, you look...really hot telling this dude off, angrily flashing your ring when he wouldn't back off. god, he wishes he could marry you again. toji doesn’t even know what you told the guy, and he's tempted to playfully ask megumi what happened, knowing his lil' man would try to respond in babbles and coos.

“he said you crawled out from the trash, toj, i can't stand for that! he could’ve done you some justice and said you crawled out of the deepest pits of hell, so I had to educate him on that. besides, he called you my boyfriend and I almost punched his face.”  “yeah? hm, i’m glad you didn’t, babe, we don’t want to get kicked out the store.”  “i don’t know, i think an imprint of my ring in his forehead would get the message across.”  “well, next time, how about we just kiss like we haven't seen each other in 15 years? not a fan of showing out to some dude, but i'd do it for you, sweetheart.”  “mmn!”  “right, lil' man? mama's so mean t' me, it's a good idea.”  “gumiiii, you're supposed to be on my side!”

occassionally, when you're at work, toji'll just talk to megumi, the little one nice and comfy on his chest.

one habit he'll never get out of is randomly calling you throughout the day when he's particularly bored and missing you. if you don't answer, toji will just leave you a message, usually about how badly he wants you to come home, groaning about how tired he is but he can't sleep without you in his arms, without you playing with his hair until he falls asleep. he's so in love with you, it's almost makes you dizzy.

you'll never forget the day you come home to toji and baby megumi in the front yard, crouched down around...something. parking in the driveway, you make your way over and see what they're looking at. it's...a kitten and a puppy, two tiny little things playfighting with each other. neither one of them say anything, just looking at the two creatures. you sigh, knowing exactly what this means.

"...give them appropriate names and make vet appointments. we aren't naming the dog 'hot dog' and we aren't naming the cat 'kitten'." "i told you it would work, lil' man."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

The Feast!

Inspired by this post

Danny, now an adult, works as an engineer and tech developer for Wayne Enterprises. One day, he has to bring his daughter, Ellie, into work with him. Ellie’s school had been temporarily shut down after a rouge attack, and the campus isn’t yet safe for the students to return to.

Danny had been ready to call into work to request the time off he’d need to watch his daughter until the school could be re-opened. However, his bosses seemed to be aware of the situation, and the predicament faced by many of the parents who worked for them. And a company wide email was sent out advertising Bring Your Kid To Work Day! Wayne Enterprises was offering all employees with children too young to be left home alone unsupervised the opportunity to bring their children in to work with them for the week, as that was the timeframe thus far given for when the school would be safely up and running again.

Danny is relieved that he wouldn’t need to take any unpaid time off. Nor try to find a last minute babysitter who’d A: Danny could trust to watch his little star, and B: be willing and able to watch her.

When he tells her about coming to work with him, Ellie is ecstatic! She gets to see where her dad works! And she gets to meet his work-friends! She’s so excited! She wants to make a good impression, so when Danny has gone off to begin cooking dinner, Ellie begins to make plans.

The next day, Ellie has woken up early and already gotten herself ready. She decided to wear a large poofy jacket and a pink too too over the top of her jeans. She has her backpack, filled with things to entertain her.

Once they’ve arrived and Danny has introduced Ellie to a few of his co-workers and some of their own children on the way to his desk. Along the way, Danny and Ellie pass by several offices and a we meeting rooms. It’s in one of these meeting rooms that Ellie spots her first target.

She quickly slips into the room before Danny can notice she’s run off and approaches the young man, teenager?, hunched over some papers reading intently. He’s got bags under his eyes that rivalled Danny’s back when he was still actively protecting Amity. He looks like he’s living off of nothing but caffeine and spite alone, and hasn’t had a proper nights sleep in months.

None of the other various businessmen and women in the room have noticed her presence yet, as she silently wanders up to the sleepy boy-man. She reaches into her pocket and just as she’s about to pull out her little gift, Danny has burst into the room frantically having noticed his child has slipped away. Again.

All eyes are on Danny as he apologises profusely for the intrusion, swooping in to take Ellie’s hand. He’s still apologising, now to the sleepy boy-man who is looking at Ellie in awe, like he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed her enter the room.

While her dad was still rambling Ellie quickly pulls an orange from her pocket and hands it to the boy-man. He takes it with a curious and perplexed look on his face.

“Ellie,” Danny sighs, “not again.”

Ellie grins and reaches into her jackets to pull out another orange. Danny swipes it before she can hand it to the businessman sitting next to the boy-man. She pulls out another one, and as Danny is grabbing it she slips from his grip and ducks under the table. Ellie runs to the centre of the room and unzips her backpack. She tips it upside down, and what looks to be 20 oranges spill out and roll across the floor.

With a feral grin, Ellie picks up an orange and throws her hands into the air in triumph, and shouts. “LET US FEAST!”

[ficmenrhot]

Minors DNI

Late night thoughts but…

Imagine Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who was instantly enchanted by you the second you walked onto base wearing an innocent smile and a short skirt barely doing anything to hide your soft, plush thighs. You looked so out of place with your baby pink colours as you flounced amongst the tall, strong soldiers and pecked your dad, his Captain, on the cheek with a small grin that flashed your dimples. He groaned quietly, thankful for his balaclava to mask his slipped-up noise though the print of his hardened erection straining against the materials of his pants was undeniably prominent. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Later when his Captain, Price, called him over for a proper introduction, he played the facade of a restrained gentleman and even reached out his hand for you to shake (which he would’ve never offered to anyone else). Secretly, he just wanted to see the difference of your smaller palm swallowed beneath his larger, calloused hand, already mentally picturing the image of what your manicured nails would look wrapped around his cock.

“Princess, this is one of my best man. Meet Ghost,” introduced Price. Simon swore he saw your lashes flutter as you gazed up at him, tinted cheeks with pretty plump lips pulled into a small shy smile he couldn’t wait to corrupt.

“Call me Simon, luvie,” he drawled, his voice a deep yet velvety timbre which made an odd flutter erupt in your stomach.

Who could’ve blamed you when you ended up pinned against the wall in Simon’s room, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, his large hands cupping your bared ass as he rutted into you like a bitch in heat. He just seemed so nice….and if your dad had trusted him to bring you safely to your temporal stay after dinner, then why couldn’t you?

How convenient was it that his room was right besides yours? It wasn’t that he forced another soldier to swap with him for the night by abusing his authority.

A goodnight kiss grew heated when his gentle hold on your cheek turned into a grip around your neck, pulling your smaller frame against his toned muscles, letting you feel how much he’d been craving you the entire time since your arrival.

“You feel this, luvie? Can you feel how hard you make me, little tease?”

“Gonna be a good doll for me and help me feel better hm?”

His face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling in your sweet scent and wishing he could engrave the sound of your soft whimpers, desperate moans and pleas into his mind as he stretched you out so good…pounding roughly into your tight heat with long, hard strokes that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, digging faint crescents into his broad shoulders.

Sure, your cervix may have been bruised for the next few days, but the ache was worth it for the most life-changing marathon of blissed orgasm he gifted you. Lengthy fingers thrusting and curling against your sweet spot, his balaclava lifted high enough to attach his lips to your swollen clit, sucking and licking so expertly and tongue-fucking you into oblivion. Lapping at you to taste your sweet nectar after he brought waves of pleasure to wash over you again and again, then again.

“Little pussy so fucking warm and tight, mhm,” he groaned almost gutturally, “made to be fucked…made to be mine.”

“Know what this means, luvie? You’re tied to me now…forever mine to use and spoil and love…”

Simon delivered a small, firm squeeze to your neck when you responded with an incoherent mewl and not words.

“Say it.”

“…ah..nghm…” you were a whimpering mess, mind completely hazed with pleasure at this point, legs shaking, “…yours to use…and spoil and…love”

“That’s right, that’s my good luvie.”

With one final thrust of his hips and a low grunt, he released, filling you to the brim with warm, spurts of his cum and ensuring you were stuffed full with his sticky seed.

Now that Simon had a taste, he would be crazy to let you go. He was a man of many things but never a liar, and indeed, he’d intended to keep his promise of making you forever his.

Much to his satisfaction, the next time you returned to base after a few months, you were more than just a visitor for his Captain but his girl…

And when you ran up to kiss his cheek, he noticed, the slight curve of a bump forming beneath your soft pink sundress.

——————

A/N: Has it been a year? I don’t know, but I’m back and I’m in my COD era! Hope you enjoyed reading this. All likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated, so are comments!

[thinkinonsense]

Sit Still｡𖦹°‧

—gif credit: not mine!! i can't remember where i found it but if i can find it again or the owner comments, ill add their username <3

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: cockwarming (sorta?), innocence kink, p in v, logan attempts to teach reader how to ride.

a/n: apologies for this being so short but chapter two of bewitched should be out friday or saturday! also i'll be responding to some requests soon too in case i spam lmao

"a-are you sure 'bout this, lo?"

your timid voice echos around the bedroom, capturing logan's attention again. he's been dreaming for months of this sight in front of him; you sitting pretty in his lap, only wearing a pink lacy bra and a pair of matching panties.

"you want me to make you feel good, right sweetheart?"

a small sigh escapes you as you attempt to grind onto him again. logan places his large hands on your waist to stop you from wiggling around. he knows you can't help it, you're still new to this after all.

it started a month ago when you and logan were left alone together in the mansion. everyone was on a field trip a couple hours away. you were recovering from a cold and logan simply didn't want to chaperone. instead, he offered to stay back with you.

late one evening, he came in to check on you and ask if there was anything you needed. that's when you asked him the question that nearly killed him, 'will you take my virginity?' you didn't see a problem with it. the two of you weren't strangers, you trusted logan, and he obviously has experience since he's much older than you.

ever since that night, you two have been going at it like rabbits. tonight, logan promised to help you get used to being on top. more importantly, training you to take him from this angle.

"c'mon, baby..." he coos with one hand on your hip and the other holding a cigar to his lips. "do it just like i told ya'."

swiftly, logan removes the rest of the material between the two of you before resting back against the mattress. anxiously, you line him up to your entrance and slowly sink down until you're sat fully on his lap again.

"nice 'n slow for me, sweetheart. that's it, stay still..." logan hums, lost in your tight, wet heat. he can hear every little noise coming from your lips. "atta girl."

it's a struggle to take all of him at once. you can feel him deep in your gut, nudging that sweet spot inside of you. logan can tell that your nerves are still tangled in knots, practically strangling his cock.

"lo, i c-can't do it." you huff, upset at yourself. "too full to move."

"poor fuckin' baby." logan teases with faux sympathy. "how 'bout we try something else for now?"

too caught up with the soft grind of his hips, you nod your head mindlessly to his proposal. logan brings his thumb to his lips, replacing the cigar which is now back on the nightstand. he sits up, making you whimper as he does so. you lean forward to capture his lips with your own, whispering how badly you needed him to just fuck you himself. instead, logan's got something else in mind.

"ah!" you gasp as he starts to rub your button with the wet pad of thumb. "f-fuck, right there..."

the soft rocking of your hips makes your toes curl and fingers pull at his little kitten tuffs. logan's mouth moves south to your chest. one nipple in his mouth then the other until both are swollen and kiss bitten. vibrations pour from his mouth as he groans at the tight squeezing of your cunt around his girth.

"ah-ah." he tsks, hand coming up to grip your jaw, pinching your cheeks together gently. "what did i say 'bout staying still?"

"s-sorry, lo.." you whimper voice muffled by your squished pouty lips.

despite having incredible stamina, logan was ready to release just from looking at your pretty face. he never been this close to cumming so soon but feeling you tense around him and wiggle in his lap made his head spin. all of this movement from only his thumb drawing circles.

"christ..." he grunts in your ear, moving faster now and with more pressure. "you're tryin' a kill me, sweetheart."

all logan gets in response is incoherent babbles of 'don't stop' and 'please, please, please'. he knows you are close when you claw at his back and start to bounce on him little by little, just enough to make you see stars. it all feels too much yet not enough at the same time. logan's circles start to get sloppy as he approaches his high too.

"l-logan!" you squeal, heavy eyes trying to focus on his face. "wanna feel you..."

in a rush, logan picks up the pace, torturing your button with his thumb. a loud moan falls from your lips, trying to wiggle out of logan's grip as your orgasm washes over you with intense euphoria. logan growls in your neck from your tight fucking grip on his cock, pumping his load inside of your walls. some of it spilling out of you and drenching the sheets.

the two of you catch your breath in silence for a moment. your nails scratch his scalp softly while logan pulls you down to kiss him. after a second, you move back, smiling down at him in a way that makes him harden again.

"thought you were gonna show me how to ride?" you tease.

logan shoots you a cocky eyebrow raise before leaning back again, one hand on your hip and the other returning to his cigar on the night stand.

"alright, baby..." he chuckles, re-lighting the cigar and paying little attention to the roll of your hips. "let me see what you got."