I don't care what anyone says, I WILL NEVER agree with the decision to have Steven "With You 'Til The End Of The Line" Rogers ABANDON his best friend to go with Peggy. Fuck Marvel for that, respectfully.
“Wouldn’t it be okay to bomb just one newspaper company?”
Kang Soyoung said earnestly.
“Young, female, A-rank! They just won’t shut up! I’m sick of hearing it!”
Read [EXTRA] Empty Spot (part 1) now!
(As stated above, this is only the first half of the extra, and the second half will be posted next Tuesday—see the notes at the start of the chapter.)
Request access to the My S-Ranks translations by sending us your email through our contact form.
pairing: 王奕翔 𝓍 fem!reader
word count: 7,099
tags: angst, fluff, smut, fratboy!nicho, fraternity au, semi-situationship, nerd!reader, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, pet names (pretty, etc), unprotected sex
⌗ lexi's notes: Thank you to @haologram @hannieoftheyear @tyunningism @xomakara and @starryjake for beta-reading this for me!
read more ᵎ!ᵎ
𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𓇬 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!
The following comprise the instrumental families: strings, woodwinds, brass…
Reading over your study guide is impossible in this state, a state you've sat in for almost two hours. Nicholas's stare burns into the side of your face as his fingers rub circles into your palm under the table. You tried to lay it flat on your thigh moments ago, but the asshole just snaked his hand into yours anyway, his touch too perfect to fight. And he knows it. He also knows how much he screws with your attention when he’s like this, focusing only on you and not on the reason the two of you are spending Friday afternoon in the library.
“We’re gonna fail this exam if you keep doing this,” you tut as you flip to the next page. The sentences from the previous one barely stick in your memory, the words a sepia-toned haze.
"That statement is entirely rhetorical and you know it," he whispers, still creating patterns on your skin that leave a fire in their wake with a smirk that could make you fold ten times over.
Ever since you met Nicholas, he's always been stubborn about his desires, big or small. If it’s something as simple as touching you, he’ll do so without a care for what or who might stand in his way. He doesn’t mind the stares and pays no attention to commentary, cares little for the secondhand consequences that come from his decisions. For all its drawbacks, his willingness to go after anything and everything makes him such a good audio engineering major and confident student.
Just when he's on the cusp of frustrating you, he reminds you why and how he pulls you in so easily, even if he’s not completely yours and you’re not his.
The touches in crowded rooms help, too, even if you'll never admit it.
“Yixi…” you sigh as his hand inches higher, leaving yours in your lap as he runs more curves and swirls into your thigh.
"Have I ever told you how much I love my name when you say it like that, all flustered and shit?"
"We can't do this here," you chide him with a forceful murmur, but it holds no weight when you lean into it, into him, with a small smile on your lips that matches his own.
"Nobody can see us," Nicholas promises as he continues his path upward, toying with the zipper of your jeans. The rings on his fingers clink against your belt, and the sound is almost heavenly. You want to do more, but all the things you envision in your mind still wouldn't be enough. "And I can control myself. Question is if you can, tiánxīn." The term of endearment leaves his lips like water, effortless in its usage but volcanic in its impact.
It clenches at your heart and twists it so beautifully, it almost stops you from remembering all the boundaries you keep crossing. You think most days and nights that, with the way you act around Nicholas and vice versa, you won't come out of the whole arrangement alive.
"No strings," you said in the quiet of your bedroom after that first time three months ago, dead-set on guidelines he would've been stupid not to agree with. He had just broken up with Yeri, and you were too consumed with school and work to think of maintaining a stable relationship.
Every day, you tell yourself it won't last long, even if you spend a secretly copious amount of time entertaining the idea of something beyond the physical with him. You'll become a fleeting memory when he goes back to his ex-girlfriend or finds a new slice one of these days, fading into the shadows of his life filled with fraternity parties, basketball practice, and rich kids. Standing in the peripheral vision of someone as magnanimous as Wang Yixiang is inevitable, predetermined like fate.
It's best to enjoy it while you can, but it's hard to do so when you and Nicholas blur the edges of what it means to be beneficial friends.
Breaking from your thoughts, you realize his lips are a hiccup from yours. One accidental push forward and they'll touch, right there in the library for everyone to witness. From the gleam in his eye, you can tell he couldn't care less. He practically goads you to do it, hiking one eyebrow up at you in jest so you take the ultimate step.
Before you can do so, three people advance towards your study table. You recognize Taki and Maki from miles away, Nicholas's fraternity brothers donning red and bleach-blond hair, respectively. The third person, Nicholas's ex-girlfriend Yeri, is who makes your blood turn cold, her perfectly composed makeup and outfit dominating the entire room.
You retreat immediately from Nicholas's side, going back to staring down at your textbook and scribbling something quickly in the margin to look busy. Nicholas doesn't remove his hand from your jeans, but you feel it flex against your skin like he's just been burned.
"Hey, Nicho," Maki says to Nicholas with a wide smile, his teeth practically blinding. "Was wondering where you ran off to."
Nicholas takes his attention off of you and looks up at the younger kid, suppressing a scowl. "I told you I'd be in the library until 7. It's 5:45," he deadpans, saying the words with a calculated method he's never used with you.
"We were just making sure you remembered to bring the keg since the party's at 8," Taki adds. "I know Study Buddy keeps you busy."
Study Buddy, your official title to the PSI horde Nicholas hangs out with. You should feel hurt by the lack of address, being talked about instead of to like you're not even there. But Riki #1 and #2 don't have two brain cells to rub together, according to Euijoo and Harua, so there's no point in feeling provoked by their tactics.
"And you couldn't tell me that in a text?" Nicholas asks, jaw ticking.
Yeri pipes in with, "She's not coming, is she?" She tilts her head in your direction, black hair swishing, but you just continue reading the same line in your textbook over and over to avoid responding.
Strings, woodwinds, brass. Strings, woodwinds, brass. Fuck Yeri and her lackeys. Strings, woodwinds, brass…
"I don't think you have any business saying who does and doesn't come around my house," Nicholas bites back. "What are you planning on doing there, anyway? Need to find some fresh meat now that Sungho's dropped you? Wasn't it Jungwon last week?"
Yeri's bottom lip purses as she crosses her arms. "Just don't want people hanging around our group that'll feel uncomfortable, obviously."
Nicholas laughs, the sound as artificial as Yeri's nails. He removes his hand from your leg to emphasize the space between him and Yeri animatedly. "We don't have an our anymore. Haven't for a long time now, and I prefer it that way." Nicholas turns back to the red and yellow-haired meatheads with indifference. "I'll bring the beer. Let me get back to studying for my exam, yeah?"
The two guys skitter off as Yeri stomps away, and you exhale the breath you were holding in their presence.
Nicholas inches forward until his chest is flush with your side, invading your space the same way he was before the trio crashed your study session. "You okay?" he asks into the curve of your shoulder, lips stroking the skin like a paintbrush, gentle in its touches.
You nod slightly, the gesture the only thing you can manage. Normally, despite your introverted nature, you rarely let others make you feel small or leave a conversation like that without saying something in your own defense. But what could you possibly say that would make the passive aggressiveness sting less? Were they right? Would it make more sense for Nicholas to be anywhere but right next to you?
"Words, tiánxīn. Are you alright?" His words are so featherlight they clash with the deep timbre of his voice, and all your worries could melt from that alone if you weren't so absorbed by your own doubts.
You turn so you're looking directly at him and nod once more. "They're right, though. I don't belong at some big Psi Sigma Iota party."
"You belong with me," he says. It warms you down to your soles how easily he says those four words. "Even if it's at some trashy fraternity bender."
You giggle. "You know you're talking about your own fraternity, right?"
Nicholas grins and rolls his eyes. "I told you. I only joined because Kei needed a friend during Rush week."
"Right." Out of habit, you run your index finger over his plush bottom lip, no longer concerned with the attention of anyone else in the library, too lost in Nicholas to care about the reactions from your peers.
Nicholas leans into your hand, kissing your skin like it's all he cares to do with his time. "We still have an hour to kill," he says, "and there may be a stack upstairs with our names on it."
"Oh really?" You bite your lip. You used to be the girl who never socialized, stayed glued to books like it was her job, and kept her circle small. Now, Nicholas has you contemplating a quickie in a public place with serious intentions of accepting his offer.
As you pack up your stuff with a lust-clouded brain, you know for sure this thing with Nicholas can only end two ways, and you pray he won't leave you broken in the aftermath.
Yeri finds you before your next Musicology class with a deep grimace on her face. It was bad enough your shift at the coffee shop ended with a customer threatening to throw their "incorrectly-made" iced macchiato at you, but seeing Yeri now leaves an even worse taste in your mouth.
"This thing you have with Nicho, what is it?" she asks with no preamble. You appreciate her willingness to get straight to the point, but you're still taken aback. It's been ninety-days, ninety-five if you were being technical, since they had anything to do with each other. And they dated for only six months, which Nicholas called "some of the worst of his life."
"What are you, his mother?" You chuckle, mystified. "And I don't know what you're talking about, anyway."
"Don't play dumb."
"Not that it's any of your concern, but we're just study partners. Nothing more."
"You let study partners get that close to you in the library?" She blows out a breath. "Better be careful. Your reputation as the meek little nerd'll be over in a flash if you keep that up."
You take a step forward, boots landing hard on the tile floor of the hallway. Yeri's thrown off kilter by your advance, and it makes you smirk. "I suggest you go back to wherever your Lambo is parked and mind your fucking business."
She scoffs and makes her way to the glass doors of the building. Before she goes, high heels clacking like nails on a chalkboard, she holds one door so she can turn and say, "Just know that you're not the first person he's taken to the stacks. And you'll gain more than your fair share of the freshman fifteen if you keep eating takeout from Choi's."
Your eyes widen before you can stop them, your reaction being exactly what Yeri wants to see. She leaves you to stew with a smug grin on her face, getting the last word that knocks you off your feet.
You feel your heart crawl into your throat, the name of the fast-food restaurant you and Nicholas often frequent ringing in your ears. Choi's is one of the best spots in town within an affordable price-point, you reason. It has nothing to do with Nicholas's past. But how much do you really know about him, anyway? What important details have you gleaned from the ninety-five days he's spent in and out of your bed?
You hear Nicholas call your name from the other end of the hallway, and you can see his pink hair flowing without having to look back at him. You let the worries of your mind fall away when you turn around, plastering a smile on your face before he can question it. "Hey."
"We're gonna be late. You didn't have to wait for me." He pulls you in softly by the neck and kisses your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. It's another display of affection entirely out of the bounds of normal for your relationship, but you give in to it like you always do, because it feels nice to let yourself get swept up in him and his attention. To allow him to hold you close and keep the shadows away for as long as possible.
"We still on for studying after you get out of Humanities later?"
Your face scrunches up at his question. "I thought you had basketball practice after school."
"Was gonna skip it. Figured we could run by Choi's, split the galbitang you like."
You gulp a hefty breath of air at the sound of that name and hold the strap of your backpack tighter to your chest. "Maybe another night. I'm actually not feeling too well."
Nicholas runs a hand over the place he just kissed and laughs after another beat. "You're not running hot or anything."
"No, i-it's probably just a stomach bug. Euijoo wasn't feeling that great at the coffee shop this morning either."
Nicholas's smile slowly fades, comfort turning into confusion. "What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"I know you, I can tell when you're not being honest." He presses his fingers to your face before cupping the left side of your jaw in his hand. "Your bottom lip quivers right before you lie."
Damn Nicholas Wang and his perceptiveness. You close your eyes, trying your hardest not to let the entire truth spill out of your mouth.
"Talk to me, tiánxīn," he says with raw sincerity, his eyes burning golden brown.
"Just got into it with Yeri, but I'm fine. It was nothing."
"It's not nothing if it's got you worked up like this." He runs his thumb across your cheek in slow circles and frowns. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
"And say what? I'm not your girlfriend, Yixi. You don't need to stick up for me."
Something flashes over his face, his frown set into something firmer, sadder and more solid. "Right." He steps away from you an inch, and it feels like a chasm has erupted between you.
You sigh. "Can we just forget this happened and go to class, please?"
"Sure, yeah, whatever you want." His words are clipped, straight to the point, but you know him the same way he does you. His emotions bleed through everything, as much as he tries to deny it. And you know he's pissed.
He says nothing throughout class, and you feel worse somehow for not hiding your conversation with Yeri better. Then you wouldn't be in such a predicament right now, worried about what Nicholas is thinking as you both write down notes you barely need.
Once your professor lets you out of class, Nicholas mutters something about not wanting to be late for practice, and your heart sinks watching him walk away with tense shoulders and not a single glance back at you.
You found him in the music room a week after the fall semester started, and a week before your relationship would change forever.
He was playing a song you didn't recognize on the piano, one with a beautiful melody that bled into a faster-paced bridge.
"I'm sorry," you said when he caught you staring, interrupting his playing. "I was looking for Mrs. Lee, and I just—"
"No, it's fine, really." His small smile sent a shot straight to your heart; your new classmate was not as scary as you initially predicted from his chocolate brown eyes, deep voice, and even darker clothing. "I was almost done anyway. You're in my Musicology class, right?"
You nodded, grinning. "Yeah, I sit in the back most of the time. Didn't think you noticed me."
He nodded back and ran his fingers along the keys in front of him. "It's hard not to notice you when you get all of the professor's questions right. We just started and you're showing everyone up already."
You blushed. "That wasn't my intention."
"No! It's okay, I like it."
He beckoned you to come closer, and you hesitated for a moment. You knew he had a girlfriend, her presence made known in the times you saw Nicholas entering class and Yeri running back to her own with a scowl on her face.
You sat down next to him on the bench and avoided brushing his shoulder with your own. "I'm Y/N."
"I know," Nicholas said with a smirk. "I'm Yixiang. But most people call me Nicholas. You can call me whatever you want."
He held his hand out for you to take, and his palm was so warm in yours, you should've known from that moment on that he would become far more than your seasonal classmate.
"This is a bad idea," Euijoo comments as you drag him by the hand into the fraternity house, PSI lit up with rambunctious partygoers and flashing neon lights. There's almost no room for the two of you to walk inside, but you make do in your efforts to grab drinks immediately from the island in the kitchen. You heard offhand comments from classmates about the party, and being off of work tonight gave you the perfect excuse to bring along your friend as a buffer.
"Come on, we don't have to stay for long! I just thought it'd be fun," you comment, although it's partly a lie.
You haven't spoken to Nicholas in two days, the longest you've gone without communication since you started spending time with him. You miss him so much it makes your muscles ache. It wouldn't hurt to scout the party for him to see what he's been up to, and if he's spending his night with someone who isn't you.
You search past the throng of people for Nicholas, recognizing some of his fraternity brothers in your search for him. There are some kids making out, others taking hits of joints, and a few even sleeping in the recliner chairs around the room. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot him against the wall with a beer in his hand, talking solemnly with a younger kid you don't know.
His hair is now dyed red, a stark color against the blue and purple lights strewn about the living room. He's wearing a tank top with a pair of baggy cargo jeans, the fit so perfect on him it's almost unfair. You yearn to go up to him and put your fingers through the loops of his pants, to pull him as close to you as possible and kiss him so everybody knows whose name he calls at night.
You're about to take the trek over to Nicholas's spot when Yeri comes up in the crowd to talk to him. He doesn't give her much attention, but he doesn't push her off or tell her to get lost. He splits his attention between his young friend and her, and the sight gnaws at your stomach.
"I don't know what you see in him," Euijoo comments from over your shoulder.
You take a sip from your solo cup to steady your nerves. "He's different from the others. You don't get it."
"You're right, I don't."
"He really is, Juju. I bet you would get along if you got to know him," you suggest, but you know your best friend won't go for it. You're more extroverted than Euijoo, but not by much, and he keeps his circle even tighter than yours.
"Maybe. I just hope you know what you've gotten yourself into," Euijoo comments before drinking from his own cup.
When you turn your attention away from Euijoo to point back at Nicholas, you find him already staring at you with a soft smile on his face. Meeting his eyes, his brown orbs twinkling in a way they weren't during his conversation moments before, the hairs at the back of your neck stand up. Your body buzzes from more than just the booze, and you wonder how much longer it'll take for him to cross the distance between you.
In the next second, he whispers something in his friend's ear before bee-lining over to you, his smile widening. "I didn't know you were coming."
"Surprise?"
He chuckles and kisses you on the cheek, his breath smelling of mint gum and whiskey. It's not a combination you would think to pair together, but because it's Nicholas, you think he can make any scent appealing. "Come with me."
You tell Euijoo you'll be back soon before following behind Nicholas, your hand wrapped tightly in his. You know he's leading you to his bedroom upstairs, but Maki stops you both before you even make it to the staircase.
"Nicho, Study Buddy! We were just about to play TDB."
"TDB?" you ask curiously.
"Truth or Dare or Bottle," Maki responds, "Not the greatest name for a game, but it's fun! Mixes Spin the Bottle and Truth or Dare together." He waggles his eyebrows, and some part of you worries how well this game ends up going for its participants.
"We don't have to if you don't want to," Nicholas says in your ear.
"No, let's do it. I'm down to play," you say, because it's true. Perhaps taking part in their pedestrian games will help you be seen as an equal in Nicholas's group rather than an outsider.
"Perfect!" Maki exclaims.
He motions with his drink for you both to join him in the sitting room off of the main hallway, and you see the group of people willing to play on the floor around the sectional. "Alright, two new players!"
You and Nicholas sit next to each other, and you scoot in closer when Yeri steps into the room with a lipstick-lined grin. She doesn't say a word, but she doesn't need to.
The game goes like normal, a handful of dares and truths passed around between the group that make some of you laugh or gag, or both. By the time your turn is up, you steel your nerves and pick "Truth" to be safe.
"How many guys have you slept with in the past six months?" Yeri asks abruptly, her cheshire grin spreading.
Nicholas flicks his head in her direction and gives her a piercing glare, but you put your hand on his shoulder to quell him.
"One," you answer. You take a swig of your beer and swallow down your irritation.
"Your turn, Nicho," Taki says.
Nicholas chooses dare, and you see Yeri pounce before anyone can stop her.
"Tell us how many people you've slept with in the past six months, Nicho." She says the nickname with venom, her remaining words breathy in their delivery.
"What the fuck, Yeri?" Maki asks, confused why she's taking it so far.
"I could probably answer for him, actually," she says with a laugh when Nicholas remains silent. "There was me, a lot. That one girl Chaewon you wanted to have a threesome with but didn't tell me about until after we had that break, so that's two. Oh! And we're forgetting—"
"Yeri, shut the fuck up before I drag you out of here," Nicholas warns, his jaw tensing and the muscles in his shoulders flexing hard.
"That's not even including how many girls he's kissed in between all of that," Taki interjects with a small laugh.
You feel incredibly exposed, unsure how to go about moving forward with such information Nicholas didn't give you the courtesy of knowing. You leave the circle immediately and run to the nearest doorway, trying to find your way out of the house with what feels like a million eyes on you. The urge to throw up is present in your gut, but you don't and won't feel safe to do so until you're back in your room away from the chaos of the party. You don't even try to find Euijoo; you just run.
But you're not the only one running.
Nicholas calls your name as he follows you out of the house and onto the front yard.
"Wait, goddamnit!" Nicholas yanks you back in by the hand. He runs his arms long your sides, terrified to let you go before he can explain himself, but it's all static in your ears. "Don't listen to their bullshit, please? It's not important."
"It is to me," you croak, stunned and shattered. "I feel like I don't know you."
Nicholas tries to reach out and touch your face, but you flinch. His own expression sets in a firm line, although it remains soft at the edges. "I'm me, tiánxīn. I'm your wise-ass study partner, remember?"
You shake your head, tears falling down your face rapidly. Some folks on the lawn are looking at you with confusion and pity, but you don't care right now. Not when your heart is breaking. "So I'm just supposed to let all the things I heard in there slide? Believe you when you say I'm enough for you when that's clearly not the case?"
With each question, your voice goes up a decibel, the alcohol making you brave in the face of all of your insecurities bubbling up to the surface.
"All of that stuff was before I ever met you. It has nothing to do with us."
"Sure." You bite down on your lip so hard the skin threatens to bleed.
"Think about it, Y/N. How many girls have I looked at since I've started seeing you?" he barks. "None, not a single one. I don't need anyone else, or want anyone else. All I want is everything I have with you."
"Why, because I fuck you too well for you to look elsewhere? And when that's not enough, what then?" You shed more tears as you shield yourself with your arms, stepping further away and staving off any attempts for Nicholas to break through the barriers of your fears.
He yanks at the sweaty ends of his hair, exasperated. "After all the time we've spent together, you think that all I care about is getting my dick wet?"
You say nothing, your tongue feeling like cotton and voice hoarse from exertion. Your silence is all he needs to hear, anyway.
His eyes burn as he says, "If you really think the only thing I want from you is sex—that all I see you as is some girl to screw around with—then you should just go. Now!" He raises his hand toward the lamp-lit street behind you, his arm shaking with anger.
You take another step back, stunned at how matter-of-fact he's being. The only thing that keeps you from falling apart all over the front lawn of the PSI house is Euijoo's hand suddenly clasping your arm. "Let's just leave, alright?"
The last picture you have of Nicholas is his chest heaving and his face wet from a mixture of sweat and tears, and you don't know if you'll ever erase such a sight from your memory.
As Euijoo drives you back to your dorm, your heart broken in a million fragments, you realize you should have listened to your friend and never pursued something with a guy like Nicholas.
The week without Nicholas has been painstakingly dull, grey and hollow in all the spaces he used to occupy.
You skipped class twice this week to avoid him and instead took a couple of extra shifts to fill the time, not wanting to waste away in your dorm room with only thoughts of him to make you feel worse. It wasn't much, but it was better than stewing in your misery.
Cut to today, eight days later, and you're somewhat on the mend, still keeping yourself occupied but stuck in an endless loop of suffering through the tint of Nicholas clouding your thoughts.
You and Euijoo are cleaning dirty mugs when Maki walks into the café, hoodie pulled up to fight the rain. Euijoo immediately steps in front of you before you can say anything, shoulders squared and expression gruff. "Whatever bullshit you're about to spew, I suggest you get out of here now before you're thrown out."
"All I want is a coffee man, I swear." Maki raises both of his hands in peace, and you put a hand on Euijoo's shoulder to prove you're okay with the younger guy coming inside.
"Just leave us for a second, okay? I'll be fine."
Euijoo flits his gaze between you both before nodding his head, going to the backroom to leave you and Maki alone.
"What can I get you?" you ask first, approaching the register with a steel tone.
"Iced Americano?"
You tap in the order and take Maki's cash from his hands, noticing the slight tremble in them when you take the bills and coins.
"So, I haven't seen you around," Maki notes as you whip up his order, and your eye roll is all you need to give him to kill his appetite for small talk.
You respond anyway. "Was I supposed to come around after whatever the hell happened that night?"
"I mean— Nicho's just been in a shit mood ever since. Figured it's because something happened between the both of you."
You say nothing following that comment, your heart sore from hearing Nicholas isn't faring any better than you are right now.
You hand Maki his drink, the cup already sweating from the melting ice, and he thanks you for the speedy service.
Before he leaves, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a couple of wrinkled pieces of paper and set on the countertop in front of you.
"I'll probably get killed for giving these to you, seeing as they were in the trash, but it's the least I can do after the shit my friends pulled on you before. And you deserve to know how Nicho really feels about you."
He gives you a small smile and walks out of the café, leaving you to read the contents of the documents alone.
One of them is a piece of sheet music, your name written at the top in quick squiggles. Even though the song is unfinished, with only the first few verses and half the chorus written without lyrics, you can still hear the strands of it in your ears as if it's coming through the shop's speakers. It brings a tear to your eye, its beauty enthralling. But what really makes the waterworks come is on the second page, a letter entirely penned with handwriting you could recognize anywhere.
I'm not good at being vulnerable, Y/N, but the one thing you deserve above all else is honesty, so here it goes.
Do you remember the first night you stayed over my place? I snuck you into the fraternity house when everyone was at some dumb sorority party across campus. We spent almost the entire night talking about music, even though we both had class in the morning. We didn't care, getting into it about what makes the perfect melody like we had all the time in the world to break it down together.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like someone saw me for who I was, not the fraternity brother who intimidates most people. It reminded me of when you interrupted me in the music room the first day we ever spoke. I was just a guy with a piano who played a song you were interested in hearing. And you've mesmerized me ever since.
And if I'm being completely honest here, there's another thing you need to know.
I told you before that the reason I broke up with Yeri was that she was getting too clingy and overbearing, and while a part of that was true, another reason we ended things was because of you. Well, because of me, really, and my feelings for you. Yes, I didn't know you very well back then, but what I felt for you in only a few days eclipsed everything I ever felt for her.
I've fallen harder for you every day. I love the way you don't let others' perceptions of me shadow your own, for your silly ramblings about the circle of fifths and that being your favorite form of pillow talk, how you take all of me beyond face value. We may come from different backgrounds, have particular interests, possess unique dreams, but I love that about you, too. About us.
I love you, tiánxīn, more than I've ever loved anyone else and in a way I never have before. I'm terrified once I tell you this, how you see me will change for the worst. Maybe that's why I've been holding this in, because I don't want to lose you. But love means there's always the chance of loss, and what we have is worth the possibility of heartbreak.
My heart is yours anyway. Break it; don't break it. Do with it as you see fit.
You find him in the music room again, a little over a hundred days later, the same song playing from the keys the day you first met.
You stand by as he continues the song, the ending notes of the bridge you remember so vividly piercing the air. It gives way to the final chorus, and it's just as beautiful as the first time you ever heard it. He also looks as devastatingly handsome from the back as he did all those months ago, neck veins on display from the cover of his denim jacket.
Nicholas senses someone behind him, and his shoulders slump before saying, "I'm leaving in a few minutes—" When he turns, finally seeing you there with teary eyes, his face contorts into a subtle but earth-shatteringly solid line. He doesn't know whether to frown or smile at you; you can tell. And he's quiet, deadly so. On your end, you don't know whether to run immediately into his arms or leave him be.
You choose neither, instead standing firm and trying to muster some piece of courage. Pulling the crumpled papers from your pocket, you reread some of Nicholas's writing. "You said that there's always the chance of loss with love, right?"
His eyes widen. "Where did you get that?"
You ignore the question. "Well, I've already lost you once, and I don't want to do it again. Not when the two of us have a lot left to say. Or rather, I do.
"I love you because you're incredibly headstrong, some would say bullheaded, talented by every definition known to man, and devastatingly handsome. Most of all, I love that you don't let the opinions of others guide you. You follow your own heart, your own compass, in a way that I admire every day.
"I love you, Wang Yixiang," you say, voice interlaced with unshed tears. "I've been in love with you for a while now, and I don't want to hide from it anymore."
That's all it takes for Nicholas to leap from the piano bench and launch into your arms. He entangles his hands in your hair and captures your lips in a devastatingly deep kiss, your tongues linking immediately. It's a week's long amount of pain that you spill into each other's mouths, eager to make up for lost time and catch up on what you both have been missing.
When you part, he rests his forehead on yours and smiles so wide it makes your heart ache with relief. "What took you so long, tiánxīn?"
You giggle and peck his lips once more. "I could ask you the same thing, Yixi."
He shakes his head and runs his fingers along your face. "We've been pretty stupid, haven't we?"
You nod, agreeing.
He kisses you again, sweet and slow, before taking your hand in his to leave the music room, going anywhere the wind takes you now that you're together.
Nicholas takes you back to the PSI fraternity house, immediately running up the stairs to his bedroom and caging you against the door. His movements are unrehearsed, unpracticed, yet he touches and kisses like he's done a million times before. As expected, all of it makes your cheeks burn wildly and your body hum for him like a guitar, plucked with the utmost care for him alone to admire.
He runs his tongue along your bottom lip before sinking his teeth into the plush skin. It makes you moan, and he eagerly swallows it with his mouth.
"I missed all the beautiful sounds you make when I'm this close to you, pretty," Nicholas murmurs, running his hands under your shirt to squeeze at your hips.
He shucks the fabric off of your skin and takes off your bra too in order to gain access to the swell of your breasts, toying with one of your nipples with his teeth. He suckles like it's the best thing he's ever felt between his lips, and you writhe in his hold from the small contact alone. Already, he's got you by the throat, your desire for him too deep to measure.
His hands work of their own accord as they go lower, removing your jeans and underwear in one swoop. You're completely naked before him in record time, all while he's still fully clothed.
"Weno," you whimper as his hand finally touches the cleft of your thighs, fingers gathering wetness from the pool of arousal that coats your pussy.
He murmurs in Mandarin So fucking beautiful before he's picking you up into his arms. He lays you down gently onto the bed, covering your body with his own once you're resting comfortably on his mattress.
Nicholas kisses his way down your body, savoring every inch, all while he's discarding his own clothes to put in a heap next to the bed. Denim jacket, tank top, baggy jeans. All of it is discarded by the time his breath is ghosting over your cunt, his underwear the last garment covering his beautiful skin.
He licks a long and deliberate stripe between your legs, stopping with the curl of his tongue at your clit, and you moan unabashedly, eager to let the sinful sounds rip from your throat. "That's it, tiánxīn. Let everyone know who you belong to," Nicholas goads, "Who I belong with."
He buries his face in your pussy, getting his chin and mouth soaked in your essence with the way he messily devours you. It's all building, the heavy feeling in your gut that's almost too much to bear. It's an exercise of restraint not to fall apart so quickly on his tongue after only a few minutes, but how can you not? You're building for him, because of him, to heights that only he's ever been able to take you to.
He slips his fingers inside of you, two ring-covered digits that feel both burning hot and icy cold, and after only a few moments of him scissoring you open and toying with your clit, you fall apart on his tongue. You feel boneless by the time he removes his face and hand from your pussy, but you know he's not done. Not even close.
"Open those beautiful legs for me, pretty. I want one more outta you," he commands with a sultry tone as he uncovers himself, his dick smacking against his abdomen with pre-cum pearling at the tip. Without question, you spread them wide for him to slide between.
He glides inside with ease after he lines himself up with your entrance, panting into your mouth at the feeling of you squeezing him tightly the second he slips in. "Fuck, I missed you," he says, his eyes boring into yours with raw emotion.
You keen under him and wrap your legs around him tighter, wanting him as close as possible. "I love you," you whisper into his mouth.
"I love you more," he replies before thrusting his hips sharply. You gasp into his mouth with every snap of his lower half into you, and you clamp down on his arms with your hands to take all the force he's giving you. Reaching your peak, you're unsure if you're unraveling so fast because of how long you've been without him or not, but you don't care. You want to fall apart again sooner rather than later.
"That's it, pretty, take all of it," he grunts when he bottoms out for the umpteenth time. "Such a perfect pussy, wrapped so tight around me."
"Jesus, Weno, I need to come," you whine on his tongue.
"Do it, tiánxīn. I'm close too, want to come with you," he pants. He quickly presses his hand between your bodies to flick at your clit hard and fast, and the cusp of your climax comes. You see white feverish light behind your eyes as you let your body burn in the throes of your orgasm.
Nicholas follows behind with breathless moans of your name and curses, spilling so deeply inside of you that you can feel the warmth of his release in your bones. He doesn't slide out of you, even when his hips slow. He stays intertwined with you as he rolls you both over. His back sticks to the bed as you stretch your body across the top of his, worn out but glowing.
"So, I guess this means I'm your girlfriend now, right?" you ask rhetorically once you've both caught your breath, quirking an eyebrow up at him.
Nicholas chuckles and squeezes you tightly against his chest. "If you know what's good for you. You're all mine now, tiánxīn," he whispers into the shell of your ear before kissing your temple.
As if I wasn't already yours, you think to yourself as you drift. In the moments before slumber takes you, you realize you've never felt more at home in your life than when you're in between Nicholas's arms. And when your eyes close for the night, knowing you'll wake up to the man who calls himself yours, you know your dreams cannot compare to the reality that is right now.
summary: standing ovulation, or whatever they say. (or, in other words, you want clark to fuck a baby into you)
wc: 4.2k
genre/tags: husband!clark, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, smut, p w/lil plot, no protection is used (the fic is based off juno by sabrina carpenter....we're talking babies here), feral!clark, breeding kink, slight praise kink, p in v sex, fingering, dry humping/grinding, making out, big dick!clark ofc
notes from auddie: in celebration of sab's album coming out tn, have this fic inspired by one of my fav songs hehe. this is a little break from my super long beast plot-driven fics and was super fun to write! ...and i need clark as my husband stat.
you don't mean to be staring, but how could you not?
clark's standing at the dresser across from your shared bed, back turned to you, pulling off his shirt – slow and casual, as if he doesn't know what he's doing to you.
he's talking about something mundane – leads at work he wants to pursue, perry's latest rant, jimmy's recent fling – but you can't hear a word of it.
all you see are the deep lines of his back muscles, the slope of his shoulders, the way his biceps flex when he drags the fabric over his head.
he tosses the shirt into the hamper in the corner of your bedroom and finally turns to you, probably to ask why you haven't given any input in the time he's been speaking. it's an odd occurrence, being that he's usually the listener between the two of you.
you feel your pulse spike when his hands move to the buckle of his leather belt, skillfully pulling the material from the loops of his slacks.
"am i boring you?" clark asks, quirking a brow upward at your silence.
it takes a minute for his words to register in your brain, slowly blinking back to his attention, humming absently, "hm?"
his eyes narrow slightly and you can read his expression. he's using his damn super vision to determine if anything was biologically wrong with you. therefore, he'll be quick to know that–
"you're staring," he says, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"no, i'm not," you lie. plain as day.
clark's brow lifts, playing along. "no? you've said nothing for two whole minutes."
"i'm allowed to enjoy the view in my own home," you shoot back, tone pitched too high. too innocent. or, at least, a poor attempt at sounding innocent.
clark chuckles, walking closer to the foot of the bed. he still hasn't bothered to put on a shirt – he knows exactly what he does to you. "you, mrs. kent, are insatiable," he murmurs.
"excuse me," you scoff, trying to appear nonchalant but you know the pounding of your heart betrays you. "you're the one walking around looking like that. shirtless. muscles out. like i'm not supposed to be drooling."
"you're married to me," he reminds you, all calm, climbing up onto the bed. "you've seen it a thousand times."
"and it never gets less rude."
he laughs again and then he leans in to kiss you.
it's supposed to be a sweet kiss to your lips, but the second his mouth brushes yours, you surge forward, grabbing his jaw and pulling him closer.
and clark, the most attentive lover there can be, adapts to your eagerness, allowing you to guide him to lean back against the headboard.
"baby," he murmurs against your lips when you climb into his lap.
"you're literally obscene," you mumble, trailing kissing along his jaw and down his neck. "looking like that everyday," you add, grounding your hips against his lap, already feeling the stirring within his slacks.
clark groans, soft and choked, as his grip tightens around your hips, instinctively squeezing the flesh there. "i was just trying to talk to you about work," he manages, his voice raspier now.
"you can tell me after," you breathe, "i need you right now."
clark kisses you like he's trying to be patient, but you feel the way his hands grip tighter, his breathing grows heavier, like he's holding back because he knows what happens when he doesn't.
and honestly, you're waiting for that patience to snap.
you grind down once in his lap, just to test him. just to see.
he groans, low and rough like you lit a match in his chest.
"jesus, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips, hands gripping your hips to still you. "what's gotten into you tonight?"
"you," you breathe, rocking once more to make sure he feels your neediness. "just you."
he huffs a laugh, though it comes out strained, like he's working harder than usual to keep his composure. "just me, huh?"
"always you," you whisper, eyes wide and desperate when they meet his. "but-" you bite your lip, hesitant for only a moment before it all rushes out. "i don't know, clark. lately it's like i can't think about anything else. you, your hands, your mouth... the way you feel inside me."
he stills beneath you, chest rising in a deeper breath as his blue eyes search your face. whatever he finds there – probably sheer desperation – makes his jaw tighten, something tender sparking behind his gaze.
"sweetheart..." his thumb brushes your cheek, his voice low, coaxing. "you've been wound up all day, haven't you?"
heat flares in your chest, down to your stomach, pooling between your thighs. you nod, breath shuddering. "it's worse than usual. i-" your voice breaks as you cling tighter to his shoulders, confessing in a rush, "i keep thinking about... about babies. about you giving me one."
it's true that you'd been thinking about this for a while now. it's only natural, after all! you and clark have been married for two years now, building a home, creating a rhythm that feels so solid it sometimes makes your chest ache with how much you love and adore him.
lately, though, it's been impossible to ignore the way your friends keep announcing pregnancies, showing off ultrasound pictures, or casually dropping that they're "trying." each time, a flicker of longing sparks in your chest – one you usually try to dismiss as typical baby fever. until times like this. when it roars up and consumes you whole when clark is right there in front of you, or in this case, beneath you.
maybe its hormones, maybe its timing – hell, you know you'er ovulating right now, your body practically begging for it – but it doesn't feel shallow. it feels like a need. deep, bone-deep need. and clark is the center of all of it: the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way you know without a doubt he'd be the most incredible father.
and now, you can't stop fantasizing the face of a child with his matching smile. maybe his deep ocean eyes, if you're lucky.
your words hang in the air, hot and heavier than anything you've ever blurted mid-makeout. but clark doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. if anything, his expression softens, though his body underneath you goes taut with a different kind of tension.
"baby..." he breathes, this time not in playful endearment toward you but as if the word itself is sacred on his tongue with its other meaning. his hands steady on your hips, grounding you, even as you feel him hardening beneath you. "is that what you want? really?"
your answer is a quiet, desperate "yes," before you can think better of it. "i've been thinking about it for weeks... months even. all our friends, pregnant or trying... it just- clark, it makes me realize how much i want that with you. with our family. i already know you'd be a great father."
his gaze melts, a mixture of awe and something more primal flickering under his long lashes. "yeah, sweetheart? months?" he murmurs, almost to himself. then he swallows hard, voice dropping to a husky growl. "'ve thought it about it, too. more than i probably should."
you suck in a short breath, brows raising at the lowness of his tone and his words. "you have?"
he hums in confirmation, the sound bubbling in his throat. "yeah," he rasps. his hands, once firm on your hips, glide to your belly, fingers dancing over the fabric of your t-shirt. "thought about you swelled up in here," he murmurs, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to gently caress the skin there.
you shiver at his touch, hips pressing involuntarily into his lap. "clark..." your voice cracks, low and needy, betraying just how much this is all affecting you. your mind is already muddled with a lust-filled haze from ovulation and his words aren't making it any better. the warmth of his hands against your stomach, the idea of him imagining you like this, it makes you ache.
he leans down, brushing his lips over your collarbone, just above the collar of your shirt. each of his kisses are deliberate, teasing. "you want me to make you a mommy?" he murmurs, low against your skin.
his gaze is heated, the grip of your waist nearly bruising from the sheer amount of restraint he's holding inside. he's truly so considerate, gentle in the way he always holds you, despite holding the amount of strength that can easily harm you. but he never does.
to this day, you wonder how he manages it – how someone with the power to move mountains can touch you like you're the most fragile thing in the universe.
but tonight, there's a crack in his usual control, and you can feel it in the way his dingers dig deeper into your waist, the way his breath comes ragged against your collarbone.
he lifts his head and his eyes flicker down to your lips, and then your stomach. you can read his mind clear as day behind his eyes. he's picturing it. you. swollen with his baby, carrying his family. it's as if the image makes something primal twist inside him – and you, too – and when his gaze meets yours again, it's darker. hungrier.
"sweetheart..." his voice is a rasp, reverent and rough at the same time. "i'm trying... trying to be careful." his words are emphasized by the way his hands glides up and down your sides, perhaps in a way that prevents him from squeezing you too roughly.
you cup his jaw, forcing him to look at you, grounding him as much as you're urging him on. "you don't have to be careful," you whisper, lips barely grazing his as you speak. "not tonight."
he exhales sharply with a slight groan. his grip tightens, dragging you flush against him until you can feel the full length of his cock straining between you.
"i need you, clark," you insistent, desperation clear in your tone as you rock against him. "i want all of you. everything. no protection."
your words are basically gas to the fire already brewing simmering within him. his head dips, lips crashing against yours, the kiss much rougher now, full of teeth and need. his hands roam with more urgency, no longer holding back as he palms your ass, dragging you against him.
the kiss grows messy, your breaths tangling together and his tongue hot and insistent against yours. he groans deep in his chest when you grind down against him harder and then, all of a sudden, you're no longer in his lap.
with one fluid motion, clark flips you on your back, the mattress dipping under his weight as he cages you in. your gasp breaks the kiss, but his mouth is persistent, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and throat.
"clark–" you manage, breathless and clutching his shoulders.
"sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin, his voice raw. his hands slide beneath your shirt, dragging it upward to your neck, palms warm as they roam up your stomach, ribs, cupping your breasts. "needed you spread out f'me... needed to see you."
he groans as his hands shower attention to your breasts. his thumbs graze your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. "so pretty," he murmurs, reverent as he rolls the hardened peaks between his thumbs and forefingers. "these'll get so big," he adds, groaning to himself as if imagining it – the growth your breasts will have all to do with the eventual pregnancy hormones.
your breath hitches at the idea, arching into his touch as a shiver runs down your spine. "yeah," you agree with a whisper, nodding.
his lips brush against the curve of one breast, feather-light at first, then harder, trailing wet and teasing kisses down to your nipple. he groans against your skin as he swirls his tongue around the pebble, flicking it with practiced precision, all while keeping his gaze locked on yours.
you whine when he gets rougher, biting and nipping at your breast with more fervor, the sharp pleasure making your fingers tangle in his curls.
"so, so perfect," he says, lips leaving a wet trail of saliva down your chest to circle the other nipple with his tongue with equal reverence. his thumb rolls the previous peak, puffy and wet from stimulation.
you writhe beneath him, the need too much between your thighs. you're sure you're soaked through your panties and pants and it's taking all of you to not rip them off yourself. "clark," you whine impatiently, hips bucking upward against the bulge in his slacks.
"alright, alright," he murmurs, his voice bordering a deep growl. his hands drift from your breasts, gliding down your bare sides, sending shivers down your spine, until they reach the waistband of your leggings. with a quick force, he tugs the material down your thighs and calves, pulling them off your feet and tossing it behind him.
in the meantime, you tug the rest of your shirt up above your head and toss it aside.
he growls low in his throat as he slides his hands up the bare skin of your thighs, reaching the apex. one hand dips between your thighs, making contact with the heat of your core through your panties.
his fingers press lightly at first, teasing over the soaked fabric with slow, deliberate strokes. the friction has you gasping and arching, hips lifting into his hand.
he hums, low and rough as he presses harder, the pad of his finger pushing right against your clit through the cotton of your panties. "oh, sweetheart. you're absolutely drenched," he growls, fingers finally tugging aside the material to expose your core to the air. "all dripping for me already... just thinking about carrying my baby, and you're soaking like this for me?"
you moan, the sound raw and needy as you nod, fingers clutching the sheets as he begins teasing you, brushing over your clit with precise, yet slowly agonizing strokes. "mhm, 'm so wet, clark. i want more," you beg, hips bucking into his hand, desperate for more.
he hums in acknowledgment, but even you can tell his patience is fraying. he makes quick movement in tugging your panties down your thighs, also discarding them somewhere on the floor behind him.
with massive hands, he spreads your legs apart, watching as you core clenches around nothing. his hand returns back to your heat, gathering some of your slick with a drag of his hand.
his fingers slide inside you just enough to tease, pressing against your folds while he drags the pad of his thumb over your clit again and again. each motion is deliberate, savoring your wetness. "don't think 've ever felt you this wet before," he muses, voice a mixture of awe and desire. "feel like i could slide right in without prepping you."
"you can!" you're quick to point out, hips twitching eagerly.
you hear him chuckle lowly before dipping a finger past your entrance. "maybe, but that wouldn't make me a gentleman, would it?"
you whine, arching your back restlessly, fingers clutching the sheets. "please... don't tease me. i'm ready," you insist. "want all of you. now."
his laugh is low, vibrating through your as he leans down, lips brushing against your in a fleeting kiss. "my insatiable wife," he murmurs, teeth grazing your lower lip. "so eager..."
you can't help but whimper, nodding when he leans back to look at you. your eyes round with pure want, and your teeth trap your bottom lip.
"who am i to deny my wife when she's asking – begging me to put a baby in her?" he asks rhetorically, leaning back to finally unbutton his slacks. it's a shock how he'd managed to keep his pants on this long with the way his cock is straining against the slim fabric.
he slides his slacks down, freeing himself at last. the head of his cock glints in the dim light of your bedroom, twitching with need, and you breath hitches.
"all this time..." he rasps, voice rough and low as he wraps a hand around himself, stroking himself lazily. "always careful... condoms, always... and now, i get to have you raw."
you gasp as he leans forward, sliding his fat cock between your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. he groans, biting his lower lip as he lines himself up with your welcoming center.
you nearly choke on a moan a the swollen head nudges against your entrance, the sensation sending a shockwave through you without that thin barrier you've alway had between you.
your thighs fall apart even more – if that's even possible – welcoming him in, your hands reaching up to clutch at his broad shoulders.
with a low guttural groan, he sinks the head of his cock past your entrance, stretching you inch by inch. the burn is immediate, overwhelming, but so is the delicious flow of pleasure seeping into you at the feeling of him bare inside you for the very first time.
"oh my," he whines, feeling your heat engulf him in a way he never felt before.
your mouth falls open on a broken moan, nails digging into his shoulders and carving crescents into his skin. every inch feels different, raw and unfiltered, his skin dragging against yours with no barrier between you.
clark shudders above you, arms trembling as he braces himself. "sweetheart..." he breathes, almost reverent, forehead pressed to yours. "you're... wow, you're squeezing me so tight. feels like i'm inside you for the first time all over again."
his voice trembles and your walls flutter at his words, clenching around the thick intrusion as your body adjusts.
he groans low, jaw tight, and you can tell he's fighting the urge to slam the rest of the way inside you.
"clark–" you gasp, voice shaking beneath him. "it's so – ah– s'much!"
"i know, i know, baby." he peppers kisses across your cheeks, the corner of your mouth, your jaw, his hips rocking into you just enough to sink another inch inside you. "just breathe, sweetheart."
the stretch makes your thighs quake, toes curling into the sheets as he pushes deeper, inch by inch. when he finally bottoms out, your whimper turns into a cry, arms winding tight around his neck and pulling him closer to you.
your whines have barely has the chance to fade before clark pulls back, his hips grinding slowly, savoring every bare inch of you.
but, through bleary eyes, you notice something shift within him. something in his face changes; his pupils blown wide, lips parted, breath ragged as if your heat alone snapped some final tether insied you.
"gosh," he groans, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in to the hilt, making the headboard slam against the wall. your cry is loud, broken and desperate, and it only spurs him on. "you're... jesus... you'll take every drop i give you, yeah?"
your nails rake down his back, but the words are stolen from your throat when he suddenly hooks your knees, folding you in half with shocking ease. your thighs press against your chest, body bent open beneath him and you're utterly helpless under the strength of his body.
"clark-!" you gasp, eyes flying wide at the intensity of the position.
"mating press," he rasps, rutting into you hard enough to make the mattress squeal beneath your bodies. "that's what you want, isn't it? me breeding you like this?"
the sound you let out is more a sob than a moan and his grin is feral, sweat dripping down his temples as his hips piston into you, faster, deeper, filling you to the brink every time. the slap of skin against skin fills the room as he finds his rhythm, mingling with your cries and his low growls.
"you're gonna get so full of me... my seed inside you, making you a mom... your belly all swollen. oh, you'll be such a good mom," he rambles between grunts, pushing his cock back and forth into your core.
every thrust drags his cock deeper against your sweet spot inside you, your gummy walls fluttering around him, tightening as though your body is begging to be thoroughly bred.
"i'll take of you so well. y'wouldn't lift a finger at all. leave it to me," he continues, lost in his own words, no doubt playing the image of you both with your little family of your own.
your cries break into a scream – your poor neighbors – when his thrusts turn brutal, his cock slamming into you with single-minded desperation. the angle, the force, the sheer intensity of him above you has your body spiraling too fast to keep up.
"clark– wait! 'm going to-"
"cum for me," he grits out, voice rough. "want you to cum 'round my cock for the first time."
the command tears through you, and you tip over the edge, cleching down around him so hard he chokes on a moan. your release gushes hot against his cock, coating him as you tremble beneath him.
"atta girl, sweetheart. you're doin' so well," he pants, his pace going erratic as he chases his own high. "you were made to be bred by me," he rasps.
when you clamp down again against him, your pussy quivering from the stimulation, his hips stutter.
he gasps, slamming himself all the way to the hilt, holding you down in the mating press as his cock pulses deep inside you. the first hot spill makes you moan, the sensation unlike anything before – thick, raw, flooding you in heavy spurts that seems endless.
clark's head tips back with a low moan as he ruts through it, fucking his cum as deep as he can push it. "take it," he pants, breath shuddering. "take every drop, baby. don't waste a single bit."
you whine at the stretch of him, and you feel the sticky warmth that leaks out around his length, only for him to push it back inside you with another sharp thrust.
he stays locked inside you, while he catches his breath, still holding your thighs up. when he looks back down at you, he's met with your fucked-out expression: lashes fluttering, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and flushed cheeks.
he lets go of your thighs and gently hoists them back down on the bed, making you hiss from the soreness. one of his hands reach up to cradle your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "was i too hard, sweetheart? 'm sorry."
you shake your head firmly, despite your desirousness. "no, you were perfect," you croon softly, your chest heaving as you catch your bearings.
"you took me so well," he murmurs, voice reverent. "so good f'me," he praises.
you reel from the praise, a soft smile lifting your cheeks. you feel his cock twitch inside you, still half-hard within your walls. as if remembering what this was all about, you glance down at your stomach, noting the belly bulge you sport from his cock nestled deep inside you. you hum softly, reaching to pat your belly.
"we're going to be parents," you coo warmly, glowing at the image of you cradling a little baby in your arms.
"yeah," he agrees, his voice a low rasp. with a cheeky grin, he adds, "as long as my seed takes, that is."
you chuckle softly. "given how much you cum, i'd be surprised if it didn't."
he laughs lowly, leaning down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss, one that's much less rough than the prior ones you shared in the past half hour.
when he leans back, you feel his hands rub up and down the skin of your thighs, gently soothing the aching muscles. "we can never be too sure," he rumbles smoothly, eyes glinting mischievously.
i have a feeling i'm not leaving this bed anytime soon.
"not if i can help it," he murmurs. you hadn't realized you said your thought out loud.
he spreads your thighs out, glancing at the your shared juices coating and gathered at the base of his cock. "think you could go a few more rounds, sweetheart?"
despite your exhaustion, your gaze hardens, more determined than anything. "i said i wanted a baby, didn't i?"
clark grins, slow and boyish, leaning back on his knees, letting his gaze rake over you like he's re-memorizing every curve, every line, every inch of your spent body.
then, you notice it – the way his gaze drifts down and stays there, locked on your navel. your stomach tenses instinctively.
"oh my god," you gasp, eyes widening in realization. "don't tell me you're using your x-ray vision to see through me right now."
he smirks, utterly shameless. "gotta make sure i made it into your womb," he murmurs. his casual confidence makes your already trembling knees go weaker.
you laugh breathlessly, a mixture of disbelief and want, and you press your palms against his chest. "clark kent, you are so full of yourself."
"only when it comes to my wife, mrs. kent," he counter, leaning down to nip at your jaw, fingers tracing lazy circles over your belly again. "ready for round two?"
you swallow, heat pooling between your thighs again despite you fatigue, and nod eagerly. "always," you whisper, voice soft but steady.
"good," he rasps, rolling his hips enough to make your breath hitch. "because i'm not stopping until you're stuffed full of me, sweetheart."
ʚĭɞ reblogs and interaction always appreciated! ʚĭɞ
One of my favourite things about the end of The S-Classes That I Raised novel (major spoilers ahead),
is the realisation that the reason why Yoojin and Hyunjae's relationship looks so much like a love story at times is because it actually, honestly is.
Like, we know that sctir is a novel about love since the beginning, that's not surprising. Yoojin's capability for loving monsters (both literal monsters and the human kind) and the power of that love is at the centre of the plot.
But by the time you get to the end, you realise - and the author confirms this themselves in their final Note - that Yoojin's relationship and love for 2 specific people was the true core of the story, and what allows him to save the world in the end:
One is, of course, Yoohyun.
And that love is absolute; you cannot say that it's inevitable, cause we know Yoojin had to make a choice when he was a child between Yoohyun and his parents, and he almost chose his parents, but from the moment he decided to love Yoohyun onward, then it was unconditional and eternal. It's the love of a brother, but also the love of a parent and a caretaker.
And the other person is Sung Hyunjae.
And that love is not unconditional nor inevitable or absolute at all. It's not something that can be taken for granted. We actually see, because of how it ended between them before the regression, and thanks to the White Bird's power of seeing possible futures, that there were so many timelines where Yoojin and Hyunjae would have never come to care about each other fully (tho they are always at least somewhat interested in each other, because their personalities are actually really compatible).
But the White Bird also sees that the only possible future where the world is saved is the one where they love and hold on to each other. And that is how the story goes!
So, just like a romance novel, the necessary end is the one where they both love each other and accept that love. And it's not easy to get there! It's a slow burn.
From meeting to getting to know each other, appreciating each other's skills and intelligence, finding out they have fun together but still not trusting each other, to working on building that trust.
They go from a strong but superficial mutual interest to actually caring about each other as people.
Yoojin has to go through the self-doubt of feeling inferior and fearing that Hyunjae will lose interest in him. Hyunjae has to learn to stop pushing Yoojin away because he doesn't know how to handle having someone he cares about so much, and also someone that cares about him, because nobody in the world (except in part Song Taewon) likes Sung Hyunjae as a person, he is only ever admired from afar.
And in the end, after going through ups and downs and a few "break-up arcs", they make it. They accept their own feelings and each other's feelings.
And that's when Yoojin makes the choice to use the power that the transcendents gave him at the very beginning of the novel, to save Hyunjae. Not the world. Not even Yoohyun! Just Sung Hyunjae!
Yeah, the whole "gather 50 S-Class people", the very thing that gives the novel its title. That is not a power that is used to save the world!! It was meant to, but Yoojin is "selfish", and he will always choose to save the people close to him first.
And being able to love someone so selfishly gives Yoojin the power to save the whole world, too. As a bonus! A reward. Just a side effect.
So yeah. Is it romantic love? No. Canonically, there's almost no romantic love in the whole novel.
I reblogged him the day i started treatment and 1. GOT TO MY APPOINTMENT ON TIME 2. FOUND A FREE PARKING TICKET SOMEONE LEFT IN THE METER FOR ME AND 3. GOT FREE STARBUCKS AFTER MY APPOINTMENT!!!!!
I’m convinced bc I reblogged this on Friday, got hired at a job I had a million interviews for, went on a first date that went well, and got kissed a billion times so like hell ya to the luck cat
bye i hate the sexualization of underage japanese girls so much i hate it with every fiber of my being it gave so many people a shitty excuse to treat me badly in the past like anyone who likes ‘‘‘‘‘lo/licon’’’’ can go die
to the people in the notes: the age of consent in japan is not actually 13 you nasty fucks did you like even read more than one sentence on wikipedia before spreading misinformation about an entire country jesus y'all are shit stains to the core
Also can those nasty pedophiles stop using the concept of “age of consent” wrong? Age of Consent does not mean you can fuck a child if they are above the age of consent. It means kids from that age can manifest consent when having sex WITH KIDS AROUND THE SAME AGE.
Like, for example, if the age of consent is 13, it means kids who are 13-14-15 can have sex without it being considered a crime; but a kid who is 12 CANNOT manifest that consent and this another (older or younger) kid making sexual advances on them would be considered cocsa.
Adults can only legally have sex with kids if, for example, the adult is still a teen, aka if the adult just turned 18 and they’re having sex with a 17 yo. That’s widely considered admissible and it’s an exception to the rule.
So, no, you 20-something and older creeps fetishizing 13-14-15 yo girls (real or fictional) are still pedophiles, and you’re trying to use a legal argument that you:
1. do not know about because you just read a fucking wikipedia article and did not take years of classes about criminal law
2. twist for it to fit and excuse your awful behavior
Source: I’m a fucking lawyer
Reblog this adittion bc honestly pedophiles are INDEED pedophiles no matter what argument they use and you better listen to a fucking lawyer when they are talking about law
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
title: and when you think of me, am i the best you’ve ever had
pairing: taehyung | jimin
genre: smut, angst
word count: 12,131
description: Breaking up is never easy, but it especially isn’t when Taehyung and Jimin decide to keep living with each other until their apartment lease is up.
Summary: Taehyung is infuriating and Jungkook’s always been easy to rile up. Which isn’t the best combination, but also isn’t the worst, either. (or: Taekook as hockey fuckboy rivals)
Pairing: Taekook
Wordcount: 34k
hockey, rivals to lovers/hate to love, fluff, smut
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
titsay
areudirty
