The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ S.H.
⭐︎ Warnings: 18+ mdni! post apocalypse, character death, angst, mean!steve, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, blood, wounds -- all the gory stuff, smut in the future chapters, hurt/comfort
⭐︎ Pairing: Grumpy!Steve Harrington x sunshine(fem)!reader
⭐︎ Summary: Everything he once knew, is gone, dead and buried, burned to the ground and turned into ash. All he has known is loss, death and pain, he despised this world, until it brought you to him -- the sunshine he had long forgotten. Light he will follow till the very end.
⭐︎
Prologue ☀︎ When the sun hits, she'll be waiting
Chapter one ☀︎ Welcome and Goodbye
Chapter two ☀︎ Can you see right through me?
Chapter three ☀︎ You’re the greatest thing we’ve lost
Chapter four ☀︎ While I'm alone and blue as can be
Chapter five ☀︎ Watching cityscapes turn to dust
Chapter six ☀︎ The killing time. Unwillingly mine.
Chapter seven ☀︎ Fall back into place. Fall back...
Chapter eight ☀︎ Dead-eyed. Dead weight.
Chapter nine ☀︎ Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met
Chapter ten ☀︎ Turn me into something tragic, just for you, I let it happen
Chapter eleven ☀︎ And I'll fear no evil because I'm blind to it all
Chapter twelve ☀︎ You’re a bandit like me. Eyes full of stars
Chapter thirteen ☀︎ Then this heart would break and fall as twice as far
Chapter fourteen ☀︎ The devil in your eyes, won't deny the lies you've sold
Chapter fifteen ☀︎ Every print I left upon the track has led me here
Chapter sixteen ☀︎ One day I am gonna grow wings...
Chapter seventeen ☀︎ Now I'm racing for what to do, all roads lead me right back to you
Chapter eighteen ☀︎ I'll give you all that I can, as long as you'll wait for me there
Chapter nineteen ☀︎ When you’re lying between my legs, it doesn’t matter
Chapter twenty ☀︎ If you can't survive, just try
Chapter twenty one ☀︎ Look into my eyes and baby, whisper
a trip to the christmas market turns tense when boyfriend!simon thinks girlfriend!reader is in danger
You’d been noticing it all week, the way he hovered closer than usual, the way his eyes moved before his head did. Ever since you ran into John Price in the middle of the bloody grocery store aisle, Simon had been… different. Not cold. Not distant. Just tighter.
He walked closer. Watched more. Listened too carefully to things no one else noticed. You kept finding him already looking at you when you turned around.
But you didn’t say anything.
You were at a Christmas market, for God’s sake – twinkling holiday lights, warm smell of treats, carolers, children laughing, craft vendors, the whole cosy postcard scene. This was supposed to be normal. Safe. Merry.
And then a vendor behind the wooden stall dropped a metal tray.
Loud, sure — but harmless.
Except Simon reacted like it was a gunshot.
Before your brain even caught the sound, his arm snapped around your waist and he shoved you behind him, body locked tight, stance wide and braced like he was expecting incoming fire.
A couple walking past jerked back.
“Jesus, mate—” the man muttered, startled.
Simon didn’t hear him. Didn’t see the people staring.
His other hand had already flown under the hem of his sweatshirt, fingers resting on the grip of the handgun tucked into the back of his jeans. The gun was not exposed, but ready - the kind of reaction you couldn’t train out of a man.
His eyes were unblinking, tracking exits, shadows and anyone who looked at you too long.
“Si,” you whispered, reaching for him carefully, deliberately. “It was just a tray."
He didn’t move. For a full second, maybe two, he was somewhere else entirely. Breathing like he was waiting for a second shot.
Then his gaze finally dragged down to you, pupils still blown wide, chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted. Slowly, painfully slowly, his hand released the gun. His arm loosened around you. His posture softened by degrees, like gears grinding.
“…Sorry,” he muttered, voice raw. “Thought it was …forget it.”
But you didn’t. You felt the moment settle in your chest, both warm and aching at once.
Because nothing here was a threat: not the tray, not the crowd, not you.
And still, his body had moved like he’d rehearsed losing you a thousand times. Like the fear lived closer to the surface than he ever admitted.
The only real threat in that entire place was Simon, a man trying desperately to bury instincts sharpened by war, and who would turn them loose in a heartbeat if anything ever came for what was his.
Part 3 - another fun little extension of the boyfriend!simon gets pissed when his girlfriend!reader asks him to put on his mask when he gets home from deployment universe. lots of requests for another simon hiding his true self, let me know if you enjoyed!
Pt. 2 here
can’t stop thinking about simon riley giving you the ‘he want’s that cookie so bad’ stare. although it comes naturally to him, you know exactly how it looks - head tilted at a 70˚ angle, smirk plastered on his visage that doesn’t seem to stop widening as he stares at you with that glint-full gaze in his eyes. it’s not your typical stare though, it’s paired with slightly raised eyebrows while the bloke lets you ramble on about whatever subject peeked at your interest that hour. not a single thing can get him out of this trance-like state, not even a sultry call of his name by you shockingly enough.
he wants that cookie so effing bad and that cookie he will get indeed.
It's been about 5 months since you and Simon got together after he offered you to go on a date, thanks to your favorite blue eyed Scott, you two started talking with little to no problem. Simon is an amazing partner and you couldn't be more grateful, such an understanding man, an empath in many levels. Good help around the house, also, a sight for sore eyes.
He hasn't touched you once. Ever since you and him got together.
So when you start ovulating, it's almost impossible to keep yourself in check with the blonde casually enjoying himself in your apartment.
On your couch. Stupidly broad body warm next to your shivering one. His mouthwateringly huge arm draped over your shoulder and gods, you feel like a feral animal ogling the way his seemingly big cock imprints in those grey sweatpants, leaving so little to the imagination...
So his eyes widen but he isn't surprised when you whine his name and start kissing his face, making him rumble with a deep chuckle, going straight down your needy pussy. He holds your hand when you say something about him not touching you, asking so sweetly if you're the problem,
"Nothin' wrong with you, love. Wanted you to come ask me first, yeah? Tryna be a gentleman."
Yeah. Wow, what a gentleman he is. But it isn't so hard to understand he's been wanting this too, maybe even more than you, when he's got you under him, kissing you like a man denied of something vital all this time. And when you get him out of those sweatpants, turns out 'big' wasn't enough to cut it.
synopsis: You've always lived down the street from the Kent Farm in a broken home. You were always the barefoot, soft-spoken, and easily forgotten little girl. Except now, Clark is running the family farm, and you're not so little anymore.
warnings: age gap, abused!poor!reader, injured reader, caregiver dynamics, emotional manipulation, dubcon, hurt/comfort, possessive!clark, morally gray clark, power imbalance, krypto being a menace
word count: 5k
The knock on the door was so faint that Clark was sure he was the only person on planet Earth who heard it. He lowered the mug of hot coffee that he’d almost taken a sip of. Krypto was already at the front door. He let out a single bark before he rested back on his hind legs. He thought of every visitor as a new toy for him to play with. Clark stepped in front of the unruly beast, protecting whoever was on the other side of the door, before cracking it open.
Clark’s brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of you. He didn’t expect how much he would have to lower his gaze to take all of you in. Your head tilted so far down he could barely make out your features. That was your intention, undoubtedly, as you held out a wicker basket in front of you, towards him.
Krypto tilted his head at the sight of you and whined.
Inside the basket were at least a dozen eggs, each wrapped in straw. “Pa said to bring these to you …he’s, uhm, sorry about what he said last night.”
It clicked then, who your father was, and then who you were. Last time he’d laid eyes on you, you were lining up with your older brothers at the bus stop just at the end of Maple Street. They always ran ahead of you, tackling each other to get on the school bus, not paying any mind to how your small legs could never keep up with them. Clark didn’t pay much attention either, always home visiting from college, with his intentions of spending all his free time with his parents, who’d gone months without seeing him. He remembered how fragile you always looked.
Even now that you were a young woman standing in front of him, that hadn’t changed. Clark didn’t take the basket from your hands for fear that you’d turn and run once you accomplished your mission. He let the door swing open, kneeling lower until your eyes had to meet his. He kept one arm around Krypto, holding him steady, as he continued to whine.
He wanted to play with you, clearly, but Clark feared he’d break you in half if he got too excited.
“Your Pa sent you?” Clark asked, and he watched you shiver at the sound of his voice.
You nodded, “He said to bring these to you. He’s sorry about, uhm, what he said last night,” You repeated the rehearsed line.
“So it was your Pa who wanted me to have these. Not you?”
“Uhm, I-I …I want you to have them, too. Please take them.”
Your father was a violent drunk, and your three older brothers were even rowdier. Last night, Clark was walking back to his pickup truck from inside the gas station when your father quite literally ran into him. Clark knew he had blacked out simply by the fact that he tried to pick a fight with a man three times his size. Some resentment had built between Clark and your Pa after Jonathan and Martha’s passing. Jonathan never charged your father a cent when your family needed to use the larger farm’s equipment. But after his parents were gone, Clark couldn’t afford to keep giving things away. The act wasn’t meant to be cruel. It had taken Clark a full two years for the Kent farm to turn a profit again after his parents passed away.
Your stomach growled, and Clark’s blue eyes locked on yours.
“Have you had breakfast, Y/N?” Clark asked, and your eyes drifted down to the basket of eggs you were holding. The basket of eggs was undoubtedly meant to be your family’s breakfast.
“I’m okay,” You said quickly, “My Pa wanted you to have these.”
You set the basket down, and Clark quickly reached towards you, his strong hand wrapping around your wrist. He kept you from flying away.
He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. Your lips were plump, your eyes big and sad, and the curls of your hair were barely restrained by the white ribbon you used to tie them from your face. Your grey sweater was not nearly warm enough for the cool, November air, and your feet were dirty and bare.
“Will you come inside and warm up?”
“I can’t–”
Clark had kind eyes. Even when he was being firm, his face was gentle. “I’ll accept the eggs and your father’s apology if you come inside and warm up.”
Your tune changed as you realized Clark wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I can’t stay long. I have chores.”
Clark could only imagine the reaction your father would have if he were to send you away and turn down his offer. You were painfully aware of what your father’s reaction would be. Maybe it was manipulative, but Clark had already decided that he needed to see you up close.
“I won’t keep you long,” Clark assured you, his deep voice rumbling. Things were easy after that. The way he stood, taking the basket in one hand and pulling you inside with his other hand. You stared at him like the giant he was.
Clark expected you might pull away from him, but you only stepped closer as you realized he was the only one protecting you from Krypto. For a girl who grew up on a farm, you appeared skittish around Clark’s dog.
Clark pulled you along, through the living room, and towards the kitchen, which overlooked the backyard. Surprisingly, Krypto remained cautious, keeping his distance. It was as if he recognized how fragile you were, too. “Sit,” Clark insisted, grabbing one of the wooden chairs tucked into the kitchen table. Your body no longer felt like it was yours to control. He guided it so easily that it felt like you were floating. He let you go as soon as you lowered your bottom down onto the seat, “Coffee?”
You watched him, muscles straining through his white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, which made him look even more All-American.
Your lips parted to answer, although your brain was still trying to compute that you were in an unfamiliar kitchen with your neighbor, one you’d only admired from a distance. You didn’t have to answer. Clark was setting a hot cup in front of you and taking the seat adjacent to yours, “I’m assuming you like cream and sugar.” You nodded shyly, “Lots of cream and sugar?”
You nodded again, your eyes fixed on your hands as you fidgeted in your lap. The warmth creeping through you had little to do with the coffee and everything to do with Clark’s steady gaze.
Clark reached toward the center of the table, where the basket of eggs sat next to a blue-flowered cream and sugar set.
“Thank you, Mr. Kent,” You whispered as Clark poured cream and sugar into your drink.
Clark waited patiently as you stared at the cup of coffee in front of you. He leaned back in his chair, finally taking a sip of his own. He sensed how overwhelmed you were. Your nervous system had yet to let your body know that you weren’t in immediate danger.
Your dress was a faded pink paisley, the nicest one you owned. Undoubtedly, your father had chosen it for you. Your lack of shoes, though… maybe it had been a while since he’d bought you a new pair.
When you finally did reach out to take a sip, Clark let the silence stretch between the two of you. A reprieve from your loud and moody household. It felt necessary, not awkward.
He decided not to ask if you were hungry. He used two of the eggs you’d brought him and scrambled a plate of eggs for you. “Those eggs were for you.”
“These eggs are for you,” Clark insisted, “Not fair they made you give away your breakfast. C’mon, I won’t tell your Pa.”
Clark waited for you to work up the courage, and you eventually did.
“Are you in school?” Clark asked after you’d taken a few bites. The thought did cross his mind that he didn’t know exactly how old you were. If the lustful thoughts in his head were to continue, he should at least establish what rules he was breaking.
You shook your head, “No.”
“You graduated?” Clark pressed further.
“I couldn’t go anymore. Had lots to do at home. Still do.”
“Your Pa didn’t make sure that you graduated from high school?”
You gave him a look of confusion. “It’s not like I was gonna go to college.”
“Your Pa told you that?” Clark watched as you shrank into your sweater and realized he’d pushed too far. “Sorry, I’m just trying to understand. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I really do have chores. Thank you for having me for breakfast, Mr. Kent.”
“Let me drive you home.”
“It’s just a mile down the road–”
“You’ve got no shoes on, Y/N.”
“I really don’t mind.”
“Of course you don’t.”
You didn’t fight him on the topic for long. Just as you didn’t fight back when it came to your brothers and father, you would shrink into yourself eventually. You reminded him of the petrified women he was used to saving from runaway trains and falling skyscrapers. Except you seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety.
Clark drives you in his Pa’s old pickup truck the short mile down the road. Much to your satisfaction, your brothers weren’t hanging around outside smoking and roughhousing like usual. “Thank you,” You whispered, and you moved so quickly out the passenger door that Clark and his superhuman speech almost missed your hand when he reached out to grab it, “Mr. Kent–”
“You come over anytime you want, you hear me?” Clark's eyes narrowed sharply at yours. Your chest rose and fell as you took in shallow breaths, “If you don’t feel safe or if you just want some quiet. You’re welcome at mine. You understand?”
“I’ll be okay.” You’d made it to this point, hadn’t you?
“But are you listening to me?”
You nodded quickly, “Yes, anytime I-I want.”
“Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
Clark released his grip, although it took more strength than he anticipated. It felt wrong as he watched you skitter across the gravel road and head inside your family’s double-wide. It felt even worse knowing how much more he wanted to see… to feel.
The next time Clark heard from you was two weeks later. Friday. Payday. The roughest nights were when your Father had enough money to be drunk for the entire weekend. He’d come home from the bar a little before one in the morning. You could usually sleep through the chaos and stay hidden behind your locked door. This time, for some terrible reason, your father had gotten into it with your oldest brother. You tucked yourself into the corner of your bed and tried to ignore the crashing glass plates and the holes being punched into the walls.
Smell the flowers, you reminded yourself, blow the candles out. The panic only gets worse when you don’t breathe properly. The method works until your Father starts beating at your door. You can only make out your name as he slurs his words. It won’t be good if he breaks down the door. Not at all. You have to make a decision.
You could open the door now. He might be less angry if you do exactly what he wants and when he wants. If he beats down the door and you’re still inside, he’ll be pissed at you. But he already sounds pissed? What had you done? The house was spotless when he got home. There were plenty of leftovers in the fridge. You hadn’t asked for anything.
You chose the third option. You grabbed your robe hanging on your twin-sized bedpost and made your way over to your window. It’s a short jump down to the dirt patch in the backyard, but somehow you land funny. You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. Hard. The pounding continues. Your heart beats even louder in your ears.
It’s adrenaline that sends you limping into the woods. Although you move quickly, more air fills your lungs the further you get away from your house. Half an hour later, the Kent farm comes into your view, and for some strange reason, you feel relieved.
You can’t bring yourself to knock on the front door. It’s almost two in the morning. You limp through grassy fields, mosquitoes bite at your bare legs, and you head towards a tall, red barn. It sits a little apart from the Kent house. That will be warm enough for the night. And you won’t have to bother Clark. You just have to wait out your father’s tempers. In the morning, he’ll act like nothing happened.
It’s Krypto who notices first that the Kent farm has an intruder. His head snaps up, ears pricked, before his muscles go rigid. He awakens Clark roughly, practically stomping his paws against the Kryptonian’s chest.
“All right, all right.” There’s no chance he’ll fall asleep again anytime soon. He follows the unruly beast outside to investigate, but Krypto flies in the direction of the barn as soon as he steps outside.
“Krypto — hey!”
Clark shouts, but the super dog continues to disobey him. Clark sighs before he launches himself after him. He lands gently in front of the barn doors that Krypto has already broken through. He hears a woman shriek, and Clark's heart fully stops before he barrels inside the barn next.
Krypto is on top of you, his front paws on either side of your head, as he laps at your cheek. Your shrieks have turned into giggles, but Clark is still panicking. Luckily, the dog hadn’t put his entire weight on you; he’d known better, but if you continued to encourage him, Clark knew he’d lose control.
“Krypto, off!” Clark hurried forward, wrapping his arms around the dog’s torso before lifting him away from you. Clark has to hold his collar to keep him from tackling you again. “Bad boy! No!”
Clark looks you over. Although your face is delighted, Clark realizes you’re in a thin camisole and pajama shorts, cold skin only covered by a flimsy robe. He noticed your right ankle next, and the way it was starting to turn purple.
“He flew!” You shout, and it’s the most animated Clark has ever seen you, “I swear, he-he flew!”
“Krypto–look what you… Oh gosh. Stay!” Clark commands, and the dog whines but keeps his place, far from you. Your face falls.
“He’s okay,” You add as you realize Clark has noticed your ankle, “He didn’t hurt me, Mr. Kent!”
“Your ankle–” Clark starts as he hurried to kneel by your side. He’s already taken your leg in his hand, lifting it gently.
“I fell,” You add, trying to ignore the way his touch was making your body feel. His hands were firm, careful, and his touch felt far too intimate. “I fell, it wasn’t him.”
“You fell?” Clark’s eyes darkened, “Your Pa did this?”
You think for a moment about lying. What if he tried to get your Pa in trouble? You needed your Pa. Things got bad when he was home, but it was even worse when he was locked up. You find you don’t have any energy left to lie. “I jumped out of my window. My Pa…he was trying to get into my room. He was drunk. I was scared.”
He’s still angry, you can read that much, but he remains calm. He lifts you swiftly, careful to avoid putting any extra pressure on your ankle, and starts to carry you outside.
“You did the right thing,” Clark states, his voice deeper than before. He carries you towards the house, and Krypto follows obediently behind the two of you. He doesn’t specify exactly what the right thing is that you did — jumping out the window? Coming here? Telling the truth? You assume he means everything. It’s praise, but it feels so foreign that it’s hard for your mind to process.
He takes you to the main bedroom and lays you down on the bed. It smells like him. The sheets are soft and plaid. The comforter is a quilted pattern that looks handmade, and there are so many knick-knacks that decorate the shelves and family photos on the walls. It’s a happy and lived-in room.
Clark works methodically, propping your leg up on a pillow, applying an ice pack, and bandaging up your bruised skin.
“I think it’s sprained.” He says, concentrated, almost to himself.
“I’m okay, really,” You tried, but he’d only shush you and tell you to lie back down. “At least it’s not broken.”
Clark grits his teeth at that. You worry that you’ve upset him.
“You won’t tell on him, will you?” You ask quietly, and your eyes are hopeful.
Clark sighs and pauses for a long moment, “No, if that’s not what you want.” The words sound almost painful as they leave his lips. His curly hair falls gently against his forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows against his thighs.
You nodded, “Thank you.”
“But I don’t think you should go back.”
“What?”
“I think you should stay here.”
“I can’t–”
“Don’t decide now, okay? Either way, I’ll find a way to handle your Dad.”
“Handle him?” You ask cautiously.
Clark doesn’t answer, not directly, but his face says it all. He’s struggling with the thoughts in his mind.
“I’m sorry for all this.” Tears prick your eyes, your head tilts back against the pillows, and you cover your eyes, “It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”
Your tears start to fall as the bed dips beside you. He’s heavy, and your body tilts in the direction that his body weight pulls you. His hands are impossibly warm when they touch yours. Gently, he moves your hands from your face.
“I’m sss-sorry, Mr. Kent.”
Maybe your vision is blurry from your tears, but you almost swear Clark licks his lips as he looks at you. It almost doesn’t register that you’re lying in his bed with him, your older neighbor. As soon as it does, you feel a lump in your throat. You swallow. Hard.
“Don’t be,” he says, his warm breath fans over your nose, your mouth. Your heart beats in a strange pattern. “I don’t like that you’re hurting, but I think you were meant to be right here. Right at this moment.”
You try to blink your tears away, “You … think so?”
“Mhm,” Is all he manages, and suddenly, you feel his hand on your waist. He feels the exposed flesh there, “Are you … are you hurting anywhere else?”
“Just my ankle…” He’s just concerned, you know that, but it also feels like … his fingers dance against the thin waistband of your pajama shorts. They’re covered in faded butterflies. “You’re not mad at me?”
You already know that deep down, anger is the last emotion he’s feeling as he moves his hands over your skin. It takes everything in you not to squirm. It feels strange. “I could never…have you … have you ever …”
Your brows furrow as you search his face. His expression is almost painful. “Have I ever what?”
He pulls his hands away suddenly, almost ashamed. Once again, you feel like you’ve mistepped. “Nothing,” He smiles sadly, “I’ll go get you something for the pain. And then I want you to sleep. It’s late.”
You nod solemnly. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Kent.”
“Call me Clark, please.”
“Thank you, Clark.”
You wake to a whining Krypto. He lies beside you, his tail wagging furiously, and as your eyes blink open, he licks your face. You groan and laugh at the same time, wiping your cheek. You reach out to pet behind his ears. You’d gotten the best sleep you had in a while, even given the sprained ankle. You pulled he comforter away from your body, attempting to move your foot, only to find it still sore. You could see your ankle swelling even from beneath the bandage.
Slowly, you pulled yourself up. You lifted your ankle from the pillow, grimacing, as you tried to move both your legs to the side of the bed. “Hey, hey, hey,” As if he’d sensed your movement, Clark appeared through the bedroom door, “You gotta let me help you.”
Shyly, you looked up at him. A kitchen towel was tossed over his shoulder, like he was in the midst of cooking. The smell of bacon and pancakes wafted through the open door, confirming your suspicion. He stood in front of you, blocking your exit, and you continued to wince as you gently placed your right foot on the ground.
“I’m okay…” You strained to say through the pain, “Please, Clark.”
“I’ll lift you. Grab onto my shoulders.”
You hesitate. “I … I have to pee. I swear I-I can make it on my own.”
Reaching down, tucking one of his arms beneath your knees, and the other around your back, he lifts you easily. He leaves no room for argument. You’re not one to argue, anyways. You should feel embarassed as he sets you down in front of the toilet. There’s an awkward moment where you’re afraid he’ll try to help you further but he say, “Shout when you’re done and I’ll help you to the sink.”
You nod quickly, silently.
Throughout the day, you get used to Clark being a little bit too close for comfort. He brings you to the breakfast table, to the couch, and that night he helps you to the shower. He figures out a solution that offers you the most privacy but it still involves him being on the other side of the shower curtain. You plan to undress and dress inside the confines of the shower. “Be careful, please,” Clark warns you and halfway through trying to bathe yourself, you realize you’ve overestimated your abilities. You’re basically forced to hop on one foot on the slippery shower floor and after almost falling twice, Clark decides he can’t risk you hurting yourself further.
You yip when he pulls the shower curtain back, “I won’t look, I promise,” He assures you as your eyes widen. It’s futile. You reach out to grab onto his arms. You use him for balance as you finish rinsing the soap from your body. You’re shaking and you wish he couldn’t feel how nervous you were. You don’t know if he takes a peek at you because you’re averting your eyes from him out of embarrassment. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” You say although you’re not sure what for. He clearly finds some satisfaction out of helping you.
You’re surprised when he lifts you easily from the tub, his arms tucked underneath your armpits, and you marvel for a moment at his strength. He continues to promise that he’s not looking as he helps you into one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers.
“Clark, you should really take me home tonight.”
“You know why that’s not happening.”
“My father will be expecting me–”
“He won’t.” Clark says. “I already talked to him.”
“What?”
“He’s not gonna get mad at you. He’s not going to do anything to you, do you understand that?” Clark steadies you, his hands tight against your waist as he stares down at you, “All of that is over.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing a lady needs to hear,” He insists, “I want you to stay. You’re not a burden to me. You look good here. In my clothes and with me.”
“Whatever he agreed to, he’ll go back on it, he won’t keep his word. He never has.” You respond, your anxiety growing, knowing how angry Clark must’ve made him. Clark lifts you again, this time settling himself on the bed, and then setting you next to him. Your legs crossed over his lap, his hand against the small of your back. Your hand finds his hard chest as you try not to squirm, to not show your discomfort, “I-I’m serious. He’ll show up her and he’ll do something stupid.”
“You don’t think I could handle him?”
“I don’t want you to handle him. This is my fault, not yours–”
“Oh, sweet girl,” Clark’s head dips as he tucks his head into the side of your neck. He squeezes you and pulls you closer. “I don’t think you’ve ever done anything wrong in your life.”
“What are you doing?” Your hand presses harder into his chest, “Clark, that feels… weird.”
“Weird, huh?”
He kisses you on the sensitive skin there, and now, you can’t help but squirm. You feel warm in places you didn’t know could feel warm. He moves your right leg carefully, spreading your legs, and you panic inside. His hand travels up your leg and then moves to your inner thigh. Jesus, this is wrong. So wrong.
“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” Clark asked, his voice husky and deep. The kind stranger who’d taken you in had taken another shape. “Tell me no one has.”
He massages the meaty flesh of your thighs, grabbing you like a stress toy, and there’s a groan in his throat that’s animalistic. “Wait, please–”
“You’ll like it, I promise,” When he reaches into the fabric of the short, something flutters in your core, and his strong fingers start to run over your sensitive folds. He makes long strokes, up and down your center. He wants to feel a part of you no else has ever seen.
And the sad thing is, you like it more than you thought you would. The attention. No one had ever paid you this much attention. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been held. You were undiscovered. Uncharted territory. And so painfully innocent.
You feel warm and wet now. Clark’s icy blue eyes meet with yours and your cheeks heat from embarrassment. He kisses you softly as he massages your center. He’s right. You like it. You’re moving your hips weakly against his fingers. Your lips part and he presses his lips against yours. He takes the lead and you try to move your lips in sync with his.
“You like it, don’t you?” He asks against your lips.
You nod although you hate that he can see you like this.
You’re so wet now. He easily slips the tip of his finger inside of you, “Clark–” You gasp, “More.”
“You can handle more, can’t you?” You nod as he pushes his finger deeper. You’re grinding against his finger in weak circles. “Good girl. Sweet girl. I’ve got more for you.”
His finger goes deeper, curling against a spot that has you shaking. It’s so slow. Torturous. “You gonna cum on my finger, Y/N?”
“I-I…” You moan, “I feel like I have to pee.”
Clark’s chest rumbles and you feel mortified knowing that he’s amused. “That’s okay. Don’t run from it.”
You turn your face into his chest, shyly, as you do your best not to run from the feeling. “Let me make you cum, baby,” It’s a slow building and then it happens all at once. You’re screaming into his the fabric of his shirt, hips shaking, but he keeps holding onto you even as his finger slips from inside you.
You feel empty without him.
He takes the opportunity while you’re dazed and mumbling incoherent to move you from his lap. He lays you down beneath him. Gently, he sets your right leg down on one of the bed’s pillows. He grabs onto your left leg as he settles between you. He lifts the fabric of your shirt, settling his face between your breasts, he takes each one into his mouth, licking the buds of your nipples.
You feel the sensation is what sends him over the edge. Its quick. How he tears the fabric over the boxers and presses his hard length at your entrance. He holds your leg, keeping you spread wide open, and presses further. It’s his turn. You see it in his eyes. The lack of control. He stares down at you, watching your face contort with pain as he takes you for the first time.
He’s more than appreciative, grunting your name, as he makes the first, shallow thrusts. He goes deeper as your body adjusts, squeezing tightly around him. He knows how lucky he is. You’re perfect and he never has to let you go. He could keep you tied to this bed and use you over and over again. You’re so polite that you’d thank him for it.
“You’ll stay with me,” Clark grunts, moving your hips into him, “I’ll look after you.”
“Clark, I can’t stay–” His eyes darken at that and he positions himself to go even deeper. His hand wraps around your throat and he turns your head roughly so he can growl into your ear.
“I wasn’t asking, sweet girl. I need you too bad. You see that, don’t you?” Clark asks although it’s rhetorical. He’s against your cervix now and you’re not sure he’s even registering how much you’re screaming, “I’m going to take you for hours.”
“Please,” You gasp, “Oh my —”
Another orgasm rushes through you, forceful and unyielding. He continues his pace and as you feel your body growing impossibly tired, you wonder how he can keep going. You don’t even feel him sweating.
You never really imagined for your first time but you thought you might be awake enough to remember most of it. It’s like a dream. You lose consciousness and awake to find him still inside of you. When he finally finishes inside of you, you’re stretched, and completely empty. When you awake again, you’re fully naked and tucked into the sheets. He lifts your head to feed you a glass of water. He pets your head and tucks your hair behind your ears. He runs his fingers all over you, down your back, over the curves of your hip and soothes you back to sleep.
And you sleep for days, safe and cared for.
reblog with your thoughts to be added to my clark taglist :)
synopsis: You've always lived down the street from the Kent Farm in a broken home. You were always the barefoot, soft-spoken, and easily forgotten little girl. Except now, Clark is running the family farm, and you're not so little anymore.
warnings: age gap, abused!poor!reader, injured reader, caregiver dynamics, emotional manipulation, dubcon, hurt/comfort, possessive!clark, morally gray clark, power imbalance, krypto being a menace
word count: 5k
The knock on the door was so faint that Clark was sure he was the only person on planet Earth who heard it. He lowered the mug of hot coffee that he’d almost taken a sip of. Krypto was already at the front door. He let out a single bark before he rested back on his hind legs. He thought of every visitor as a new toy for him to play with. Clark stepped in front of the unruly beast, protecting whoever was on the other side of the door, before cracking it open.
Clark’s brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of you. He didn’t expect how much he would have to lower his gaze to take all of you in. Your head tilted so far down he could barely make out your features. That was your intention, undoubtedly, as you held out a wicker basket in front of you, towards him.
Krypto tilted his head at the sight of you and whined.
Inside the basket were at least a dozen eggs, each wrapped in straw. “Pa said to bring these to you …he’s, uhm, sorry about what he said last night.”
It clicked then, who your father was, and then who you were. Last time he’d laid eyes on you, you were lining up with your older brothers at the bus stop just at the end of Maple Street. They always ran ahead of you, tackling each other to get on the school bus, not paying any mind to how your small legs could never keep up with them. Clark didn’t pay much attention either, always home visiting from college, with his intentions of spending all his free time with his parents, who’d gone months without seeing him. He remembered how fragile you always looked.
Even now that you were a young woman standing in front of him, that hadn’t changed. Clark didn’t take the basket from your hands for fear that you’d turn and run once you accomplished your mission. He let the door swing open, kneeling lower until your eyes had to meet his. He kept one arm around Krypto, holding him steady, as he continued to whine.
He wanted to play with you, clearly, but Clark feared he’d break you in half if he got too excited.
“Your Pa sent you?” Clark asked, and he watched you shiver at the sound of his voice.
You nodded, “He said to bring these to you. He’s sorry about, uhm, what he said last night,” You repeated the rehearsed line.
“So it was your Pa who wanted me to have these. Not you?”
“Uhm, I-I …I want you to have them, too. Please take them.”
Your father was a violent drunk, and your three older brothers were even rowdier. Last night, Clark was walking back to his pickup truck from inside the gas station when your father quite literally ran into him. Clark knew he had blacked out simply by the fact that he tried to pick a fight with a man three times his size. Some resentment had built between Clark and your Pa after Jonathan and Martha’s passing. Jonathan never charged your father a cent when your family needed to use the larger farm’s equipment. But after his parents were gone, Clark couldn’t afford to keep giving things away. The act wasn’t meant to be cruel. It had taken Clark a full two years for the Kent farm to turn a profit again after his parents passed away.
Your stomach growled, and Clark’s blue eyes locked on yours.
“Have you had breakfast, Y/N?” Clark asked, and your eyes drifted down to the basket of eggs you were holding. The basket of eggs was undoubtedly meant to be your family’s breakfast.
“I’m okay,” You said quickly, “My Pa wanted you to have these.”
You set the basket down, and Clark quickly reached towards you, his strong hand wrapping around your wrist. He kept you from flying away.
He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. Your lips were plump, your eyes big and sad, and the curls of your hair were barely restrained by the white ribbon you used to tie them from your face. Your grey sweater was not nearly warm enough for the cool, November air, and your feet were dirty and bare.
“Will you come inside and warm up?”
“I can’t–”
Clark had kind eyes. Even when he was being firm, his face was gentle. “I’ll accept the eggs and your father’s apology if you come inside and warm up.”
Your tune changed as you realized Clark wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I can’t stay long. I have chores.”
Clark could only imagine the reaction your father would have if he were to send you away and turn down his offer. You were painfully aware of what your father’s reaction would be. Maybe it was manipulative, but Clark had already decided that he needed to see you up close.
“I won’t keep you long,” Clark assured you, his deep voice rumbling. Things were easy after that. The way he stood, taking the basket in one hand and pulling you inside with his other hand. You stared at him like the giant he was.
Clark expected you might pull away from him, but you only stepped closer as you realized he was the only one protecting you from Krypto. For a girl who grew up on a farm, you appeared skittish around Clark’s dog.
Clark pulled you along, through the living room, and towards the kitchen, which overlooked the backyard. Surprisingly, Krypto remained cautious, keeping his distance. It was as if he recognized how fragile you were, too. “Sit,” Clark insisted, grabbing one of the wooden chairs tucked into the kitchen table. Your body no longer felt like it was yours to control. He guided it so easily that it felt like you were floating. He let you go as soon as you lowered your bottom down onto the seat, “Coffee?”
You watched him, muscles straining through his white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, which made him look even more All-American.
Your lips parted to answer, although your brain was still trying to compute that you were in an unfamiliar kitchen with your neighbor, one you’d only admired from a distance. You didn’t have to answer. Clark was setting a hot cup in front of you and taking the seat adjacent to yours, “I’m assuming you like cream and sugar.” You nodded shyly, “Lots of cream and sugar?”
You nodded again, your eyes fixed on your hands as you fidgeted in your lap. The warmth creeping through you had little to do with the coffee and everything to do with Clark’s steady gaze.
Clark reached toward the center of the table, where the basket of eggs sat next to a blue-flowered cream and sugar set.
“Thank you, Mr. Kent,” You whispered as Clark poured cream and sugar into your drink.
Clark waited patiently as you stared at the cup of coffee in front of you. He leaned back in his chair, finally taking a sip of his own. He sensed how overwhelmed you were. Your nervous system had yet to let your body know that you weren’t in immediate danger.
Your dress was a faded pink paisley, the nicest one you owned. Undoubtedly, your father had chosen it for you. Your lack of shoes, though… maybe it had been a while since he’d bought you a new pair.
When you finally did reach out to take a sip, Clark let the silence stretch between the two of you. A reprieve from your loud and moody household. It felt necessary, not awkward.
He decided not to ask if you were hungry. He used two of the eggs you’d brought him and scrambled a plate of eggs for you. “Those eggs were for you.”
“These eggs are for you,” Clark insisted, “Not fair they made you give away your breakfast. C’mon, I won’t tell your Pa.”
Clark waited for you to work up the courage, and you eventually did.
“Are you in school?” Clark asked after you’d taken a few bites. The thought did cross his mind that he didn’t know exactly how old you were. If the lustful thoughts in his head were to continue, he should at least establish what rules he was breaking.
You shook your head, “No.”
“You graduated?” Clark pressed further.
“I couldn’t go anymore. Had lots to do at home. Still do.”
“Your Pa didn’t make sure that you graduated from high school?”
You gave him a look of confusion. “It’s not like I was gonna go to college.”
“Your Pa told you that?” Clark watched as you shrank into your sweater and realized he’d pushed too far. “Sorry, I’m just trying to understand. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I really do have chores. Thank you for having me for breakfast, Mr. Kent.”
“Let me drive you home.”
“It’s just a mile down the road–”
“You’ve got no shoes on, Y/N.”
“I really don’t mind.”
“Of course you don’t.”
You didn’t fight him on the topic for long. Just as you didn’t fight back when it came to your brothers and father, you would shrink into yourself eventually. You reminded him of the petrified women he was used to saving from runaway trains and falling skyscrapers. Except you seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety.
Clark drives you in his Pa’s old pickup truck the short mile down the road. Much to your satisfaction, your brothers weren’t hanging around outside smoking and roughhousing like usual. “Thank you,” You whispered, and you moved so quickly out the passenger door that Clark and his superhuman speech almost missed your hand when he reached out to grab it, “Mr. Kent–”
“You come over anytime you want, you hear me?” Clark's eyes narrowed sharply at yours. Your chest rose and fell as you took in shallow breaths, “If you don’t feel safe or if you just want some quiet. You’re welcome at mine. You understand?”
“I’ll be okay.” You’d made it to this point, hadn’t you?
“But are you listening to me?”
You nodded quickly, “Yes, anytime I-I want.”
“Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
Clark released his grip, although it took more strength than he anticipated. It felt wrong as he watched you skitter across the gravel road and head inside your family’s double-wide. It felt even worse knowing how much more he wanted to see… to feel.
The next time Clark heard from you was two weeks later. Friday. Payday. The roughest nights were when your Father had enough money to be drunk for the entire weekend. He’d come home from the bar a little before one in the morning. You could usually sleep through the chaos and stay hidden behind your locked door. This time, for some terrible reason, your father had gotten into it with your oldest brother. You tucked yourself into the corner of your bed and tried to ignore the crashing glass plates and the holes being punched into the walls.
Smell the flowers, you reminded yourself, blow the candles out. The panic only gets worse when you don’t breathe properly. The method works until your Father starts beating at your door. You can only make out your name as he slurs his words. It won’t be good if he breaks down the door. Not at all. You have to make a decision.
You could open the door now. He might be less angry if you do exactly what he wants and when he wants. If he beats down the door and you’re still inside, he’ll be pissed at you. But he already sounds pissed? What had you done? The house was spotless when he got home. There were plenty of leftovers in the fridge. You hadn’t asked for anything.
You chose the third option. You grabbed your robe hanging on your twin-sized bedpost and made your way over to your window. It’s a short jump down to the dirt patch in the backyard, but somehow you land funny. You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. Hard. The pounding continues. Your heart beats even louder in your ears.
It’s adrenaline that sends you limping into the woods. Although you move quickly, more air fills your lungs the further you get away from your house. Half an hour later, the Kent farm comes into your view, and for some strange reason, you feel relieved.
You can’t bring yourself to knock on the front door. It’s almost two in the morning. You limp through grassy fields, mosquitoes bite at your bare legs, and you head towards a tall, red barn. It sits a little apart from the Kent house. That will be warm enough for the night. And you won’t have to bother Clark. You just have to wait out your father’s tempers. In the morning, he’ll act like nothing happened.
It’s Krypto who notices first that the Kent farm has an intruder. His head snaps up, ears pricked, before his muscles go rigid. He awakens Clark roughly, practically stomping his paws against the Kryptonian’s chest.
“All right, all right.” There’s no chance he’ll fall asleep again anytime soon. He follows the unruly beast outside to investigate, but Krypto flies in the direction of the barn as soon as he steps outside.
“Krypto — hey!”
Clark shouts, but the super dog continues to disobey him. Clark sighs before he launches himself after him. He lands gently in front of the barn doors that Krypto has already broken through. He hears a woman shriek, and Clark's heart fully stops before he barrels inside the barn next.
Krypto is on top of you, his front paws on either side of your head, as he laps at your cheek. Your shrieks have turned into giggles, but Clark is still panicking. Luckily, the dog hadn’t put his entire weight on you; he’d known better, but if you continued to encourage him, Clark knew he’d lose control.
“Krypto, off!” Clark hurried forward, wrapping his arms around the dog’s torso before lifting him away from you. Clark has to hold his collar to keep him from tackling you again. “Bad boy! No!”
Clark looks you over. Although your face is delighted, Clark realizes you’re in a thin camisole and pajama shorts, cold skin only covered by a flimsy robe. He noticed your right ankle next, and the way it was starting to turn purple.
“He flew!” You shout, and it’s the most animated Clark has ever seen you, “I swear, he-he flew!”
“Krypto–look what you… Oh gosh. Stay!” Clark commands, and the dog whines but keeps his place, far from you. Your face falls.
“He’s okay,” You add as you realize Clark has noticed your ankle, “He didn’t hurt me, Mr. Kent!”
“Your ankle–” Clark starts as he hurried to kneel by your side. He’s already taken your leg in his hand, lifting it gently.
“I fell,” You add, trying to ignore the way his touch was making your body feel. His hands were firm, careful, and his touch felt far too intimate. “I fell, it wasn’t him.”
“You fell?” Clark’s eyes darkened, “Your Pa did this?”
You think for a moment about lying. What if he tried to get your Pa in trouble? You needed your Pa. Things got bad when he was home, but it was even worse when he was locked up. You find you don’t have any energy left to lie. “I jumped out of my window. My Pa…he was trying to get into my room. He was drunk. I was scared.”
He’s still angry, you can read that much, but he remains calm. He lifts you swiftly, careful to avoid putting any extra pressure on your ankle, and starts to carry you outside.
“You did the right thing,” Clark states, his voice deeper than before. He carries you towards the house, and Krypto follows obediently behind the two of you. He doesn’t specify exactly what the right thing is that you did — jumping out the window? Coming here? Telling the truth? You assume he means everything. It’s praise, but it feels so foreign that it’s hard for your mind to process.
He takes you to the main bedroom and lays you down on the bed. It smells like him. The sheets are soft and plaid. The comforter is a quilted pattern that looks handmade, and there are so many knick-knacks that decorate the shelves and family photos on the walls. It’s a happy and lived-in room.
Clark works methodically, propping your leg up on a pillow, applying an ice pack, and bandaging up your bruised skin.
“I think it’s sprained.” He says, concentrated, almost to himself.
“I’m okay, really,” You tried, but he’d only shush you and tell you to lie back down. “At least it’s not broken.”
Clark grits his teeth at that. You worry that you’ve upset him.
“You won’t tell on him, will you?” You ask quietly, and your eyes are hopeful.
Clark sighs and pauses for a long moment, “No, if that’s not what you want.” The words sound almost painful as they leave his lips. His curly hair falls gently against his forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows against his thighs.
You nodded, “Thank you.”
“But I don’t think you should go back.”
“What?”
“I think you should stay here.”
“I can’t–”
“Don’t decide now, okay? Either way, I’ll find a way to handle your Dad.”
“Handle him?” You ask cautiously.
Clark doesn’t answer, not directly, but his face says it all. He’s struggling with the thoughts in his mind.
“I’m sorry for all this.” Tears prick your eyes, your head tilts back against the pillows, and you cover your eyes, “It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”
Your tears start to fall as the bed dips beside you. He’s heavy, and your body tilts in the direction that his body weight pulls you. His hands are impossibly warm when they touch yours. Gently, he moves your hands from your face.
“I’m sss-sorry, Mr. Kent.”
Maybe your vision is blurry from your tears, but you almost swear Clark licks his lips as he looks at you. It almost doesn’t register that you’re lying in his bed with him, your older neighbor. As soon as it does, you feel a lump in your throat. You swallow. Hard.
“Don’t be,” he says, his warm breath fans over your nose, your mouth. Your heart beats in a strange pattern. “I don’t like that you’re hurting, but I think you were meant to be right here. Right at this moment.”
You try to blink your tears away, “You … think so?”
“Mhm,” Is all he manages, and suddenly, you feel his hand on your waist. He feels the exposed flesh there, “Are you … are you hurting anywhere else?”
“Just my ankle…” He’s just concerned, you know that, but it also feels like … his fingers dance against the thin waistband of your pajama shorts. They’re covered in faded butterflies. “You’re not mad at me?”
You already know that deep down, anger is the last emotion he’s feeling as he moves his hands over your skin. It takes everything in you not to squirm. It feels strange. “I could never…have you … have you ever …”
Your brows furrow as you search his face. His expression is almost painful. “Have I ever what?”
He pulls his hands away suddenly, almost ashamed. Once again, you feel like you’ve mistepped. “Nothing,” He smiles sadly, “I’ll go get you something for the pain. And then I want you to sleep. It’s late.”
You nod solemnly. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Kent.”
“Call me Clark, please.”
“Thank you, Clark.”
You wake to a whining Krypto. He lies beside you, his tail wagging furiously, and as your eyes blink open, he licks your face. You groan and laugh at the same time, wiping your cheek. You reach out to pet behind his ears. You’d gotten the best sleep you had in a while, even given the sprained ankle. You pulled he comforter away from your body, attempting to move your foot, only to find it still sore. You could see your ankle swelling even from beneath the bandage.
Slowly, you pulled yourself up. You lifted your ankle from the pillow, grimacing, as you tried to move both your legs to the side of the bed. “Hey, hey, hey,” As if he’d sensed your movement, Clark appeared through the bedroom door, “You gotta let me help you.”
Shyly, you looked up at him. A kitchen towel was tossed over his shoulder, like he was in the midst of cooking. The smell of bacon and pancakes wafted through the open door, confirming your suspicion. He stood in front of you, blocking your exit, and you continued to wince as you gently placed your right foot on the ground.
“I’m okay…” You strained to say through the pain, “Please, Clark.”
“I’ll lift you. Grab onto my shoulders.”
You hesitate. “I … I have to pee. I swear I-I can make it on my own.”
Reaching down, tucking one of his arms beneath your knees, and the other around your back, he lifts you easily. He leaves no room for argument. You’re not one to argue, anyways. You should feel embarassed as he sets you down in front of the toilet. There’s an awkward moment where you’re afraid he’ll try to help you further but he say, “Shout when you’re done and I’ll help you to the sink.”
You nod quickly, silently.
Throughout the day, you get used to Clark being a little bit too close for comfort. He brings you to the breakfast table, to the couch, and that night he helps you to the shower. He figures out a solution that offers you the most privacy but it still involves him being on the other side of the shower curtain. You plan to undress and dress inside the confines of the shower. “Be careful, please,” Clark warns you and halfway through trying to bathe yourself, you realize you’ve overestimated your abilities. You’re basically forced to hop on one foot on the slippery shower floor and after almost falling twice, Clark decides he can’t risk you hurting yourself further.
You yip when he pulls the shower curtain back, “I won’t look, I promise,” He assures you as your eyes widen. It’s futile. You reach out to grab onto his arms. You use him for balance as you finish rinsing the soap from your body. You’re shaking and you wish he couldn’t feel how nervous you were. You don’t know if he takes a peek at you because you’re averting your eyes from him out of embarrassment. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” You say although you’re not sure what for. He clearly finds some satisfaction out of helping you.
You’re surprised when he lifts you easily from the tub, his arms tucked underneath your armpits, and you marvel for a moment at his strength. He continues to promise that he’s not looking as he helps you into one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers.
“Clark, you should really take me home tonight.”
“You know why that’s not happening.”
“My father will be expecting me–”
“He won’t.” Clark says. “I already talked to him.”
“What?”
“He’s not gonna get mad at you. He’s not going to do anything to you, do you understand that?” Clark steadies you, his hands tight against your waist as he stares down at you, “All of that is over.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing a lady needs to hear,” He insists, “I want you to stay. You’re not a burden to me. You look good here. In my clothes and with me.”
“Whatever he agreed to, he’ll go back on it, he won’t keep his word. He never has.” You respond, your anxiety growing, knowing how angry Clark must’ve made him. Clark lifts you again, this time settling himself on the bed, and then setting you next to him. Your legs crossed over his lap, his hand against the small of your back. Your hand finds his hard chest as you try not to squirm, to not show your discomfort, “I-I’m serious. He’ll show up her and he’ll do something stupid.”
“You don’t think I could handle him?”
“I don’t want you to handle him. This is my fault, not yours–”
“Oh, sweet girl,” Clark’s head dips as he tucks his head into the side of your neck. He squeezes you and pulls you closer. “I don’t think you’ve ever done anything wrong in your life.”
“What are you doing?” Your hand presses harder into his chest, “Clark, that feels… weird.”
“Weird, huh?”
He kisses you on the sensitive skin there, and now, you can’t help but squirm. You feel warm in places you didn’t know could feel warm. He moves your right leg carefully, spreading your legs, and you panic inside. His hand travels up your leg and then moves to your inner thigh. Jesus, this is wrong. So wrong.
“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” Clark asked, his voice husky and deep. The kind stranger who’d taken you in had taken another shape. “Tell me no one has.”
He massages the meaty flesh of your thighs, grabbing you like a stress toy, and there’s a groan in his throat that’s animalistic. “Wait, please–”
“You’ll like it, I promise,” When he reaches into the fabric of the short, something flutters in your core, and his strong fingers start to run over your sensitive folds. He makes long strokes, up and down your center. He wants to feel a part of you no else has ever seen.
And the sad thing is, you like it more than you thought you would. The attention. No one had ever paid you this much attention. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been held. You were undiscovered. Uncharted territory. And so painfully innocent.
You feel warm and wet now. Clark’s icy blue eyes meet with yours and your cheeks heat from embarrassment. He kisses you softly as he massages your center. He’s right. You like it. You’re moving your hips weakly against his fingers. Your lips part and he presses his lips against yours. He takes the lead and you try to move your lips in sync with his.
“You like it, don’t you?” He asks against your lips.
You nod although you hate that he can see you like this.
You’re so wet now. He easily slips the tip of his finger inside of you, “Clark–” You gasp, “More.”
“You can handle more, can’t you?” You nod as he pushes his finger deeper. You’re grinding against his finger in weak circles. “Good girl. Sweet girl. I’ve got more for you.”
His finger goes deeper, curling against a spot that has you shaking. It’s so slow. Torturous. “You gonna cum on my finger, Y/N?”
“I-I…” You moan, “I feel like I have to pee.”
Clark’s chest rumbles and you feel mortified knowing that he’s amused. “That’s okay. Don’t run from it.”
You turn your face into his chest, shyly, as you do your best not to run from the feeling. “Let me make you cum, baby,” It’s a slow building and then it happens all at once. You’re screaming into his the fabric of his shirt, hips shaking, but he keeps holding onto you even as his finger slips from inside you.
You feel empty without him.
He takes the opportunity while you’re dazed and mumbling incoherent to move you from his lap. He lays you down beneath him. Gently, he sets your right leg down on one of the bed’s pillows. He grabs onto your left leg as he settles between you. He lifts the fabric of your shirt, settling his face between your breasts, he takes each one into his mouth, licking the buds of your nipples.
You feel the sensation is what sends him over the edge. Its quick. How he tears the fabric over the boxers and presses his hard length at your entrance. He holds your leg, keeping you spread wide open, and presses further. It’s his turn. You see it in his eyes. The lack of control. He stares down at you, watching your face contort with pain as he takes you for the first time.
He’s more than appreciative, grunting your name, as he makes the first, shallow thrusts. He goes deeper as your body adjusts, squeezing tightly around him. He knows how lucky he is. You’re perfect and he never has to let you go. He could keep you tied to this bed and use you over and over again. You’re so polite that you’d thank him for it.
“You’ll stay with me,” Clark grunts, moving your hips into him, “I’ll look after you.”
“Clark, I can’t stay–” His eyes darken at that and he positions himself to go even deeper. His hand wraps around your throat and he turns your head roughly so he can growl into your ear.
“I wasn’t asking, sweet girl. I need you too bad. You see that, don’t you?” Clark asks although it’s rhetorical. He’s against your cervix now and you’re not sure he’s even registering how much you’re screaming, “I’m going to take you for hours.”
“Please,” You gasp, “Oh my —”
Another orgasm rushes through you, forceful and unyielding. He continues his pace and as you feel your body growing impossibly tired, you wonder how he can keep going. You don’t even feel him sweating.
You never really imagined for your first time but you thought you might be awake enough to remember most of it. It’s like a dream. You lose consciousness and awake to find him still inside of you. When he finally finishes inside of you, you’re stretched, and completely empty. When you awake again, you’re fully naked and tucked into the sheets. He lifts your head to feed you a glass of water. He pets your head and tucks your hair behind your ears. He runs his fingers all over you, down your back, over the curves of your hip and soothes you back to sleep.
And you sleep for days, safe and cared for.
reblog with your thoughts to be added to my clark taglist :)
Because I’m a big baby and need my wisdom tooth taking out. Ghost x reader.
You don’t tell anyone when you have to go to the dentist. Why would you? Big brave SAS soldier, afraid of a little wisdom tooth extraction. You’d be bullied for the rest of eternity.
Only when you get there, they say you can’t go home without appropriate supervision — especially with all the “good drugs” they’re going to give you.
So you text the one person least likely to take the piss out of you.
Hey G, need you to come to this address and pick me up.
Okay – G.
An hour later, he’s exactly where you asked him to be, dead on time.
Why the fuck am I at a dentist? is his first thought.
Then, when a nurse leads him into an exam room, thanking him for coming, he sees you.
You’ve got bloodied gauze in your mouth and you’re clutching onto another nurse’s hand as she tries to comfort you.
“G man!” you call excitedly, but your mood quickly shifts. “They stole my teeth,” you sob.
He shakes his head. “That right?”
He watches as you sniff and nod.
“Right, come on then, you.”
He listens intently to the dentist’s instructions, mentally running through what he’ll need to do to look after you. Then he holds you close as you walk out, unsteady from the medicine.
When you get home, you look at him with a goofy, tired smile. “Thank you for coming to rescue me, G.”
"You'll take it all in, won't you?" Levi's voice was rough almost as much as his thrusts were. He was in one of those moods where he just wants to wreck your world and make you forget everything else than him. "Won't you?" He repeats again, this time his tone more taunting, he takes your jaw making so you can look in the eyes. You moan nodding, unable to from words as he fucks you harder. "That's my good girl." His hands reaches down rubbing your clit at a gentle motion while his cock pounds you mercilessly. It was a combination that made you feel stars and the bastard knew it. The more your moans grew, the harder his hips moves. He loved having you like this, all needy and at his mercy.
Groaning when your walls clench around him, he pushes both of your knees up to your chest so he can fuck you deeper. "Shit...that's it.." Levi huffs. Your hands grab at his arms, feeling the muscles flex with each movement. He grunts again when his cock twitches inside of you, he was so so close but you're the one who came first, eyes rolling back as the wet sound of his thrusts echoed throughout the room. "Oh fuuck.." With a few more sloppy movements of his hips, he leans down kissing you on the mouth before coming inside of you. He continues fucking his cum into you for a bit more before easing up. Pulling away from the kiss, he leans his head into your neck and bites down on your skin, leaving another mark behind. "Mine. Do not forget it."
It was just a rumour in the start. Some stupid Private saw you walking out of Price’s office while buttoning up your shirt, hair disheveled and whatnot.
The Privates usually ignored it after that. Who were they to judge if someone got a little bit of dick every once in a while. Sure, it may have been their Sergeant and their Captain, but it’s not like they can say anything to stop it.
But then a few weeks later, yet another Private swore on his life that he heard someone moaning your name in Soap’s private quarters.
So you weren’t just fucking the Captain, you were also sleeping around with the lousy Scottish Sergeant? Does Price know about it?
After that incident, you saw Privates lurking around corners, trying to pinpoint who you’d sleep next with.
They even started little bullshit bets. Some betting 20£ that you’d go after the Lieutenant, and some even betting triple that saying you’d go charm over Gaz.
Oh, but Gaz and Ghost? They were already hooked on you. They just knew how to keep it more discreet when hooking up with you.
Sure, Ghost would occasionally leave you a few hickeys here and there if he was feeling particularly territorial, but the Privates thought that was Soap’s doing.
Lately, though, Gaz had been getting bolder. He started pinning you to the ground more often where he would grind against you, in which you’d glare at him, but he’d just smirk.
He knows damn well that every single Private in that training room is watching you like a hawk. Getting the confirmation that you’ve become the barracks bunny of the TF141.
simon riley who just needs to take care of you. You mentioned you wanna get coffee in the morning, hes up before you with the cash in his pocket. You need to shower but dont feel like having to stand there and hold your arms up to wash your hair, he says he'll take one with you, and he's there for you to wrap your arms around and he'll take care of all the washing. Your tired but can't nap, he'll lay you on top of him and he'll hold you while you scroll on your phone or watch tv. You're horny, he'll make you cum as many times as you need, thats his pussy to take care of.
sometimes, you just have to wake your very sleepy husband to inform him of casual facts just because.
ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings: suggestive (he grinds on you), implied relationship (husband + wife) , female reader, crack. wc: 3k. 𝜗𝜚₊˚- nia's notes: i only wrote this bc my friends told me i had a random habit of telling them facts out of the blue when i have nothing to say... oops. (also i was debating to release this but it's been in my drafts for wayy too long) so perfectionist me was very triggered.
the room was dark, the only light coming from the pale moon filtering through the curtains. the room was silent—that deep, heavy silence that only existed in the small hours of the morning, when even the night creatures had settled down to rest.
satoru was dead asleep, one arm draped possessively over your waist, his face buried in your hair. his breathing was slow and even, each exhale warm against the nape of your neck. his usual hyperactive energy was completely dormant, his body heavy and relaxed in a way it rarely was during waking hours.
the weight of his arm was comforting, familiar. his hand rested just below your ribcage, fingers splayed across your stomach even in sleep. one of his legs was tangled with yours beneath the sheets, his thigh pressed against the back of yours. he was always like this when he slept—clingy, tactile, as if even unconscious he needed to confirm you were still there.
you, however, had woken up.
not for any particular reason—no nightmare, no sound, no discomfort. your eyes had simply opened, adjusting slowly to the darkness of the room. your mind was suddenly and inexplicably awake, thoughts beginning to bubble up from nowhere.
random thoughts.
very random thoughts.
"satoru," you whispered into the darkness, your voice barely audible.
there was a slight hitch in his breathing, a small grunt of acknowledgment rumbling in his chest against your back. his arm tightened fractionally around your waist, fingers flexing against your stomach, but he didn't move otherwise. his face stayed buried in your hair, his nose pressed against the back of your head.
"satoru," you tried again, a little louder this time.
"mmm?" he stirred slightly, and you felt the shift of his body behind you—muscles tensing briefly as consciousness tried to claw its way back. his hand slid up from your waist to splay across your stomach, his palm warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. "if you're waking me up at—"
he lifted his head slightly, and you felt him turn toward the nightstand. one eye cracked open, glowing faintly in the darkness as he squinted at the clock. the numbers read 3:47 am in harsh red digits.
"—three in the morning," he continued, his voice rough and low with sleep, each word dragged out and gravelly in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, "this better be good. or fun. preferably both."
even half-asleep, that dirty tone managed to creep into his voice. you could practically feel the smirk forming against your neck as he dropped his head back down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there—not quite a kiss, just contact.
"oh my god, no—" but you were laughing, that breathy kind that only came out when you were tired. "I just learned something and I need to tell you or I'll forget. this is important."
"at three in the morning? baby, the only important thing at three in the—"
"did you know that octopuses have three hearts?"
there was a beat of silence. complete, absolute silence. his breathing had even stopped for a second.
then, "baby...."
the single word was drawn out, dripping with sleepy amusement and something darker. his hand on your stomach flexed, fingers pressing in slightly. "I gotta be honest, that's not where I thought this was going when you woke me up all breathy like that."
you could feel the smile spreading across his face now, his lips curving against your neck. his thumb started tracing a lazy line just beneath your ribs, back and forth, the touch absent but deliberate.
"but—"
"but sure, yeah, three hearts. I'm listening." he pressed himself closer against your back, if that was even possible. every inch of his front was aligned with your back—chest to shoulders, stomach to spine, hips to tailbone. his nose nuzzled into your neck, and you felt him inhale deeply, breathing you in. "keep talking. love it when you get all educational on me. It's kinda hot, actually."
you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, that cocky edge that never really disappeared no matter how tired he was.
"two pump blood to the gills, and one pumps it to the rest of the body," you continued, trying to ignore the way his breath was now deliberately ghosting across your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
"mmm, efficient," he hummed, and the vibration rumbled through his chest into your back. you felt his lips brush against your shoulder, a whisper of contact through your shirt. "three hearts though... bet that octopus still doesn't love anyone as much as I love you. I only got one heart and it's completely gone for you. absolutely whipped. pathetic, really."
"God, you're so dumb," you said, but you were smiling into the darkness, your chest doing that annoying flutter thing it always did when he got sappy. "one heart, completely gone. you sound like a greeting card."
"a really good greeting card though," he mumbled against your neck. "the expensive kind. with glitter and pretty sparkles."
his hand started tracing lazy patterns on your stomach through your sleep shirt—circles, figure-eights, random swirls. his touch was warm and familiar, each movement slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. which, at almost four in the morning, he supposed he did.
"anyway, the one that delivers blood to the body stops beating when they swim. that's why octopuses prefer to crawl," you continue, hyperaware of every point of contact between you—his hand on your stomach, his breath on your neck, his leg now shifting to press more firmly against yours.
"see, that's their problem right there," he mumbled, his voice getting that sleep-rough quality that somehow made everything sound more intimate. each word was slightly slurred, lazy, like his mouth wasn't quite cooperating with his brain. "If I had three hearts, I'd make sure all of them worked overtime for you. no breaks. full dedication. 24/7 heart service."
you made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, your hand finding his chest like she needed to confirm the one heart was still working. "24/7 heart service," you repeated, words slurring together, "you're so— but okay, fine, I'll keep this one," and you patted his heartbeat twice like you were sealing a deal.
he tugged you even closer—something you hadn't thought was physically possible—eliminating any possible gap between your bodies. his legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets, and you felt him hook his ankle around yours.
then his thigh slid between yours, the hard muscle pressing against the soft inside of your legs in a way that was probably meant to be innocent but felt decidedly less so given the way his hand flexed on your hip, fingers digging in just slightly.
"tell me more," he murmured against your neck, his lips dragging across your skin as he spoke. his breath was hot, each exhale sending tingles down your spine. "c'mon, baby. what else is rattling around in that pretty head of yours?"
there was something about his voice like this—rough from sleep, low and intimate in the darkness—that made even the most innocent words sound like sin. you could feel the weight of his attention on you, the way he was completely focused despite his exhaustion.
"you actually want to hear more random facts right now?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady even as his thumb started tracing circles on your hip bone.
"obviously." he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the curve of your neck, his lips lingering there. you felt his tongue dart out briefly, just a quick taste before he pulled back. "y'know I love listening to you. could listen to you read a phone book and I'd be into it. you've got that effect on me."
his thumb slipped just barely under the hem of your shirt, brushing against bare skin in a way that made you shiver involuntarily. but there was nothing urgent about it—just satoru being tactile, needy for contact even in his half-asleep state. His fingers were calloused, rough against the soft skin of your stomach, and each small movement sent sparks of awareness through you.
"plus," he added, and you could definitely hear the grin now, that cocky satisfaction that meant he'd noticed your reaction, "you waking me up in the middle of the night just to tell me about octopuses? that's adorable. that's the kind of weird stuff I fell in love with. so yeah, keep going. I'm all yours." he encourages.
his hand splayed wider across your stomach, fingers spanning from one side of your waist to the other. he was always amazed by that—how his hands were so much larger than yours, how he could practically encompass your entire waist with his palms.
"okay, um..." you thought for a moment, hyperaware of his warmth surrounding you, of the way his chest expanded and contracted against your back with each breath. "dolphins have names for each other. they use specific whistles to identify individuals."
" 'course they do. dolphins are smart as hell." his hand flexed on your stomach, fingers pressing in rhythmically like a cat kneading. "bet they use those names to talk shit about each other too. 'hey, did you see what jeremy did at the reef today? embarrassing. absolutely humiliating. that dolphin has no game at all."
he shifted behind you, and you felt his hips press more firmly against your backside. the movement seemed unconscious, instinctive, like his body was seeking more contact even as his mind focused on your words.
despite yourself, you giggled softly. "probably. poor jeremy." Your thumb traced an absent pattern against his wrist. "dolphins are so judgemental."
"mhm, that they are... and what else?" his voice was getting drowsier, each word taking more effort, but that edge of playfulness remained. his lips found your shoulder again, pressing another kiss there, then another slightly higher on your neck.
a slow trail of affection that made your breath hitch. "come on, sweetheart. more. I'm wide awake now. well, mostly awake. like... thirty percent awake. but that thirty percent is very invested in your animal facts."
his hand slid from your stomach to your hip, gripping there possessively. then it traveled lower, fingers tracing along your thigh through your sleep shorts, down to your knee and back up again. not sexual, just... touching. mapping. confirming.
"hmm, cows have best friends and get stressed when they're separated," you managed, trying to ignore the way his touch was making it hard to think straight.
"mmm, relatable content." he nuzzled deeper into your neck, his white hair tickling your jaw and cheek. you felt his lips part against your skin, a soft kiss placed right over your pulse point. he could probably feel your heartbeat racing there. "I get stressed when I'm away from you too. 's why I always come back so clingy. can't help it. you're my favorite person."
"you're ridiculous," you mumbled, but your hand slid up to curl around his wrist, holding his arm against you like you needed the weight of it. "you were gone for four hours yesterday and sent me seventeen texts."
"and? your point? that's restraint, baby. I wanted to send thirty."
his leg shifted between yours, the muscle of his thigh pressing against your core now in a way that definitely wasn't innocent and you whimper pitifully at the light tease. he pulled you somehow even closer, until there was absolutely no space left between your bodies. you could feel every plane and angle of him—the hard muscle of his chest, the ridges of his abs, the sharp jut of his hipbones.
".....actually, you know what? forget favorite person. you're my favorite everything." his voice had dropped even lower, barely more than a rumble in his chest. "favorite smell—" he inhaled deeply against your neck, "—favorite sound—" his lips brushed your ear, "—favorite thing to wake up to. even at three in the morning with octopus trivia."
his hand slid back up your body, under your shirt this time, palm flat against your stomach. his skin was burning hot, almost fevered, and you could feel the calluses on his fingers as they traced idle patterns. higher, until his fingers brushed just below your breast, then back down to your hip. exploring, savoring, claiming.
"satoru..." your voice came out breathier than intended.
"what? 'm being honest." another kiss, this one lingering on your pulse point. his teeth graze the skin there, not biting, just a promise. "keep going. tell me more. i'm the luckiest guy in the world right now—the strongest sorcerer, wrapped around his beautiful wife, getting free education. this is peak existence."
his hips rolled against you slightly, and you felt the outline of already hardening cock despite his exhaustion, your lips part to breathe out his name in need.
you made a soft sound that was half-gasp, half something else entirely. "you're the worst," you mumbled, but you didn't move away. "I'm trying to educate you."
"you are educating me," he groaned against your neck. "teaching me I've got zero self-control when it comes to you. very educational."
but he didn't push, didn't take it further. just held you, touched you, breathed you in like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to consciousness.
"penguins propose to each other with pebbles," you said, attempting to distract yourself, your voice slightly unsteady now. "the male finds the smoothest pebble to present to the female."
he was quiet for a moment, and you felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin. his hand on your stomach flexed, fingers spreading wide. "that's actually smooth as fuck. respect to the penguins."
then, with typical satoru confidence, "though I definitely outdid them with that ring. did you see the size of that diamond? could probably signal passing aircraft with that thing. I have excellent taste. Impeccable, even."
"you do," you agreed softly, your hand coming up to cover his where it rested on your stomach. his fingers immediately laced with yours, squeezing, and you remembered how his hands had shaken—just slightly—when he'd slipped that ring on your finger. "perfect taste."
"damn right I do. I picked you, didn't I?" his hand brought yours up to his lips, and you felt him press a kiss to each of your knuckles, slow and deliberate. "best decision I ever made. well, that and becoming the strongest. but you're definitely top two. might even be number one, but don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain." he mumbled incoherently.
his voice was starting to slur again, exhaustion creeping back in, but he fought against it. you could feel the effort in the way his body tensed periodically, like he was forcing himself to stay awake. his grip on you tightened as if he was afraid he'd let go if he fell asleep.
"more... come on, baby. what else you got?" he pressed his forehead against your shoulder, breathing deeply. "hit me with your best shot. I can take it. I'm very resilient. especially when it comes to you talking. could listen to you for hours. days, even. forever."
his hand slid from your stomach to interlace with yours properly now, bringing your joined hands to rest over your heart. he could feel it beating there, quick and strong.
"sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don't drift apart," you said softly.
"now thats what I'm talking about." he immediately adjusted, managing to keep one arm locked around your waist while his hand found yours again, fingers threading through yours with more coordination this time. "see? even otters know what's up. gotta keep your person close. basic survival instinct."
he squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, repetitive motion that was probably soothing him as much as you. "we should do this every night. the hand holding thing, not the drifting thing. though honestly, where would you even drift to? I've got you pretty thoroughly trapped here."
"not drifting," you murmured, pressing back into his warmth. "you're too warm. too comfortable. 'm stuck."
to emphasize his point, he tightened his hold, his leg pressing more firmly between yours, forcing them apart slightly so he could slot himself more completely against you. his chest pressed solid against your back, his arm like a steel band around your waist, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline. you were completely surrounded by him—his warmth, his scent (clean soap and something uniquely satoru), his overwhelming presence.
"not that you'd want to drift away anyway," he added with sleepy confidence, and you could hear the smirk even though you couldn't see his face. "I'm the best thing you've ever slept next to. It's a fact. probably should add that to your collection. 'satoru gojo: objectively perfect sleeping partner and husband.'"
"so humble, i take it back." you grumble under your breath but somehow he heard you.
"hey, I'm just being realistic. I'm objectively great at cuddling. s'one of my many talents." he yawned hugely, his jaw cracking audibly. "right up there with being devastatingly handsome, incredibly powerful, and amazing in b—"
"satoru??"
"—battle," he finished with a low laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back. "what? I was gonna say battle. get your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart."
but his hips pressed forward slightly as he said it, grinding against you just enough to contradict his innocent words. his hand on your stomach slid lower, fingers splaying across your lower abdomen.
he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then just behind your ear—a trail of lazy affection, each one lingering longer than the last. "love you," he mumbled against your skin, the words vibrating against you. "love you so much. even when you wake me up with your random-ass ocean facts. especially then, actually. 's cute. you're cute. mine."
you felt your throat tighten, eyes burning in that specific way that meant you were more affected than you wanted to admit. your thumb traced over his knuckles, the only response you could manage.
his breathing was evening out again despite his best efforts, his body growing heavier against yours. the weight of him was comforting, grounding. but still, his arms stayed locked around you, holding you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. his leg remained firmly between yours, his hand pressed against your stomach, his face buried in your neck.
"you're stuck with me, you know," he murmured, barely coherent now. each word was an effort, dragged up from somewhere deep. "forever. no returns, no exchanges. you married the strongest, baby. that's a lifetime guarantee. actually, more than lifetime. i'm gonna love you in every lifetime. gonna find you in all of them."
his fingers flexed against your stomach, a weak squeeze. "you're mine... my best friend... my everything... my home..."
"I wouldn't want returns anyway," you mummer gently, squeezing his hand.
"good. 'cause I'm never letting you go." his words were slurring together now, sleep dragging him under with determined force. "never ever ever... you're mine... no one else gets to have you like this... no one else gets to hear your three am octopus facts..."
his hand squeezed yours one more time, the grip weak with exhaustion but determined. "tell me more... tomorrow," he whispered, his lips barely moving against your neck. "wanna know everything... every random thing in that beautiful brain... gonna listen to all of it... 'cause I love you... and I love your weird three am rants... love everything about you..."
you smiled in the darkness, your eyes already closing. "I'll even tell you about seahorses," you murmured. "how the males carry the babies. you'd be so smug about that."
"damn right I would," he mumbled, barely conscious. "progressive seahorse king..." he pauses "but promise me you'll actually tell me." his voice was barely audible now, more breath than sound.
"promise."
"good..." another kiss to your neck, sloppy and uncoordinated, more of a press of his lips than anything else. "'m the luckiest... the absolute luckiest... got the best wife... the smartest... the prettiest... the perfect-est... all mine... only mine..."
his breathing evened out completely, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against your back. his body went fully lax against yours except for his arms, which remained firmly wrapped around you. even in sleep, his hold on you didn't loosen—possessive and protective and loving all at once. his hand stayed interlaced with yours, his leg remained between yours, his face stayed buried in your neck like even unconscious he needed to be as close as possible.
you lay there in the darkness, wrapped in your husband's embrace, warm and safe and thoroughly claimed. the weight of him was comforting, the sound of his breathing soothing. your mind had finally quieted, the random facts settling back into whatever corner of your brain they'd emerged from.
as you drifted back to sleep, you could have sworn you heard him mumble one last thing, the words barely formed:
"...still gonna find you that pebble though... gonna be the best pebble... smoothest one in all of japan... put that penguin to shame... show him how it's done..."
you smiled, pressing back against him slightly, feeling the solid warmth of him surrounding you. even half-unconscious, satoru was still satoru—cocky, possessive, slightly ridiculous, and completely, utterly, devastatingly yours.
you know how when dogs feel their death coming, they find a place away from their owners to curl up until the inevitable end?
that’s kind of the situation you were in right now.
john words had stabbed you through your heart, the blade piercing all the way through until it came out on the other side. it felt like you were bleeding to death. your mind was hazy and your eyesight was blurry and you couldn’t quite feel your body. yes, this must’ve been your end coming. far away from your owner.
in reality, you were curled up on the comfortable hotel bed. your knees were pulled close to your chest and with every blink, a tear rolled down your cheek and onto the pillow.
so cold.
it was winter and the temperature was low. you were certainly not clothed properly before you left the flat in a hurry and your body had yet to adjust to the warm room. it felt like you were in a pile of snow. a bleeding body left to rot, the ice turning red around you.
a knock on the door startled you, pulling you out of your trance. you sat up, brows furrowing. “yes?” you called out, cringing at the hoarseness of your voice.
“it’s me, baby. open up, please.” the familiar voice made you freeze and for a moment you thought that maybe you were hallucinating.
no, it couldn’t be him. john had abandoned you on the side of the road, relieved himself of the burden of a dog that’s too difficult to handle. your throat felt tight, like your collar didn’t fit anymore. you were a puppy when he first put it on you but now you’d grown and he didn’t want to deal with you anymore.
“swee’heart? come on, please open the door.” john begged, standing outside the hotel room door, his face full of fear and regret. he had taken some time to collect himself, beat himself up over how horribly he had treated you. when he came out of his office, he expected you had either gone to bed or were maybe watching a show in living room. to his horror, you were no where to be found.
he panicked immediately, ready to call up the team and search for you. thankfully he hadn’t lost his mind completely and checked his phone. you always had your location on for him. it was something he had asked you to do early in your relationship because he was terrified of anything happening to you.
reaching the hotel, he was sure he looked a little frantic. the lady at the reception was nice and when he showed her the picture of you and him on his lockscreen, she smiled and told him the number of your room. she wouldn’t have done this in most situations but the worry in the man’s eyes was so clear to her.
she was glad you had someone that cared about you. you weren't aware that someone existed anymore.
it took you a couple of minutes to gather the strength to get up and go to the door. the second you opened it, you were engulfed by the big arms that made you feel safe. caged between them, really.
john closed the door and pulled you so tightly in his arms as if he was trying to fuse himself with you. trying to make you a piece of him, give you a piece of himself as an offer to atone for his sins. how could he have spoken to you like that? treated you as if you were an enemy threatening his team instead of the love of his life. his whole world.
“i’m so sorry. so sorry, love. god, i’m sorry.” he kept repeating over and over, face buried in your shoulder and arms wrapped so tightly around you as if you’d disappear if he let go. taking risks was part of his job but that was one risk he refused to take. he couldn’t lose you. “didn’t mean it. swear, i didn’t. i love you so much.” his voice was shaky and he really couldn’t stop himself from crying.
he couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. but he would remind himself of this moment for the rest of his life so that he never hurt you again.
“i’m sorry.” he whispered and pressed a few kisses on your head, feeling your trembling form in his arms. you weren’t aware you were crying, he could feel it. you were just sobbing, fingers gripping his shirt. “i know. i know, love. i was terrible, i know. i’m sorry.” he apologised again and again, but it didn’t feel like it was enough. how could it be? treating your lover as an enemy should be a crime punishable by death, john thought.
“please forgive me, my love.” he didn’t dare speak louder than a whisper. not when he could risk overwhelming you. everything needed to go at your pace. “no bad day can excuse what i did.” his grip loosened only so he could kneel before you. his arms wrapped around your legs and he pressed his face against your thighs as if he was worshiping you. begging his god for forgiveness.
“you were really mean.” your voice was barely audible and your throat felt dry. but you fingers rested on his beanie, nonetheless, unable to stop yourself from touching him. “so mean.” it sounded a little childish. childlike. you were hurt, so terribly hurt that you couldn’t think properly. the ache in your chest had taken away your ability to function. that’s what it felt like.
“i know.” john whispered, his heart breaking over and over again. he didn’t deserve to feel bad after how he treated you. what he deserved was a slap and a kick to the balls. he wouldn’t blame you if you left him but he prayed to everything imaginable you wouldn’t. “the meanest, wasn’t i?”
you only hummed in agreement, pushing the knitted hat back and burying your fingers in his hair. “you could’ve told me you needed space.” you sniffled, one hand holding onto the beanie and the other one playing with his hair.
“i should’ve, my love. my reaction was uncalled for and so wrong.” he said softly, face still pressed against your skin. jesus, you had left the apartment wearing shorts in such a weather. “you’re freezing.” he murmured and looked up at you, meeting your gaze. “please come home.”
you paused, your heart skipping a beat. home. was it really still your home? you were so scared, terrified you’d lost the only safety you ever had in your life. “home? are you sure?”
john nodded and stood up, pulling you in his arms again. “of course, sweetheart. our home. i can’t live without you.” he hoped that you could hear the sincerity in his words. he’d never been more serious about anything else. and that coming from john price was a huge deal.
you hesitated, like a rescue dog who hides under the bed instead of sleeping on it. “you promise?”
a hum and a kiss on your forehead was enough to start warming your freezing heart. “i promise. i’ll do anything, alright? anything to make it up to you and show you how much i love you.” yes, he was serious. you could tell from his tone and the way he looked at you. he left no room for doubt, not even to your reluctant mind. his love was strong enough to stop the decomposing of your heart and mend it back together.
he vowed to himself that he’d never hurt you again.
it would take some time for you to truly heal after this. but he was prepared. he’d give you all the time you need until you felt safe with him again. he’d prove it to you time after time that his heart beat for you. he was already planning on texting kate and the team once you had managed to get some sleep, arranging a much needed leave for him. he'd talk about it with you tomorrow, ask you if you wanted to go on a vacation or preferred to stay home. anything for you. he'd bring the moon down for you if you wished for it, move mountains and cross oceans just to see your smile,
nothing mattered like you did, that's what he had realised. he hated himself for it, for taking so long to truly see what he had. losing you, even for an hour, was enough to scare him like he'd never had before. no bombs or snipers or stab wounds could instill fear in him like the thought of a life without his light could.
a/n: i think this is my favourite thing i’ve written so far so i hope you enjoy it as well:)! if anyone wants to request something please feel free to send me an ask ! oh also i might do another part and expand on the healing journey, learning to trust him again and a bit more pathetic john in love.
taglist: @g0wnshapedlikeapastry, @fierceanduntamedemotions, @anonymouse1807, @goochfiddler99, @coldhologramcrown, @ig-you-idiot, @mourningdove-222, @angelicadiabolus, @pipkinnott, @freshlemontea, @corrie1013 (tagged those who commented. sorry if you didn't want to be tagged, i'm still new to this)
you know how when dogs feel their death coming, they find a place away from their owners to curl up until the inevitable end?
that’s kind of the situation you were in right now.
john words had stabbed you through your heart, the blade piercing all the way through until it came out on the other side. it felt like you were bleeding to death. your mind was hazy and your eyesight was blurry and you couldn’t quite feel your body. yes, this must’ve been your end coming. far away from your owner.
in reality, you were curled up on the comfortable hotel bed. your knees were pulled close to your chest and with every blink, a tear rolled down your cheek and onto the pillow.
so cold.
it was winter and the temperature was low. you were certainly not clothed properly before you left the flat in a hurry and your body had yet to adjust to the warm room. it felt like you were in a pile of snow. a bleeding body left to rot, the ice turning red around you.
a knock on the door startled you, pulling you out of your trance. you sat up, brows furrowing. “yes?” you called out, cringing at the hoarseness of your voice.
“it’s me, baby. open up, please.” the familiar voice made you freeze and for a moment you thought that maybe you were hallucinating.
no, it couldn’t be him. john had abandoned you on the side of the road, relieved himself of the burden of a dog that’s too difficult to handle. your throat felt tight, like your collar didn’t fit anymore. you were a puppy when he first put it on you but now you’d grown and he didn’t want to deal with you anymore.
“swee’heart? come on, please open the door.” john begged, standing outside the hotel room door, his face full of fear and regret. he had taken some time to collect himself, beat himself up over how horribly he had treated you. when he came out of his office, he expected you had either gone to bed or were maybe watching a show in living room. to his horror, you were no where to be found.
he panicked immediately, ready to call up the team and search for you. thankfully he hadn’t lost his mind completely and checked his phone. you always had your location on for him. it was something he had asked you to do early in your relationship because he was terrified of anything happening to you.
reaching the hotel, he was sure he looked a little frantic. the lady at the reception was nice and when he showed her the picture of you and him on his lockscreen, she smiled and told him the number of your room. she wouldn’t have done this in most situations but the worry in the man’s eyes was so clear to her.
she was glad you had someone that cared about you. you weren't aware that someone existed anymore.
it took you a couple of minutes to gather the strength to get up and go to the door. the second you opened it, you were engulfed by the big arms that made you feel safe. caged between them, really.
john closed the door and pulled you so tightly in his arms as if he was trying to fuse himself with you. trying to make you a piece of him, give you a piece of himself as an offer to atone for his sins. how could he have spoken to you like that? treated you as if you were an enemy threatening his team instead of the love of his life. his whole world.
“i’m so sorry. so sorry, love. god, i’m sorry.” he kept repeating over and over, face buried in your shoulder and arms wrapped so tightly around you as if you’d disappear if he let go. taking risks was part of his job but that was one risk he refused to take. he couldn’t lose you. “didn’t mean it. swear, i didn’t. i love you so much.” his voice was shaky and he really couldn’t stop himself from crying.
he couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. but he would remind himself of this moment for the rest of his life so that he never hurt you again.
“i’m sorry.” he whispered and pressed a few kisses on your head, feeling your trembling form in his arms. you weren’t aware you were crying, he could feel it. you were just sobbing, fingers gripping his shirt. “i know. i know, love. i was terrible, i know. i’m sorry.” he apologised again and again, but it didn’t feel like it was enough. how could it be? treating your lover as an enemy should be a crime punishable by death, john thought.
“please forgive me, my love.” he didn’t dare speak louder than a whisper. not when he could risk overwhelming you. everything needed to go at your pace. “no bad day can excuse what i did.” his grip loosened only so he could kneel before you. his arms wrapped around your legs and he pressed his face against your thighs as if he was worshiping you. begging his god for forgiveness.
“you were really mean.” your voice was barely audible and your throat felt dry. but you fingers rested on his beanie, nonetheless, unable to stop yourself from touching him. “so mean.” it sounded a little childish. childlike. you were hurt, so terribly hurt that you couldn’t think properly. the ache in your chest had taken away your ability to function. that’s what it felt like.
“i know.” john whispered, his heart breaking over and over again. he didn’t deserve to feel bad after how he treated you. what he deserved was a slap and a kick to the balls. he wouldn’t blame you if you left him but he prayed to everything imaginable you wouldn’t. “the meanest, wasn’t i?”
you only hummed in agreement, pushing the knitted hat back and burying your fingers in his hair. “you could’ve told me you needed space.” you sniffled, one hand holding onto the beanie and the other one playing with his hair.
“i should’ve, my love. my reaction was uncalled for and so wrong.” he said softly, face still pressed against your skin. jesus, you had left the apartment wearing shorts in such a weather. “you’re freezing.” he murmured and looked up at you, meeting your gaze. “please come home.”
you paused, your heart skipping a beat. home. was it really still your home? you were so scared, terrified you’d lost the only safety you ever had in your life. “home? are you sure?”
john nodded and stood up, pulling you in his arms again. “of course, sweetheart. our home. i can’t live without you.” he hoped that you could hear the sincerity in his words. he’d never been more serious about anything else. and that coming from john price was a huge deal.
you hesitated, like a rescue dog who hides under the bed instead of sleeping on it. “you promise?”
a hum and a kiss on your forehead was enough to start warming your freezing heart. “i promise. i’ll do anything, alright? anything to make it up to you and show you how much i love you.” yes, he was serious. you could tell from his tone and the way he looked at you. he left no room for doubt, not even to your reluctant mind. his love was strong enough to stop the decomposing of your heart and mend it back together.
he vowed to himself that he’d never hurt you again.
it would take some time for you to truly heal after this. but he was prepared. he’d give you all the time you need until you felt safe with him again. he’d prove it to you time after time that his heart beat for you. he was already planning on texting kate and the team once you had managed to get some sleep, arranging a much needed leave for him. he'd talk about it with you tomorrow, ask you if you wanted to go on a vacation or preferred to stay home. anything for you. he'd bring the moon down for you if you wished for it, move mountains and cross oceans just to see your smile,
nothing mattered like you did, that's what he had realised. he hated himself for it, for taking so long to truly see what he had. losing you, even for an hour, was enough to scare him like he'd never had before. no bombs or snipers or stab wounds could instill fear in him like the thought of a life without his light could.
a/n: i think this is my favourite thing i’ve written so far so i hope you enjoy it as well:)! if anyone wants to request something please feel free to send me an ask ! oh also i might do another part and expand on the healing journey, learning to trust him again and a bit more pathetic john in love.
taglist: @g0wnshapedlikeapastry, @fierceanduntamedemotions, @anonymouse1807, @goochfiddler99, @coldhologramcrown, @ig-you-idiot, @mourningdove-222, @angelicadiabolus, @pipkinnott, @freshlemontea, @corrie1013 (tagged those who commented. sorry if you didn't want to be tagged, i'm still new to this)
price is kinda mean. my bad. oh and implied age gap. second part
“can’t you just leave me the fuck alone for once?” price snapped, looking up from the files he was reviewing and meeting your gaze as you stood in the doorway of his office. the one in his flat.
he had had a long day, you knew that. he hadn’t replied to a couple of texts you sent him throughout the day and he barely looked at you when he came back from base. he immediately holed himself up in his office. you were worried. he hadn’t touched the dinner you made and you could assume he had barely eaten today from how grumpy he was.
his voice pulled your attention off your thoughts and on him again. “ya act like a fucking dog. waitin’ for me by the door every day like some stupid mutt. fucking needy. just because you sit on your arse all day, doesn’t mean you can bother me all the fucking time when i’m home. if i’d known dating you would mean this, i would’ve given it more thought.” he was loud and scary, intentionally hitting your most sensitive spots. that was part of his job, after all. find the enemy’s insecurity and crush them.
you weren’t an enemy, though. he knew that. of course he did. but right now he was so angry at those soldiers that fucked up, at a recruit who almost shot his teammate, at life itself for being so frustrating, that he saw red.
a couple silent seconds passed before you walked out and carefully closed the door behind you. you were blinking away tears and your throat was burning but you needed to keep your composure. you had to. you’d been bad. needy and clingy. you didn’t deserve to cry or go back to his office and yell back at him.
was he right? you did act like a fucking dog. most nights, you waited for him by the door of his flat, greeting him with a smile and a kiss. but… but that was because you loved him. you were excited to see him. was that so bad? and you did do things during the day. you had a part time job, went to lectures or labs and if you had a free day, you did chores around the house or ran errands. you didn’t want to bother him when he came home. you just wanted to spend time with him because you missed him. it was john’s idea to move in together, telling you that you shouldn’t be renting a place when you always stayed over his. it was a waste of money, he said. this was your home now, he said.
suddenly these walls didn’t feel like home.
you grabbed your bag and left the apartment, feeling like you were being suffocated by the same place that brought you comfort.
midnight found you sat in a hotel room. you had walked for almost an hour, your mind numb. you hadn’t even noticed you were shivering from the cold. not until the receptionist at the hotel you entered asked you if you were okay. she was a sweet older woman, made you feel safe. you asked for a room for one night, making up some excuse you had already forgotten about, and made your way upstairs when she gave you the key.
you sat on the bed, staring at the wall in front of you. why did you always do this? cared too much. no one had ever matched your energy. from a young age, every friend you had never cared about the friendship as much as you did. it made you feel out of place. why couldn’t anyone care about you like you cared about others? why couldn’t you be loved the way you love?
you had thought you found that in john. he loved you. he loved you like you loved him and he missed you when you were apart and he hated sleeping without you. was it all a lie?
you had pushed him to his limits with your clinginess. it was only a matter of time, really.
just a little mirror shot. your skirt short, hips cocked, your hand lifting the hem to reveal bare thighs—and nothing underneath. your caption was smug:
no panties. bet you won’t do shit.
toji replied in ten seconds flat.
be ready in five.
you thought he’d tease you about it, maybe a little over-the-clothes groping, rough hands on your ass while you were trying to order lunch. but the look in his eyes when you slid into his passenger seat told you otherwise.
he didn’t speak for the first five minutes of the drive. just gripped the wheel tight, jaw clenched, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he was holding something back. the way his eyes dropped to your bare thighs—legs shifting, pressed together under the skirt like they could hide how wet you already were—had your heart racing.
"show me," he said suddenly, eyes still on the road.
you blinked. "what?"
"don’t play dumb. open your legs. show me that needy little cunt you left the house with."
your face flushed hot. but you obeyed, leaning back in the seat and parted your thighs slowly, skirt bunching around your waist, baring your slick folds to the open air. the a/c hit your pussy and made you shiver.
toji glanced once, then again. his nostrils flared. "fuck, you’re soaked." he didn’t even touch you. just kept driving with that crooked smirk.
you made it all the way to the parking garage. he pulled into a shadowed corner, cut the engine, turned toward you—and his hand shot between your legs. rough fingers parted your folds and dragged upward through your slit.
"mmnn—toji—!" you jerked, hips jumping.
"this is what happens when you fuckin' tease me, brat," he muttered, leaning in, lips brushing your jaw. "you go out in a little slutty skirt, nothing under, and dare me to lose control?"
he shoved two fingers inside you and you gasped, head falling back, thighs clenching around his wrist.
"keep 'em open," he growled. "you wanted this. now fucking take it."
he didn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt. just leaned closer, lips biting your throat while his fingers curled deep and fast, knuckles slick, your wetness coating his palm. you were already whining, trying to stay quiet as the sounds of schlk schlk schlk echoed in the closed car.
but then he pulled out. you barely had time to whimper before he was out of the car, walking around to your side. he opened the passenger door and grabbed your ankle.
"toji—!"
he yanked you halfway out of the car, feet on the ground, your upper body still sprawled across the seat, knees spread wide, skirt riding up. the whole garage was empty, but most likely not safe.
and you loved it.
"you’re gonna fuck me right here," he muttered, undoing his belt with one hand, while taking your seat in the car, cock already thick and flushed, leaking at the tip. he stroked himself once—then grabbed your hips and pulled you down onto his lap.
the first thrust was brutal. you choked on a cry, arms flying around his shoulders, pussy stretching full around his cock.
"so fuckin’ tight," he groaned into your ear, both hands gripping your ass hard, slamming you down over and over. "drippin’ all over me. and we’re still in public."
you tried to say something—tried to tell him someone might see—but he just grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back.
"let 'em see," he snarled. "let 'em see what a nasty little thing you are, bouncin’ on my cock in a fucking parking lot. no panties, no shame."
your moans were high, breathless, swallowed into his mouth as he kissed you hard, teeth clashing, your body bouncing on his lap with each punishing thrust. his cock hit deep, your clit grinding against the root of him every time you dropped. the car creaked with the motion. sweat slicked your spine. your thighs were shaking.
"toji—i’m—" you couldn’t even finish.
your climax ripped through you hard, legs locking around him as your pussy clenched like a vice. he grunted, bucking harder, his hands bruising your hips as he fucked you through it.
"that’s it," he growled. "cream on my cock. let me feel that messy cunt."
and then he was cumming too.
his breath stuttered, his arms locked around you as he shoved himself deep and stayed there, cock twitching, thick cum spilling into you. you felt it drip back out almost instantly, trailing down his shaft, smearing onto his jeans.
the car was silent, save for your panting. you slumped against him. dazed. boneless. a complete mess.
toji chuckled, "panties or not," he murmured against your neck, "you’re mine."
and then, with zero shame, he pulled out, scooped some of the cum dripping from your pussy with his fingers—and shoved it back inside.
"don’t waste it."
reblog to show support @normalgirlnextdoor - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
