Creamy

She/Her 18+ My blog of stories You can find me on Wattpad and Ao3 @screamingoverfiction 18+ only please, minors will be blocked. I do not support JKR.

[screamingoverfiction]

Creamy’s Masterlist

Requests Are Open!

NSFW

SFW

Who do I Currently Love? : The Outsiders Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle & Tom Riddle. If you want someone not on the list I'm open to any requests although they might not make it out of a draft.

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Birdie

Warm Welcome

Loving and Dying

Biofreeze at Bedtime

The Reaper and I

Fred Weasley:

Sleeping In

Possessive

Quiet Girl

Relax for me, Darling

Kitchen Tables

So This Is Love?

George Weasley

Secrets

[conleches]

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

body language masterlist

a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

550 words to say instead of fuckin said

638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

some more body language help 

[bellero]

REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER

[beainabottle]

Don’t ask me why but the words ‘tummy’ and ‘belly’ are akin to the word ‘moist’ for me. It’s cringy. My brain immediately autocorrects it when I see it, especially in a fic. That shit is in like every smut 😅😢

[gracelynoxenarian]

“pasado subjuntivo imperfecto pasado subjuntivo imperfecto,” i say, rocking back and forth as they lock the door to my padded cell

[dudeitiskarev]

Kind & Generous

There were supposed to be no secrets between you and Clark. He was your best friend, but you wished he were more than that. Your undying love for him wasn’t the only thing you kept behind your teeth, though. Just like him, you also had a double life. Not nearly as cool as his, but still, some people knew you as an average journalist, and others as an erotica writer, who was experiencing a horrible writer's block. Good thing Clark was always willing to help. [ 19.4k ]

Includes afab female reader; she’s a writer/author; she has a pen name but it’s only mentioned a four times; suicide jokes; self deprecating thoughts; so much pining and yearning; little angst; food as love language; jealousy; dry humping; p in v unprotected sex; insane amount of kisses like srsly; idiots in love; basically wholesome porn with a lot of plot <3; not beta read. happy reading! mwahhh 💋

PLAYLIST AND MOODBOARD

“You’re scaring me.” Clark entered your apartment like it were his home. It wasn’t that far from it, considering how much time he spent here. “Are you sick?” 

He had that look, like he was genuinely fearing for your life. 

“What? No! No, I’m not sick.” You waved your hands in the air as if trying to erase what he’d just said. 

His chest heaved out with a sigh of relief. He plopped down on your couch. 

“Then what is it?”

This was so stupid, but calling him truly was a cry for help, and he was the only person who could help you. The only person you trusted to help you with this. 

You sat next to him, facing him fully. He looked at you wide-eyed.  

“I’m… gonna tell you something about me,” you started. “Something nobody knows.”

“Okay?” He mirrored you, and your knees grazed together for a second. It sent instant heart-shaped tingles all over.

You moved it away.

“And I need you not to judge me because I really need you to help me,” you continued. 

“I won’t.” Clark nodded. “And I will, respectively.”

You breathed in and closed your eyes briefly, and at a slow pace, you asked him first:

“Do you remember that book every woman at the office was talking about last summer?”

He tore his gaze away from you and looked up at the ceiling in deep thought.

“Over Those Hills,” he said after a moment and you nodded. You didn’t expect him to remember the title. “What about it?”

You gulped. ‘Over Those Hills’ was the second book you’d published, but the first one to hit the New York Times best seller. The one that started to pay your bills soon after it was picked up by an agent.

“I wrote it,” you finally confessed.

For five seconds, his face remained motionless, then his cute dimples appeared in all of their glory, and an under-his-breath laugh rolled from his chest. You adored those dimples. Sometimes, you wished you had the power to make yourself tiny just so you could tuck yourself in one of them and make it your home forever. 

“Is that it?” he said through another small laugh.

“Clark…”

“That’s your secret?” 

“Yes!” He laughed heartily then. You nudged his arm, but you couldn't help but laugh, too. That laugh gave you a reason to look at the bright side of things when everything seemed grey. “Don’t mock me!”

“I’m not!” he raised his palms in self-defense. “I’m not, I promise, I just… It was a really good book. Very explicit, but so good.”

He read it?!

“You read it?!”

“Everyone was talking about it! I had to!”

You rose from the couch and paced behind it so he wouldn’t look at you. This was such a bad idea. He knew about the filthy things you wrote about, and if he found it hilarious that you were the one who wrote that book, what you were about to ask him was probably going to make him hysterical.

“So you’re a ghost writer,” he added more calmly now.

“No? I just have a secret identity.”

“You are Sierra Oz?” 

“Yes!”

He shifted to the other side to look at you. His long arm rested on the back of the couch, and that perfectly ironed dress shirt stretched over his biceps and chest. Those small buttons were about to burst open. 

“I still don’t understand what you need help with.” 

Your eyes met his gaze again. That smug look was still etched on his face. 

“I don’t want your help anymore.” 

“Oh, come on!” 

He stood up, attempting to reach your side, but you brushed past him and crossed your living room into your kitchen. His steps were right behind you.

“You’re gonna keep bugging me,” you said over your shoulder. 

“Of course I’m gonna bug you,” he said. “It’s what I do best, bug you to no end.” As you didn’t answer or look at him, he softened his voice. “Tell me.”

You turned around, leaned your butt on the kitchen counter, legs crossed, and folded your arms over your chest. You wanted to protect yourself as much as you could. Not because you feared he’d hurt you with his reaction—he’d never do anything to purposely harm you—but you were about to reveal an insecurity. 

You glanced down at your feet. 

“I’ve been on deadline for my third book for the last three weeks,” you began, “I… I’m writing from my male character’s point of view and… I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He didn’t answer, and you dared to look up at him. His brows raised with curiosity.

“I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific about what you need help with.”

This was so mortifying.

“I need your… opinion, I guess, or your experience, or something, anything, really, so I can write the sex scenes accurately from his point of view.” 

His smile dropped, and an adorable shade of pink rushed to his cheeks.

“Oh, I see now.” His brows knitted together, and his eyes got lost somewhere with a faraway look.

“Yeah… and I understand if you don’t want to since we’ve never talked about sex before and all.” 

Mostly because your lack of experience with men was very well known by people at the office. You weren’t a virgin, but you might as well be one, considering the last time you were touched by a man was over three years ago. By choice, though. 

“The topic hasn’t come up,” he replied with a shrug and tone that spread warmth all over you, and you weren’t that nervous anymore. “What do you wanna know?” 

You sighed and uncrossed your limbs. He had the ability to turn everything that caused you anxiety into balm.

“It’s not that I want to know something in particular. I just need help. I don’t even know how to start or where to start.”

After a moment, he suggested, “I could read what you have so far and we can go from there?”

It was around forty-five thousand words, and he was a fast reader, so while you handed him your laptop with your manuscript, a cup of hot cocoa, and made him settle on the couch to read it, you went back to the kitchen to bake something. Just so your mind would be occupied while in the other room, Clark would be reading a first draft, which was way more intimate than anything you two have ever done together. 

He’d been your best friend for the past two and a half years, but he didn’t know about your hobby. You mentioned your writing all the time, and the obvious thing to assume was your work articles, and you never bothered to clarify that you were writing novel-length stories. It was something so sacred to you that not even Clark could know. You went there—magic pocket universes in your mind—when you needed it the most. 

Like when he started dating Lois. 

Before her, you were convinced your love for Clark was entirely platonic, despite him being the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid your eyes on. And it was because you admired him. He was Superman. You wanted to be him. So yeah, it was easy to convince yourself you didn’t love him like that. 

But when she came around, and he didn’t have much time to spend with you, you realized, that deep admiration was closer to devotion. He was more than just a cool guy who one day decided to become your friend. He was your sun, but you weren’t his.

Lois was. 

You decided to drift away from him out of respect for her, which made you crave him, and found a way to still have him by writing a character that was just like him. You reached a peak of creativity while they were together. Almost a year of endless writing. 

Now, ever since he was single again, you’ve been experiencing writer’s block. You refused to relate it to him being single again, but who were you kidding? He was eating your brain. He occupied every thought, and now that he had more time to be your friend, you spent it all with him rather than writing, which was awful. 

You loved writing, but you loved him more. 

By the time the salted caramel brownies were in the oven, you started tidying up the mess you’d made, and like always, you hated your past self for not tidying up as you went. It was much easier, but no, you always stacked the mess until the very end.

“What’s that smell?” Clark’s warm voice entered the kitchen. 

 You turned around and found him leaning on the door frame with his arms folded over his chest. His broad shoulders strained against his dress shirt, and his smile wasn’t really on his lips but in his kind eyes.

“Your favorite.” You dusted your hands on your apron. “You read it already?”

He walked up to you while nodding. “You stopped just when the best was coming.” 

You rolled your eyes at him and went back to putting everything in the sink. Did he just make a pun?

“I’m scared to even attempt to write that.”

One step closer and he was right next to you. He didn’t understand personal space with you, and you didn’t care. You wanted him this close for as long as he decided. 

“Why did you choose to write from Wesley’s point of view to begin with?” 

You sighed in deep thought. 

“I first came up with the character, then his whole backstory unfolded. Wes is… he has so much to say. It’s his story. It has to be from his point of view.” 

“He chose you,” he said, like he perfectly understood the feeling.

Some silence dropped light between you two. He never forced words out of you, and you never felt the need to fill in the quiet moments with him. You believed that words were easily manipulated; silence was genuine by nature.

So while you hand-washed your utensils, he dried them and put them back in their drawers and cabinets. He knew where everything was by heart. 

“Are you really not impressed that I also have a secret identity?” You had to ask after a moment.

“You’re exactly the kind of girl who’d have this kind of interest,” he replied without hesitation. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He draped the kitchen cloth over his shoulder. 

“You… You show yourself as shy and as someone who doesn’t have much to say in a room full of people, so it makes sense that your mind is full of universes.”

You took off your apron and dried your hands with it while sighing. It wasn’t good or bad, but the way he said it—with a knowing smile—made it sound like a compliment. Anything that came out of his mouth sounded like a compliment, really. 

“Just figure out a way so I can help you, and I’ll do my best,” Clark said. 

Suddenly, this—talking about sex with Clark—felt like the worst scenario you and he could be in. Your whole body gained temperature at once. You cleared your throat and made yourself busy by preparing the teapot with some tea leaves, facing away from him so he couldn’t see how flustered this whole situation made you. 

“I guess you could answer some questions about your experiences.”

“Uh… Sure.” His voice grew slightly high-pitched. Your mind raced with every scenario that had kept you away from writing. All of them involved words that had never come out of your mouth in front of him. After a moment, he pressed, “Like?”

You winced and twisted on the inside, then, after the teapot was filled, said, “I don’t know, tell me what the vagina feels like or something.” 

More heat spread all over. You sensed how he stiffened behind you. 

“That’s… very specific.”

“Well, yeah. I’m a very explicit writer, remember?” You said with a hint of playful hostility. “It can help if you go back to your most recent experience, I guess.”

You caught his reflection on the window in front of you. He rubbed a palm over his chin. 

“I don’t think I can talk about my experience with Lois.”

Because the wound was still too fresh, you thought. You filled a stovetop kettle with water and put it on high heat before facing him again.

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged, as if just the mere thought of it didn’t make you want to throw up. “It’s for research.”

He half-shook his head. “I-”

“Then, about some other experience with another person.” 

“That was… ages ago,” he laughed a little. His first girlfriend, you easily assumed, the one he had after high school and the one who broke his heart a year later. “I don’t even remember.”

A lump formed on your throat and it turned into a cold ice cube as you swallowed it. A part of you wished he had more women in his life, that way the fact that Lois was his second girlfriend ever wouldn’t hurt this much.

“How else are you supposed to help me, then?” You played it cool.

Guilt pinched his brows together. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d ask me about specific experiences.”

“You’re making me sound like a creep. I don’t want you to tell me about how you had sex. I just need to know what you felt. Physically.” 

“I-” his mouth hung open and let a long heartbeat pass. “You could ask Jimmy?”

The kettle rattled behind you and gradually, it started to whistle.

“Yeah, I might ask him to have sex, too,” you said as a joke, and of course, he didn’t read it that way.

“What?!” 

“Yeah, I could use a live narration,” you kept it going. “I could take notes in the moment. That’d be waaaay easier. I could even voice record it so it—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because… he’s my best buddy. I don’t want to see you two and know you… had sex.”

“Dude, if you’re not willing to help me-”

“I am!” He said loudly over the ever-growing high-pitched whistle. 

Wheee!

“No, you’re not! You’re not willing to tell me about your experiences, which is totally understandable so-”

“Why couldn’t you ask me to have sex?!”

“I- what?”

“I—” Wheeeee! “Can you turn that thing off?!” He gestured with his hand, exasperated.

Heat rushed to your face and ears. You reached behind you and blindly turned the stove off. 

Why would he even suggest that? He was Clark. He wasn’t someone who did things casually or without purpose and passion sprinkled here and there. He just confessed that Lois was one of the two people he’s slept with. 

He tore his eyes away but moved his hands in the air as he passionately explained: “Y-you’re willing to have sex with Jimmy for research but not with me?” 

“Because we’re friends!” You shot right back. 

“Exactly!”

You opened the top cabinet to hide behind the door, and took two mugs, placing them over the counter rather roughly. You breathed out to release the exasperation. You and him always had discussions out of the smallest things. He looked like a mad little bunny when he was angry, so sometimes you pissed him off on purpose. 

This time, though, nothing about how quickly this conversation escalated was on purpose. 

“I’m making myself some tea,” you said, softening your voice.

“I can see that.”

“This is my way of asking you if you want some too.”

Though he didn’t reply, you poured tea into both cups and added a teaspoon of honey in his. He replied with a gentle thanks as you handed him his mug. 

“Us, being friends, is exactly why we shouldn’t have sex,” you said.

He did that face—a suppressed smile, raised brows and a half-nod—like he understood your point but didn’t necessarily agree. 

“I think the complete opposite.”

“Clearly.”

“I’d do anything to help you. It’d be research. Homework.”

You bit back a smile and looked at your feet once again. He was being too casual about his idea, and the fact that he thought sex with you was a good idea unlocked a brand new feeling. Something between rainbows and raging fear with a pinch of endearment. 

“So, you, asking me to have sex with you, is you being a good superhero?”

“Sure.”

You stifled a sigh.

Sex with Clark was part of your dreams and daydreams, and you wondered. Not what it’d be like precisely (because you didn’t doubt for a second he was good at it), but you what it would do to your friendship. Every hypothetical ending of that daydream lead to the end of your most precious friendship. 

And you couldn’t risk that.

“I’d rather jump off the Daily’s rooftop,” you said. 

“I’d catch you halfway.”

“Oh, I know that!” 

You brushed past him and stomped your way to your balcony, with him following you like your shadow.

You were suffocating in your own thoughts.

“Wow, so you’d rather jump off a building than have sex with me, but you’d do it with Jimmy without a hint of hesitation?” 

Your balcony wasn’t as high as the Daily Planet’s rooftop, but still, the fall would save you from answering the truth.

It was very inconvenient having your desk right across from Clark’s. 

He was distracting when he pretended to be a normal human being. He was clumsy, said too many sorrys, he slouched, and he was cocky when it came to his work as a journalist (rightfully so, by the way). And even when he wasn’t doing or saying anything, he had your attention. 

Like right now. 

A crease dipped between his eyebrows as his fingers persistently clacked over the keyboard. He was as immersed in his own work as you were in him.

You sensed a strong glare from somewhere and your eyes found it behind him, past his shoulder. There was Lois, looking at you. She gave you a knowing smile with a nod and settled back on her desk. 

You knew she knew how you felt about Clark. Not because you’ve told her, but because you lived by the saying: a girl always knows. You bet a smart and observant woman like her could easily tell, despite your efforts not making it obvious. 

You shook the thought away, dropping your gaze back to your computer screen, and changed to the incognito tab where a blank document haunted you. The text cursor flickered like it was mocking you. You knew better than to work on your book during working hours and on your work computer, but every second counted now, even if you weren’t doing any writing, looking at the empty page was at least something. 

Right?

“Are you writing?” Clark whispered rather loudly from his seat.

“Yes, I’m writing,” you shout-whispered. 

He pulled himself up with his chair next to you and leaned forward to your screen, scrunching up his nose to adjust his glasses. 

“I don’t see anything.”

“Go away!” You said through laughter, pushing him by his shoulder. 

He was much (much) stronger than you, so he didn’t move an inch, and you only managed to push yourself away on your chair. You bumped into someone. 

“Whoa.” Jimmy stopped you from sliding even more. “Easy there.”

A light bulb lit up above your head then.

“Oh, hey!” You stood up and walked with him to the coffee station, giving Clark one glance over your shoulder.

Last night’s conversation didn’t lead to your confession, of course. Instead, you kept the idea of sleeping with Jimmy going and freed Clark from being your helper to your writer’s block. Seeing him evidently annoyed by the idea, prompted you to make it a personal challenge to give Jimmy more attention than ever before. Just to see what else Clark would do. You wanted to think he’d gotten jealous at your hypothetical proposal to Jimmy, but it was most likely his nature to want to keep you away from anything that could hurt you.

There wasn’t anything in particular about Jimmy that could possibly hurt you, though. You two didn’t click as friends, so even if you tried to make a move on him, you believed he would politely ignore you. He was a nice guy and had Clark in common, and that was it.

Still, as you reached his side, you asked him to pour you some coffee, and behaved like every other girl here who had a crush on him, knowing damn well Clark’s eyes were on you. He could melt your skull if he decided to use his heat vision.

You forgot all about personal space and got too close to Jimmy, giving him a toothy smile, and he gave you a quick once-over, as if he’d sensed how forced your nearness was. There was his polite way of rejecting you.

“O-kay, then.” You took half a step back and brought your mug up to your lips. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught Clark’s familiar tall and broad figure approaching you in long strides. He squeezed himself between you and Jimmy with a timid excuse me and reached for the coffee pot. 

As he lingered there, wordlessly, you asked him, “Can I help you with something?” 

“Just… making myself some coffee.” He shrugged.

Jimmy sipped on his steaming coffee loudly. “Will you guys make it tomorrow night?” 

You brushed past Clark and stood on Jimmy’s other side. “What’s tomorrow night?” 

“It’s his birthday,” Clark said, sipping on his coffee. His glasses fogged up. 

“I know it’s his birthday. I just didn’t know there was a party,” you told Jimmy.

“There wasn’t one until—” he glanced at his watch “—twenty minutes ago. So this is me—” he gestured at himself “—inviting you two.”

“Aw, thanks!” You leaned your hip on the counter and faced him fully, scanning his face like you wanted to count every freckle. “Why celebrate it on a weekday, though?” 

Clark cleared his throat just because. You picked a non-existent lint from Jimmy’s collar. 

“I’m hoping not everyone can make it.” Jimmy glanced down at your hand with apparent disgust. 

“Then why invite people you don’t want there?” 

He subtly backed away from you. 

“I don’t want to offend anybody.” 

“You can’t be everyone’s friend, Jimmy,” you said. 

“Leave him be,” Clark countered. “I get what you mean, man.”

 “I know you do.” Jimmy clapped a hand over Clark’s shoulder and said, already on his way back to his desk, “Let me know if you guys will make it. I need to know how much booze to buy.” 

We will! You and Clark replied at the same time, even when neither of you was much of an alcohol lover. 

You rolled your eyes at him and asked between clenched teeth:

“Dude, what is your problem?” 

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t about to ask him to have sex with you, is all,” he replied under his breath. 

“I wasn’t,” you shot back, and crossed the bullpen to your desk. “If I did, I wouldn’t do it in front of everybody. I may ask him tomorrow night, at his birthday party. Maybe I could get there empty-handed, with just a red shiny bow on my butt and offer myself as a gift. It’d be a win-win.”

A rare frown pinched his brows ever so slightly and his lips set into a straight line. 

“Stop it.” 

Poking the bear was working. 

“Why does it bother you so much?” 

Clark paused and tore his gaze away for a moment. “It doesn’t bother me. You both are two of my favorite people, but you’re-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m too pure for someone like him.” 

”Well, now I’m not so sure about that, considering what you write about-”

“At— shhh!” You looked around to make sure no one heard that first part. Everyone was doing their own thing. “Keep it down, superm—”

He clasped a hand over your mouth and his eyes widened. He was gentle while doing so, and something between determination and surprise balanced between those eyes. As if he’d been taken aback by his reaction, yet he didn’t withdraw his hand. Somehow, he’d cornered you against the wall, attempting to hide you from the world, and suddenly the everyday office noise faded. Like he’d put you in a bubble where only you and him existed. 

It melted you—his unexpected touch, his eyes from this up close, his sudden force—and he slowly uncovered your mouth, but his eyes behind his glasses were still telling you to stop talking. You’d called him Superman with distracted people around many times before, and he never acted this way.  

As soon as your mouth was fully freed, you breathed in through your nose to cool yourself. You needed an ice bath to get rid of that heat, but you still managed to reply, so sure:

“What if I told you he’s exactly my type?”

His jaw clenched. “I’d say you are lying.”

“You don’t even know what my type is.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he scoffed. “Dev from the mail room. Great guy.”

You scoffed even harder. ”What makes you think he’s my type?”

Dev wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he was definitely intriguing, and if Jimmy didn’t exist, girls here would surely stop by the mail room more often.

“He’s tall and generous and… has kind eyes.”

“If you believe that’s all it takes from someone to be my type, you’d also be my type, don’t you think?” 

His face lit up. “You think I have kind eyes?”

You stifled an incoming sigh and burst the bubble by making your way to the vending machine. He was predictable at this point, so you replied over your shoulder:

 “Clark, you are the epitome of kindness. Everything about you is kind.”

There was something romantic about the Daily’s rooftop at night.

The skyline lit up by the city lights was tempting to admire, just like a sunset, and you often found yourself here to take them in. To think. To escape the chaos of the office. To get inspired. 

You walked closer to the edge and breathed in the evening breeze. 

Until last year, this was yours and Clark’s spot. Before Lois. After her, it became the place you visited to escape them. 

“You’re not jumping, are you?” Clark’s voice echoed around.

Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart almost leaped from you. He’d followed you there, like the old times.  

“It’s no use now that you’re here, is it?” you shot right back teasingly. 

His footsteps stopped somewhere behind you. His presence was so strong, even when you couldn’t see him, he felt as impotent as a skyscraper.

“I thought you’d left.” Clark reached your side and you looked up at him briefly. He’d taken off his glasses and tucked them in his shirt front pocket. 

“I was about to.” 

“You don’t wanna go home?”

Your tongue clicked. “If I do… I would beat myself up for not working on my book and I don’t want to do that to myself. Not tonight, at least.”

He hummed in agreement. After a moment, he said: 

“I did some research on Sierra Oz. You could easily make a career out of your writing.”

You chuckled. Heat rushed to your face. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You can free yourself from Perry for good.”

You’ve thought about it, many times but—

“I fear if I do, I’ll stop enjoying it.”

“Why?”

You sighed.

“Because it’ll become my full-time job, and I don’t want to ruin the magic of writing to escape. I need it to stay as a hobby. As something I come home to. To distract myself from my responsibilities as an adult. My responsible and mature job is being a journalist. With my other writing I allow myself to… dream beyond every wall of insecurity I’ve built while being a journalist.”

A loud and persistent honk filled the brief silence. Clark peeked down the street, surely to make sure everyone was alright. 

It was just some impatient guy wanting to turn left.

Clark came back next to you and said, “I wish there was something I could do.”

You pressed your lips together. He truly had offered everything.

“I appreciate you suffering with me through this,” you laughed a little. “And for offering help, as ridiculous as it was.”

“The offer’s still up,” he said, and your stomach fluttered. 

“And I still think it’s best if I do it with Jimmy.”

“Don’t do that to me.”

Your head snapped at him. 

“I- It’ll make things messy between all of us,” he added.

“Should I download a dating app, then?”

“That’s worse. Meeting strangers can be dangerous, especially men, and… it’s best if you do it with someone you know.”

He was so distressed about it, it was borderline cute. You had to tell him, “Clark, I wasn’t being serious. I wouldn’t… have sex with anyone for research. I just have to be a big girl and push through this rough patch because it happens. I’ll just give myself some time. Step away from the story for a while.”

“Do you have the time to do so?”

“I have time, just not a lot. And if I fail at it,” you sighed, “then it was fun while it lasted.”

Locked out of heaven by Bruno Mars was playing at Jimmy’s house when you arrived. 

It looked like a full-on party, which meant his plan of celebrating his birthday on a weekday didn’t work at all. Cat reached for your hand and led the way inside while you squeezed yourselves through the sea of people—grabbed a drink each—and made it to the backyard. 

There were even more people here, but at least it was out in the open. Jimmy was sprawled on a lounge chair with four women surrounding him by the pool, touching him and laughing at everything he said. He looked like a king, and it wouldn’t surprise you if at some point in the night a crown popped over his head while one of his girls started feeding him grapes.

You still didn’t understand how he managed to get this many women when Clark was right there… with Lois. Sitting on a bench under fairy lights like they came out right out of a rom-com, where the couple who broke up not long ago were about to give each other a second chance. 

Just the mere thought gnawed at your mind and twisted your insides. 

You weren’t supposed to be here, watching them rekindle their romance. You were meant to be buried in your couch with your laptop trying to do some writing, even if that also would ruin your peace, it was better than this. You hated how whenever she was near, you had immediate access to all of your insecurities. 

Before Lois could catch you staring, you brought your attention back to Cat and forced a smile. 

With her, you had the chance to stay a listener. She carried the conversations most times, if not always, which was why she was your better half at parties. You hated talking. Hated small talk. And she didn’t, and always made you feel included even if you didn’t say a word. 

So you just laughed and said yeah! and oh my gosh! and nodded while smiling with your eyes at whatever anyone who joined said. The conversations drifted in and out of your brain; your whole focus was on them.

Sometimes you wished you had Clark’s superpowers, just so you could eavesdrop on what they were talking about. Sometimes, you thought he could read your thoughts, too, even when he confessed to you all about being Superman, he told you all about his powers. 

It felt like he could. At least with you, because every time, he caught you staring. It wasn’t weird that he did. It was Clark, and he only made some cute faces or smiled at you to acknowledge your presence and went back to his oh-so-interesting conversation with Lois. 

At some point in the night, you moved close to the pool and ended up facing Clark and Lois again, and you and he kept locking eyes every once in a while. It became your own language when you decided to drift away from the friendship when he started dating her. You did it to protect yourself from getting more heartbroken, but you could never stop looking at him, and apparently, he couldn’t either. 

Cat said your name, and the buzz of the party came back to you.

“Huh?” You looked at her.  

“I said, do you think they’re getting back together?” she subtly asked you while looking in Clark and Lois’ direction. She was your better half, but she didn’t know how you felt for him. 

You answered a dry I hope so, as if the mere thought made you want to throw up. 

You sipped on your drink to force the words you didn’t truly mean down your throat.

“Like, look at him! He’s so smitten.” She sighed like she was the one in love. 

Right as she said that, Clark’s gaze found yours again and held it for what felt like minutes. It singed your skin, and you would’ve caught on fire if a stranger’s arm hadn’t draped over your shoulder.  

“Hey, sweetheart.” Some random guy had approached you. His alcohol breath was radioactive. 

“Ew, ew.” You sneaked away from him. “Get him off of me!”

“Don’t even try it.” Cat placed a strong palm over this guy’s chest, but he didn’t back off. “She’s with me.” 

“I don’t mind sharin’.” His face split with a creepy smile and almost ate her with his eyes.

“We said Back off.” You pushed him by his shoulder. 

Clark’s head snapped in your direction then, and you made eye contact for the hundredth time during the night. His nostrils flared and his lips tensed when he noticed you were uncomfortable. 

You were, yet you murmured, “I’m fine.” 

There was no need to say it any louder. You knew that as soon as he heard your voice, he selected his focus and could even hear your rapid heartbeat.

Clark nodded once, and brought his attention back to Lois as soon as the guy left. 

Your stomach tightened again.

What you felt about them together was beyond jealousy. It was a physical illness. A disease that attacked your chest and stomach and breathing all at once and even if you turned your back to them to avoid seeing them, you could still sense him, like he was part of your DNA. 

And when you didn’t feel him close, you became a turmoil of feelings. They were both gone. Did they leave already? Together? Gosh, you needed to sit down. You excused yourself and went inside to grab another drink. 

“You okay?”

Lois.

You turned around and forced a smile.

“Hi! Yeah, yeah, I came to get another drink but… they’re all gone.”

“Yeah, Clark noticed the ones you liked were gone, so he’s out there with Jimmy buying some more.”

You weren’t strangers with Lois, but just like with Jimmy, you weren’t friends either. Though you wished you were. She was one of those girls who you found incredibly cool and pretty and you died to be friends with.

Her feet faltered closer. She looked like she was about to say something, and even opened her mouth but nothing came out. 

“You want a drink, too?” You asked just to fill in the silence.

“No, I- I just wanted to tell you I’m glad you and Clark are talking again.”

You stared at her with a puzzled face. 

“Again? We’ve never stopped talking.”

“I know I meant… like before.” She swallowed thickly. “Before me.”

Oh.

You walked to the fridge to grab something and hide behind the door.

“When we were together,” she continued, “Clark said you’d been drifting away and that made him so sad.”

So she wanted to talk about Clark.

“Yeah,” you replied, lurking mindlessly through the beers. Not your favorite. “I just… people at the office talk, make up things, have made up things about me and Clark, and I didn’t want them to get between you two.”

You picked a random drink and closed the door. You dared to look at her. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard some things, and I appreciate you… thinking of us. But it’s not necessary anymore.” What was her point? She traded her weight from one foot to the other and laughed a little when saying, “You guys are soulmates. You’re like his missing rib or something, and I… could never get between that.”

You swallowed thickly. Your drink could burst because of how strongly you were holding it. Lois Lane, the most gorgeous woman at the Daily Planet, the girl you thought (and still think) was the love of Clark’s life, calling you his missing rib was so not expected. 

“I don’t understand.”

Lois laughed softly again and tore her eyes away. 

“I didn’t think I’ll have to spell it out for you, so I will.” She sighed. “Clark, he… has feelings for you.”

A laugh lurched out of you. Right there on her face like she’d said the funniest joke, but she didn’t, though she kept smiling. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. A smile that wiped yours away a second later. 

“When his dad had the heart attack,” she continued, “he didn’t call me.” 

 He’d called you, at two am and with a shaky voice, asked you to come with him to his hometown because Pa was in the hospital, and he didn’t think he could be strong enough in front of Ma if something horrible happened. 

“You were already broken up then,” you merely replied. 

“I know, but if the same thing had happened to me, I would’ve called him, even when we were broken up. I would’ve called him, and… he didn’t call me.”

You pressed your lips together as guilt washed over you. 

“I’m his best friend, and he’s mine. And… that was it. He just needed someone, and he couldn’t reach out to you because he was still hurt.”

“No.” She shook her head. “He didn’t just need someone. He needed you.”

You breathed in deep through your nose. 

“I don’t see the point of this, Lois.” 

“It’s… girl code. I’m doing this for the same reason you stepped away when we were together. We didn’t have to agree to it, but you knew it was the right thing.” She sighed. “This is me doing the right thing.”

You opened the beer can and slurped on it. It tasted like crap. 

“Does he know about this?”

“Not exactly. But I had this same conversation with him. Just… from his perspective.” 

“So you told him, if he ever wanted to have something with me, you were okay with it.”

“He asked me, if I would be okay if, at some point, you and he started to be more than friends.”

This was too much nonsense out of nowhere, but you couldn’t help but instantly daydream of that. Of a world where you and he were something more than just friends. 

Had he started the conversation? When did he start to feel this way? Was this even true? And if it was, why would she tell you first and not him? 

“Are you still in love with him?” You had to ask.

Another smile that didn’t reach her eyes, but she squared her shoulders like nothing could break her. 

“I loved him,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I was in love with him. And I’m sure he felt the same way. He loved me, but he wasn’t in love with me.”

  Laughter burst from the entrance and gradually got closer to the kitchen—Jimmy and Clark and some other guys yelling about who knew what. Lois went to the fridge and got her own drink and just like that, the conversation was over, and she fled before Clark showed up with a six pack of your favorite crispy drink.

You were still there, frozen by every word Lois said.

When you locked eyes with Clark, his dimples creased softly, and without a word, he approached you. He took the beer out of your hand to hand you your new drink with the other. 

Your fingertips brushed together. Your eyes still lingered. 

“Are you okay?” Clark asked.

No. What Lois said messed with your head and, worse, gave you hope. You were probably imagining that glimmer in his eyes. 

“I’m…” you frowned confused. “I’m going to the bathroom.” 

You sneaked out of there before he could ask more questions and squeezed yourself between the people up the stairs, crossing the hall into the bathroom. Clark called your name behind you, which normally made you turn on your heels without a doubt. Now, you only walked faster.

Never as fast as him.

He got inside with you and shut the door behind him

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked.

His scent enveloped you whole.

“This is a very tiny bathroom.” You backed up, frowning at him like a child. Your back hit the cold tiles. “I need to pee.”

He frowned back at you. Not mad, but asking you something. 

“This one’s new.” He tugged at the sleeve of your blouse and grazed your palm with his knuckles.

“No?” You yanked your hand away. “I just don’t wear it that often.” 

His face softened, and he flashed you an incredulous smile. “You’re acting so strange right now.” 

You sighed. “I just… I want to leave, is all.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to leave just because I leave. We didn’t even arrive together.”

“And I wanna leave with you. We haven’t talked all night.”

“You’ve been… busy.” You looked away. 

Busy talking with Lois and looking at her and laughing with her. Were they talking about you? About his feelings for you?

“I’m never busy when it comes to you,” he replied without hesitation.

“I don’t believe you,” you shot back.

You didn’t believe her.

“Whoa, hey, why are you being like this? What do you mean?”

“Nothing! I just… need to pee.” 

“You’re drifting away from me again.” His tone turned as firm as a stone then. 

“What are you talking about?”

“This is how you behave when you want to pull away from me.”

You folded your arms over your chest. “I never want to pull away from you.” 

“But you have!”

“Because you were dating someone! I didn’t want to… intrude, and now you’re talking to her again so I-”

Clark almost pounced on you, both of his hands cradling each side of your face, so determined you thought he was about to kiss you, but all he did was press his forehead to yours. Your noses bumped together, and your heart started to bang against your chest, begging to leap out and kiss his own.

“I’m not talking to her again,” he murmured. “Not like that.”

Your breathing shook. Why couldn’t you believe him? He wouldn’t lie to you. 

“Don’t pull away from me again. Please,” he whispered. 

You would never pull away from him the way you once did. Even if it brought your writing spark back. 

All you managed to reply to his heartfelt plea was a breathless ‘Okay’. 

What else were you supposed to say?

He nuzzled his nose to your temple for a moment, then placed a barely-there kiss before leaving you there with your heart going wild. 

You’d never been this confused because of something Clark did.

You were no stranger to his touch. Casual touch. A hand on your upper back when walking you out of a place; his arm brushing yours when standing close. His nearness was normal, but your noses have never touched. His hands have only cradled your face once before. When you had a panic attack, and he figured the only way to ground you was by holding your face so you’d look at nothing but him as he guided your breathing and steadied your heart. 

It worked that time. 

Tonight, that same touch was the reason your hands were shaking. 

Don’t pull away from me again, please.

You splashed your face with cold water and let all your feelings go down the drain, clearing yourself of any emotion, and practiced your smile in the mirror a few times before returning to the party. 

Cat was nowhere in sight, and the only person you knew—besides Jimmy, who was still surrounded by women—was Clark, who unfortunately was all alone now, in that same bench under fairy lights. So available, like he was waiting for you. 

He lifted his head and his gaze found yours.

A strong pull dragged your feet towards him.

“I’m ready,” you shrugged. 

Only because he wasn’t hanging out with Lois anymore. If that were the case, you would’ve left without a trace. 

Clark seemed at your will, and didn’t bother to say goodbye to anybody. Just walked out the backyard with you—placed one hand between your shoulder blades—and opened his car door for you. You both were acting as though nothing had happened. It was something you had in common, which most times saved you from unnecessary conversations. 

Right now, you were choking on what you wanted to say, but with a single glance, you agreed not to mention a thing. It was for the best, because if any of you decided to clear up the situation… no, there was nothing to clear up.  

Everything was fine.

Except that you were both oddly quiet on the drive home. You weren’t always chatty, but at least your off-key singing of whatever song was playing on the radio and your hands as microphones filled those moments.

I get so breathless when you call my name

I’ve often wondered, do you feel the same?

There’s a chemistry, energy, a synchronicity when we’re all alone

So don’t tell me you can’t see what I’m thinking of

Well, you couldn’t sing that.

You looked out the window. 

Clark’s phone rang.

Thank god.

A girl’s voice came through the speakers before he could even say hello.

“Where are you?” 

Your eyes snapped to his phone.

Kara.

“Why?” He asked.

“I need you to look after Krypto for a few hours.”

You and Clark exchanged looks. He was panicking already. 

“At one in the morning?”

“It’s okay if you’re not here. I’m already here.”

“You broke into my apartment?”

“I brought him his toys and his food and his treats and his bed…”

Krypto barked in the distance. It sounded like he was already tearing something. 

“Do not leave him alone, you hear me, he’s gonna destroy everything!”

“He’s more mature now, you whiny bitch, we’re in therapy. He won’t do anything.”

“Kara, do not leave him alone.”

“I’ll pick him up first thing in the morning.”

Then she hung up. 

Clark gripped the steering wheel and gave himself three seconds as he breathed in through his nose. Then, he quickly glanced at you before focusing his eyes back on the road. 

“Do you mind if I pick up Krypto first? He’s… he’s gonna destroy everything if he’s unsupervised.”

This was the complete opposite of what you needed. He was supposed to drop you off and leave, see each other the next morning at work, and act like nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t pleaded you not to pull away ever again while being a kiss away.

But you’ve met Krypto, so you replied, “Sure,” because yeah, he would destroy everything, and he oddly liked you. Clark called you the Krypto-whisperer.

With a quiet thanks, he did a U-turn, and in no time, you were at his place. 

It wasn’t that destroyed. Only a couch pillow was ripped open, and a few feathers were flying around. You caught Krypto just when he was about to chew on Clark’s bedroom door.

“Hey, little guy,” you greeted the dog with your silly voice, and as soon as he recognized you, he started whining and wagging his tail while sprinting toward you. “Hi, honey, long time no see,” you said through a laugh, crouching to give him those chin scratches he loved so much. “You missed me, huh?” 

Krypto whined some more and barely acknowledged Clark. 

You looked up at him. 

He was smiling proudly. “What is it about you that turns him into an angel?”

You made an indifferent cocky face and continued petting Krypto’s chin. You had no idea. Some people had that effect with babies; you had it with dogs. 

“Do you think she took him out for a walk?”

“Yeah, she might be a basket case, but she’s responsible when it comes to her dog.”

You stood upright and let out a sigh. “I guess… I’ll bring him home with me.”

“Please don’t.” Clark gave you those puppy-dog eyes. “Kara will freak out if she comes back and doesn’t find him.” 

“What am I supposed to do, then?”

“Stay? You can take my bed. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

This was so tragic, you could never say no to him. You shut your eyes briefly just to escape him for a little while. You needed it to be a brand new day already and leave what had happened in that bathroom behind for your own sanity.

“You can use any shirt you want as pajamas and… No, you know what? What else do you need? I’ll make a quick run to your place.” Clark touched his pocket to make sure his car keys were there. “Make a list, and I’ll pick up everything just… please don’t leave with him or without him,” he begged. 

You exhaled in defeat.

“It’s late, Clark, don’t worry.” 

You paced to his couch and plopped down. The couch you’d chosen for him. It felt like a cloud.

“Are you sure?” He asked. Krypto followed you first, curling up against the side of your thigh, and Clark came after, sitting next to him. “It won’t take me long.”

“I’ll sleep here just fine.” You waved a dismissive hand. “I’m exhausted.”

“From work?”

“From everything.” You sighed and went to scratch Krypto’s back. Clark’s hand was already there, and your knuckles brushed together fleetingly. It was nothing. “This life I’m currently in isn’t helping with my creativity.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m working too much,” you merely said. “I think I’m gonna ask Perry for a few days of my annual leave. You know changing environments helps with writer’s block.”

“That sounds like a plan. Where’d you be going?”

“I don’t know? Somewhere far away from here.”

“You can go to Smallville, to my parents’. They’d love to see you again. You won’t have to worry about anything there. Ma will start cooking for you the moment you step inside. I’m sure Pa will put up a hammock for you outside for whenever you want to enjoy the fresh air.”

You smiled at him and stifled the incoming sigh. He got his kindness from his parents, so there was no doubt they’d do what Clark said and more for you.

 “And I can use your bedroom?” 

“Yeah.” He smiled sideways. “There’s also a small café a few blocks away with a nice view. Great wi-fi. You can sit there and write for hours.”

You licked your lips and looked away. He was always so generous, and now that you were all alone, after that moment you had with him in the bathroom, all you could think about was what Lois had said.  

If it were true, you would kiss him right now just to thank him for existing. 

You cleared your throat. 

“I wish you’d given me the chance to pick up my laptop. Your view of the city inspires me.”

“You can use mine,” he said, already standing up, but you reached for his wrist. His hand fisted.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, and he sat back down. “I’d rather talk about it.”

His Adam’s apple jumped. “Talk about what?”

“Um, my book?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he tore his gaze away.

You admired his face then, pale skin with a brushstroke of the cold city lights that his large windows swallowed. It accentuated his side profile, as if it wasn’t already addicting to stare at. You had him sketched in a notebook somewhere in your room just like this: the soft angle of his upturned nose and defined tip, the subtle curl of his lashes, his gentle cupid’s bow. You swore his dimples were still there despite his lips—ever so tempting—set into a line. 

His eyes darted down to his clasped hands. Dainty veins branched out from what was exposed of his wrists down to his knuckles. He wrung them together. You wanted to reach for them, lace your fingers together just because.

He looked at you. “Have you written anything new?”

You shook your head. “I've written everything I need, except for the sex scenes.”

“Are they really necessary?” There was genuine intrigue in his tone and in the way he wrinkled his brows at you, but he still felt the need to justify his question, “Not that having them is bad. I’m sure the scenes you have planned move the story forward as well as give your readers what they want.”

“Sex is very important for my characters, so yeah. I just… I hate that I chose his point of view.”

“Is it too late to start over?”

“I’m 45 thousand words in, so kind of. Besides, you know it has to be from his point of view. It would become a whole different story if told from Fatima’s perspective. She’s so bright and optimistic. She sees the world through rose-colored glasses. Wes doesn’t, except when he’s with her. Sex with her makes him hopeful.”

His sigh and half-nod hinted that he understood where you came from. 

“Have you really not tried writing them?”

You breathed out a small laugh through your nose and admitted guiltily:

“Like a million times.”  

“Why didn’t you show me?”

Because you’d tried writing the feeling of an erection provoked by a kiss, and it sounded like an injury. Were they painful? The thought of Clark reading it and probably laughing at the inaccuracy was a nightmare. 

“I deleted them.” You scratched your brow.  

“All of them?”

Of course not. They could be useful at some point, so you buried them in a document called ‘TRASH’.

“Yes.”

“You’re not supposed to delete things? You know they can be useful later. That’s like a main rule for a writer.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed a little and made himself comfortable, throwing himself back. He rested his head on the back of the couch, and that curl that perfectly fell over his forehead almost lured you to brush it. If it wasn’t because Krypto was between you two, you would’ve, so you limited yourself to a half-turn to face him.

“Try writing one again.” He looked up at you. 

“Right now? On your laptop?” You asked, and he shrugged. “I’m not… gonna write sex scenes in front of you, or anyone. I need to be in the right headspace. Alone.”

He tore his eyes away briefly, and his faint smile remained on his lips.

“What is it about them that stops you from writing them?”

“I have a very vivid imagination, and I like to think I can describe things well despite not experiencing them before. But this is different. I don’t have a penis, so I have no idea how to describe sex from a guy's point of view. Like…” You closed your eyes and failed at picturing the feeling. “I can’t imagine it. It’s one of those things you have to experience to describe well, so I need someone else’s insight. You already refused to help me, so I-”

“I didn’t refuse to help you,” he cut you off in full honesty, “I just gave you another solution.”

Your mouth hung open, and he gave you no chance to reply as he stood up and walked to his kitchen, like he wanted to give you a moment to think about it. But there were no coherent thoughts. He just dropped the bomb and left to put the kettle on.

You bit back a smile and pinched the bridge of your nose to ground yourself. If he was offering his carnal help again, what Lois said couldn’t be so far from the truth, right? 

Oh, this was bad. So, so bad.

Three minutes later, Clark reached your side again and handed you your orange Eevee mug. You’d told him once that the color of the mugs changed how you tasted some drinks, and how you preferred warm colors when having warm drinks. 

Most people who knew this about you thought it was nonsense. Clark, he kept different colored mugs just for you. 

“I guess… You can bring me your laptop,” you gave in. “But you have to walk me through it.”

Clark smiled, satisfied, set his mug on the coffee table, and came back with his laptop, gesturing at it as if to say it was all yours. You logged your email with a knot in your stomach and opened one of the many documents—the one with your manuscript. It was last edited a week ago, but at least there was a half-written scene that you could cling to and start from there.

You read the paragraph and tapped your fingers over the keyboard, mimicking the typing while you thought. Your head was empty.

“What does even an erection even feel like?” 

Clark cleared his throat and sipped on his mug loudly. You could hear the gears in his mind working. He was carefully crafting his words.

“Um, depends a lot on the context, I guess,” he answered. 

You looked at him. He had that tone when he was about to start talking and oversharing.  

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s… the one a man wakes up with sometimes, then there’s the one that happens because… of arousal.”

You brought your attention back to your laptop and typed the word arousal, ready to write any other thing he was willing to give you. 

“Go on.”

He paused for a moment, then clicked his tongue, setting his mug back. “I can’t, I can’t!”

“Oh, don’t be a wuss.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“Wow.”

“See, a part of me thinks this is more about you being a prude than you refusing to talk about your experience with—”

“I am not a prude.”

“Eh…”

“I offered you… Myself, that’s not something a prude would do?”

“A part of me also thinks you offered that kind of help because you wanted to use me to forget about Lois,” you then blurted out.

He was not supposed to hear that, but attempting to write sex scenes in front of him was like getting undressed. You were exposing a piece of yourself that no one has had the chance to see, and under it was a bit of insecurity. 

“That is… shockingly offensive.”

“I know. I’m–”

“You really think I’d—”

“No! It was… the voices.” You wiped the sweat above your lips. Was it hot in here? “The evil voices. You know how they get sometimes.”

 “I do wanna help you, but it feels wrong telling you about my experience with another person.”

Right then, Lois’ voice echoed in your head. Not like it often did; her saying his name in a loving tone or her laughter around him that stabbed you right through your heart.

Now—

Clark, he has feelings for you.

You guys are soulmates.

You’re like his missing rib or something. 

You swallowed thickly. 

Maybe it was true. You agreed that he was your soulmate, but you also believed that a person could have multiple soulmates. And about the rest… the voices now were telling you to just shoot for the moon to find out.

“Fine.” You shut down his laptop loudly. Clark jumped a little. “Let’s do it.”

“Do what?”

“Do… research. With each other’s body.”

God, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word.

He licked his lips. His mouth hung open. “Um, are you sure?”

“Oh, for god’s sake—” 

That was it. There was no moon to shoot for, and now you wanted to die from the embarrassment of even thinking about it.

You rose from the couch with the intention to leave and take Krypto with you. The little guy did the same, ready to follow you wherever you decided to go. 

“Okay! Okay!” Clark’s voice grew slightly high-pitched as he mirrored you. He laid a gentle hand on your upper arm to stop you and get you to look at him.

That mere touch turned you into a million tiny hearts. 

“Is just…” His hand lingered. Squeezed lightly. “I’m not prepared.”

Your face wrinkled in question. Was he not prepared emotionally? Did he need to give himself a pep talk to have sex with you or something?

“I don’t have any condoms,” he said, and your cheeks grew hot. 

If hearing him say a simple word flustered you this much, you had no idea how else your body could react by having actual sex with him. 

“Oh, right.” You looked away and held the thought for a moment. Apparently, you had to give yourself a pep talk. To remind yourself that if it happened, it was research, nothing else. “Does it feel too different with and without?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve… never done it without.” His voice turned small. Gosh, he was so responsible. “Do your characters do it with or without?”

“Very irresponsibly without.”

“Yeah, it’s… irresponsible.” He gulped, “But I mean if it can help you to be more accurate, we could—”

He was willing to have unprotected sex with you for your accurate research? How sweet and unfortunate of him to make you want to eat his face like that.

“There could be… catastrophic consequences.” 

He raised a finger. “Babies aren’t catastrophic in any shape or form–”

“Clark—”

“I mean, yeah, of course.” He frowned. ”Maybe, another time?”

“Yeah! Let’s… plan it.”

While Krypto settled on his little bed by the window with a long sigh, you and Clark sat back down on the couch like you were about to agree on a meeting. He pulled out his phone, which was tiny in his hand, and with his thumb gestured at some dates in his calendar. You were staring at it one moment, he said something, but you weren’t registering anything at all. 

You got lost in his lips moving, and the only thing you could think of was—

“Whoa.” Clark’s phone hit the rug with a fwump, all because the voices told you to drag yourself to his lap.

He was so close now. The closest he’s ever been. Not only his face but his body. You adjusted on top of him better and supported yourself with both hands on his hips while doing so. He was wide, and your skirt wasn’t too stretchy. It hiked up to your upper thighs. 

You would’ve thought he was scared of you if it wasn’t for how his dimples slowly bloomed at each side of his cheeks. They always betrayed him.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His eyes darted from your eyes down to your lips and up again. 

Exactly. What the hell were you doing? 

“It’s… gonna be too awkward if we plan it.”

He swallowed thickly, and you felt his muscles relax under you. His thighs spread open, which gave you more confidence to drop more of your weight on him. Who would’ve thought his lap was such a comfortable seat? 

“Okay.” His hands remained on his sides and nowhere near you. “So you want to do it now.”

You withdrew some of your weight. His apparent inhibition was turning you into a ball of nerves.

You braced yourself. “You’re making me sound like I’m begging you to have sex.”

“You’re not!” he reassured you, and settled his hands on your hips, feather-light, yet they started a fire in the pit of your stomach. 

“No, I’m not, this is research,” you agreed in a firm tone, even when on the inside you felt like you were about to burst out of your skin. “It’s… homework. Love for art.”

His hands skated higher up and heavier, and when you tore your face away out of unbearable embarrassment at his lack of words, he made it disappear by cradling the side of your face so you’d look at him again. You did, and his eyes were glued to your mouth. 

Oh, he was so amused by this.

He dragged his thumb over your chin and outlined the edge of your lower lip, and the fire began to spread. He leaned closer, and your breathing hitched, and your mouth went dry. 

“We should kiss, right?” His breathing fanned your lips. “For research?”

You pulled back. What if he kissed you and you vanished into thin air? Or worse, what if you didn’t vanish and were left there with his lips on yours with no idea what to do?

“I know what a kiss feels like.”

“Yeah, but—” he shrugged “—we might as well kiss, too. Sex without kisses is something only soulless people would do. Like… eating without chewing.”  

You didn’t reply, though you smiled. He pulled you in, and your head started spinning. 

It was a gentle peck, which spiked your heart rate. You didn’t think that muscle behind your rib cage could beat any quicker, but it did, and for a moment, you thought you might have a heart attack. But as his lips lingered, and you weren’t losing consciousness, you attempted to respond to his kiss.

Attempted to, and failed. Instead, you laughed. It was more of a harsh exhale at first, but then it vibrated against his lips, and he ended up kissing your teeth as your real laugh bubbled out.

“I’m sorry I-” You laughed some more right there against his mouth. 

His lips curled into a mile-wide smile.

“Don’t laugh.”  

“This is so awkward.” You pulled back. 

He sounded mad, but seemed graciously content. “It’s only awkward because you’re making it awkward by saying it’s awkward.”

“I can’t help it.” 

Then he went for a proper kiss, and your whole body melted. Now you laughed again as a coping mechanism. You felt like you might actually pass out if you didn’t.

“What is your problem?” he asked through a small laugh. “You’re all giggly and jumpy.”

“Can you blame me? This is so awk-”

A determined yet tender kiss shut you up. His lips, full and soft, pressed against yours, and the hand cradling your face dragged to the base of your skull.

You didn’t need anything else to surrender.

These kisses only existed in your daydreams, and they were overwhelming then. Experiencing them in real life was the other side of the coin, though. It brought you an odd sense of comfort, because the feeling you’ve been chasing for what seemed like a lifetime was right here flush against your skin. The feeling of belonging to someone, from your deepest insecurity to the brightest side of you. Your lips and his own made sense together, and it didn’t feel nearly as awkward as you said it was. 

Clark parted his mouth a little, inviting you in, but you stayed where you were, safe with soft, long-lasting pecks. The rest of your body was a level above, and you dared to lay one hand over his broad shoulder while the other found the nape of his neck.

“Will you stop talking now?” He asked between kisses.

All you could do was nod while gulping, and so he continued. Calm kisses that had you grazing the sky already, so high. He angled his face to one side, and the tip of his tongue teased the seam of your lips. You almost made a sound. You wanted his tongue everywhere on you, but you had to admit this was overwhelming. 

“You’re tense,” he murmured, rubbing a palm up and down your lower back soothingly.

“It’ll pass soon.”

A kiss.

“Yeah?”

Another kiss.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, and now you’re the one to kiss him. 

Open-mouthed, that forced said tension right out of you, and your tongue found his own for the first time. It was barely anything, but it was enough to pull a sound from his throat right away. An exquisite dark grunt that activated a throb between your legs. 

That was embarrassingly quick. 

“I think—” you pulled away from him to ground yourself. Were you really about to have sex with him just like that? “—um, when we start, I think I should voice record it since it will be like an interview and-”

He cut you off by kissing you again, just like before—tongue sweeping yours, but four times more confident—and your cunt pulsed some more. It wasn’t just the feel of his tongue now. It was how breathy the kiss gradually turned, and how handsy he was getting. His hands traveled down to your thighs, right below your skirt, and dragged them down to the back of your knees, tugging you closer. 

Clark let go of your lips with a wet sound and moved his mouth to your neck, giving you a quick nip. 

“Okay.” 

It tickled you. You pulled back a bit. 

“Sorry,” he said, and kissed your cheek. “Okay, yeah, you can voice record it.”

Then continued his path of kisses down to your collarbones. He undid the first button of your blouse. 

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, now, buddy.”

“Jesus.” He threw his head back. Now you stole a kiss on his neck. God, he smelled like heaven. It was sweet and masculine, but it wasn’t perfume. Aftershave, perhaps. “I’m gonna be… inside you at some point. You need to get used to me.”

“I am used to you,” you talked back, kissing right below his ear.

“No, mmm—” his hips jerked once “—Not to my kisses.”

He had a point, but you weren’t about to agree with him. You sat upright and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Why don’t we, uh, ask each other questions first, to break the ice?” You suggested.

He went back to dotting more feather-light kisses on your neck, and said in a low voice that sent tingles all over you:

“The ice has been melting since we talked in that bathroom, don’t you think?” 

He’d never used that tone. Dark in its meaning yet full of sun behind it. You wanted to squeal. 

“What position do you like the most?” You asked him anyway. 

Clark placed more kisses down your neck, throat, and up to your jaw and chin like he was following an already predetermined path. Your hips rocked by instinct once, and he gripped your sides, encouraging you to keep going and hiking your skirt higher in the process, which allowed you to spread your legs more open.

You didn’t move again, because you felt him. Not fully hard, but not soft at all either. So not shockingly big. Your mind hit you with images of how he might look just by feeling him like this—thick, heavy, and your cunt ached as it grew hot and soaked. You rocked your hips again, and you swore your clothed folds wrapped over the head of his cock. 

“Missionary.” He nipped your skin, and you snort-laughed again. 

“It’s so weird hearing you sa—“

He kissed that laugh right off your mouth. “Stop saying it’s weird!” 

You sighed, licking your lips and bumping your noses together before yet another kiss. It was a casual kiss. Was this casual for him? You were dying to know what this meant because on your end, you already knew this was going to ruin you forever. 

“So, missionary.” You dodged him when he leaned for another kiss. He smiled. “What do you like about it?”

“The intimacy.”

He leaned again, and you pulled back again, turning your face to the side. His kiss landed on the corner of your mouth.

“As if sex itself isn’t intimate.” 

“Yeah, but there’s something about looking into each other’s eyes. Breathing each other’s air and kissing the whole time.”

You gulped, and burning jealousy flashed before your eyes. He liked that position because he’d experienced it like that with someone else. Not you. 

Not yet, anyway.

“What is yours?” He then asked, wiping those images away.

You hummed in deep thought, teasingly pressing your hips down. You felt him again, and now you handled the waves of emotions it gave you way better. You liked sex as much as anyone who has experienced good sex, and it’s not that you’ve explored a lot of positions. You were… simple.  

You had no choice but to answer honestly:

“Missionary.” 

The corner of his mouth flickered. “What about it?” 

Slowly, he reached for each zip of your boots, dragged them down in sync, and let them fall off your feet. You wished you hadn’t put on tights.

“I like being smothered.” 

He laughed into another quick kiss and murmured, “You taste like cocoa,” then went back to kiss you again. 

“You gave it to me.”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

The kiss deepened then, like it was already second nature, and your mind turned hazy. You enjoyed the same sex position and you were already getting lost in the idea of having him smothering you, kissing you, breathing each other’s air…

You were so done talking. 

While your lips molded together through a slow-paced kiss, you began to rock your hips instinctively again. This time, you didn’t restrain yourself. You moved, and he liked it. He groaned into your mouth when you pressed down hard and guided your hips with his large hands so you’d rub even more against him. He was growing this hard for you, and his desire for you was coming out of his pores. 

You reached for the first button of his shirt and began to undo it. You felt him smile against your lips in approval, so you continued your way down. You expected to feel the warmth of his skin right away, even though you knew he was loyal to the white tank under it. You broke away from his lips for a moment to glance down at him. His tank was tight and didn’t leave much to your imagination. The swell of his pecks stretched the fabric, and the low neck cut allowed you to peek at a few chest hairs. 

Your whole body stuttered. 

He finished taking his dress shirt off and tossed it aside. His arms were thick, firm. Your hands caressed them with a mind of their own from his broad shoulders down to his biceps, all while he kissed your neck again. You needed to see him fully.

You tugged the hem of his tank and lifted it a bit, then he did you the favor, pulling it up his head and—

Holy—

Your cunt fluttered, and that first warm hint of arousal leaked to your panties. 

“Oh—” you gulped.

Your eyes skimmed over his body. He wasn’t gym ripped, but it absolutely looked like he was capable of lifting buildings. Just like his arms, his pecks were thick with muscle, and even though there were no visible abs, he was toned. Absolutely perfect. You wanted to lick every bit of him, but instead, you traced shy lines over his chest and tummy with your fingertips and down that subtle trail of hair that went from his navel and disappeared right below his belt. 

Clark lifted your face by your chin and leaned for a kiss. His lips felt warmer and more pillowy, and as the kiss grew hotter, his hands reached for your blouse buttons.

“Can I?” He whispered. You replied by continuing the kiss.

One by one, he undid them, and by the end, he let it fall loose at each side of you. He took a moment to admire you. You swore his breathing hitched at the sight. You didn’t think it would be this easy to be this exposed in front of him. You didn’t feel the need to brace yourself or slouch. You wanted to be fully naked for him already. You reached behind you and unclasped your bra.

His mouth parted, like he was about to say something, and his cheeks turned scarlet.

If he looked at you like this with just your bra off, he might make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world while wearing nothing but your skin. You wanted to tell him he could do whatever he wanted with your tits; he looked starved. 

But he, ever the gentleman, only placed a single loving kiss between them and brought you close into a tight, tight hug. The soft flesh of your tits squished against his chest, and you resumed the kiss. With your whole body. Every exposed part of you was touching him, and now your hips moved on their own, rocking over him in slow back and forth motions. 

Each stroke hardened him even more as if it were possible, and the feeling was addicting. You wanted to see how far it could take him. How much of this he could handle until he carried you to his room because this wasn’t enough for him anymore. 

Or not?

“Wait.” Clark put your hips to a harsh stop.

“What?” You pulled back.

Clark breathed out through his nose and perched you more on his upper thigh, then you noticed. His erection was straining against his pants like it was begging to be freed. 

You’d made him like this.

You pressed your lips together to hide a sheepish smile. 

“It’s okay, I just, em—” his voice turned tight. “Krypto— he’s… over there.” He gestured with his brows behind you. “If he’s here, I can’t do… everything I want to do.”

Right, Krypto. You’d forgotten he was here. You glanced at him over your shoulder. He was peacefully sleeping, but yeah, now that you were reminded that he was here, too, it blocked every sinful thought you’ve been having for the past twenty minutes. 

 “We have two options,” you murmured with a soft voice. “We can stay here while I tell Krypto to go to your room, or we can go to your room, very quietly, so he doesn’t wake up, and continue there.”

With a smiley kiss, he made the decision and effortlessly picked you up. You clung to him like a koala while he crossed the room into his bedroom. 

“Wait!” You shout-whispered. “My voice recorder!” 

“I didn’t know you were being serious about it.” Clark stopped halfway.

“Of course I was being serious. I’ll be a little busy to be taking notes. This is much easier. I can go back to your answers whenever I want and—”

He cut you off with a kiss and walked back to the couch to pick up your purse while still carrying you. 

“O-kay,” he whispered, nibbling your bottom lip. 

You had no idea he could be like this. Taking charge while still being so damn gentle. 

So Clark.

He gave Krypto one last glance to make sure he was still asleep, then continued the kiss and the path to his room, kicking the door shut behind him. 

From there, the plot was lost, as if knowing you were completely alone between the walls of his bedroom turned this situation into something secret and sacred. A hungry groan traveled from his throat into your mouth the moment he plopped you both onto his bed and his hands didn’t hesitate to grope you everywhere within his reach. You wanted to think that the way he was acting was no longer about his inborn duty to help but his true desire to make you his own. Because the way he was kissing you, like he might die if he didn’t, didn’t feel like a kiss out of compromise. 

It was… raw, and real, and so damn hot your panties were more than ruined and heavy with your arousal. You needed them off, but you were so lost in this hazy universe you and he were creating with each kiss that the sensory discomfort your panties gave you soon disappeared. 

Yanking you closer by your hips, Clark rubbed his clothed erection against your cunt with persistent rocking motions—over and over. You hoped he could feel how wet you were, and you wanted to tell him how good a job he was doing at relieving the ache he himself had provoked. 

At this point, though, there was no connection between your brain and mouth, and all you managed to give him was a moan, and he groaned back in response and continued rubbing himself against you. You were in heaven here, with him between your legs, and even then, a part of you also wished you could see this as it happened. You wanted to see how his back muscles flexed with every new movement he made over you. Watch him from every perspective, and get to see how his hips moved back and forth while still being somewhat dressed. You wished you could see your legs wrapped around his wide hips and how you met his thrusts just as desperately. 

Clark brought you back to this moment by murmuring something you couldn’t quite register against your lips, but you nodded anyway and let him do whatever he had asked you permission to do. He stopped the kiss for a moment, and you finally had the time to breathe. 

Now you heard it all, and saw it all. 

In the heat of desperation, Clark must’ve taken off his pants. He might as well have taken off his underwear, too, because they clung to him like they were vacuum-sealed. Your cunt fluttered at the sight of his cock, straining slightly curved to one side, and the thick outline of it was so clear you started salivating. 

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmured into the everlasting kiss. 

Your tongues swirled together, and you nodded again.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable doing it without a condom?” He asked agitatedly, dragging your tights down your thighs. 

You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth. “It’s a little late to be asking that, Clark, I’m already so wet.”

Jesus, he murmured, reaching between your bodies. He rubbed you over your panties, and a moist sound came from them. His brows pinched together, then he replaced his hand with his still clothed cock, rubbing himself there again. He was burning, and if your cunt ached on the inside, you could imagine the pain he was in when carrying something like that.

You bucked your hips, searching for some friction, all while you urged down the hem of his boxers. He didn’t hesitate to grant your wish and finished dragging it down all the way. 

A musk scent reached your senses when he freed himself. A scent that made your mouth water and your cunt throb; a scent that, despite being new to you, was so distinctively him. Then you finally looked down, and your breathing got caught in your throat. It was just how you’d pictured. Thick and proportional to his body. It hung heavy over your stomach, and the dark hairs of his groin halted the flow of his smooth and pale skin. 

Your breathing shook with anticipation, and you reached for it and stroked him by instinct, pulling the skin back and forth with each movement. He was firm, and your fingers barely met when you wrapped your hand around it. Clark almost crumbled on top of you when you touched him like that and gave you no chance to keep going. Did he not like it?

“Can I see you too?” he murmured. “All of you?”

The only barrier between you and he were your panties. You nodded, and instead of dragging them down, he tore them by the waistband on each side. You gasped at the first unexpected snap and bit your lip at the second one.

“I’ll get you some new ones,” he said into a kiss, and towered over you, allowing his cock to slip between your slippery folds. 

Smooth, and so achingly slow, at the rhythm of his tongue swirling yours. Pleasure started to bloom instantly; you almost came just like that. 

“Please.” You bucked your hips once, searching for more friction. 

“I—” His breathing shook. “I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to help you while I’m… inside you.”

“It’s okay.” You stroked his cheek and he leaned on it while blinking like it really soothed him. “Just try your best. If it doesn’t work–” You kissed him reassuringly. “–I’m sure you can help me once we’re done. You’ll remember what it felt like, right?”

Yeah, he exhaled, and didn’t hesitate to part your wet folds with the cockhead. He dragged it up and down between them, and the blissful feeling built and spread through your nerves. He kissed you back and stroked himself hurriedly at your entrance, smearing your arousal with the tip. 

It sounded wet, and his breathing shook. 

“Of course I’ll remember.” Another kiss, then he lined himself and grunted when you sucked the head right in. “I can be your ghost writer if you need me to.”

Meeting that subtle thrust, you reached for your voice recorder, and the beep blared around as you pressed play. 

You got filled with butterflies as you gasped in sync and locked eyes. He was in, and everything around you turned blurry. You wanted to kiss him much as you wanted to look into his eyes and he gave you both. Kissed you once, worked you open with a subtle thrust then looked into your eyes again. 

You would’ve moaned if you weren’t so aware that this was being recorded. It initially was a good idea, but now that you were overworking your breathing by containing your sounds, you were reconsidering it. He felt too exquisite, stretching you and calming the ever-growing ache with his girth. You knew you could take him fully so you urged another bit of his cock inside you by wiggling your hips toward him, despite feeling so stuffed already.  

As you took more of him, his whole body froze. Only his breathing shook, and his hips froze when your own shifted to allow another inch inside. His head landed on your shoulder, and he hissed between clenched teeth against your neck, rubbing his face there. 

He turned awfully quiet.

“Clark?” You rubbed his back. He replied with a quick nip to your collarbone but didn’t lift his head. He didn’t move his hips either.

You lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked at him. His lips were parted, his eyes only had a thin ring of blue around his big pupils and drops of sweat gathered above his brows. You brushed your thumbs over them.

He seemed weak, like you were made out of kryptonite all of a sudden.

“Are you okay?” 

He exhaled a shaky breath, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile before he rewarded you with a tender kiss. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. 

You needed to know what was going through his mind. 

“Tell me,” you said. “Tell me exactly how it feels.”

His eyes darted to the voice recording by your head. 

“I— give me a second.” He winced with his lips closed tight and shifted on top of you. You brushed his hair back. “It feels.” He rocked his hips once and stretched you some more. You bit your lip. “Um, I- it feels— you feel warm, almost… burning.” A crease formed between his brows. “So firm a-nd wet. You’re wrapped around my cock perfectly. There’s nothing… untouched.” 

Hearing him talk like that… You needed him to keep going. His voice stimulated your brain and each word traveled directly to every nerve in your cunt. 

He kissed you like he was already done talking, and you whined into his mouth in protest. 

“Clark-” you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth. “Focus.”

“I can’t.” He pressed his forehead against yours. 

“Yes, you can. You wanna help me, right?”

Clark nodded. “Yeah.”

“You can do it.”

He thrusted steadily again—deliberate rocking motions—and you tightened around him. 

“Oh, please, honey, don’t do that.”

Honey.

“Tell me.” You smiled.

“That’s… that’s all I got. It’s… um, comforting.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Comforting?”

“So good,” he said through a shaky exhale. “I don’t have many words in my brain right now.”

“S’okay.”

 You nibbled his lip, and he was sweet about it. Didn’t fight back. Just let you take his lip between your teeth and drag it into your mouth. You rocked your hips under him, withdrawing half of his cock from you and thrusting forward to squeeze it all right back and then some more until his balls squeezed against your ass. 

He slammed into you hard once in response, and you gasped. 

“Do you think you’ll remember the way it feels?” you asked

“This isn’t something I’ll ever forget.”

He shoved your hips together again, harsher, and a delightful clash of skin against skin echoed around for the first time. 

“So you can tell me later, yeah?”

“I promise you.”

You reached for the recorder to turn it off and finally let yourself go, but he pinned your hand down.

“No, keep it going. I wanna go back to this.” He kissed you, and threaded your fingers together. “To these pretty moans.”

Your whole body relaxed and melted then. Completely gave in to him and this, and as soon as he picked up a rhythm, you couldn’t care less about this being recorded. You turned into a shameless, shuddering, moaning mess under him, meeting his thrusts desperately, and raking your nails across his shoulders and back. You wished you could tell him how much you loved this, but your mouth stayed busy responding to every kiss he initiated. 

It made so much sense that Clark was a kisser, and during sex, his passion for them multiplied ten times like there was a second meaning behind them. Each kiss was paired with a grunt or a moan and you clenched around him as a way of responding to them even when you were full of sounds, too. 

He let go of your mouth with a wet sound for a moment, brushing his lips across your cheek and gritting his teeth together, in pain, almost. 

“Sorry,” you had to say.

“Don’t–” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Don’t be. You’ll know soon exactly what I’m feeling. But just know, it’s good. So good, it just… I won’t last if you do it often. I’m fighting myself here.”

Oh. 

“You can come.” You fluttered around him, and his brows knitted together. 

“No, it’s not fair.” His arms flexed when he pushed himself up, keeping his perfect rocking motions, like waves that were about to push you to the brim already. 

“This is homework,” you shot back.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.”

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and the way he smirked at your reaction embarrassed you. He knew you were enjoying this. You tilted your head to the side to avoid looking at him.

“Hey.” He kissed your chin. “Why won’t you look at me?” 

“It’s awkward.”

Clark laughed softly.

“This stopped being awkward a while ago.” He kissed your shoulder. “Not awkward.”

Propping himself on one elbow by your head, he reached between your legs and massaged soft circles over your clit. At the perfect pace and pressure. It took him eight seconds to build your orgasm, just how you did whenever you were all alone in your room, but he didn’t fully take you there. Just when you were close, he withdrew his hand. 

Why would he–

“Oh,” you moaned. 

He slammed into you hard.

You just needed a little boost; his cock did the rest.

Slipping in and out, over and over, Clark dragged out your orgasm and somehow kept it there, a ticklish sensation that pulsed and expanded and shrank but never disappeared. Harsh slams of his hips that tapped and tapped and tapped your sensitive nub with his wiry hairs and continued building the orgasm until it trespassed the teasing.

Until there was no going back from it. 

“Oh, Clark.” Your vision turned blurry.

Throwing your head back, you let yourself go and lifted your ass off the mattress to meet his slams. 

“There we go.” He leaned to your ear and nibbled your earlobe. “Is that good?”

“I—”

This felt beyond surreal. You wiped a warm stream running down the corner of your eye—sweat or blissful tears, you didn’t know—and looked down to admire your bodies clashing together. And only after a few seconds of chasing your orgasm, it struck you completely.

“Oh, g-gosh—”

You came, so hard, you couldn’t hold back any sound. You turned into a whiny mess as your cunt spasmed repeatedly until it turned overly sensitive. 

There it is, Clark caressed your cheek with the tip of his nose and a curl flopped down, tickling your forehead. He was everywhere on you, as much as you loved having him inside you, you urged his hips back so he’d pull out for at least a moment. 

His cock slipped out with a squelch, and it hung over your lower stomach, wet, flushed, and glistening with your creamy arousal. He tapped your clit with the head of his cock a few times then entered you again. And kissed you again.

“Is it okay if it takes me a while?”

Thrust.

“Weren’t you just complaining about you coming too soon?”

Thrust.

“It’s under control now,” he smirked, and slammed so much harder. Your tits bounced under him. 

“You can control it?”

“I’ll tell you every detail about it.”

Then he shut you up. Not with a kiss like he had already made you used to, but with persistent, ruthless pounding. He turned rough, but never merciless. His thrusts were deliberate, crafted for you at the pace you needed and the force you craved. He never stopped making sure you were okay with this—by scanning your face at all times, kissing your lips and chin and forehead and whispering in your ear how good you felt. 

Even during sex, he was dangerously caring. 

You almost tell him how much you loved this. How much you loved him.  

“Can we change positions?” You panted. 

“I thought this was your favorite,” he teased. 

“It is, mmm, but no guy ever lasted this long. My legs are tired from being open.”

“Can I still see your face?” You nodded. “Where do you want me?”

You licked your lips.

“There’s a scene in my book, where she rides him and he thinks she’s the most perfect creature. I need to know what that position feels like.”

“You wanna ride me?”

You gulped. “For research.”

“Sure, okay.”

Without pulling out, Clark flipped yourselves so you’d be on top of him. You were supposed to ride him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to peel yourself from his solid torso.

“You okay?” Clark touched your face with both hands and brushed the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks.

“Maybe if… You rest your back on the headboard, it’ll be more accurate.”

He didn’t protest and dragged himself higher with you still on top. He even built a wall of pillows for more comfort.

“There?” He shifted back, smiling.

Now he was more sitting than lying, which made it more comfortable for you to move.  

“Perfect.” You ran your hands over his chest. You rocked your hips once, and his smile dropped.

“Oh-” his lips parted. 

His hands rested on the globes of your ass, tender, and his eyes skimmed down to your breasts. Clark gulped like he was thirsty. 

“You can touch them.” You brought one of his hands up to your tit. His cock twitched inside you. You had to admit, this position swelled your chest with confidence. More so when Clark was like this, so starved for you. “Or lick them.”

“Yeah?” 

“As long as you tell me how it feels.”

You moved your hips again, this time in a wide circular motion that dragged your clit across his lower stomach and bent his cock a little. Your walls clammed around his cock.

“I will, I will, but… later.”

“No live reaction here either?” You rocked your hips again. 

He grunted. “I can’t, but I swear, I’ll tell you every little thing I’m feeling.”

You held onto the headboard, propped yourself on your knees and bounced your ass up and down. “Okay.” 

You picked up a tempo, one that made him groan each time, and now he didn’t hesitate to take one of your tits into his mouth. He hummed around it, swirling his tongue over your stiffened nipple. 

“You’re right.” Clark let go of your tit and looked up at you. “He absolutely thinks she’s the most perfect creature.”

Your heart and cunt fluttered equally in love. 

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from saying something you shouldn’t and grabbed his jaw, capturing his mouth into a wet kiss. 

And it was like this for a while. His hands explored your body the whole time, and he could’ve tattooed your name on your lips by how many times he’d said it. 

You rocked your hips back and forth while kissing him. And if you weren’t kissing him on the mouth, you were kissing his forehead, brows, cheeks, all while he kept himself busy sucking on your breasts. He liked them. So much, you felt him smile around him more than once. He even bit them, the two times you came just like this.

When you were closer to a third one, Clark held your hips still.

“I can’t finish inside you,” he panted and planted a kiss on your shoulder.

“Yeah, just… pull out.”

He maneuvered you so you’d be tucked against the pillows and propped himself on one hand. He slipped out with a grunt, almost in pain—you missed him already—and you looked down just at the right time. He stroked his cock hurriedly—thicker and heavier than how you’d first seen it—until warm ropes of cum shot and covered your skin. You could almost cry out of pure joy.

Clark Kent, coming all over you. 

What a sight.

“Oh my god,” he grunted through clenched teeth, staring down at the mess he’d made. “I’m sorry, this is—”

You brought him down into a kiss by the nape of his neck, and the soft press of his stomach smudged his cum all over. His hips shifted slightly, and his cock nestled between your folds. 

“This is perfect,” you finished his sentence.

This lasted too damn long, but you needed him inside you all over again.

You didn’t think of this. Of the aftermath. 

Clark was quiet next to you, awake, with his nose nuzzled in your hairline. Your heart was much steadier now, but it was still aware of how near Clark still was. You were scared to move, to breathe, to say the wrong thing.  

“Was I helpful?” He asked right there on your skin after a moment.

You lay a hand on his hip and tapped once. “You might’ve cured my writer's block.”

He laughed softly. Pecked your temple. “Why do you keep it a secret?” 

“Reputation, guess. I like my job. I like being a journalist and if people knew I write about people having sex, they wouldn’t take me seriously. People at the Daily talk.”

“It's not just sex.” He pulled back to look at you. Your heart leaped from you. “Y-your writing, your stories are more than just sex. They’re complex characters and the sex is something that makes them more human.”

Right.

“I know but… I don't know. I guess I also like having a secret identity, don’t you?” You glanced up at him. 

“I guess so.”

He cinched your waist and pulled you into a tight hug. You bit back a sigh. You were dying to know what this meant to him.

Would he have done it if he knew how much it would ruin you?

By the time you woke up, the first rays of sunshine were already eating away some stars.

You weren’t supposed to stay the night, but he said he could answer all the questions you had and even ended up writing scenes together. 

Which wasn’t a good idea. 

Seeing him write sex scenes and help you craft them to make them sound accurate from a male’s point of view sparked that heat inside you. And inside him. 

He was the one to start the kiss, tentative at first, and as you responded to it with a moan, there was no need to say anything else. It was a silent agreement, because you both knew that kissing again was out of script. 

You ended up having sex two more times. Both times without a single word shared because, god, there was no need for words. His eyes and body said it all. The second time was much less giggly. It was breathy, full of sighs and wet kisses and gentle love bites across your skin. 

The third time was lazy and sleepy, and the only thing Clark said was ‘stay like this’ in a murmur, instructing you to stay lying on your side so he’d fuck you from behind. Spooning you, and kissing you all over your neck, jaw, shoulders, and side of your breasts. His rocking motions were slow, and his large hands mapped across your body just as slow as if he wanted to make love to you twice at the same time. 

He finished just like that, over your hip, with a low and exquisite grunt deep in your ear, and reaching between your legs to massage your clit so you’d come, too. You did, and soon, you fell asleep in that exact same position, with your orgasm still rushing through you, his lips somewhere on your neck, and his hands cinching you close to him by your waist.

Now, as your eyes fluttered open, his arm was still draped over your waist. If you moved, there was the chance he might wake up. If you didn’t, he’d wake up anyway at the sound of his alarm and you’d still be here in his arms. 

Either option led you to the same outcome: address what happened, and you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. 

What would you even say? 

Thank you for your help, Clark. 

I am so in love with you, by the way.

I’m glad we did it! 

We’re the bestest of friends now. 

Super good friends. 

You went for the first option. You held your breath and shifted forward, away from him, and froze to make sure he didn’t wake up. Then did the same thing a few times until you managed to slip away from his arms. Your limbs felt heavy, as though you’d just gotten out of a pool. Even your skin was still sticky from the dried sweat, and as much as you loved being covered in his body fluids, you needed a shower. 

Not here, though. 

On your tippy-toes, you stood by the end of the bed, and once you made sure his chest kept heaving in and out at the same peaceful rhythm, you picked up one of his shirts and threw it on because most of your clothes were supposed to be on his living room, but before you walked out of his room to get them, you found your skirt, blouse and tights lying on top of his dresser, folded. He must’ve brought them here when he went to get his laptop to do some writing with you. 

How thoughtful. 

As you finished getting dressed, some puppy-whining came from the other side of the door. Krypto must’ve heard you. You opened the door and sneaked out of the bedroom to meet him.

“Hi, honey,” you whispered. “You hungry?”

Krypto did a spin as a yes, so you poured him some of his food, and as he ate, you wrote a note on a napkin for Clark, because even though you didn’t want to talk yet, you couldn’t just leave like that.

I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE YOU. YOU LOOKED SO PEACEFUL. THANK YOU AGAIN. I SENT WHAT WE WROTE LAST NIGHT TO MY EMAIL AND DELETED IT FROM YOUR LAPTOP SO THERE’S NO TRACE OF IT. SEE YOU AT WORK. 

You ran through the busy streets, greeted Nino at the entrance, and reached the elevator just as the doors were closing.

“Hold it, please!” You yelled. 

A hand stopped the doors from closing. The same hand had been between your legs last night.

Oh, crap. Clark was also late. 

The doors opened up and as soon as you made eye contact, your arms acted like they were made out of rubber. Your stack of files fell to the floor, and Clark rushed to pick them up at the same time as you. Your fingers brushed together. His soft scent reached you and flashbacks from last night struck you. 

His lips, his body covering you, his mouth on your tits—

“Hey,” he said, giving you your files back.

“Hi,” you replied.

Your legs wobbled. Just like last night.

You cleared your throat and held onto your files tight, the same way he was holding the strap of his briefcase, so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

  You stood at the back of the elevator, glued to the wall, as far from him as you could. You had an insane urge to kiss him. 

“I’m sorry I left without telling you,” you said. “I left a note on your fridge. I hope you—”

He craned his head to one side but didn’t quite look at you. 

“Yep. I read it. Thanks.”

God, he was mad. Was he mad?

“Good, good, that’s… good.” You gulped. “Did um, Krypto do anything after I left?”

“Yeah.” Clark exhaled. “He found my running shoes and chewed one of them. But he’s with Kara now so—”

You were praying for someone to stop the elevator midway just so this never-ending ride wouldn’t be so mortifying. He’d seen you naked last night. He’d kissed every inch of you. He’d made you come three times, and now both of you were acting like nothing had happened. 

Were you supposed to acknowledge what you did? To congratulate him for the amazing job he did? You opened your mouth to say something, anything, then the elevator doors dinged open.

A horde of suited-up chatty men entered, and Clark backed up next to you. Your arms brushed together, and you reached so your knuckles would accidentally touch, too. 

You looked up at him, and he was already looking at you. 

“Can we talk?” He asked quietly. His brows were knitted together.

“Yeah,” you replied. “At lunch?”

“Sure.”

He half-nodded and tore his eyes away.

The elevator reached the twenty-eighth floor, and you both walked out in the same direction. It was oddly empty here. 

Just as Clark asked, “Where’s everybody?” Perry stormed out of his office.

Morning, he said with his cigar between his lips.

“These—” he tossed two stacks of files on your desk and Clark’s “—need to be rewritten. Everyone stupidly decided to call in sick today, so you two are the chosen ones.”

Stupid, he said again under his breath and locked himself in his office.

You and Clark exchanged looks.

If you wanted to leave on time today, you’d have to skip lunch break.

You sighed and got to work.

A few injured soldiers from Jimmy’s party showed up with shades in one hand and electrolyte water in the other during the first two hours, so the office wasn’t just the two of you.  

With him right across from you, all you did was have flashbacks of last night. You didn’t regret it one bit, but not being able to talk about it was eating you alive. 

You would’ve thought he was mad at you because he didn’t even spare you a single glance. But he was Clark, and even if he wasn’t looking at you, he still checked on you. Sending you messages through the computer chat each time Perry came to check your and Clark’s progress, but nothing else. He filled your cup of coffee in silence every time you ran out.

 Then he disappeared for two hours to do who knows what (Superman duty, of course).

By lunch time, he hadn’t made it back, and you weren’t feeling hungry, but went to get a pretzel at the cafeteria anyway and went up to the rooftop to feed the pigeons and wait for him. He had one hour until you had to get back to work.

You paced from one side to the other under the shadow the big golden globe cast, rehearsing how this conversation with Clark would go. Every single outcome made you wish the globe would just roll off and crush you. 

Your lunchtime hour went by, the globe didn’t roll over you, and Clark didn’t show up. 

His stack of editing he should’ve worked on was still untouched, and when you were done with yours, you couldn’t help but grab some of his, too. 

At 5 p.m. o’clock, Perry came out of his office, ready to leave. 

“Where’s Kent?” He stopped by your desk.

“Bathroom,” you replied without looking up. “I think.”

“Tell him he has until tomorrow. You, are done for today. Go home.”

You were dreaming of him when a hand brushing the crown of your head woke you up. 

“Hi,” Clark said in a whisper.

You blinked your eyes open. He was crouched next to you with a soft look on his face. He paused, smiled with his eyes, and caressed your cheek with the back of his curled fingers.

“You didn’t have to finish my work.”

“I know.” You sat upright and glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand. It was about to be midnight. “I thought since—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out, and your breathing caught in your chest. He sat by your side and reached for your hand. Brushed his thumb over your knuckles. This must still be a dream. “I’ve been in love with you for a while and I- should’ve told you the moment I started to feel this way, but I couldn’t then. And I don’t want you to think I offered you my help, just an excuse to make love to you. That’s not who I am, I hope you know that, but I- I was scared if I said something, you might’ve pulled away from me forever. But then last night… gosh, it changed me. I realized how much love I have for you stored in my chest, it almost feels like a brand new feeling I wasn’t ready to expose yet but I am so sure now. It’s still unknown, but it’s beautiful and so bright. I can give it all to you if you let me. If not, I will live with it.”

Every single word he said wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

You threw yourself onto his chest and swung your arms around his neck as tears welled up in your eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He picked you up off the bed and you climbed onto him until your legs were wrapped around him, too. “If it’s not too late I—”

“Not too late,” you whispered.

Then, you laughed softly, just enough for him to notice. 

“Ah, yep, there she is.” He rubbed your upper back and enveloped you even tighter. 

You wanted to look at him, drown in his dimples, and kiss him, but you didn’t want him to see your tears. It’d break him, even if they were happy tears, so you held onto him and he swayed with you from side to side for a long while. Like a slow dance, though there was no song. The only sound between you and him was your heart thumping hard in your chest begging you to let it all out.

“I… finished my first draft,” you said. “Would you read it?”

Clark squeezed you playfully. 

“Of course I’ll read it.”

You pulled back and finally dared to look at him and kiss him. Every feeling you’d been bottling up were finally being set free. 

You pressed your foreheads together.  “Would you stay the night?”

 “Yeah.” He kissed you back and sighed. “I’ll stay the night.”

“… it’s so hot…”

“… I never thought something could be to sad and filthy at the same time…”

“… I just hope they can get their happy ending in the next book…”

You bit back a smile and tried to focus on the article you’d been working on since this morning. 

The girls behind you were talking about your book, that was released two weeks ago and had recently hit the New York Times best sellers.  

You were proud of it, and right after you handed the finished draft to your agent, you started working on a sequel, because your characters weren’t done loving each other, and deserved a happily ever after.

A copy of your book was placed next to your keyboard, and over it, Clark’s so familiar hand. A hand you’ve been holding at walks in the park for a few months now. 

A Post-it note was glued to the cover:

SIGN ME?

You slapped your palm over it before anyone could see it and looked up at him.

“You already have a signed copy,” you whispered.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Ma.”

 Your eyes widened. “Your mother?!”

You stood up and with your eyes, signaled him to follow you. You reached the small storage room by the emergency exit. The room you and he have claimed for yourselves whenever you wanted to kiss.

Some people at the Daily suspected you two, but you didn’t want to make it official just yet. No one had to know. 

“You are not giving your mother this book,” you said as soon as he shut the door behind him. “She can’t read this, Clark, it’s porn!”

“Imagine how I felt when she told me she’d read a book about some Sierra Oz and how she heard she had released another not long ago.”

“Oh my god.” You covered your face with your palms and you peeked at him between your fingers. “She did not.”

“She’s a huge fan,” he laughed.

“I’m so sorry.” You looked up at him. 

“I’d be mortified knowing my mother and her friends read these kinds of books, but knowing it’s yours… I think it makes me proud. She had good taste.”

“Stop it.”

Clark leaned and kissed you, and it soon turned heated. He cornered you against the wall and parted your legs with his knee. 

“Come with me,” he said against your lips.

“Where?” You pulled back and scanned his face. He was planning something. 

“To Smallville.” He kissed your cheek. “I want my parents to meet my girlfriend.”

“They already know me.”

“As my friend.”

You smiled. “They don’t know I’m your girlfriend now?”

“They know I have a girlfriend, but who she is is not something I want to tell them through a phone call.” He kissed you again. “I want to surprise them. They’re gonna be thrilled seeing you walk through their door.”

To think he wanted to bring you as a present to his parents made your heart soar. You adored the Kents, and you couldn’t wait to be part of the family someday.  

“You think so?”

“Know so.” He kissed you once more. “They adore you. So? What do you say?”

“Okay, yeah. But Ma can’t know I’m… Sierra.”

“Of course not.” He bumped your noses together. “I’ll… have to pretend I have no idea who the book dedication is about.” 

HELLO! If you reached the end, look at the book dedication! TEEHEEEE isn’t it so cute? I truly hope you enjoyed it! I loved writing it, and I loved writing Clark. This is my first story for him and very out of my comfort zone exploring new characters but here I am following the muse. I had so many alternative scenes for how I wanted them to fuck <33 but ultimately the one that made it here was my favorite. I didn’t want to extend the wait or else it would’ve turned tooooo angsty and I didn’t want them to suffer lols so I hope how it all unfolded is good!

Anywayyyy

This is a stand alone sorry BUT let me know if you’d like to see some blurbs about some things mentioned throughout the story like the time Clark called reader when Pa had a heart attack or the time they discovered she was a Krypto-whisperer or anything else you’d like to see from them!

I’d love to read your thoughts on it. Through comments or reblogs or asks. They’re are much appreciated.

thank you so much for reading 🫰💋

HERE’S THE PLAYLIST AND MOODBOARD IN CASE YOU MISSED IT IN THE BEGINNING OKAY BYE

[bigandlong]

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

[jae-felidae]

Oh hey! Haven’t seen this in forever! Didn’t reblog it when it came across me before, not gonna skip it this time, I need some good vibes.

[spencersmopbucket]

Another Man's Treasure | Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend — but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste.

Warnings & Themes: fluff, NSFW (oral!fem receiving), cheating on partner

When you'd begun dating Cormac, it was different.

He was attentive, sweet, mindful. But now? The man was a complete git. Most days, you sat on the bleachers of the pitch, feeling absolutely bloody dejected and watching him fly around on a broom for hours practicing for a team he was only a reserve on.

It was pathetic, truly. You and him. You sat waiting for a guy who couldn't show less interest in you if he tried — and he absolutely sucked at Quidditch yet continued to ignore a gorgeous girl for it.

It didn’t help that Cormac never introduced you to anyone either. You weren’t “his girl” at Gryffindor parties — just some girl hanging around him until someone asked who you were. You weren’t on his arm, weren’t in his conversations, and apparently weren’t important enough to even walk with to Hogsmeade.

You were Cormac McLaggen’s girlfriend in the way someone might say they “have a cat” and never feed it.

So, yeah, sitting in the stands while he zoomed around like a headless Hippogriff? It was just your Tuesday.

Sighing, you opened a book, frowning at the pages in front of you. You might as well get comfortable. It would be a while.

Below you, Fred and George Weasley stood, getting gear on to begin practicing. It was a gorgeous day and some of the Quidditch players actually had a solid reason to get out and practice.

Because again, only some had a productive spot on the team.

You felt eyes on you. Glancing down, you saw Fred. You rolled your eyes as he waved at you, wiggling his fingers in a flirtatious fashion.

You knew Fred and George. Everyone did. Every girl especially — they were tall, muscular, Quidditch stars, and incredibly easy on the eyes. You felt a warmth spread across your cheeks at his wave, despite how much you tried to ignore it.

You also tried to ignore the girlish excitement you felt. You were spoken for after all. What would you look like entertaining another man? A right slag, that's what. Waving back nonchalantly, you turned back to your book.

Fred sighed, clipping his helmet onto his head.

“Shame,” he addressed George. "That is a right shame. A crime, really."

George cocked a ginger eyebrow as he adjusted his gloves. “What is?”

Fred nodded subtly toward the stands. “Her. All alone. Looking like that. For him.”

George followed his brother’s gaze, lips tugging into a smirk once he spotted you. “McLaggen’s girlfriend?”

Fred glanced back up at you. You were back absorbed into your book, e/c hair blowing in the soft wind. Every once in a while, you glanced gloomily at your boyfriend, who once again didn't spare you a single ounce of his attention.

"She's the fittest girl at Hogwarts. Easily. Why is she with McLaggen?"

George scoffed under his breath. “Because looks clearly aren’t everything. Or maybe she’s got a savior complex.”

Fred frowned.

"He's not even good at Quidditch! He's bloody awful. Look at him," He gestured to the pitch, where Cormac was wobbling about on his broom. "Doesn't even look like he's playing. Looks like he's doing an interpretive broom dance."

George burst out laughing, nearly dropping his bat. “Merlin’s beard, you're not wrong. That’s not flying — that’s flailing with purpose.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “And somehow that is the bloke she waits around for every damn day like he’s the bloody star player.”

George snorted. “You’ve been keeping tabs, then?”

Fred gave him a look. “You telling me you wouldn’t notice her? Sitting there every day, looking like a dream and getting treated like a backup broomstick?”

“She’s not our problem, mate.”

Fred didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked slightly as he watched you glance up at Cormac again, a flicker of hope in your eyes — one that died almost immediately when he didn’t so much as wave.

“She could be someone’s world,” Fred said quietly. “Instead she’s waiting for scraps.”

George eyed his brother, something more serious settling between them. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred didn’t deny it. Instead, he said, “I’m just saying… if it were me, she wouldn’t be sitting up there alone. She’d be on the broom with me. Or on my shoulders. Or—hell, anywhere but forgotten.”

George paused, then smirked again. “So what’s the plan, Casanova?”

Fred grinned, a familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Easy. Show her the difference between being looked at and being wanted.”

He kicked off the ground again, but this time with a different kind of determination.

He was set to embarrass the shit out of McLaggen. One, for being ungrateful. And two.. He was kind of hoping you'd get the ick.

George cackled as Fred shot into the air, weaving expertly through the sky while McLaggen hovered below like a confused Bludger.

“Oi, McLaggen!” Fred called loud enough for half the pitch to hear, voice full of feigned cheer. “You practicing for the ballet? Thought Quidditch involved a Snitch, not pirouettes.”

A few laughs echoed from the other players. Even George barked a laugh, tossing a Bludger up with a wicked grin.

Cormac scowled from midair, wobbling slightly as he turned toward Fred. “Bugger off, Weasley!”

Fred cupped a hand around his ear. “Sorry — couldn’t hear you over the sound of mediocrity!”

You peeked over the top of your book, startled by the sudden exchange. You tried to hide your amusement, but Fred caught the slight twitch of your lips. His chest swelled with triumph.

Phase One: Humiliate the knob. Phase Two: Make her smile. Phase Three: …Well, he hadn’t figured that bit out yet. But he would.

Fred flew another circle around Cormac, performing an exaggerated, showy dive that ended with a perfect landing — just below the bleachers where you sat.

He pulled off his helmet, glancing up at you with that telltale grin.

“Hope you’re taking notes,” he called, slightly breathless. “In case your boyfriend ever wants to learn how to actually fly.”

Your mouth parted slightly, a laugh escaping before you could catch it. “Are you always this cocky, or is today special?”

Fred’s eyes gleamed. “Only on Tuesdays. And when a pretty girl’s watching.”

He winked, then turned and jogged back onto the field — leaving you flustered, smiling despite yourself, and just a little less devoted to the prat in the air.

You didn’t know it yet, but Fred Weasley had just started rewriting your entire love story.

Of course, Cormac had opted to go over plays in the locker room after the incident at the pitch instead of walking back to the dorms with you. Typical.

You walked back alone, carrying your book and pulling your jacket tighter — the wind had started to get chilly as the day went on. You hummed to yourself as you got closer to the castle.

“Oi! Bookworm!”

You turned, startled, and there he was — Fred Weasley, jogging up beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hair was windblown, his cheeks still pink from the chill, and his smile was… well, unfair, really.

“Didn’t think it was nice to let you walk alone,” he said, matching your pace. “Seems your rogue Bludger of a boyfriend forgot where the castle was.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already smiling. “He’s not my Bludger. He’s just... my boyfriend.”

Fred made a face. “You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, choosing not to respond right away. The path toward the castle was quiet, apart from your footsteps on the gravel and the low whistle of the wind. It felt weirdly intimate — the kind of silence that made you feel seen.

Fred didn’t push. Just walked with you, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You know,” he said after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “I wasn’t joking earlier.”

“About what?”

“About you being the prettiest girl at Hogwarts.”

Your heart skipped embarrassingly. “That so?”

“Swear on George’s life,” he said solemnly. “And I only say that when I really mean it. He’s very dear to me.”

You laughed again, surprised at how warm it made you feel — not just the compliment, but the effort. The way he noticed you, even in a moment as small as this.

“I’m not used to people saying things like that to me,” you admitted quietly.

Fred slowed his pace slightly, studying you. “Well, get used to it.”

You looked at him, brow raised. “Why?”

He smirked. “Because I’m not done saying them.”

And as the two of you crossed through the castle doors, brushing shoulders, warmth blooming where he accidentally touched your arm — you realized something:

You hadn’t thought of Cormac once since Fred showed up.

"I have a boyfriend, Weasley," you snorted. "I doubt he'd take kindly to you doing this."

Fred just grinned, undeterred. That infuriating, charming grin of his — the kind that made your stomach twist in a way Cormac's never had.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, all wide eyes and mock-surprise. “Walking you back? Complimenting you? Being decent? Merlin forbid.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”

Fred leaned in a little, voice lowering — not teasing now, but sincere, softer. “I know. And I know you’re with him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see what he doesn’t.”

You blinked, startled by the seriousness that slipped into his tone.

“He takes you for granted,” Fred continued, holding your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I have to.”

The hallway was suddenly too quiet. Too warm. You opened your mouth, but you weren’t even sure what you were going to say — luckily, Fred filled the silence with a familiar crooked smile, stepping back and releasing the tension.

“But hey,” he added, casual again, “if he ever stops being the luckiest git alive... I hope I’m first in line.”

Then he winked — not flirty this time, not entirely — and turned toward the Gryffindor staircase like he hadn’t just lobbed a Confundus charm straight into your chest.

And Merlin help you...

You kind of wished he already was first in line.

—

The first Common Room party of the year always hit immediately after the first Gryffindor quidditch win.

Only 6th and 7th years were invited, of course — there was Firewhiskey and other alcholic beverages involved. If the younger students were invited, the festivities may get out to the professors. If that happened, everyone was being hexed by McGonagall and buried in a hole on the quidditch field.

You got ready with Hermione and Ginny Weasley (who you'd just met the same night). Hermione was your closest friend. After you'd confided in her about having a slight crush on Fred, she'd immediately introduced you to the ginger girl.

Hermione curled your hair gently as you giggled, listening to a story about Ron bubble from Ginny's lips.

“…and then Ron actually tried to hex Malfoy with a mouth full of treacle tart,” Ginny said, laughing as she swept some glitter onto her cheekbones. “Honestly, I’ve never seen treacle shoot that far.”

You snorted, barely managing to stay still as Hermione tugged the curling wand through another section of your hair. “Did it even work?”

“Of course not,” Hermione huffed from behind you. “He said ‘slug’ instead of ‘slugulus.’ All he managed to do was make a very sticky mess.”

You grinned into the mirror, cheeks already sore from smiling. There was a lightness in your chest tonight — the kind that hadn’t been there in weeks. You knew why.

Fred.

Even the name fluttered through your chest like a secret. It often switched between feelings of excitement and feelings of guilt.

You glanced down at your outfit — Hermione had loaned you one of her sleeker cardigans and Ginny insisted you wear her black mini skirt (“You’ve got legs, use them”), and your own boots tied it all together. You had to admit… you looked good.

No. You looked better than good. You looked like someone who was not dating Cormac McLaggen anymore — which wasn't true, but you looked it. You knew Cormac wouldn't approve of your outfit. You also knew he might not even pay enough attention to you to care.

Hermione raised a brow at you through the mirror. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

“Not like that you’re not,” she smirked, handing you a tube of lip gloss. “You’ve got the look of a girl who’s about to fall.”

Ginny tilted her head. “For Fred?”

You rolled your eyes.

"Gals! I have a boyfriend."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, and he’s busy playing Quidditch, while Fred is right here, right in front of you, actually noticing you.”

Hermione shot her a look. “We’re not encouraging this, Ginny.”

You blinked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror again. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks: Fred had been noticing you for days. And you'd been noticing him right back. You'd even caught yourself imagining what it would be like to kiss him, to have someone actually see you instead of just waiting around for scraps.

Your fingers tightened around the lip gloss Hermione handed you, unsure of how to respond. The guilt felt like a heavy cloak you couldn’t quite shake off.

“I have a boyfriend,” you muttered, voice quieter this time. "But—"

“You're not blind," Ginny finished for you, that smirk still in place.

Hermione shot her friend a glance, looking more thoughtful than mischievous. “It’s just... if you’re not happy in a relationship, it’s okay to rethink things. Just don’t rush into anything.”

You met her eyes in the mirror, her voice striking a chord. You weren’t happy. You hadn’t been for a while.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you said, the words feeling heavier than you intended. “But I also don't want to keep pretending everything’s fine.”

Ginny reached out, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to pretend. And besides, if Fred’s interested, you should at least see where it goes.” She raised her glass of pumpkin juice. “No harm in that, right?”

You forced a smile, feeling a weight lift from your chest. “Yeah, I guess. No harm.”

Hermione let out a sigh, but there was no disapproval in her tone. "Just don't make any decisions you aren't ready for. But do what makes you happy, alright?"

"Alright," you nodded, feeling strangely reassured.

As you stepped into the common room, you tried to shake off the heavy thoughts clouding your mind, but they followed you like shadows. Cormac hadn't even noticed you when you walked in, his focus entirely on the latest Quidditch match stats he was bantering about with Seamus. You approached him with your arms crossed, smiling kindly when he finally glanced down at you.

"Hi, love."

He smiled back briefly, leaning down to peck your cheek.

"Hello, darling."

The brief kiss on your cheek didn’t feel like it used to. It was routine now, nothing more than a formality. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, trying to ignore the empty feeling settling in your chest.

“How was the match?” you asked, hoping for some kind of real connection.

Cormac shrugged, already turning his attention back to Seamus, clearly eager to get back to the conversation. “Ah, you know, same old, same old. Quidditch, mate. Nothing to worry about. I’m already focused on the next game.”

You wanted to be nasty. You wanted to be rude.

How would he even know how the match was? The git didn't even play in it. He sat on the bench.

You bit your lip to stop the words from spilling out, but they hovered at the tip of your tongue, demanding to be said. The frustration you’d been holding back for weeks was threatening to pour out like a flood. How could he be so blind? How could he be so wrapped up in his own world that he didn’t even notice how much you were trying?

Instead of lashing out, you forced a tight smile, biting down on your irritation.

“Right,” you said, your voice slightly sharper than you intended. “You’re focused on the next game. Of course.”

He didn’t catch the sarcasm, of course. He was too busy regaling Seamus with more stats, as if that was the most important thing in the world.

You stood there, arms crossed, and felt yourself growing smaller in his shadow. The longer you stayed in his orbit, the more you realized just how little you mattered to him anymore. It wasn’t even about Quidditch anymore — it was about how he couldn’t be bothered to even acknowledge you, let alone make any effort.

You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t stand there another second. You could practically hear Fred’s voice in your head — You deserve better than this — and for the first time, it actually felt true.

With a last glance at Cormac, who hadn’t even realized you were still standing there, you walked off, a burst of energy propelling you away from the dullness of him. You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere felt better than standing there like an afterthought.

And then you spotted Fred.

Of course, he was watching. He always seemed to be watching.

His lips quirked up when he saw you, and the glint in his eyes was almost enough to make you forget how awful everything had just been. Almost.

“Looks like that went well,” Fred remarked, crossing his arms as you stopped in front of him, feeling the weight of everything on your shoulders.

You almost didn’t know how to respond, but somehow, Fred’s presence made it easier. “Well, he’s still talking about Quidditch,” you said, your tone almost too calm for how you were feeling inside.

Fred laughed, glancing over at your boyfriend.

"Quidditch, yeah? The same Quidditch game I played and won today?" He asked playfully. "That's funny. I don't remember seeing a Cormac McLaggen on the pitch."

You couldn't help but laugh at the way Fred's tone had an edge of mockery, and the way he made Cormac sound so utterly irrelevant. You glanced at your boyfriend again, who was still in his own little world, bragging about his Quidditch expertise. It was honestly pathetic.

"Exactly," you replied, rolling your eyes. "I don't think Cormac would know how to hold a broomstick properly if it bit him."

Fred's grin widened, clearly pleased with your response. "Well, at least one of us appreciates Quidditch the way it was meant to be." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, "And just so you know, I don't mind playing for two."

You met his gaze, a teasing smile curling on your lips. "Two?"

"Yeah, for you." Fred said it with such casual confidence, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but the way his eyes lingered on yours made your chest tighten in a good way.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying not to let your thoughts run away with you. Cormac was still your boyfriend — kind of. But standing there, in Fred's orbit, you couldn’t ignore the growing pull between you two, a magnetic force you hadn’t expected.

"I don't think Cormac would appreciate you sharing the spotlight," you teased, but even you could hear the lack of real conviction in your words.

Fred chuckled, his voice lowering in that way that made it feel like there was no one else around. "Who says I’m sharing? You’ve got a lot more going for you than just his attention."

For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, and everything else — Cormac, the party, the chatter — disappeared. It was just you and Fred, and the undeniable chemistry that had been building since the first time he’d shown up at the pitch.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said softly, unable to pull your eyes away from his.

The party went on. You didn't even waste your time glancing at Cormac anymore. Instead, you took shots with your friends and cast every spare glance at Fred.

As you got drunker, your feelings got stronger. They always did. You sat with Hermione and Ginny, singing a song loudly and giggling. Before you knew it, Fred was back again, smirking.

Fred leaned casually against the table, his smirk never faltering as he watched you and your friends. He crossed his arms, but his eyes were all on you, gleaming with mischief and something else — something that made your pulse race just a little faster.

"Still here?" you teased, a playful challenge in your voice as you looked up at him from where you sat.

"Wouldn’t miss it," he replied smoothly, his tone low, yet dripping with that signature charm. "Besides, I don’t think you’d want to be stuck with Cormac for much longer."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was undeniable. “I’m fine without him,” you said, feeling the heat of alcohol start to cloud your thoughts, but only in the best way possible. "And maybe I’ve got better company right here.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk. "Better company, huh? What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing."

The tension between you both was electric, palpable. It hung in the air, thick and unspoken, but you could feel it in the way Fred’s gaze never wavered from you.

Ginny, always the observant one, caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere and grinned. "Alright, you two," she said with a knowing look. "You both should just kiss already."

Your heart skipped, and for a split second, Fred’s eyes flickered to yours, his smirk turning into something more sincere, something almost... hungry.

You nearly choked on your drink, laughing in an attempt to mask the sudden heat on your face. "Ginny!" you protested, though it came out breathlessly. "You’re drunk."

Fred chuckled, his voice barely audible above the noise of the party. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

The moment was interrupted. Cormac cleared his throat, a glare on his face. His friends stood behind him.

The air in the room instantly thickened, the playful energy dissipating as Cormac’s presence loomed over you like a storm cloud. He didn’t even glance at Fred; his eyes were fixed on you, his expression harsh, almost accusing.

“Everything alright here?” Cormac’s voice was low, the kind of tone that suggested he already knew the answer but wanted to make sure you felt the weight of his disapproval.

You shrugged.

"You seemed fine in your corner of the room."

Cormac’s jaw tightened at your response, and his friends shifted uncomfortably behind him, sensing the brewing tension. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the drink in your hand as though it was some kind of proof of your irresponsibility. “And you’re with him.” His eyes shot a pointed glare at Fred, who simply raised an eyebrow and leaned back casually.

“I’m allowed to talk to whoever I want,” you replied, keeping your tone steady, even though your heart was pounding. You could feel the eyes of the entire room on you, but this time, it didn’t bother you as much as it usually did. You were done hiding in Cormac’s shadow.

Fred smirked and took a step back, hands in his pockets as if to give you space, but still within reach should you need him. "Looks like someone needs to get a grip," he said lightly, his voice teasing, but there was an edge to it.

Cormac’s nostrils flared, and he took a step closer, his face reddening. "You think this is funny, Weasley?" His voice was low, threatening. "Stay out of this."

Fred’s grin never wavered. “I think it’s hilarious, actually. But hey, if you want to keep playing the jealous boyfriend role, go ahead.”

You could see Cormac’s hands twitch. He stepped forward. Fred raised an eyebrow, standing from his seat. He was easily a head taller than Cormac, maybe more.

"Stay away from my girlfriend, git. I hear all the whispers around this school. Fred Weasley flirting with my girlfriend. You're flirtin' with a right ass kicking next."

Fred’s eyes darkened slightly, but his smirk remained, though now it was colder, sharper. He stood tall, his posture effortlessly confident, an undeniable contrast to Cormac’s flustered and aggressive stance.

"An arse kicking?" Fred snorted, actually having the guff to laugh in Cormac's face. "Oi, Georgie! Did you hear that right? McLaggen wants to deliver me a 'right arse kicking'."

George, who had been leaning casually against the wall, looked up with a grin that matched Fred’s. He crossed his arms and took a step forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “An arse kicking, bloke?” he echoed, his tone full of sarcasm. “Oh, I do hope you’ve got more than just the threat of bad breath and an overinflated ego, McLaggen.”

The laughter between the twins only served to make Cormac’s face redden further, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. It was clear that the situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and yet, Fred and George didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Yeah, mate,” Fred continued, his voice dripping with amusement. “Not sure you’ve got the goods for that kind of threat. How about you take that bad attitude and go sulk somewhere else before you really embarrass yourself?”

There was a palpable tension in the room as Fred’s eyes locked onto Cormac’s, but despite the threat of violence, Fred seemed completely unfazed. He just stood there, his smirk wide and his posture so relaxed it was as though he was daring Cormac to take the first swing.

Cormac got closer, him and Fred almost nose to nose.

"Stay. Away. From Y/N."

Fred’s smirk didn’t falter, though there was a noticeable shift in the air. His posture didn’t tense, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes now. He leaned forward just slightly, closing the gap between him and Cormac with a confidence that almost made it seem like he had all the time in the world.

“Make me,” Fred said softly, his voice low and almost casual, like the entire confrontation was a minor inconvenience. The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, daring Cormac to try something — anything.

Cormac’s face was mere inches from Fred’s, his breath hot and heavy in the silence that had enveloped them. For a moment, it seemed like neither of them would budge, like the tension was going to snap in a violent clash. But then Cormac’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration evident in the sharpness of his jaw. He was seething, but Fred wasn’t backing down, wasn’t giving him an inch.

Finally, the dam broke.

Cormac lunged at Fred, but his friends were too quick, grabbing ahold of him. Your eyes widened.

Fred burst into laughter, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, my! The froggy did jump. Let him go, boys. Let's see what he can do, yeah?"

The tension in the room reached a fever pitch as Fred's challenge hung in the air. Cormac’s friends, clearly unsure, hesitated for a second before releasing him, but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. He was seething, ready to lash out, but Fred didn’t flinch.

Fred’s laughter rang out, loud and carefree, like he was genuinely enjoying this absurd situation. He stepped back a little, hands in the air as if to say, “Come on then.”

“Go on then, McLaggen,” Fred taunted, his tone light, as though he were merely encouraging a schoolyard squabble. “Show me what you’ve got. But don’t go crying to your mates when it doesn’t work out.”

You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the whispers and the stares. Some of the students were backing away, not wanting to get caught in the middle of this. Fred’s confidence was unmatched, but you could also see the moment Cormac’s resolve started to crack.

Fred’s posture was still relaxed, his smirk in place, but there was something more now — the challenge had shifted. The onlookers were waiting to see if Cormac would actually follow through.

For a split second, Cormac looked like he was going to make a move. His hand twitched, as if contemplating it, but then he stopped. His chest heaved with anger, but his eyes were calculating now, as if trying to figure out if it was worth throwing the first punch.

Fred raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “What’s wrong, mate? Too scared to even throw a proper punch?”

Cormac’s face was a mask of fury, his pride clearly wounded. He looked like he was about to explode, but after a tense pause, he began to walk away.

"I want you back in the dorm by one, Y/N." He hissed. Then, he left.

The moment Cormac’s voice cut through the tension, it was like a cold splash of water. You were still frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. His words echoed in your mind — the command, the possessiveness. You felt your stomach twist, the anger bubbling up once more.

But Fred, as always, didn’t seem fazed. He leaned against the table casually, his arms crossed over his chest, looking after Cormac with a raised brow. “Is that right?” he muttered under his breath, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

The air was thick with the aftermath, the party resuming its usual hum of conversation, but the dynamic had changed. Everyone could feel it.

Fred turned his gaze back to you, his eyes softening, though the sharpness of the encounter still lingered in the air. “You don’t have to listen to him, you know.”

His words hung there, simple but loaded. You knew it wasn’t just about Cormac anymore. It was about what you wanted, what you were going to do next.

You met Fred’s eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. “I know.”

But even as you said it, part of you felt a strange pull, a sense of responsibility to Cormac’s words. You could feel the control he tried to exert over you, like a tight grip on your very being. It wasn’t right, but the thought of confrontation still made your stomach churn.

Fred didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He stood there, waiting, giving you the space to process.

After a long pause, you finally spoke, your voice quieter now. “I don’t want to go back to the dorm tonight.” It came out almost like a confession, and you immediately regretted it. But Fred’s gaze softened in understanding.

“Then don’t,” he said simply, a warmth creeping into his tone. “You’re not his to command, Y/N.”

His words were a reminder — not just that you were free, but that you deserved more. You deserved to make your own choices, to not be controlled by anyone.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of that. Fred’s presence had shifted from playful to something deeper, something more protective and genuine.

Without a word, he reached out, offering his hand to you. His gaze didn’t leave yours as he waited, his smirk gone, replaced with something that spoke volumes.

“You’ve got options. You can stay in my dorm, or we can go somewhere else. Your call.”

The offer was simple, yet it felt like the world was in your hands. Cormac’s control, his possessiveness — it felt a lot smaller in comparison to the choice Fred was giving you now.

Ultimately, you decided to go to Fred's upon the promise that he'd sleep on the floor and you could have the bed.

When it was time, you crept up the stairs sneakily, knowing you weren't supposed to be there. Before you'd left, Hermione and Ginny winked at you, mouthing 'use protection'. As usual, you'd used the lame quote you always did.

"I have a boyfriend!"

You stepped into Fred’s dorm with a mix of nerves and curiosity fluttering in your chest. The room had the unmistakable scent of boy — a mix of broom polish, something vaguely like cinnamon, and just a hint of mischief. Quidditch posters were slightly crooked on the walls, a pair of socks hung from the corner of his bedpost, and a few Zonko’s wrappers were scattered on the floor like confetti after a prank well done.

Fred closed the door behind you with a quiet click, then turned, watching your expression closely. “Alright, I know it’s not exactly five-star,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, “but I promise the bed’s clean-ish. And I’m told the floor builds character.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the corners of your lips twitched up. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, you know.”

Fred raised a brow. “You’re not about to suggest we share, are you? Because that might make your boyfriend — sorry, our resident caveman — a bit twitchy.”

You laughed, the sound soft and surprising even to your own ears. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Fred said, flopping down on the bed for the moment and tossing a pillow to the floor like it was a throne, “you’re here.”

You stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching him. For all the jokes and smirks, there was something undeniably warm about him — like you were safe in a place you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

“I’m only here to avoid a fight,” you said, not really believing it yourself.

Fred looked at you, unbothered. “Then I hope it was worth sneaking past McGonagall and the protection squad.” He mimicked Ginny and Hermione’s voices with a dramatic flair: “‘Use protection!’ — honestly, I feel like they’re rooting for me.”

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. “I hate that I keep using that same excuse. I have a boyfriend… it sounds weaker every time I say it.”

Fred’s voice was quieter now. “Then stop saying it.”

The room fell into a soft silence.

You lifted the pillow just enough to peek at him. “That’s not fair.”

He met your gaze with something softer than a smirk. “Neither is the way he treats you.”

There was nothing flirty in his voice this time — no edge, no teasing. Just truth.

You could feel how close you were. His thighs were resting next to yours, only an inch from touching. You were sad you couldn't share the bed without it being wrong.

Fred must’ve felt it too — the closeness, the tension that wasn’t born from a fight or an argument, but from restraint. The unspoken something that had been hanging between you two for weeks now. Maybe months. Maybe longer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence like a magnetic pull, and it wasn’t fair. Not because of the situation, or the rumors, or even the rules — but because being near him made you feel calm. Real. Understood. Something you didn’t even realize you’d been starving for.

“I hate this,” you whispered, not even sure if you meant the situation, your relationship with Cormac, or the fact that you couldn’t just... let yourself fall into this moment.

Fred didn’t move, but his voice came low. “What part?”

You hesitated. “The part where I have to keep pretending I don’t want more than this.”

He looked at you then — really looked. All the mischief and bravado faded in a blink. There was something in his eyes that made your breath catch, something heavy with meaning, but gentle too.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. I won't squeal.”

Your eyes softened. You felt yourself almost melting.

Fred leaned forward, almost testing how far you'd let him go.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away.

His hand found the edge of the bed, steadying himself, his knuckles brushing lightly against your knee. It wasn’t bold or pushy — it was cautious, careful, like he was giving you every opportunity to stop him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His eyes never left yours, and in them, you didn’t see a boy looking for a joke or a cheap thrill. You saw someone who meant it. Someone who knew exactly what you were risking and was willing to meet you there anyway — with patience, with warmth, with that steady, maddening confidence he always wore so well.

“You sure?” he asked, voice a whisper now, nearly swallowed by the hush of the room. “Because once I know you want this too… I don’t think I can go back to pretending either.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out, fingers barely ghosting over his wrist — and that was all he needed.

Fred closed the space between you, slow and certain, his forehead gently resting against yours. No kiss. Not yet. Just that shared breath, that promise suspended in the air.

"I don't think I've ever felt this way in my life."

Fred let out the softest breath, like the weight of your words had struck something deep inside him — something real. His fingers brushed your knee again, this time more firmly, grounding himself as he searched your eyes.

“Me either,” he admitted, his voice barely audible, like speaking too loud might break the moment.

His thumb skimmed your wrist, tracing slow, reverent circles as he kept his forehead against yours. “It’s not just a crush. Not some passing thing. I feel it — here.” He moved your hand gently, placing it flat over his chest where his heart thudded steadily beneath your palm. “Every time I see you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full. Full of every glance, every smirk, every quiet moment you’d shared that hadn’t made sense until now.

Fred leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes again, searching for the final piece of permission. His voice cracked just slightly when he whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

Fuck it.

"Please?" You asked, your voice a quiet whimper.

That was all it took.

Fred closed the distance without hesitation, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek with such care it made your heart ache. His lips met yours gently at first, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the feeling of finally having you this close. It wasn’t rushed — it was reverent. A kiss years in the making, built from tension, longing, and all the moments you’d spent denying it.

But once it started, there was no going back.

The second kiss was deeper, slower but more desperate — his fingers slipping into your hair, your hands clinging to his shirt. It was like something had finally broken free between you, and now that it had, neither of you could stop. The need in the room shifted from hesitant to hungry in an instant.

Fred pulled back only slightly, his forehead pressed against yours again, lips brushing as he spoke. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that — instead I got to watch moments like this wasted on some talentless git."

He kissed you again before you could respond — soft, then firm, like he couldn’t get enough. His voice came in a breathless whisper against your lips: “Say the word and I’ll stop, yeah?”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled him back in with a grip that left no room for doubt. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as you kissed him harder, need surging like a flood. Fred groaned softly into your mouth — a low, desperate sound that seemed to vibrate right through you — before his hands found your waist, tugging you into his lap like you belonged there.

You did.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his touch suddenly more urgent, more claiming. His mouth moved along your jaw, down to the edge of your throat, where he lingered with soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch. “You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, “how mad you make me, every time you call that idiot your boyfriend.”

His hands ran under the hem of your shirt now, slow and reverent even in the heat of it all, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way.

Fred's hands paused just beneath the fabric, fingertips brushing your bare skin like he was memorizing the feel of you. His breath was hot against your neck, the restraint in his movements contrasting the intensity of the moment. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

“You shouldn’t have to settle for someone who only wants to own you,” he whispered, lips brushing your collarbone. “You deserve to be worshipped.”

Your heart pounded at his words — not because of the heat, but the sincerity behind them. Fred didn’t just want you. He saw you. All of you. Every piece you’d tucked away, every part Cormac had ignored or tried to control — Fred was holding you like none of that scared him.

He pulled back enough to meet your gaze again, thumbs still stroking lazy circles into your hips. “I meant what I said. You call the shots. We stop whenever you say.”

His voice was still low, husky with want — but his eyes held nothing but respect, waiting for your permission, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You felt yourself squirm under his touch, the heat between your legs almost becoming uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure if you’d feel guilty for doing this anymore. Fred was the most exquisite thing you’d ever tasted, a forbidden fruit.

Fred noticed the way you moved against him, the quiet, involuntary squirm, and his hands tightened slightly at your hips — not to restrain, but to ground. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze dark and reverent, as if he could already feel the shift in you, the slow unraveling of hesitation.

“I want to take care of you. Will you let me, love?” He asked, his brown eyes darker than ever.

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice — the contrast between his raw need and the reverence in his words made your heart ache. There was no arrogance in the way Fred looked at you now, no teasing or bravado. Just a quiet, aching sincerity. Like this had never been about just desire — it had always been about you.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Fred smirked, the hands on your hips lifting only to slide under the waistband of your skirt. “That’s my girl.”

You shuddered as his rough, Quidditch conditioned hands met the skin below your belly button, your e/c eyes glued onto him. The brisk air flooded your hips, thighs, and legs as he pulled the skirt off.

He tossed it to the floor quickly, his eyes raking over your body in awe.

“You’re gorgeous. Absolutely bloody perfect.”

His thick fingers trailed along the waistband of your underwear, toying with the thin fabric. He eyed the wet patch on the front, an amused smile on his lips.

“Betcha Cormac McLaggen never caused this mess, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to close your legs. He pushed them back open, chuckling.

Quickly, he tugged your panties down your legs too, his eyes darkening even further at the sight of you. Your pussy was perfect, glistening in the dim light of the moon. He ran a finger down the length of it, watching your essence collect onto it.

You exhaled, the cold breath hitting Fred.

“Pretty. So, so pretty.”

Before you knew it, Fred was repositioning himself, his body sliding down the rest of the bed. He positions himself between your thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes look eagerly up at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Gonna take care of you, yeah? Show you an unselfish bloke, since you’ve never seen one.”

You could’ve cried.

With a firm squeeze on your thigh, he dives in.

He licks a thick stripe up the middle of your heat, eliciting a moan from your lips immediately. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle against you — you definitely felt the vibration of it.

He laps at you eagerly, like a dog that just found water in the desert. Your clit gets most of the attention, but he occasionally goes where your essence has collected most, cleaning you up as he works.

“Oh my Merlin—” you gasp, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as your hand trails down to him, threading through his hair without even thinking.

This only pushes him further. He focuses on the most sensitive part of you, the cute little bundle of nerves, until you feel like you could pass out.

All it takes it one more push. He sucks at you, a loud sluuuurp, just enough pressure.

You come undone immediately, a lewd moan leaving your lips. You’d almost be embarrassed at how quick it was if you could even think.

“Fred!”

He doesn’t stop, leading you through your release. Your hips buck as you attempt to push him off, but his broad hand forces your hips down.

All that’s left now is to clean you up. He can’t let you go to waste.

Licking up every drop of cum you’d let slip, he came up off from you. The lower part of his face glistens sinfully.

Your jaw is still wide open in both bliss and disbelief as you look at him, a loud exhale exiting your mouth.

Quickly, as if it was perfectly normal, a typical part of his evening, he wiped your release from his face and sucked it from his fingers, humming gratefully.

He looked down at you with a lazy, satisfied grin, eyes soft but gleaming with something deeper. “See?” he murmured, brushing your hair from your face with the gentlest touch. “That’s what you deserve, love. Not the bloody Quidditch mascot.”

You laughed, breathless and flushed, your brain fuzzy.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Fred let out a dramatic groan and threw his head back against the pillow. “Merlin’s bloody beard, not again.”

You giggled, half buried in his chest, still breathless and dazed. “It’s a reflex at this point.”

He turned his head to look at you, one brow raised and a teasing smirk forming on his lips. “Yeah? Well, reflex or not, love, you really need to update your status. Because your boyfriend didn’t make you sound like that.” His fingers traced lazy circles over your spine. “I did.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself closer to him. He wraps his arms around you tightly, curling you into his chest.

“Goodnight, Weasley. You’ve turned me into a sinner.”

Fred chuckled, the sound low and warm against your ear as he buried his face in your hair. “Then I’ll happily be the reason you fall from grace,” he murmured, voice laced with something both teasing and devastatingly sincere.

His arms tightened around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, and the fading ache of the night’s confessions lulled you into a peace you hadn’t felt in ages. And for once, you didn’t care about tomorrow — not about guilt, not about consequences.

The next morning, you still felt the same. No guilt. No shame. That’s how you knew for sure that your relationship with Cormac had run its course and that you needed to end it — ASAP.

And after his brutish behavior the other night, what better way was there to break it to him but through the very Weasley that had shown you the greener grass on the other side?

You entered the Great Hall, Fred’s arm thrown around your shoulder.

You didn’t even try to hide the smug satisfaction bubbling beneath your skin.

Fred was relaxed, smirking like he knew exactly the kind of storm you were about to unleash. His arm hung heavy around your shoulders, protective and possessive in a way that was unmistakably deliberate. You leaned into it — not for the drama, but because it felt good. Right.

The hum of morning chatter in the Great Hall dulled the second you walked in. Heads turned. Students smiled, cheered even. And at the Gryffindor table, Cormac McLaggen froze mid-bite, eyes narrowing as they locked onto the two of you.

You gave him a look that was cool, almost bored. “McLaggen,” you said lightly, as though you were passing a stranger on the street.

Fred didn’t stop walking, guiding you toward your usual spot like nothing was amiss. But as you slid onto the bench beside him, his arm stayed firmly in place, and his hand brushed your shoulder with just enough intimacy to make the message clear.

Cormac was already on his feet. “What the hell is this?”

Fred looked up at him with a smile that was too calm to be kind. “This?” He gestured lazily between you. “This is her making a better choice.”

Cormac’s jaw clenched. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you cut in, voice steady, unfazed. “We’re over, Cormac. As of last night, officially. Your behavior lately? That was the last straw.”

He looked between you and Fred, fuming. “So you’re just gonna — what? Run off with him?”

You didn’t blink. “No, I walked away from you. And he was already standing there.”

Fred leaned back, hands behind his head now, relaxed as ever. “She simply decided she preferred gingers. And blokes that don’t pretend to be good at Quidditch. And blokes that brush their teeth.”

The Gryffindor table burst into scattered laughter, a few muffled snorts and gasps echoing down the line. Even George, two seats away, choked on his pumpkin juice, coughing into his sleeve with a wide-eyed, delighted grin.

Cormac’s face flushed a deep, angry red, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is funny?” he snapped, eyes locked on Fred. “You think you can just take her from me and humiliate me in front of everyone?”

Fred didn’t move, his tone still maddeningly casual. “Mate, I didn’t take anything. You lost her all on your own. I just happened to be the better option when the dust settled.”

You saw it — the twitch in Cormac’s jaw, the way his shoulders squared as if ready to swing. But this time, Fred’s eyes sharpened, just a little.

“Don’t,” he warned, his smile fading just enough to let the tension creep in again. “I’d hate to embarrass you twice in one week.”

Cormac turned, glaring.

“Whatever. I deserve better than some stupid slag, anyway.”

Fred was on his feet before anyone else could react.

There was no teasing in his expression now — no witty retorts, no lopsided smirk. Just pure, cold fury. The kind that silenced the whole hall in an instant.

“What are you—”

Fred’s fist connected with Cormac’s jaw before the insult could fully leave his mouth.

The sound was sickening — a sharp crack that echoed through the Great Hall like a thunderclap. Heads turned. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed to flicker for a moment, as if the castle itself recoiled from the blow.

Cormac stumbled back, dazed, clutching his face with wide eyes and bleeding pride. He didn’t fall — not quite — but the damage was clear: his lip was split, and his ego shattered.

Fred didn’t follow it up. He stood over Cormac, shoulders heaving, eyes burning. “Long overdue, you absolute waste of space prat,” he growled. “Try that shit again and see what you get next, mate.”

McGonagall’s voice suddenly rang through the hall like a whip. “Mr. Weasley!”

Fred didn’t flinch. He only turned slightly, shielding you behind him again with a hand at your hip. “Sorry, Professor,” he said, still glaring at Cormac. “Slipped.”

—

The tension from the Great Hall carried all the way into detention, where Fred now sat slumped at a desk in an empty classroom, idly tossing a quill from one hand to the other. He looked more annoyed than remorseful — not at the punishment, but at the hour wasted inside instead of with you.

The door creaked open.

He glanced up — and there you were.

McGonagall had given you permission. She was an advocator for women, and you’d explained the entire situation to her. She was slightly reluctant, but ended up letting you enter with a ‘just this once’ slipping from her lips.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, brow lifting in amused confusion as you shut the door behind you.

“No,” you teased, strolling toward him. “Figured if you’re gonna sit here sulking, I might as well brighten the place up a bit.”

Fred grinned, eyes following your every step as you hopped up to sit on the desk in front of him, legs swinging playfully. He reached towards your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I can’t believe I can call you my girlfriend now. Never thought I’d see the day you gave up on the bench warmer.”

You smirked, gently nudging Fred with your knee as he leaned forward, resting his chin on your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gave up on him the moment I realized I was already in love with the guy who actually showed up for me,” you said, fingers sliding through his hair.

Fred beamed, practically glowing. “So you’re saying I’m your hero? Finally getting the credit I deserve?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the fond smile tugging at your lips. “More like my very chaotic, very ginger hero who got detention for punching my ex.”

Fred looked far too pleased with that title.

“Don’t forget, love. I also devoured his girlfriend in my bed two doors down from him.”

You raised your eyebrows, laughing as you lightly smacked his shoulder. “Fred!”

He grinned shamelessly, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “What? Just making sure history remembers me properly.”

You shook your head, but the smile on your face wouldn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable.”

Fred leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, voice dipping to something softer. “And yet… you still chose me.”

You exhaled, heart full. “Yeah. I did.”

And as he kissed you — slow, certain, and impossibly warm — you realized that, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t regret a single thing.

[screamingoverfiction]

spank bank material

[holmesandtheroman]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[bethsvrse]

what is with this new wave of short ass drabbles with porn and zero plot what happened to yearning?? what happened to build up?? what happened to the character being absolutely down bad for reader?? what happened to the 10k words fics?? screaming crying and throwing up i miss it

[liberalsarecool]

I owe my Trump-supporting friends an apology. I’ve been critical of the Trump presidency and am still exhausted from the experience.

But to be fair, President Trump wasn’t that bad, other than:

• when he incited an insurrection against the government,

• mismanaged a pandemic that killed over a million Americans

• separated children from their families

• lost those children in the bureaucracy

• tear-gassed peaceful protesters on Lafayette Square so he could hold a photo op holding a Bible in front of a church

• tried to block all Muslims from entering the country

• got impeached

• got impeached again

• had the worst jobs record of any president in modern history

• pressured Ukraine to dig dirt on Joe Biden

• fired the FBI director for investigating his ties to Russia

• bragged about firing the FBI director on TV

• took Vladimir Putin’s word over the US intelligence community

• diverted military funding to build his wall

• caused the longest government shutdown in US history

• called Black Lives Matter a “symbol of hate”

• lied nearly 40,000 times

• banned transgender people from serving in the military

• ejected reporters from the White House briefing room who asked tough questions

• vetoed the defense funding bill because it renamed military bases named for Confederate soldiers

• refused to release his tax returns

• increased the national debt by nearly $8 trillion

• had three of the highest annual trade deficits in U.S. history

• called veterans and soldiers who died in combat losers and suckers

• coddled the leader of Saudi Arabia after he ordered the execution and dismembering of a US-based journalist

• refused to concede the 2020 election

• hired his unqualified daughter and son-in-law to work in the White House

• walked out of an interview with Lesley Stahl

• called neo-Nazis “very fine people”

• suggested that people should inject bleach into their bodies to fight COVID

• abandoned our allies the Kurds to Turkey

• pushed through massive tax cuts for the wealthiest but balked at helping working Americans

• incited anti-lockdown protestors in several states at the height of the pandemic

• withdrew the US from the Paris climate accords

• withdrew the US from the Iranian nuclear deal

• withdrew the US from the Trans Pacific Partnership which was designed to block China’s advances

• insulted his own Cabinet members on Twitter

• pushed the leader of Montenegro out of the way during a photo op

• failed to reiterate US commitment to defending NATO allies

• called Haiti and African nations “shithole” countries

• called the city of Baltimore the “worst in the nation”

• claimed that he single-handedly brought back the phrase “Merry Christmas” even though it hadn’t gone anywhere

• forced his Cabinet members to praise him publicly like some cult leader

• believed he should be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize

• berated and belittled his hand-picked Attorney General when he recused himself from the Russia probe

• suggested the US should buy Greenland

• colluded with Mitch McConnell to push through federal judges and two Supreme Court justices after supporting efforts to prevent his predecessor from appointing judges

• repeatedly called the media “enemies of the people”

• claimed that if we tested fewer people for COVID we’d have fewer cases

• violated the emoluments clause

• thought that Nambia was a country

• told Bob Woodward in private that the coronavirus was a big deal but then downplayed it in public

• called his exceedingly faithful vice president a “p---y” for following the Constitution

• nearly got us into a war with Iran after threatening them by tweet

• nominated a corrupt head of the EPA

• nominated a corrupt head of HHS

• nominated a corrupt head of the Interior Department

• nominated a corrupt head of the USDA

• praised dictators and authoritarians around the world while criticizing allies

• refused to allow the presidential transition to begin

• insulted war hero John McCain – even after his death

• spent an obscene amount of time playing golf after criticizing Barack Obama for playing (far less) golf while president

• falsely claimed that he won the 2016 popular vote

• called the Muslim mayor of London a “stone cold loser”

• falsely claimed that he turned down being Time’s Man of the Year

• considered firing special counsel Robert Mueller on several occasions

• mocked wearing face masks to guard against transmitting COVID

• locked Congress out of its constitutional duty to confirm Cabinet officials by hiring acting ones

• used a racist dog whistle by calling COVID the “China virus”

• hired and associated with numerous shady figures that were eventually convicted of federal offenses including his campaign manager and national security adviser

• pardoned several of his shady associates

• gave the Presidential Medal of Freedom to two congressman who amplified his batshit crazy conspiracy theories

• got into telephone fight with the leader of Australia(!)

• had a Secretary of State who called him a moron

• forced his press secretary to claim without merit that his was the largest inauguration crowd in history

• botched the COVID vaccine rollout

• tweeted so much dangerous propaganda that Twitter eventually banned him

• charged the Secret Service jacked-up rates at his properties

• constantly interrupted Joe Biden in their first presidential debate

• claimed that COVID would “magically” disappear

• called a U.S. Senator “Pocahontas”

• used his Twitter account to blast Nordstrom when it stopped selling Ivanka’s merchandise

• opened up millions of pristine federal lands to development and drilling

• got into a losing tariff war with China that forced US taxpayers to bail out farmers

• claimed that his losing tariff war was a win for the US

• ignored or didn’t even take part in daily intelligence briefings

• blew off honoring American war dead in France because it was raining

• redesigned Air Force One to look like the Trump Shuttle

• got played by Kim Jung Un and his “love letters”

• threatened to go after social media companies in clear violation of the Constitution

• botched the response to Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico

• threw paper towels at Puerto Ricans when he finally visited them

• pressured the governor and secretary of state of Georgia to “find” him votes

• thought that the Virgin islands had a President

• drew on a map with a Sharpie to justify his inaccurate tweet that Alabama was threatened by a hurricane

• allowed White House staff to use personal email accounts for official businesses after blasting Hillary Clinton for doing the same thing

• rolled back regulations that protected the public from mercury and asbestos

• pushed regulators to waste time studying snake-oil remedies for COVID

• rolled back regulations that stopped coal companies from dumping waste into rivers

• held blatant campaign rallies at the White House

• tried to take away millions of Americans’ health insurance because the law was named for a Black man

• refused to attend his successors’ inauguration

• nominated the worst Education Secretary in history

• threatened judges who didn’t do what he wanted

• attacked Dr. Anthony Fauci

• promised that Mexico would pay for the wall (it didn’t)

• allowed political hacks to overrule government scientists on major reports on climate change and other issues

• struggled navigating a ramp after claiming his opponent was feeble

• called an African-American Congresswoman “low IQ”

• threatened to withhold federal aid from states and cities with Democratic leaders

• went ahead with rallies filled with maskless supporters in the middle of a pandemic

• claimed that legitimate investigations of his wrongdoing were “witch hunts,”

• seemed to demonstrate a belief that there were airports during the American Revolution

• demanded “total loyalty” from the FBI director

• praised a conspiracy theory that Democrats are Satanic pedophiles

• completely gutted the Voice of America

• placed a political hack in charge of the Postal Service

• claimed without evidence that the Obama administration bugged Trump Tower

• suggested that the US should allow more people from places like Norway into the country

• suggested that COVID wasn’t that bad because he recovered with the help of top government doctors and treatments not available to the public

• overturned energy conservation standards that even industry supported

• reduced the number of refugees the US accepts

• insulted various members of Congress and the media with infantile nicknames

• gave Rush Limbaugh a Presidential medal of Freedom at the State of the Union address

• named as head of federal personnel a 29-year old who’d previously been fired from the White House for allegations of financial improprieties

• eliminated the White House office of pandemic response

• used soldiers as campaign props

• fired any advisor who made the mistake of disagreeing with him

• demanded the Pentagon throw him a Soviet-style military parade

• hired a shit ton of white nationalists

• politicized the civil service

• did absolutely nothing after Russia hacked the U.S. government

• falsely said the Boy Scouts called him to say his bizarre Jamboree speech was the best speech ever given to the Scouts

• claimed that Black people would overrun the suburbs if Biden won

• insulted reporters of color

• insulted women reporters

• insulted women reporters of color

• suggested he was fine with China’s oppression of the Uighurs

• attacked the Supreme Court when it ruled against him

• summoned Pennsylvania state legislative leaders to the White House to pressure them to overturn the election

• spent countless hours every day watching Fox News

• refused to allow his administration to comply with Congressional subpoenas

• hired Rudy Giuliani as his lawyer

• tried to punish Amazon because the Jeff Bezos-owned Washington Post wrote negative stories about him

• acted as if the Attorney General of the United States was his personal attorney

• attempted to get the federal government to defend him in a libel lawsuit from a women who accused him of sexual assault

• held private meetings with Vladimir Putin without staff present

• didn’t disclose his private meetings with Vladimir Putin so that the US had to find out via Russian media

• stopped holding press briefings for months at a time

• “ordered” US companies to leave China even though he has no such power

• led a political party that couldn’t even be bothered to draft a policy platform

• claimed preposterously that Article II of the Constitution gave him absolute powers

• tried to pressure the U.K. to hold the British Open at his golf course

• suggested that the government nuke hurricanes

• suggested that wind turbines cause cancer

• said that he had a special aptitude for science

• fired the head of election cyber security after he said that the 2020 election was secure

• blurted out classified information to Russian officials

• tried to force the G7 to hold their meeting at his failing golf resort in Florida

• fired the acting attorney general when she refused to go along with his unconstitutional Muslim travel ban

• hired Stephen Miller

• openly discussed national security issues in the dining room at Mar-a-Lago where everyone could hear them

• interfered with plans to relocate the FBI because a new development there might compete with his hotel

• abandoned Iraqi refugees who’d helped the U.S. during the war

• tried to get Russia back into the G7

• held a COVID super spreader event in the Rose Garden

• seemed to believe that Frederick Douglass is still alive

• lost 60 election fraud cases in court including before judges he had nominated

• falsely claimed that factories were reopening when they weren’t

• shamelessly exploited terror attacks in Europe to justify his anti-immigrant policies

• still hasn’t come up with a healthcare plan

• still hasn’t come up with an infrastructure plan despite repeated “Infrastructure Weeks"

• forced Secret Service agents to drive him around Walter Reed while contagious with COVID

• told the Proud Boys to “stand back and stand by”

• fucked up the Census

• withdrew the U.S. from the World Health Organization in the middle of a pandemic

• did so few of his duties that his press staff were forced to state on his daily schedule “President Trump will work from early in the morning until late in the evening. He will make many calls and have many meetings,” allowed his staff to repeatedly violate the Hatch Act

• seemed not to know that Abraham Lincoln was a Republican

• stood before sacred CIA wall of heroes and bragged about his election win

• constantly claimed he was treated worse than any president which presumably includes four that were assassinated and his predecessor whose legitimacy and birthplace were challenged by a racist reality TV show star named Donald Trump

• claimed Andrew Jackson could’ve stopped the Civil War even though he died 16 years before it happened

• said that any opinion poll showing him behind was fake

• claimed that other countries laughed at us before he became president when several world leaders were literally laughing at him

• claimed that the military was out of ammunition before he became President

• created a commission to whitewash American history

• retweeted anti-Islam videos from one of the most racist people in Britain

• claimed ludicrously that the Pulse nightclub shooting wouldn’t have happened if someone there had a gun even though there was an armed security guard there

• hired a senior staffer who cited the non-existent Bowling Green Massacre as a reason to ban Muslims

• had a press secretary who claimed that Nazi Germany never used chemical weapons even though every sane human being knows they used gas to kill millions of Jews and others

• bilked the Secret Service for higher than market rates when they had to stay at Trump properties

• apparently sold pardons on his way out of the White House

• stripped protective status from 59,000 Haitians

• falsely claimed Biden wanted to defund the police

• said that the head of the CDC didn’t know what he was talking about

• tried to rescind protection from DREAMers

• gave himself an A+ for his handling of the pandemic

• tried to start a boycott of Goodyear tires due to an Internet hoax

• said U.S. rates of COVID would be lower if you didn’t count blue states

• deported U.S. veterans who served their country but were undocumented

• claimed he did more for African Americans than any president since Lincoln

• touted a “super-duper” secret “hydrosonic” missile which may or may not be a new “hypersonic” missile or may not exist at all

• retweeted a gif calling Biden a pedophile

• forced through security clearances for his family

• suggested that police officers should rough up suspects

• suggested that Biden was on performance-enhancing drugs

• tried to stop transgender students from being able to use school bathrooms in line with their gender

• suggested the US not accept COVID patients from a cruise ship because it would make US numbers look higher

• nominated a climate change skeptic to chair the committee advising the White House on environmental policy

• retweeted a video doctored to look like Biden had played a song called “Fuck tha Police” at a campaign event

• hugged a disturbingly large number of U.S. flags

• accused Democrats of “treason” for not applauding his State of the Union address

• claimed that the FBI failed to capture the Parkland school shooter because they were “spending too much time” on Russia

• mocked the testimony of Dr Christine Blasey Ford when she accused Brett Kavanaugh of sexual assault

• obsessed over low-flow toilets

• ordered the re-release of more COVID vaccines when there weren’t any to release

• called for the construction of a bizarre garden of heroes with statutes of famous dead Americans as well as at least one Canadian (Alex Trebek)

• hijacked Washington’s July 4th celebrations to give a partisan speech

• took advice from the MyPillow guy

• claimed that migrants seeking a better life in the US were dangerous caravans of drug dealers and rapists

• said nothing when Vladimir Putin poisoned a leading opposition figure

• never seemed to heed the advice of his wife’s “Be Best” campaign

• falsely claimed that mail-in voting is fraudulent

• announced a precipitous withdrawal of troops from Syria which not only handed Russia and ISIS a win but also prompted his defense secretary to resign in protest

• insulted the leader of Canada

• insulted the leader of France

• insulted the leader of Britain

• insulted the leader of Germany

• insulted the leader of Sweden (Sweden!!)

• falsely claimed credit for getting NATO members to increase their share of dues

• blew off two Asia summits even though they were held virtually

• continued lying about spending lots of time at Ground Zero with 9/11 responders,

• said that the Japanese would sit back and watch their “Sony televisions” if the US were ever attacked

• left a NATO summit early in a huff

• stared directly into an eclipse even though everyone over the age of five knows not to do that

• called himself a very stable genius despite significant evidence to the contrary

• refused to commit to a peaceful transfer of power and kept his promise

And a whole bunch of other things I can’t remember .

[screamingoverfiction]

protect your right to choose.

[dwllity]

favourite : Fred Weasley fics 🏵️

this will be a growing post where I will add more over time. I do take fic recommendations too. Don't be afraid to submit some.

Dress by @redtaylorsversiongirlie

1.4k | fem!gryffindor!reader

Sleeping In by @screamingoverfiction

2.24k | smut

You, of course by @imaginestuffs

10,705 | fluff, slight anget

Amortentia by @whenlilyfallsinlove

ravenclaw!reader

you belong with me by @wlntrsldler

2.6k | f.w one shot

[lordprettyflackotara]

party monster || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fred’s ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)

Fred Weasley was never one to turn down an invitation to a party. Especially not one from Mattheo Riddle, to a Slytherin party.

Fred had felt like he had seen it all. He had watched the Hufflepuffs get giggly over champagne, Gryffindors try muggle grass for the first time, and Ravenclaws make tame mixed drinks that sent their minds into oblivion.

Slytherin’s on the other hand, went as hard as Fred liked. Of course muggle grass and alcohol was provided. The usual sex addicts were on the prowl for someone new to warm their bed. But what Fred enjoyed about the Slytherins the most, was their lack of fear to try muggle substances.

The most recent substance the most fearless had been trying was cocaine.

George refused to attend Slytherin parties, frowning upon the houses entirety. Truthfully Fred used to be the same way, until Mattheo offered him his first joint. The dark lords son had introduced him to an entire new world of highs, ones that Fred couldn’t find anywhere else.

For the past year the core Slytherins had been trying different pills, ones Theodore had been smuggling from a muggle born Hufflepuff who was naive enough to think they were being used for medical purposes. Fred had been to enough of these parties to where no one questioned his presence. If anything, he was often greeted and offered a cigarette at the very least.

It was highly unusual for other houses to venture into the Slytherins events, old superstitions still highly believed in. Fred would’ve been the same way, if it weren’t for Mattheo. It was an unlikely friendship, one no one could understand. Not George, Not Draco, no one. The ginger scanned the room, excited to find his friend. Word on the street about cocaine being smuggled into Hogwarts was spreading like wildfire. Fred knew he had to be one of the first ones to try it.

Strolling up confidently to the couch Mattheo always sat, the ginger waved. One of Penelope Clearwaters friends sat in Mattheo’s lap, her blue uniform making her stick out like a sore thumb. Mattheo grinned at the sight of Fred, gently pushing the girl away from sucking more hickies onto his neck. “Why don’t you go take a few shots with Pansy and i’ll meet you over there in a second?” He suggested. The girl glanced at Fred, taking the hint and starting her journey of finding Pansy.

Theodore Nott sat on the other side of the couch, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. “My favorite Gryffindor, welcome to another rager,” Mattheo chuckled, gesturing to the party that was occurring around them. Fred took a seat beside the brunette, greeting Theodore as well. “So Riddle, what do you have for me? You know I love to try whatever new hits the market,” Fred asked. Mattheo reached into his pocket, holding up a small plastic baggy of white powder.

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Previously he was under the impression that all muggle party substances were in the form of small pills. “That looks like it’s going to taste like shit,” Fred pointed out. A genuine chuckle escaped Mattheo’s lips as he grabbed a small metal tray. “Thats because it does, you don’t swallow it, you snort it,” He explained. Fred watched curiously as he poured the powder onto the tray. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wand.

Mattheo used the tip to slice it into three tiny lines, the small amount only furthering his curiosity. “How many milligrams is that per line?” Fred asked, trying to get a better grasp on the drug in front of him. Once Mattheo made sure the lines looked even, he set his wand aside. “Doesnt work like that. Nott, wanna lead by example?” He asked, gesturing the tray to him.

Theodore didn’t seem to hesitate at all, his nose hovering over one of the lines and inhaling it without a second thought. His lack of hesitance made Fred more confident. “Alright alright let me see what all of this hype is about,” The ginger interjected. Fred was determined to ‘one up’ Theo, the potions master always a bit too cocky for his liking. (Even if he thoroughly enjoyed spending hangovers with him.)

Fred mimicked Theo’s actions, holding one side of his nose as he inhaled the first line. Flames seem to spread through his nostril, the ginger deciding to ignore it and to snort the other line as well. Sharp pain washed over Fred’s senses, the feeling of the powder sliding down the back of his throat making him cough. “Look at that! Atta boy,” Mattheo said encouragingly, patting Fred on the back. As the brunette took a cigarette out of the box Theo gestured to him, he gestured to the party.

“Let’s get out there, shall we?”

Fred had never felt more talkative in his life. From Pansy, to Blaise, to Slytherins he didn’t know, he could not stop talking. Sober, Fred was a very social person. But he knew when to let the conversation fizzle out. But as of right now? That concept didn’t exist. He felt utterly invincible, as if the world itself existed around him for his pleasure and his only. His throat had gone numb, unable to feel the shots he downed repeatedly.

As he was talking to Blaise about his latest prank, his eyes briefly flickered to you. You were mesmerizing, a girl he had never seen before. Fred ensured to keep track of girls in his year, knowing which ones were taken and what not. But you looked to be the same age as him and he had never seen you a day in his life. You stood by the alcohol table, pouring raw tequila down your throat. Without excusing himself Fred left, abandoning his conversation with a way too drunk Blaise.

Fred knew he had to meet you, something about you calling to him. Even as you downed the liquor your hips swayed to the music, your curves intriguing Fred even more. The ginger didn’t feel one ounce of nervousness, the coke having imbedded in his mind. “Hey there, mind if I have a swig?” Fred asked. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, before handing him the bottle. “Thanks,” He said, taking a drink. Fred’s throat was completely numb, the firey liquid not affecting him at all.

He handed the bottle back to you, giving you a sly grin. Your lips were painted a dark red, your beautiful eyes accompanied by flattering dark makeup. The kind Fred could only imagine a Slytherin could pull off. “You have something right here,” You replied, pointing to your upper lip. In a sudden movement you stepped forward, wiping the very top of Fred’s lip. You held up your thumb, the faintest sprinkle of white powder coating the pad of your thumb.

“Thanks, been a wild night. When new muggle stuff comes in it’s always exciting to try it,” Fred said, unscathed by your action. If anything he was into it, thrilled that you were so touchy. “It always is, isn’t it?” You say, taking another swig of the bottle. Fred couldn’t help but grin, thrilled that a girl as hot as you understood his enthusiasm. It was difficult finding another student so adventurous, yet here you stood.

A girl behind you waved at Fred, a friend of Pansy’s. Fred waved back, making a mental note to talk to her later. “So, a lion playing with snakes?” You ask, creating conversation. He hadn’t realized he had just been standing there, his eyes flickering in every direction. Soaking in the party, the music, you, the lights, Pansy’s friend-

“I’m a good friend of Riddle’s, great isn’t he?” Fred said. He gestured to the brunette who was currently dancing on top of a table, his tie loose and hanging around his shoulders. A cigarette hung on his lips, his hips occupied by grinding on the Hufflepuff in front of him. You nodded in agreement, shrugging. After tonight Fred made another mental note to ask Mattheo about you. You were awfully quiet for a Slytherin.

“A real charmer, that’s for sure,” You replied, your words laced with sarcasm. Your eyes flickered to Fred, shooting him a playful smile. “As are you. I see where he learns it from,” You continue, biting your lower lip. Flattery was the gingers weakness, a cocky smile creeping across his lips. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? My dorms gonna be empty. Roommates crashing with one of the boys,” You ask, pointing to the dungeons. Fred knew about the girls rooms being in the dungeons all too well, his visits down there frequent.

“Sure, lead the way little witch,” Fred purred. You grabbed his large hand, your skin cold to the touch. You led him through the hot swaying bodies, your hand gripping his his. As you both approached the staircase to go down further Fred looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing on Mattheo. The brunettes eyebrows were furrowed as he watched him, mouthing a clear question: ‘you good?’

Fred smiled and nodded, shooting him a thumbs up as he followed you down the dungeons. If there was anything Fred knew about Slytherins, without stereotyping them too much, was that they cared about appearances. They kept precise upkeep about their looks, (maybe not including Mattheo), that it teetered towards an unhealthy amount. In Fred’s opinion anyway. He didn’t have to deal with strict parents with pureblood ideologies, so he didn’t feel like he had room to judge.

As you led him further down the staircase he noticed several mirrors in between portraits, for students to use while heading up to the common room. Fred’s focus mainly was on himself, noticing how large his pupils were. You both reached towards the end of the staircase, Fred’s eyes still focused on the mirror. For a split second he squinted, noticing he didn’t see you. His hand was being held in mid air, your fingers not entangled around his palm like he saw before him.

Questioning was on the tip of his tongue, your abrupt words cutting him off. “My dorm is further down and I need you, now,” You say urgently, palming at Fred’s shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, unsure. “Did you see that? You weren’t in the reflection,” Fred asked, completely ignoring your statement. You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the girls bathroom on the right side of the hall. “You’re paranoid, do you want to fuck or not?” You asked.

Fred shook his head, trying to rationalize with himself. He had a hot witch standing in front of him and he was about to fuck up a one night stand because of some muggle drug. “Absolutely,” Fred agreed, allowing you to lead him into the bathroom. Admittedly this was one place Fred hadn’t been, his knowledge of the room little to none. He was surprised that a velvet green couch sat almost in the center of the room. Would that have been his style choice? Absolutely not. Do witches tend to take their time in the restrooms gossiping? Fred believed so.

Your lips were on him before he could process it, his back hitting the couch. You tasted like raw alcohol, his tastebuds flooded with the sensation as you got on top of him. Fred was typically dominant, but he never minded a Slytherin topping him. You were so confident, tugging your shirt over your heard before reattaching your lips to his. Your touch made Fred want to immediately submit, his cock growing harder by the minute as you straddled him.

“Hard already? Naughty naughty gryffindor,” You teased, biting his bottom lip. Fred groaned, his hands flying to your waist. He guided you to grind against him, his cock growing achingly hard. You kissed down the side of his face to his neck, sucking at his sweet spot. Fred squeezed your thighs, whimpering as your lips littered his skin with marks. You kissed down his clothed chest, all the way down to his aching cock.

You teasingly kissed his hard on, maintaining eye contact as you did so. The ginger bucked his hips towards, throwing his head back as you unbuckled his belt. “If you want me to suck your cock you’re going to have to beg Freddie,” You say, unbuttoning his jeans. Spews of pleas left his lips faster than he would like to admit, “Fuck, please, touch me, please.”

A brief concern of how you knew his name crossed his mind, the worry fading as you shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs. Fred was decently known, maybe you had known him for an infamous prank or-

His spinning thoughts came to a screeching halt as you took him into your mouth. Fred couldn’t control his noises, you taking control of him and his pleasure one of the hottest things he had ever seen. As you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, Fred chopped up his previous mental ramble to paranoia. Most likely he was coming down from his high, his body adjusting his mind back to normal.

Fred didn’t even know your name, but the moans he was making made it sound like he did. He was pure putty at your hands, willingly and merciless at your disposal. His tip brushed against the back of your throat, expectancy of the sound of gagging ensuing. Except it didn’t. Fred looked down at you in awe, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t have a gag reflex? What kind of magic was this?

He roughly grabbed the back of your head, pushing you down further onto his cock. You took his length with ease, saliva pooling to the base of his shaft. “Merlin, you’re a goddess right? Sent to me from above?” Fred panted, his mind trying to wrap around you. You pulled off of his cock, his hands not affecting your movement. He thought he had applied a decent amount of pressure, even if it was involuntary. What were you? Were you some kind of-

“Maybe, maybe you’re just my personal pet. My babies get the best treatment you know,” You purred. The ginger had no idea what you were rambling about, but what he did know, was that he wanted you to fuck him. “Ride me, fuck, please ride me,” He whined. Most girls would’ve asked for foreplay, head, or something along those lines. But you didn’t ask for either, instead lifting up your skirt and shoving your panties to the side. You guided his tip up and down your drenched folds, the feeling of your warm slick enough to make Fred groan.

He couldn’t understand why he felt so sensitive, his body on cloud nine just from your simple touch. You sank down onto his cock with ease, your walls clenching around him. Fred threw his head back, unable to formulate coherent words as you began to ride him. You seemed unfazed by his size, riding him like you had been doing so for years. Fred was not only unable to speak, but completely and utterly speechless.

You didn’t seem real, his unrealistic expectations for a hookup playing out in front of him. You leaned forward, one hand placed on his throat while the other tugged at his hair. “You like that huh? Feel good Freddie?” You asked. Fred groaned an agreement, his cock brushing against your g spot with every roll of your hips. Most witches would tire out by now, opting to switch positions. Yet you didn’t, your body not seeming to tire as you squeezed at the sides of his throat.

“So good, Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” Fred moaned as you licked up the side of his neck. He felt his orgasm approaching, the ginger flustered by the feeling. Was it the coke that was going to make him bust quick? Or was it how well you were riding him? His eyes wondered over your shoulder, landing on a large full length mirror. The presence of the mirror wasn’t surprising, but what was, was your absence. You weren’t present in the reflection, Fred’s head beginning to spin.

“Uh, you’re not in the m-mirror, I-” Fred stuttered, his high approaching faster than he wanted it to. He wanted to go all night with you, but why weren’t you showing up in the mirror? You sat up, your breast bouncing as you continued to ride him.

“You’re being paranoid Freddie, now why don’t you go ahead and cum for me?”

Fred’s hips stuttered as he came inside of your cunt, his head rolling back onto the couch. His ears were ringing, any sounds of you or the party dulling out into nothingness. He began seeing stars, his vision fading out completely. His senses had seemed to given up, Fred’s body unable to sustain itself, passing out.

\/

Fred had woken up a lot of strange places after a party. Most times he woke up beside a witch whose name he didn’t know. Other times he would wake up in random places, one time including the whomping willow. (To this day, no one has any idea how he survived OR got a good nights sleep.) Where Fred had never been woken up before, was in the male Slytherin dorms. Nor, had he ever been violently shaken awake by someone. Faintly he could hear a familiar voice calling out to him, but the words were incoherent.

“Fred! Wake the fuck up!”

He jolted awake, his heart pounding out of his chest as he sat up. Scattered,he looked around, unaware of where he was. His eyes landed on Mattheo and Draco, both of which seemed extremely concerned. “W-what..?” Fred stumbled out. His head was pounding with a rager headache, his body felt drained and spent. “Pansy found you uh-” Draco began, before shooting Mattheo a look that he should speak instead. Mattheo sighed, handing Fred a glass of water.

“She found you in the girls bathroom passed out with your pants pulled down and you uh, came all over yourself,” Mattheo informed him. Fred could feel himself turning red, clutching the water in his hand. His eyes widened in disbelief, becoming dizzy again as he rested his hand on his forehead to keep himself propped up.

“Do you have any idea how you ended up like that dude?” Mattheo asked, keeping his voice even. Bags hung under his eyes, his knee bouncing anxiously. It was rare Fred ever saw Mattheo sober, but he could definitely tell he was. You raced through the gingers mind, embarrassment flooding over him. You weren’t real? None of it was real?

A knock on the door alerted the trio, the Slytherins eyes landing on the new comer. “Well shit I see the party monsters awake,” Theodore said, waltzing in. His confidence made Fred uneasy, his stomach churning. “Do you happen to remember what happened last night?” He asked him, his voice breaking. Theo nodded, taking a seat. “Why don’t you drink some water and i’ll tell you all about it?”

Theo didn’t know Fred well by any means. Sometimes he questioned what Mattheo saw in the ginger, the prankster a bit too full of himself. It was a coincidence he saw him by the alcohol table, talking to himself. At first Theo assumed he was yelling to someone, or even on a muggle phone a lot of Gryffinors used. Cautiously Theo rounded the table, raising his eyebrows as Fred offered the bottle of tequila he had been cuddling to the air in front of him.

The brunette couldn’t believe his eyes, watching dumbfounded as Astoria Greengrass gave him a wave. Briefly his eyes flickered upwards at the Slytherin, before returning to the void in front of him. With a confused expression Theo decided it was none of his business, returning back to Mattheo with new drinks in hand. He figured he was just high, anyways. Unknowingly Mattheo had recommended Fred to Astoria, who was looking for a quick hook up to help her get over her ex.

A dumbfounded Astoria had beat Theo to Mattheo, her lips moving a mile a minute. She was weirded out by Fred’s behavior, the ginger confirmed to be talking to the air. Mattheo’s eyes flickered upwards, watching as Fred was heading towards the stairs. His hand was held out in front of him, a goofy smile spread across his lips. He made eye contact with Mattheo, who managed to communicate through all the noise and ask if he was good.

Fred seemed more than good, excitedly nodding and heading down to the dungeons. It wasn’t until the next morning Pansy came running, trying to get the boys to help her carry Fred before anyone saw him.

As the group sat in Mattheo’s room you watched from the shadows, invisible to everyone around you. You had died from a cocaine overdose in 1970, the curse of your afterlife being that no one could see you. The only time anyone did, was when they had done the drug themselves. You didn’t quite understand the logistics of it, other ghost able to see you, but no being with a beating heart could.

You had been shocked Fred had seen you at the alcohol table, after being used to being unseen for so long. As cocky and mischievous as you knew Fred to be from watching, you liked him. So much so that you knew scaring the ever loving fuck out of him was going to be the only way he would never touch the horrid stuff again. Party monsters like Fred, often times danced on the line between life and death. Their bodies, from what you could understand, would be into overdrive. That crossover allowed him to see you.

You thoroughly enjoyed fucking Fred, even if the ginger now regretted it. And as much as you wished you could see him again, you knew he deserved a better chance at life. “Bloody hell, i’m never touching that stuff again,” Fred groaned, cupping his pounding head. You smiled at his confession, walking up to Draco’s side. You stood beside him, the blonde unaware of your presence. Your mission was complete, Fred would be on a better path now. You smiled to yourself, watching as the ginger lifted his head.

His eyes widened, centered on you.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here?!”

He can see you?

a/n: can yall tell im into plot twist rn? lol. might do a part two if yall want it >:)

[makoodles]

ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, inexperienced!reader, first time blow jobs, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, riding, jealous ghost, some communication issues!

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The problem with sleeping with a man like Ghost, you’re coming to realise, is that now that you’ve experienced the reality of sex (and good sex) you can’t stop thinking about it.

In the week following the night you’d spent together, you swear you can feel his phantom touch on your hips, your thighs, your back. It feels like he’s carved a space for himself inside of you, something you’ll never get back – not that you want it back in the first place. 

Realistically, you know that the whole ‘loss of virginity’ thing doesn’t have as much to do with how you’re feeling as the fact that it was Ghost who had taken it. You had long bullied your hymen out of the way with your collection of silly dildos, but nothing could have prepared you for the scorching hot heat of Ghost’s massive cock splitting you open, or his clever tongue licking at you, or his thick calloused fingers rubbing torturous circles into your clit and fraying your nerves apart.

The worst part is, you don’t know if anything is ever going to live up to the way he made you feel again. You’ve tried to replicate his touches, his rhythm, the way he had split you open, but your fingers are too small and none of your dildos can imitate the way he had worked you stupid. To your immense dissatisfaction, you don’t even come close to coming again.

It feels like something inside of you has cracked open, and you don’t know how to stop all of this new yearning, how to stuff it all back inside and pretend that nothing has changed.

The problem is that while you feel as though you’ve been changed from the inside out, you don’t think Ghost feels the same way. Maybe the most infuriating thing is that Ghost seems entirely unaffected. Other than a couple of lingering glances and knowing stares, there’s no indication that he had done anything more intimate with you than grappling at training. 

All you can do is attempt to follow his lead, to be as casual as possible.

It’s harder than it sounds.

You find your whole body straining towards him when he’s close to you, though you try to keep cool. You fail miserably. You can’t even look in Ghost’s direction without thinking of his big fingers hooked inside you, rubbing at your clit, squeezing at your tits. You can hardly look him in the eye without thinking of the way he looked when he was squeezed between your thighs with his mouth on your cunt, the way those big brown eyes watched as you writhed on his tongue.

And yet, you can hardly tear your eyes away from him. You look at him in a completely different light now. He’s the first man to take you, the first one to touch you so intimately, the first one to make you come. He’s still your lieutenant, but it’s like all of a sudden your eyes have been opened to a new aspect of him. He’s no longer just your untouchable superior, the man who’s always so cold and distant behind that death mask – now he’s the man who was gentle with you, the man who kissed you sweetly when he took your virginity, the man who gave you the first, second, third orgasm of your life.

But despite the way you had been offered that new little glimpse into Ghost, he still remains an enigma to you. 

You can feel his eyes on you throughout the week, though it’s never at the same time as when you’re looking at him. And maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems as though he’s gotten freer with his touches, too. A big palm on the small of your back as he steps past you, a quick squeeze to the shoulder. It’s subtle, and you can’t be sure that he’s actually touching you anymore than usual.

But other than the subtle glances and the light touches, Ghost doesn’t make any genuine effort to approach you again. He still treats you like just another member of the squad, no different to Soap or Gaz. 

If anything, he gives them more attention than he gives you, delivering his deadpan jokes and exchanging quips during training. You end up standing to the side, sending infrequent glances their way in the hopes that he’ll give you something.

You’ve never been the fittest or the strongest, but your level of distraction in those few days following your night with Ghost is absolutely mortifying. You’re slow, you’re clumsy, you mess up everything. 

You don’t think you can be blamed when you’re working in the same space as Ghost. You can hardly bring yourself to look his way when he’s lifting weights, unable to handle looking at the flex and curl of his muscles under his long-sleeve black workout shirt. It clings to him, letting you see every little shift of muscle and tendon beneath that stupid top as he works, and your mind very unhelpfully provides a slideshow of memories of him between your spread thighs. 

You know it’s obvious. You glance at him, then glance away, then back again. Your eyes linger, bright and too interested, before you’re able to hide it. You wonder sometimes if your yearning is obvious on your face; you hope not.

But if Ghost sees it – any of it – he gives no indication. 

If you have to be honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you’re disappointed. You had hoped that– well. You’re not sure you can bear to admit what you’d hoped, even just to yourself. It feels silly to admit that maybe you had hoped that Ghost wouldn’t be content with just being your first, that maybe he’d want to be your second, your third. Silly. Almost blasphemous.

You don’t technically have to show up to training, so after only two days of your awkward and uncertain pining in the gym, you stop showing up. The role you fulfil as part of the 141 is a non-combat one, so you know you won’t be missed in their ongoing training. You’ve mostly been working in communications; maintaining secure communication channels and ensuring that information is transmitted accurately and securely. The boys rely on you in the field, and you feel like you owe them a certain level of physical fitness just in case things go frighteningly wrong when you’re out there with them. 

There’s just something so mortifying about the whole situation. It feels as though Ghost had peeled back the layers of you and taken a peek at your soft unprotected insides. You’d been vulnerable in front of him in a way you’d never been in front of anyone before, in a way that you can hardly stand. You had thought that you’d been okay with it being a one time thing, but you weren’t exactly doing a whole lot of thinking at the time.

So yeah, every time he glances away from you, or when he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction at all, it feels like you’re being rejected anew. It’s…. It’s not ideal. But you’re a big girl, and you’ve dealt with repressed desire and stifled yearning for years now. At least now you have a real experience to add to your reserve of imagination the next time you try to get yourself off.

It’s fine. You convince yourself that you were being ridiculous in the first place. He’s Ghost, after all. You feel a little foolish for even having the brief hope that something more might happen between the two of you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You manage to keep to yourself for most of the week, and the rest of the squad is kind enough not to say anything about it. But when Thursday comes around, you realise it’s not going to be possible to avoid Soap and his persistent insistence that you join them all in the moderately-sized cantina for drinks that night.

Truthfully, it doesn’t take too much persuading to convince you to go. Avoiding training with the squad had resulted in a week of isolation that had left you lonely and wishing for some social interaction. Besides, you’ve never quite been able to say no to Soap, and so you’re dragged to the little cantina for the second Thursday in a row.

To your absolute bewilderment, you find yourself in the exact same position as you had been in the last time you shared drinks with the squad, exactly one week ago. 

Despite hardly speaking to you all week, Ghost had so confidently taken a seat next to you on the same fucking squishy little couch that you had shared last week. You end up partially squashed into the arm of the sofa, with Ghost’s massive hulking body brushing against you with every slight movement. 

It’s galling to admit it, but you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t say much other than a soft murmur of a greeting when he first settles down beside you, but then he throws his arm around the back of the couch in a move that’s unexpectedly intimate. 

You try not to read too much into it. While Ghost may be fairly aloof and menacing to those that don’t know him well, to you and the squad he’s always been subtly territorial. His eyes flick around the room semi-regularly, never at ease even in the middle of base. When Gaz goes to get drinks, Ghost’s eyes follow him until he gets back as though he’s expecting something to happen in the few minutes and couple of feet that he’s gone. He does the same when Price steps out for a smoke, and when Soap steps out to the toilet.

So the arm behind you (technically resting on the back of the couch rather than your shoulders) doesn’t actually mean anything. The curious look that Soap sends you doesn’t mean anything either, and you studiously ignore it as you force yourself to relax at Ghost’s side.

You drink the vodka soda Gaz hands you a little quicker than you mean to – maybe it’s because your nerves are already set on edge, but the alcohol goes to your head. Quickly. 

It’s a pleasant floaty feeling, and it eases some of the anxiety that’s been bubbling thanks to the heat that sinks into your skin from his side pressed up against you. By the time you drain your glass, you’re leaning against his side. He doesn’t react, for better or worse; you wish he would give you some indication of where you stand, whether he likes you bundled up by his side or if he’s just tolerating it.

When Ghost’s eyes finally slide over to you from behind the dark pits of his mask, you nearly jolt. His gaze is lazy and half-lidded, but he reaches out to take the glass from you. His gloved fingers brush over yours, and you can’t stifle the embarrassing little judder that runs down your spine.

“Slow down.” He murmurs, setting the glass aside. “It’s still early.”

You had been hoping all damn evening that he would just look at you, but now that you finally have his eyes on you it feels as though you’re pinned down by them. You try not to squirm, once again remembering the way those dark eyes had watched you so darkly as he had hunched over you, rutting into you until the tears were streaming down your cheeks.

Your mind goes blank under his attention and his closeness, the ambient noise of glasses clinking and loud voices laughing and joking and muffled old eighties tunes fading to nothing until the sound of Soap’s loud voice brings you back to yourself.

“Let the lass drink, LT.” He crows, grinning, and you realise that he already has another couple of drinks in his hands. You hadn’t even noticed him leaving for the bar. “She deserves to have fun tonight. Don’t you, bonnie?”

“Sure.” You agree easily, relieved by the distraction and already reaching for the new drink. You’re still all fidgety and distracted, eager to drown yourself in it. “I deserve fun.”

It feels as though Ghost’s gaze is burning right into the side of your head, but you fixedly ignore him. He’s so intense, you’re pretty sure that you look like a dazed idiot under the weight of his attention. It’s the most he’s looked at you all week, and you attempt to hide your face behind your glass as you take a sip of your fresh drink.

He’s drinking too, though he’s foregone his usual whiskey in favour of a dark lager that he’s barely touched. The glass is sweating with condensation, and he swipes a thick gloved thumb over the fog on it absent-mindedly as he watches you.

You watch Gaz and Soap as they joke with each other, trading jibes and jabs and stories that you hardly even hear. It feels a little as though your ears have been filled with cotton wool, as though everything around you is just distinctly muffled. You feel like you’re on another planet, awareness tethered only by the hot, hard line of Ghost’s muscular body pressed against your side. 

Over the last week, you’ve tried very hard not to be a stereotype.

You’ve heard men laughing about girls they’ve slept with who’ve become too clingy, who’ve wanted too much, and wasted their time searching for something that those guys aren’t willing to give. Maybe it’s because you’re so conscious that Ghost has taken several of your firsts, but you’re so determined to not be that person. 

Ghost isn’t exactly a big talker anyway, unless it’s the odd sarcastic comment or ribbing with Soap, so it’s not like you’ve talked about the situation. You had just awoken the morning after with a deep ache in your core and a sore back, though the pain was soothed by the warm embrace you were all wrapped up in. You had been nervous, but you needn’t have been. Ghost had given you nothing. He just rubbed your back with one shovel-sized hand and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder (through the mask, so you don’t know what to make of that) before he rolled out of your bed to pull his trousers back on, grunting that he’d see you later.

So, you don’t talk about it. Not with him, and not with anybody. It feels like so much has changed, yet everything stays the same. The deja vu you’re experiencing from sitting on the couch drinking with him like this is overwhelming, and experiencing him staring at you like this after a full week of distance is making you feel hot and fuzzy and stupid.

While Soap is in the midst of a loud and enthusiastic retelling of a story from his basic training days, you build up the courage to glance up at Ghost. He’s already looking at you, as though anticipating your attention. 

“You’re staring at me.” You mumble, your fingers clenching compulsively around your chilled glass.

Ghost shifts, and you feel the thick muscle of his bicep roll behind your head. He grunts in quiet agreement. 

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything else, uninterested in justifying or explaining himself. It’s like he thinks that he doesn’t need to; he just keeps watching you, his light blond eyelashes drawing low over his eyes as his head tilts.

Self-conscious under his intensity, you glance away again. Soap is still talking, but you can’t focus. Despite the fact that Ghost is big and warm and so frustratingly attractive beside you, it’s hard to ignore the subtle prickle of irritation that’s growing under your skin. 

After all, he had taken your virginity and then proceeded to act as though nothing at all had changed between you for the rest of the week, and now he’s sat next to you with his gaze that heated? What the fuck?

The second drink goes down even easier than the first thanks to your awkwardness. You’re not sure what to make of his attention – you’ve spent the whole week keeping a sense of distance, determined to stay cool and casual. The last thing you want to do is freak him out by seeming like an over-eager idiot that’s gone and fallen in too deep with him, unwilling to lose whatever meagre respect Ghost has developed for you since you started working with the 141.

“I’ll get the next round.” You blurt suddenly, pushing yourself up off the couch.

It’s too abrupt to be casual, and you pointedly don’t look at the half-full glasses in your squad mates’ hands as you hurry away. You probably could have played that off better, but you need a moment to collect yourself away from Ghost’s relentless stare.

You take the opportunity to breathe at the bar, rubbing at your eyes and sighing. The bartender is busy, so you just stand there for a long moment, mentally chastising yourself.

God, this is just embarrassing. You’re a grown fucking woman, and here you are getting so ridiculously flustered over your lieutenant. You never thought that you’d be the type to turn into a silly little mess over the first man you ever sleep with, but maybe it was inevitable. The little embers of that crush you had been harbouring on Ghost since you joined the team have been fanned into a full on flame and you hardly know how to handle yourself.

It takes a significant effort to keep your attention away from the table; you can’t help but want to look, to see if Ghost is still looking your way, but you keep your eyes to yourself. 

When another body appears at your side, you jolt in surprise. You hadn’t expected to be followed, and your first thought is that it must be Soap. But when you glance to your side, you find a stranger standing closer to you than you expected.

Well, he’s not a total stranger. You know him to see around the base, sandy-haired with a too wide smile. You think he might be a second lieutenant, but you’ve never actually had any dealings with him and you can’t think of a name… Daniels, maybe?

“Hello there,” He says, and even with those two words his intentions are unmistakable. His tone is suggestive, as is the way his eyes scan over your body. “How you doing?”

It’s far from the first time you’ve been hit on by men; it comes with the territory of being a woman in a male-dominated environment. They look at you like they want to eat you sometimes, in a way that sets your teeth on edge. You’ve always danced around the subject of intimacy, embarrassed about your lack of experience and too anxious to actually seek out anyone to change that. What happened with Ghost was unexpected, and just about changed your entire outlook on sex and physical pleasure for life. 

Your first reaction, as always, is to shut him down or ignore him. But something makes you pause, and glance back at him. 

He’s sort of cute. A charming smile, at least. When he sees you looking back, he only smiles wider and steps closer.

“Let me get this next one for you,” He says, gesturing at the bartender to catch his attention. “What’re you having?”

“Uh..” You hesitate a moment, biting your lip. “Vodka soda.”

He orders, then leans against the bar and turns to face you fully. His gaze is appreciative, and for once you don’t shy away from it. You so rarely return male attention that you hardly know what to do, but you manage to muster up an awkward smile.

When the bartender returns with your drink, you feel a momentary pang of guilt. You had almost forgotten that you were meant to order drinks for the table, and you send a swift glance over your shoulder. 

The boys are still engrossed in their conversation, hardly even noticing your absence. All but Ghost.

The lieutenant has half-turned, his arm still slung over the couch where you had been sitting as he stares. The realisation that his eyes are still on you has your spine straightening, self-conscious now about your posture and your body language. 

You look away swiftly, and try not to feel guilty. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. He hasn’t spoken to you all week despite the fact that he’d nearly done your back in fucking you.

Your experience with Ghost may have been a one-time thing, no matter what you might have been hoping for, but there’s no reason that it has to be a one-time thing for you with anyone else. Even with your stupid vibrators and dildos, you haven’t been able to come close to coming in the week following your night with your lieutenant. You’re starting to wonder if maybe you’re not capable of coming without someone else’s hands on you.

“I’ve seen you around, been meaning to talk to you,” Daniels is saying, and in your distraction you almost miss it. “But it’s, uh… it’s a little difficult to catch you alone.”

You almost scoff, but you manage to swallow it back down. You know exactly what he means; the 141 sticks together and looks out for each other, but it also sometimes feels like you have a couple of overprotective guard dogs. They take watching you seriously, probably due to your non-combat role on the team, and you’ve never discouraged it because you like the way they make you feel safe. 

“Yeah, the guys can be a little protective.” You laugh a little weakly. “But don’t mind them.”

Even now, you can feel Ghost’s dark eyes burning into you from across the room. You wonder how on earth Daniels remains so unaware of it.

“Mm,” Daniels leans in, his white teeth glinting. “Can’t blame them, I suppose. Why don’t you come and join me and some of the lads at our table for a bit? Spend some time with some new people.”

You shift on the balls of your feet, thinking. Admittedly, you’ve never been big on socialising when on base, other than the usual minor exchange of pleasantries. You hardly even know what to do in the face of a man’s interest in you now.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” You demur, reaching up to scratch absently behind your ear. “I don’t think the boys would appreciate me abandoning them for the night.”

Daniels’ smile widens, and you feel your cheeks heat. You feel clumsy with your socialising, as though you’re stretching muscles you’re not used to using. Since you had joined the 141, you hadn’t done too much mingling outside of the squad; they’ve been your only friends and confidantes, ribbing and supporting you in equal measure. In the face of a stranger in the on-base cantina, you find yourself floundering.

“I think they get enough of your time,” He murmurs, leaning against the bar in such a way that his body is angled towards you. “C’mon, I’ll buy you another few drinks and we can get to know each other, huh?”

Maybe the vodka was a bad idea. It’s lowering your inhibitions, making you actually consider his offer. You’re pent up from a week of unsuccessful touching yourself, and you crave physical intimacy. 

If you can’t get a repeat performance from Ghost, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if you looked elsewhere, with someone who might be interested in more than a one time thing.

You glance down at Daniel’s hands where they’re wrapped around his beer glass. They’re big, with strong slender fingers and calloused knuckles. Nice hands, you think, but you can’t help but compare to the enormous thick paws of your lieutenant. Still, you think they’d do the job.

“Well–” You start to say, your tone wavering and uncertain as you consider his officer.

But you don’t get to give him an answer before a massive hand settles on your shoulder. It makes you jolt, startled, recognising Ghost by touch alone. It feels as though it sears straight through your clothes, and your eyes widen.

For a moment, Ghost says nothing at all. He just stands at your shoulder, so close that you feel the muscle of his chest and stomach brush against your back, and stares at Daniels from over the top of your head. The glare isn’t even directed your way, and yet you find yourself wilting from it.

“On your way, Sergeant.” Ghost drawls, lifting his chin and gesturing at him dismissively.

Despite Ghost’s obvious intimidation factor, Daniels doesn’t immediately do as he’s told. He huffs out a short breathless laugh instead, as though he can hardly believe what he’s hearing.

“We’re only talking, Lieutenant–”

Ghost doesn’t even respond. His glower just intensifies, until Daniels trails off and his mouth snaps shut. You get the impression that if anyone else tried to intimidate him just by staring and posturing, Daniels might actually square up and fight. He seems like the type to make poor decisions while drinking – maybe you were going to be one of them. 

But as it is, Ghost has an intimidation factor unmatched by anyone else you’ve ever known. It goes beyond his giant hulking physique and skull mask and low gravelly voice that can sound like a clap of thunder when he’s angry. It’s like he has an aura, something that radiates off him in dark waves saying ‘Don’t fuck with me’. Any sensible person would back the fuck off when faced with his full, unwelcoming attention.

And sure enough, Daniels is no exception. He raises his arms to his shoulders and gives Ghost a mocking sort of smile before retreating backwards. To your mortification, he doesn’t so much as glance your way even as he turns his back on you.

Irritation settles over you like a blanket. It makes your skin itch and your teeth grind, and you turn to scowl at Ghost.

“What the hell was that?” You demand, and your voice comes out sharper than you had technically intended.

Ghost’s head tilts, and those sharp dark eyes find you from behind the mask. The eyeblack is beginning to fade in patches around the inner corners of his eyes – bizarrely, it serves as a reminder that Ghost is just a man, not just a massive wall of muscle with a terrifying glower.

“What was what?” He says. His voice has dropped a notch, deep and rumbling into you even as you step away and turn so that you’re facing him head on.

“You– I was just–” You flounder for a moment, searching for words as you gesture uselessly with your hands. 

You’re indignant over his interruption, and your frustration grows as you find yourself unable to articulate yourself. Where the hell does he get off interrupting you talking to another man? He hadn’t spoken to you all week, and now he feels confident enough to cockblock you?

“Mm.” Ghost grunts. “What were you doing?”

Your jaw clenches. “I was talking. Is that a crime now?”

Jesus, you sound like a brat. You don’t even know where this insubordination is coming from; he’s your lieutenant, regardless of that one night you had spent with him. You’re being too bold talking like this, but it’s like you just can’t help yourself.

His eyes darken, lashes blocking out his irises as his gaze narrows at you. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, to keep your spine straight and shoulders back despite your impulse to crumble.

“Watch that mouth, doll.” He warns, his voice low, and you feel your stomach tighten at both his words and his tone. 

But your self-preservation instincts are still missing.

“You can’t ignore me all week and then get annoyed at me when I–”

He cuts you off as though he’s not even listening to you. “Not here. Come on.”

And with that, he wraps one big hand around your upper arm and begins leading you out of the cantina. He’s not harsh, and he doesn’t drag you or anything, but judging by the tense set of his shoulders arguing with him would be a really bad idea right now. 

You’ve pissed him off, and you don’t want to make his mood worse so you allow your feet to move automatically as he leads you out of the room.

You can feel eyes on your back as you leave, and you feel yourself grow squirmy with embarrassment. No doubt the rest of the squad is watching you get hauled off by Ghost right now. 

Oh god, the Captain is watching you get hauled off — how mortifying. You pray they didn’t catch your little exchange with Ghost at the bar, but you have a feeling that hope is in vain. The 141 are close-knit and protective over each other, but they’re also terrible gossips.

“Let me– Sir, let me go–” You start to complain, testing his grip. His hold on you is iron-clad, and yet still somehow gentle enough to avoid bruising.

When you realise where he’s leading you to, you stop complaining very quickly. You had figured that he was just going to drag you into the corridor outside and give you a talking to, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until you realise that he’s leading you all the way back to your own damn room

“What are you doing?” You demand in a hiss. You’re so incensed that you swear your hair is standing on end. 

After all that, is Ghost seriously hauling you back to your room like you’re a bold child? Is he angry because of your insubordination at the bar? 

A cold trickle of anxiety enters your stomach, and you steal a worried glance at his face. The hard-shell mask he uses on missions has been traded for the softer black woven balaclava that he usually wears when he’s not in the field, but it doesn’t make him any easier to read.

He doesn’t answer until the two of you have crossed the threshold of your room, the door shutting behind you with a firm click.

Now that it’s the two of you, alone once again in your tiny shitty room, you find your indignant confidence waning rapidly. He’s just so big, the huge masculine frame of him making you feel more ridiculous than ever for your momentary flash of brattiness. Even worse, having him in your space like this is only making your brain go into overdrive, as though your body remembers what happened the last time he was here like this.

You decide that the best defence mechanism to prevent yourself from looking like a fool is to cling onto those last little dregs of anger.

“You’re unbelievable.” You snap, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me all week! And then as soon as another guy speaks to me, you’re over to me like a light. I mean, what the fuck?” And then, remembering the chain of command, you add a very sullen, “Sir.” 

Throughout your mini little rant, Ghost has just watched you. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t know how to read, unable to get a feel for what he’s thinking through that inscrutable mask.

“‘S not true.” He grunts after a moment, and you realise that his eyes have creased in a way that suggests he’s frowning.

You feel like you’re going to explode. “Yes, it is! Daniels was barely speaking to me for two minutes before you scared him off–”

Bizarrely, your words make Ghost snort. You hadn’t even realised how tense his shoulders were until he relaxes, and you stare at him in confusion as he steps past you towards your bed. Your anger fizzles out, leaving behind self-conscious confusion as you watch your lieutenant settle down so that he’s sitting at the edge of your bed with his legs spread wide. 

“His name is Davidson.” He says, and his voice is missing the somewhat dangerous edge it had only moments earlier. “And that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

Embarrassment flares, though you try to stifle it. So you didn’t know the guy’s name – whatever. You would have learned it by the end of the night, you’re certain. You open your mouth, defensive and prickly, but Ghost speaks again before you get the chance to.

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” He says, watching you like he’s trying to figure you out. When you just blink at him, he sighs. “Jesus, sweetheart, just sit down for a second. Tell me what I did wrong, yeah?”

You’re left feeling a little wrong-footed, hesitating in the middle of the room. You had expected him to be a little angrier than this, to chide you for your behaviour. Or maybe you had expected him to be cold, or dismissive.

Slowly, you take a few steps towards the bed. He watches you approach, those dark eyes watchful and sharp, but says nothing as you nervously perch on the bed beside him. 

Despite the fact that this is your room, you’re stiff when you sit next to him. Your brain is in overdrive, providing you with very unhelpful memories of the last time Ghost was on your bed and flooding your body with mortifying heat.

“You’ve barely spoken to me since we–” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, averting your gaze and staring at some point past his shoulder. “Since last week. If you wanted to keep it professional, that’s– that’s fine–”

Ghost’s spine straightens, but he doesn’t speak yet. He just watches you, and lets you flounder awkwardly as you struggle to articulate yourself.

“I don’t want to make things awkward, I just–” You’re tripping over your words, wincing when they come out all clumsy. “I’ve never done this before, so I’ll follow your lead, but I don’t understand the point of sending Dan– Davidson, whatever, away like that if you’re clearly trying to keep things between us professional–”

Finally, Ghost speaks, though it seems like he’s suddenly developed incredibly selective hearing.

“He’s a wanker. Chases around any woman that stands still for too long in that damn cantina every time we’re in there.” His voice is a low earnest rumble, but you’re too agitated to properly hear him. “He didn’t have anything to offer that you’d be interested in.”

“That’s not–”

“Besides,” He cuts clean across you, but so gently, so much so that it surprises you. “I think we long surpassed professionalism when you asked if you could use my cock like a dildo.”

Blood rushes to your head so fast you feel a little light-headed. Right, so he’s decided to cut straight to the chase then. You swallow, and your dry throat clicks audibly.

“Right.” You say. “Yeah, that– um… that’s made things awkward, I suppose.” A brief pause, and then you sheepishly add, “Sorry, LT.”

Ghost just watches you, his brown eyes inscrutable beneath the fan of his pale eyelashes. Under the dark fabric of the mask you see his jaw flex, as though he’s considering his next words carefully.

“C’mere.” He says.

You had been expecting him to say more, and you hesitate a moment before reluctantly shuffling over a few inches. Though he had invited you to move closer to him, you’re suddenly so conscious of crossing any possible boundaries. 

You had never slept with anyone before, and you don’t understand what’s expected of you now. How are you supposed to act, now that you’ve had a one-night stand with your lieutenant? 

“Haven’t been ignoring you,” Ghost says, and he reaches out to place a hand on your knee. The touch makes your eyes widen, gaze darting down to stare at his thick fingers where they wrap around the underside of your knee. “You jokin’? Been watching you all week. Thinkin’ about you all the time.”

That’s a bold enough statement that all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You can’t deny that he’s been watching you – you had felt his eyes on you regularly, but always from a distance. But… 

“You never–” You start to say, before swallowing again so you don’t say something stupid. “You haven’t spoken to me.”

“Spoke to you during training, before you stopped showing up.”

That’s a little galling, and all you can do is scowl. 

“Stop that. You know what I mean.” You snap defensively. 

Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think Ghost might be confused behind that stupid mask. His head has tilted just slightly to the side in the same way as it usually does when he’s trying to figure something out.

“I was trying to give you space, doll.” He murmurs. “It was your first– I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Wanted you to make your own choices.”

The uncertainty in his voice is unexpectedly endearing, but you’re not ready to let go of your irritation with him just yet. Admittedly you’re losing steam, but you struggle to straighten your back and affect a scowl nonetheless.

“I didn’t want space.” You say, and it comes out a little more childish than you had intended it to. You try not to cringe at yourself. “You just– we never talked about anything, you just woke up the next morning and left and then all week you hardly spoke to me.”

You curse your inexperience even as you speak, feeling like a total idiot. You just wish you knew what was expected of you, what Ghost wants. Was he put off by the fact that he had to guide you, fumbling and clumsy, through an experience that was absolutely mind-blowing for you but probably sub-standard for him?

And oh, that thought makes dread curl in your belly. What if Ghost wasn’t impressed with your… performance? You had no idea what you were doing, only that the way Ghost had touched you felt so good, so much better than you’ve ever managed to make yourself feel with your fingers or toys. And when he had brought you to orgasm, you had lost yourself completely. You hadn’t made any attempt to return his attention, too lost in all the new pleasure you were experiencing.

There’s a pause, the silence between you stretching taut. Ghost doesn’t rush to reply, instead apparently thinking hard before he speaks. 

“I go for a run in the mornings.” He says at last, his voice low and rumbly. 

It takes you a moment to process that. 

“You– what?”

Ghost shifts, and the cheap standard issue mattress beneath the two of you squeaks. “That morning, I… went for a run.”

He must realise how that sounds – maybe the expression on your face tips him off – because he hurries to add on to it. “Creature of habit, love. I didn’t– I don’t do this often either. I stayed the night, we cuddled. I thought–”

He stops rather abruptly, and doesn’t finish so you don’t quite know what he thought. Your confusion has gotten the best of you, and you’re staring at him in agitated confusion. God, he’s bad at communicating.

“Should have stayed.” He says gruffly, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds a little chagrined. “Thought we were fine, until you started avoiding me. And then I thought you just needed time to yourself.” He gives a jerky shrug, clearly out of his comfort zone. “‘Cause it was your first time. Dunno.”

Oh. Well.

Now you’re the one blinking at him. That’s… not what you had been expecting. 

While you thought Ghost had been giving you the cold shoulder, he had thought that he was being considerate. Jesus. You’re not sure how to even begin processing that.

“I didn’t need time to myself.” You say, and you sound pathetic.

There’s a beat of silence during which you feel thoroughly examined. Ghost hardly even blinks as he watches you, his scrutiny making you sweat.

“No,” He rumbles after a moment. “Apparently you didn’t.”

You roll your eyes, honestly a little irritated with him. Even after it’s been made clear that your miscommunication has caused issues this whole week, he’s still so hesitant to just fucking talk to you. 

“Right, well–” You start to say, a little sharp. 

He grabs at you before you can retreat, his enormous hand comically large around your wrist. He’s not holding you harshly, his grip just loose enough that you could break out of it if you tried. But instead of pulling away, you allow him to tug you closer. His free hand reaches for your hip, and quicker than your tired mind is able to follow he’s tugged you up into his lap.

“Jesus–” You blurt, grabbing at his shoulders for balance.

Ghost is built like a brick house, all thick and sturdy with all that solid muscle. He’s broad too, and your legs are forced wide as he encourages you to settle in his lap. You try not to let your reaction show on your face, but Ghost is watching you so carefully that you’re certain he can read every micro-twitch anyway.

“Last week wasn’t enough?” He asks, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds hungry. Maybe you could even delude yourself into thinking there’s an undertone of hope, too.

But maybe that’s a step too far. This is the Ghost, after all. He’s veritably a human weapon, every inch of him battle-scarred and solid beneath the heavy clothes and thick mask. You’re pretty sure that any kind of yearning you hear has been prescribed by your own imagination. But you can’t help yourself.

You shake your head, your breath catching in your chest. No, last week wasn’t enough.

“Then why bother with that idiot at the bar?” Ghost asks, his big hands folding around your hips. “If you wanted to be fucked, you could have just asked me.”

You swallow thickly, your throat clicking audibly. For some reason, you hadn’t expected him to speak so bluntly, but it’s typical of Ghost to get straight to the point without beating around the bush. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to do that with me again.” You say, your voice edged with insecurity. 

There’s a long moment of silence during which Ghost just stares at you. It’s borderline uncomfortable, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Even with the mask acting as a barrier, he’s still so intense.

“What made you think that?” He asks, his voice low.

You find yourself quite abruptly aware of the position you’re in. You’re sitting perched in your lieutenant’s lap with your legs spread wide, after a week of pining after him like an embarrassing little puppy. You’ve been craving physical contact, yearning desperately for that same kind of pleasure he had introduced to you ever since your night together. 

“You’re difficult to read.” You whisper awkwardly, shifting. You’re hyper-aware of your weight in his lap; even though you know he’s strong, the thought of being too heavy for him is a little mortifying.

But his hands tighten around your hips, keeping you securely in place across his thighs.

“You think so?” His voice is low, a little rough, and the gravel of it causes a little frisson of heat to trickle down your spine. “You been trying to read me? Can’t have been doin’ a very good job, darling, since you’ve been avoiding me all fuckin’ week.”

Your breath comes out tremulously, and you pray he can’t hear the shake in your voice when you speak. Judging by his darkening gaze, he hears it loud and clear. 

“I just– Didn’t know if you would want me again.” You whisper, feeling foolish and inexperienced and clumsy.

Ghost watches you, his dark eyes flickering over your face, before he finally hums. Then his grip tightens around your hips and he pulls you so that your clothed crotch grinds against him. You gasp, your eyes widening when you feel the thick ridge of his cock in his tac trousers, unmistakably hard as your clothed cunt slides over him.

“Feel that?” He asks, his voice dropping into that deep, hungry register that you’ve been hearing in your dreams all fucking week.

“Yeah.” You choke, fighting the urge to grind on him like a fucking slut. If your hips twitch, just a little, you think you could be excused.

You are already intimately familiar with his cock, considering how eagerly he had fucked you open on it a week ago (several times, too), but the way it fills his trousers makes it seem ridiculously big and you wonder, a little wildly, how the fuck it ever fit in you in the first place. It presses against the seam of his trousers, right between your legs, and then Ghost grinds up into you and you swear your vision sparks out for a moment.

“Oh!” You blurt out in a wavering whisper, clutching at his shoulders. “Oh, god.”

“Still think I don’t want you?” He grunts. His hands are like fucking shovels, and he takes a grip of your ass and squeezes until you squeak.

Your head is swimming. Your trousers are too tight, the crotch of them pressing into your clit, and you feel like you can't get enough air in your lungs. 

“I don’t know.” You say stupidly. 

It’s like your cunt knows that Ghost is near, because you’re fucking drenched. You can feel your underwear stick uncomfortably to you beneath your clothes, slick and wet as you feel the shape of Ghost’s cock press into you.

He sighs beneath you, his big palm stroking over your ass affectionately. 

“You think too much, doll.” He mutters, his finder squeezing into the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a stress toy. “Way too fuckin’ much.”

He’s probably right. God, you want to stop thinking. Want to return to that stupid, dazed, fucked-out state of mind he had sent you to when he had stuffed you full.

Hesitantly, you grind yourself down onto the thick bulge beneath you. It feels good, that familiar pleasant little spark jolting up your spine as you hump yourself against him.

“Yeah,” Ghost grunts, his voice thick with unmistakable want. “That’s it. You’ve been wanting this, havent’cha?”

“Yeah.” You admit, so quietly that it’s almost inaudible. “Yeah, I want it.”

But Ghost hears. Of course he does. He lets out a low sound that has your thighs squishing closed around his hips, overwhelmed and running far too hot. 

He has you on your back so quickly that your head spins, and you end up staring at the ceiling for a moment in bewilderment, trying to figure out how you’d gotten there. Ghost is already leaning over you, his dark eyes intent on your face as he settles between your thighs.

You think you should probably be embarrassed about the ease with which you spread your legs, eager to feel his bulky body between your thighs. But you’re already running hot, your chest tightening with want, and you find yourself mercifully relieved that he’s here. The miscommunication between the two of you is going to be solved, Ghost wants you, and you’re about to get what you’ve been craving all week.

He pulls your own pants off effortlessly, leaving you in the underwear that you’ve fucking ruined. You try to shut your legs, face burning hot with embarrassment as you try to hide the sight, but Ghost doesn’t have any intention of letting you hide yourself.

He pushes your legs back open, then presses his masked face to the inside of your thigh. You’re not sure what he’s doing; you remember, with a little thrill, the feeling of his red hot mouth against your pussy, but you don’t think that’s what’s happening here because he’s still got his stupid fucking balaclava on.

“Did she miss me?” He asks, his words muffled by both the mask and the pudge of your thigh.

“What?” You ask breathlessly, thinking for a moment that Ghost is talking about you in the third person.

But then he nuzzles his masked face against the sodden seat of your knickers, and you realise that he’s talking about your fucking pussy.

“Oh my god, you weirdo–” You choke out, but you don’t get any further than that before Ghost is tugging impatiently at your underwear, trying to reveal your cunt. 

He hushes you, almost absent-mindedly, and you hear him take a breath when he finally manages to get your knickers off. He tosses them aside, his dark eyes focused intently on your bare cunt now that it’s been revealed. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to try and hide again. He’s touching you so reverently and looking at you so hungrily that you’re not brave enough to try to deprive him of the sight.

“My fussy girl,” He mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear him. “Have you been touching yourself? Using your toys this week?”

You shiver, a little embarrassed. You have been using your stupid toys, but they haven’t been working. No matter what you do, you can’t replicate the feelings that Ghost had managed to elicit in you with such ease, and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that.

But the mention of your toys reminds you of something else, too. A recurring thought that’s been practically haunting you, that’s had you imagining Ghost up above you and around you as you’d sucked experimentally on your dildo, sliding it into your mouth just to see how much of it you could take.

“Wait–” You say, and though your voice wavers, Ghost sits back immediately, eyes on your face. It’s like he’s just waiting for your word, an order, a direction. Something in your belly warms, and you take a breath.

“I want to try something.” You tell him before you can lose your nerve. “Sit back down.”

He sits at the edge of your bed, his bulky frame moving far more gracefully than you’d expect for his size if you hadn’t already seen him in action. He’s almost patient, until you catch the way the fingers of his right hand drum against his thigh as he waits for you to do something.

Since you’re already stripped from the waist down, you see no point in remaining clothed on top too. When you pull your top and bra off, Ghost makes a low appreciative rumble deep in his chest that you swear you can feel run down your spine. 

“Promising start.” He says, and you want to smack him.

You shoot him a little scowl, before deciding to just ignore him. You’ve fancied him for an embarrassingly long time, probably since the very first time you had laid eyes on him upon joining the task force, and now he’s sitting on your bed, willing and hard and admitting that he wants you. It takes your breath away a little, especially the way that he doesn’t seem put off by your inexperience at all.

Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him and watch his eyes widen beneath the balaclava. It’s somewhat gratifying to see his surprise; like you’ve finally got one over on your big bad lieutenant. 

“Very promising start.” He says, and this time he sounds a little husky. “D’you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”

The answer is, very obviously, no. You have no idea what you’re doing, you’re learning as you go along. But Ghost hasn’t judged you yet for your clumsy fumbling exploration, so you can only hope that he’s willing to put up with this too.

“Sort of.” You say evasively. “I’ve seen it in porn, and I’ve… I’ve been practicing.”

Ghost’s groan sounds like it’s been punched out of him, and it’s rough enough to have you glancing up in surprise from where you’re trying to get his stupid trousers unbuttoned. Your hands are unsteady and unsure, and it’s slow-going.

“Yeah?” He asks, sounding a little out of breath himself. “Which one?” “What?” You’re a little distracted, not paying full attention to his question as you tug at his trousers. You’ve finally got them unbuttoned, and you pull impatiently in an effort to get them off. Ghost lifts his hips to help, though your eager impatience seems to amuse him.

“Which one of your toys’ve you been practicing on?” He asks, the barest undertone of a groan in his voice. “The pretty little pink one?”

You feel embarrassed heat prickle in your face because yes, it had in fact been that one you had been practising with. You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that you’re apparently so predictable that Ghost can guess which dildo you’ve been sucking at, imagining it was him.

“Maybe.” You mutter evasively.

Ghost lets out a low chuckle right as you manage to wrangle his cock out of his briefs, and then you have to pause for a moment because oh. You had known, of course, that he was big. You had felt him for days after that first time, like a fucking internal bruise that ached at you every time you moved. He was bigger than any toy that you owned, you know that, you’ve felt it, and yet now that it’s in front of your face it seems so much bigger than you remember.

You’ve watched porn with so-called ‘monster cocks’ and it isn’t like that. It’s just… bigger. Than average, that is. At least, as far as you can tell, because it’s not like you have enough experience with dicks in real life to have any idea of what average really is.

Ghost must recognise the momentary flash of panic that crosses your face, because he reaches out and strokes a gloved thumb over your cheek. The fabric is rough against your skin, but you relax at the feeling anyway.

“You don’t have to.” He says quietly.

“I want to.” You insist, swallowing that swell of nerves. 

Now that his cock is bobbing in front of your face, you have to fight the sinking feeling that you’re in over your head. But you’re not willing to back down; not when you’ve been thinking about this all damn week, and especially not when you’ve got the man that stars in all of your fantasies sitting on your bed with his legs spread.

You shuffle forward a little, and try not to feel intimidated at the fact that Ghost’s thick thighs twitch when you reach to take hold of his cock. He’s so big that it feels like he’s dwarfing you beneath him, his bulky form enveloping you in shadow when he leans forward to make sure he has a good view of what you’re doing.

You stroke experimentally over his cock, your fist a little clumsy. Despite your frenzied and very pleasurable tumble with him before, you had never actually gotten the chance to touch him in return. You had been too overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of sensation he had delivered upon you to even think about returning any favours, and the fact that you’re getting the opportunity now to reciprocate and explore fills your tummy with butterflies.

“Grip it harder, love.” He grunts, shifting his hips so that he can fuck his cock into your fist. “It ain’t gonna break.”

“Shh,” You admonish him, glancing up with a frown. “Let me do it myself.”

Ghost snorts quietly, probably finding your determination silly, but he still his hips and lets you go at your own pace. His dick is big, and you stare at it with some level of wonder as you stroke your fist over him. You can’t help but compare the feel of him to your dildos, only because they’re your only real point of reference; his skin is velvety soft and hot to the touch, yielding despite how hard he is, and you admire the slide of his foreskin pulling down over the crown. 

It’s not the size that really catches your attention though. No, what you really notice is how fucking perfect it is. Pretty and pink, flushed more red towards the tip, the head shiny with just a hint of smeared pre-come. It curves, slightly, to the left, and it feels nice in your hand. You feel a little light headed as your eyes dart over the pale blond downy hair that covers his thighs and the base of his cock. 

You gather your courage, then lean in and lick tentatively at the rosy pink crown of his cock. You had been a little worried about the taste, having no idea what to expect, but you needn’t have been. He‘s a little salty, but nothing inoffensive; he just tastes like skin, and you relax a little in relief.

He groans, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. You pause, hoping for some sort of direction, and as the moment stretches out he looks back to you and tilts his head.

“Thought you wanted to do it yourself?”

Bastard, you grumble in your head, before steeling yourself. You know that your grip on him is clumsy, that your stroking is unpracticed, and you can only pray that he doesn’t mind.

You take his cock into your mouth, jaw hinged wide as you try to avoid using your teeth, and attempt to suck with no finesse. You go too fast, try to take too much too quickly, because all of a sudden the head is tickling the back of your throat and you’re coughing, choking, and sputtering. 

You pull back, blinking rapidly as your eyes sting with tears and drool drips unattractively down your chin. You go to wipe your face, but Ghost catches your wrist before you can.

“Slow down,” He murmurs, pulling your hands away from your face so he can look at you. “You in a rush?”

“No.” You grumble, and your voice comes out a little hoarse from the choking. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Even though you’re quite certain that Ghost already knows that, it’s a little humiliating to admit.

Ghost just hums, his eyes tracking over your petulant expression and the stringy spit that’s trickling down your chin, falling in thick globs above your tits.

“Don’t matter, love.” He rumbles, reaching out to thumb at your chin. You think for a moment that he’s wiping you clean, but then he just ends up smearing your spit all around your mouth. “Play with it as much as you want to. Don’t think too much.”

You swallow, the sound a little too loud in the quiet of your room, before nodding. This is what you wanted – the chance to touch him, to explore his mouth with your hands and mouth just like he had done with you before.

You readjust your grip on his cock; it looks so stupidly big in your hand. You can tell that he notices too, because he lets out a gruff sort of groan before he reaches out, one hand winding around the back of your neck to cup at the base of your skull.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He breathes, his eyes locked onto you.

His eyes are dark, almost completely blacked out by the thickness of his pupil, and he stares down at you with an air of such anticipation that you couldn't dream of keeping him waiting. Gripping him in your hand, you give an exploratory sort of stroke — the skin is velvety soft and smooth, and he lets out a short groan of appreciation when your fingers caress the head of his cock.

You start moving your hand again, adjusting your grip and stroking him off. You wish you were better at it, or at least more confident, but Ghost doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He just grunts quietly, flexing his hips once before apparently remembering what you had said and going still.

It takes a moment before you work up the confidence to bring it anywhere near your mouth again, but finally you lean forward and press a gentle little kiss to the head of his cock. You’re rewarded with a quiet puff of laughter, and his thumb strokes a soothing circle into the back of your neck.

Encouraged, you dip your head and lick the tip of him properly. He tastes salty on your tongue as you take him carefully into your mouth. This time you just suckle at the head, not wanting to push yourself too fast. His taste isn’t nearly as strong as you had been expecting; you hardly notice, really, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue and the feeling of being encircled by his big thighs.

It sounds stupid and maybe a little paradoxical, but you feel safe like this; Ghost towers over you even sitting down, and when you’re on your knees for him like this with his thick thighs bracketing you and his clean musky smell in your nose, you swear you never want to leave this moment.

You let out the most pathetic little whisper ever when you suckle at his cock, your tongue licking insistently at the underside of his glans. Ghost is always fairly stoic beneath that mask (other than his occasional bursts of humour and arrogance), so managing to pull out the soft but heavy breaths from his mouth when you suck at him makes pride swell in your chest, warm and syrupy sweet. It also makes something else twist in your belly, tight and hot enough to have your thighs squeezing tight together.

You used to have so many stupid, virginal plans for what you’d do the day you got your hands on some real, non-plastic cock, but everything you’ve ever heard about dicks and oral sex immediately flies right out of your head. You have no technique, and all you do is suck, gracelessly, trying to get as much of Ghost in your mouth as you can. You’re making loud, embarrassing slurping noises, and you’re certain that you’re drooling.

Judging by the grunts above you, Ghost has got no complaints about your technique (or lack thereof). One of his big hands reaches down to cup your face, fingers probing, testing at your jawline as it works.

“Fuck,” He snarls, tilting your chin up so he can see the way your lips are wrapped around the tip of his massive cock, “Knew you’d be good at this. Look at you, messy little thing. Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

That makes you shiver, an electric jolt that shoots right to your clit. You’re not sure what feels better; whether it’s his fat cock in your mouth or the hot wanting intensity in his eyes or the low filthy praises he’s growling.

God, you want to be good at this. You’re definitely no natural, but you fight so hard to push past your uncertainty to make this feel good for Ghost. 

You’re pretty sure he’s lying about you looking gorgeous, though. You’ve never felt less sexy than you do in this moment. Your eyes are streaming over-stimulated tears, your brow is scrunched in concentration, you’re gripping onto Ghost’s thick thighs for both balance and emotional support, and it’s taking everything you have not to choke on him again.

Who the fuck gave him the right to have a cock like this? Complaining about it feels borderline blasphemous, especially when you have first hand experience of just how good he is at using it. You’re making a mess of yourself, slobbering all over him in a way that’s definitely a little gross, but you’re surprised by just how much you’re enjoying this. 

You get a little too eager, because you take him a little too far down your throat and gag. You pull off quickly, choking lightly and still gasping for breath. Maybe your brain is a little oxygen-deprived, because you feel stupidly hazy. 

You take a moment to recover, nuzzling dazedly into the curls of his pubic hair. Blond, of course. God, that shouldn’t be cute but it is.

The thick length of his dick might be intimidating (as proven by the ache in your throat right now), but the velvety balls nestled below seem almost paradoxically vulnerable. You’re fascinated by the sight of them; you might have been amateurishly familiar with cocks from your dildos alone, but his balls are entirely new to you.

You spend some time lavishing them with tiny licks and kisses. Ghost hums in surprised pleasure, the sound swelling to a rumbling purr when you start caressing his thighs and hips with a tender, shy touch. 

Encouraged by his reaction, you return to his cock. It’s jutting proudly up, flushed a lovely pink colour, as though it’s just waiting for your attention once more. It’s already covered in a lather of foamy spit from your attention before, and when you sink your mouth down on him once again you do so with a bit more confidence.

“Like a pro, baby.” Ghost grunts appreciatively. A calloused thumb rolls over your cheek, under the fan of your lashes, and wipes away the moisture that’s gathered there. 

You most certainly are not sucking his cock like a pro, but you appreciate the encouragement all the same. It’s nice to know that you’re not doing a horrific job, at least.

You spare a glance up, half-expecting Ghost’s eyes to be closed. Instead his gaze is avid, sharp, practically electric through that thin window of his balaclava. He’s watching you closely, taking in every detail like it all might be snatched away from him. It’s too intense, and you look back down, focusing on his dick again.

An outraged, possessive noise escapes you when Ghost forcibly tugs your head back, pulling his cock out of your mouth. It twitches a little once it’s been removed from the wet heat of your mouth, all shiny wet and pink, and you lick your lips. God, you want to get back on that, and you don’t understand why he’s taken it away from you.

Ghost lets out a low, breathy chuckle, reaching out to thumb at your spit-slick lower lip before reaching for your elbows and bodily hauling you back up onto the bed.

You practically bounce, falling back on the mattress and squirming to try and get your bearings again.

“No,” You say, and to your bewilderment it comes out on a sob. “I wanted you to come on my face–”

You can tell that Ghost’s expression does something strange beneath his mask because his eye twitches and he takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t put his cock back in your mouth. Instead he reaches back and pulls his shirt off, and you take a broken little inhale because last time he had fucked you, he’d hardly gotten undressed at all. But now you’re being blessed with the sight of scarred pale skin pulled taut over the thick swell of muscles that turn to a softer belly, that pale trail of curls starting just below his belly button. 

“Next time.” He says, and it comes out on the ghost of a groan. “Fuck, love, next time.”

He’s quick to hook his hands under your thighs and haul them apart. You just about have time to spread your legs before he’s muscling his way between them. He tugs impatiently at his balaclava, tugging it askew to reveal his mouth, then he presses his nose into your humiliatingly slick pussy and starts sucking at your clit like it’s a hard candy.

You shriek, your thighs clamping shut around his ears as you writhe, but he clearly has no intention of stopping. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt vibrate in the best way, and he’s so brazen about it that it just about takes your breath away. You don’t even know if he can see anything, considering his mask is completely lopsided and his eyes aren’t lined up with the holes anymore, but he’s working with such enthusiasm that it doesn’t even matter.

And honestly, his enthusiastic pussy-eating combined with the sheer visual stimulation he’s providing is really doing it for you. 

You’re probably going to get a crick in your neck from the way you’re craning your head just to watch him hunch over you, that tongue of his peeking out from beneath the edge of his mask just to lick you. He’s built like a fucking god; thick muscles, soft tummy, and cushiony pecs. It might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh god, fuck–!” You choke out, your cunt clenching down hard as Ghost slides a finger into you.

Of course, Ghost’s fingers are also thicker than average. A single one of them feels like what would have been two of your own and you gasp a bit at the sudden stretch. You open up easily, your body welcoming him greedily and bearing down hard around his digits. Maybe it’s because you’re used to controlling the depth, speed and angle of penetration completely when you’re playing with your toys, but relying on Ghost for pleasure feels so damn exotic and exciting. Now you can only tilt your hips and go with Ghost’s pattern of movement; a bit harder, a bit deeper than what you would have done on your own.

He pushes another finger inside and it’s snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. It makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep, and then he sucks at your clit again, hard.

You’re honestly taken aback when your stomach tightens up and a wave of white-hot pleasure washes over you. Your back bows off the bed, you cover your mouth with a balled-up fist, your chest heaves. 

It’s exactly as good as you remember it being the first time, maybe even better, and the noises you make are broken and pathetic as you whine and cry.

Ghost licks you through it, big long laves of his tongue punctuated by sweet little suckles on your clit that feel almost fond. All you can do is lay there and take it, your head spinning a little as you catch your breath and try to figure out how the fuck he managed to make you come so damn quickly when you’ve been failing so spectacularly for a week.

You’ve barely finished coming, still shaking with the aftershocks, when he climbs up your body. At some point he’s shucked his trousers off, and the fact that he’s naked sends a little zing of excitement through your tired body. Or at least, as naked as Ghost tends to get. He’s still got the damn mask on.

He’s breathing heavily; his mouth is slightly ajar, mask tucked up around his crooked nose as he settles on his haunches between your thighs. He’s still staring hard at your cunt, his eyes glued to the way your clit is still twitching. He’s still so damn quiet, and you have no idea what he’s thinking.

When he reaches out to thumb at your clit again you whine. You’re sensitive, and his thumb is calloused and rough. You wiggle, lift up your leg and press your foot to his broad chest to stop him. You may as well be pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did.

Ghost just exhales a quiet laugh, capturing your ankle in his massive fist. He turns his head and kisses your ankle; the gesture is unexpectedly tender, and makes something in your chest tremble dangerously.

He uses his hold on your ankle as leverage to raise your leg, spreading your thighs out wide until your hips ache. You feel so exposed, the lips of your cunt parted ever so slightly, and he’s quick to press his cock against your still-twitching clit.

“Oh, look at her,” He breathes, low enough that you have to strain to hear. “Shite, she missed me, didn’t she?”

His hand is steady as he strokes his cock, dragging it through your sticky folds. The pretty pink head catches on your clit each time, and you let out a quiet whimper. Ghost doesn’t even notice; his eyes are zeroed in on your spread pussy, watching how you flutter around nothing.

“Fuck, she’s been waitin’ for me all week,” He coos, his cock notching at the entrance of your cunt and pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch as his thumb rolls against your clit. “I know, baby, been waitin’ for you too.”

Jesus, you feel like you’re gonna die. You’re taking all these big deep shivering breaths, still trembling a little from your orgasm and eager for him to just fuck you already, but his filthy talk in your ear is sending you spiralling. You’re so wet it feels like you’ve sprung a leak; you can feel moisture running down your ass and under your thighs, and you burn with both mortification and desire.

Ghost presses his cock in a little further, and your back arches as you groan. Despite the orgasm and the fingering and the fact that you are so fucking aroused right now, the stretch is intense.

“Yeah, she’s beggin’ for me.” Ghost is still talking – at this point you think his words are meant just for himself, because they’re low and a little slurred, his eyes glassy as he stares at the way his cock spears through the slick folds of you. “Listen; it’s like she’s talking to me.”

For a second, you have no goddamn idea what he’s talking about. But then, in the silence, you hear the squelch of your drippy cunt as he squishes his cock against it in shallow little thrusts, barely even pressing the tip inside.

“Oh god,” You whine, high and needy. “Just– stop teasing.”

The bastard laughs, all low and gritty and a little breathless.

“It’s not teasing, lovie.” He says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your jawline. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week straight. I’m just reacquainting myself.”

Then he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a move so sweet that it honestly takes you aback. Every complaint in your head flies out the window, and you turn eagerly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so hot, his lips plush and hungry and a little salty. It occurs to you that you’re tasting yourself in his mouth, and your body draws up tight and tense in response. 

“Simon,” You breathe, intending to tell him to get a move on and just fuck you already, but you don’t even get as far as finishing the order.

He groans as though the sound of his given name is a signal, and before you know it you’ve got a huge wall of muscle hunched over you and around you as Ghost holds himself up by his elbows on either side of your head. You feel his cock prodding at the entrance of your cunt and your legs fall even further open, until your hip joints ache.

When he starts to push in, the stretch burns in a way that makes your mouth fall open as you choke on the air in your lungs. You’re wet and pliable and eager, your pussy sucking hungrily at Ghost’s dick in an effort to take him deep quickly, but you had almost forgotten what this felt like. You can’t stop the way your cunt tightens eagerly as he rocks in an inch.

He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, “C’mon, stop pushing me out, darling.”

“Wait,” You gasp, reaching down to place your hand over his belly. “Wait, oh my god, you’re too big–”

His stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he's putting in to keep from rocking into you all in one go, and you spare a moment to admire his patience and his sheer resolve to make things good for you. But even though he’s obediently paused to let you catch your breath, he chuckles quietly at your reaction.

“It’s only the tip, baby.” He murmurs, cooing softly to you like you’re something easily spooked. “You’ve taken it before. This pretty little cunt of yours is so hungry, gotta let her have it.”

You nod, hesitantly. He’s right; he may be big, but you’d taken him before. Only last week. And you had been a virgin then. Well, technically. Not physically, maybe, since you’d long stretched out your hymen on your dildos, but mentally. Though at least last week you had stretched yourself out on your vibrator, and then Ghost had spent so long opening you up with his mouth and fingers.

Ghost rocks forward another inch, and the stretch makes you squeal like a fucking stuck pig. It’s mortifying. How the hell did he ever manage to fit that fat cock inside you?

You slap at his belly hard, writhing away. 

“No, nope, not gonna fit.” You wheeze.

Ghost pulls back, and you can read the disappointed slant of his mouth and he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. Now that you get another look at it, you take a deep breath. It’s still well-lubed with your spit and the pink cockhead is shiny with your slick. 

It’s big, but you know you can take it. You just… you need better leverage.

Your jaw clenches in determination. “I need to be on top.”

There’s a moment of silence as those words settle between you, as though Ghost’s brain is buffering. Then his lips start curving up into that semi-familiar smug smile, and he rolls the two of you over so that he’s laying on his back in your bed with you perched clumsily atop his thighs.

His cock juts up proudly, practically bobbing as it leaks prespend down his length. He settles back, folding his arms behind his head as he watches you – the position makes his biceps bulge in a way that is very appealing and also most likely unintentional.

“Go on.” He encourages, as hungry and wanting as you’ve ever heard him. “All yours, gorgeous.”

All yours, your brain repeats, the words echoing around your skull until you’re certain that your head is empty but for that. You want him so much it makes you feel dizzy.

You shuffle forward until your pussy is hovering over the blood-flushed head of his cock. The cute pink blush has started to darken into a red that looks painful, and you take a little breath at the idea of helping him out with his little problem.

You lower yourself down so that the tip of Ghost’s cock is lined up with your entrance and begins pressing in, stretching you wide and slipping in inch by inch. You gasp desperately as you’re speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open.

Though you’re the one controlling the pace, it still seems overwhelming, all-encompassing. You can feel your cunt stretching wide and taut around the width of him, fluttering as Ghost groans in dazed appreciation.

You glance up at him, to see that his eyes are a little unfocused, missing the intensity that they’ve had all night. His gaze is flickering from the way your cunt is sliding down on his cock to your breasts to your face, so fast as if he’s trying to take it all in before it disappears.

His oversized hands come to rest on your hips, and you half expect him to pull you down impatiently on his cock. But he doesn’t, they just rest there as though he needs to ground himself. His stomach is tensed so tight you know that his abs will be sore in the morning, and to your delight you can see a lovely pink flush climbing across his lightly-haired chest.

You keep your eyes on his half-masked face as you slowly rock your way down onto the length of him, your breath occasionally hitching. Though he doesn’t rush you, you can feel the way his fingers twitch on your hips and the way his jaw grinds, and all those little tells only increase your excitement.

You’re so full you feel like you’re about to break in half, and Ghost’s gaze on you feels like a physical weight, but you don’t stop. You wiggle clumsily, trying to take him deeper and unintentionally pulling gruff groans out of him every time your body tightens.

Then, finally, you take him to the hilt. He groans, his eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your body sits perched on his lap, little tremors rocking through you as you adjust to his size inside. 

“That’s my girl.” Ghost says, and the praise comes out on the edge of a growl. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me.”

Tingling heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over him as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system – you’ve never heard Ghost sound so soft and wanting.

One of his hands reaches between you, one big thumb settling right over your swollen clit. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.

“Would you have gone back to his quarters?” He asks, and the seemingly non-sequitur is too much for your dazed, cock-stupid mind to keep with.

“Huh?” You breathe, tentatively rocking your hips and moaning softly as his cock hits just right inside.

“The guy at the bar.” Ghost clarifies, his voice deep and a little irritated. “The one who was all over you. Would you have gone back with him?”

Oh, you think a little wryly. You should have known that he’d be a big possessive bastard.

“I don’t know.” You say, but you’re barely paying attention. You’ve started to rock for real now, and it feels good. Your rhythm is barely more than a slow grind – you think, distantly, that you should be lifting yourself up and down and fucking yourself properly, but grinding so that he hits deep and your clit rubs up against his pubic bone just feels so fucking intense.

“Waste of your time.” He grunts, his grip tight on your hips as he watches you hump lazily. “Jesus, look at the way you’re sucking me in. Cunt’s so fussy, she was just waiting for me.”

The worst part is, you think he might be right. You had been touching yourself every night this week, trying and failing to recreate the high he had brought you to. The touch just wasn’t the same, and no matter how close you got you just couldn’t fall over that damn ledge.

“Yeah,” You whine, hardly even aware of what you’re agreeing to. The sweet ache of the stretch has almost disappeared now, and you hump back onto his cock with abandon. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. 

You tip forward, grabbing clumsily at his shoulders for balance as your face smushes against the cushiony softness of his pecs. God, he’s so strong, it’s like your body weight is nothing to him – he just accepts your whole body leaning into him, humming in satisfaction.

Tentatively, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock. 

“Simon,” You gasp, and it comes out in a whimper that’s far more pathetic than you had intended. “Am I– am I doing good?”

He’s gritting his teeth – you can see the tense line of his jaw as he tilts his head back, watching your face as you bounce stumblingly on his cock.

“Like I said, lovie, you’re a natural.” He says, exhaling harshly through his nose. “Gimme a kiss.”

When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, but you whine desperately.

“There.” You moan into Ghost’s mouth, the two of you sharing air as you pant against each other’s lips. “Oh god, please–”

The muscles in his thighs ripple as he lifts his hips to meet yours as you bounce down, and then all of a sudden he’s fucking into you from below. The strength in his hips almost bodily lifts you every time he fucks up, though you almost thwart his every thrust as you try to grind on him again, trying to get his cock to hit just right again.

Fuck, your legs are tired and your knees are aching, but you can feel that glorious build up in your tummy again. Ghost has taken over most of the heavy lifting now too; instead of relying on you to bounce up and down, he’s drilling into that one spot inside you that sends liquid heat shooting up your spine.

Your mouth is hanging open and you’re pretty sure that you’re drooling all over his lovely, soft chest, but it just feels so good. You don’t understand how he does this, how he makes it feel so good for you. You think, a little wildly, that maybe your cunt was made for him.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight,” Ghost grunts, and his chest rumbles beneath your smushed cheek. “Gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Go on, cream on me.”

You didn’t actually think you were that close to another orgasm, despite how good it feels, but maybe Ghost knows you and your pussy better than you know yourself because you feel yourself go tight and gushy, nonsensical gasping and babbling spilling from your lips. The soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock fucks up into you is obscene, enough to make your nipples go tight and tingly.

Then his thumb rolls hard against the swollen bud of your clit and you’re gone. You think you might actually scream, but it’s muffled against the now drool-covered expanse of his thick, bulging pecs. 

You let out a choked out wail as your orgasm rips through you like an electric shock, leaving you trembling madly in its wake. You swear you come apart completely, unravelling at the edges as you writhe in his lap, grinding wildly even as he continues to fuck you through it. 

You don’t get even a moment of reprieve, because Ghost keeps going through the waves of your orgasm. He pulls you up to kiss you, sloppy and dirty, and then starts thrusting for all he’s worth. You’re put in mind of bull-riding, and your thighs clench hard as you try to stay seated as he bucks against you.

It's the most unravelled you’ve ever seen him. Ghost is always cool and in control, always meeting everything with smug, arrogant confidence. To see him glowing with sweat, his mouth lolled open under his rumpled balaclava as he snarls and grunts and fucks into you like an animal feels like a drug so heady you know you’re already addicted.

This is not the lazy rhythm of before; he’s uncoordinated and frantic, kissing you hard and messy as he shoves his cock up into you so hard that you’re sure it’s going to leave a permanent impression inside you. Maybe that’s what he’s aiming for. You take it easily, split open and pliant and soft and wet.

You’re oversensitive and shivery, breathing hard and whimpering on every other thrust, but you don’t complain. It only takes a handful of thrusts before Ghost finishes with a bitten off snarl, his jaw clenching and head tipping back as he pulls you off him just in time for his cock to spurt several thick ropes of creamy cum between you. Most of it lands on your belly, dripping down onto your pussy like icing on a cake, but some of it spurts onto Ghost’s own soft belly too.

It makes a mess, but you don’t care. You feel so dreamy-floaty happy right now, your limbs floppy and rubbery as you slump down onto his chest. He catches you easily, and lays you down gently onto the bed. 

You grumble when he moves, but you remember this part from last time. You don’t bother opening your eyes; you know he’ll come back.

Sure enough, he returns within moments, and you feel a warm, wet cloth wiping at your belly and inner thighs. You part your legs, pleased with the feeling of being looked after. When you blink your eyes open again, you see that he’s pulled the mask back down to cover his lovely, talented mouth. You try not to be too disappointed over that. His eyeblack is smeared too; it gives the impression of total debauchery. 

“You alright, love?” He asks, and you realise that you’ve just been staring blankly at him.

“Yeah.” You mumble, stretching your body out like a cat. Now that you’ve been given a moment, you can feel all those little aches flare to life between your legs, around your hips, and up the base of your spine. You wince, but don’t complain.

To your delight, Ghost climbs back into bed with you. He’s a little too big for the standard issue frame, but you’re more than happy to roll on top of him and cuddle close to conserve space. He seems similarly happy to have you all laid out on his chest, because he presses his masked face to the top of your head and inhales slowly.

“Are you staying, this time?” You ask quietly. You think you know the answer after your conversation earlier, but you can’t quite help the little pulse of insecurity.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says, low in the quiet of the room. His tone is thick with significance, like he’s talking about more than just staying the night, and his fingers are sure and steady as he traces absent-minded little patterns down the length of your spine.

You swallow, heart racing, and rest your cheek against his chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of his own heart soothes you, and you bite your lip. He’s so solid, reliable. You’d trust him with your life, with anything. 

You glance down, your eyes curiously seeking out his now softening cock. It’s laying in a bed of his blond curls at his crotch, and it looks so unthreatening when it’s flaccid. You admire the shape of it absently, feeling a little thrill of excitement at the sight of it. You can’t lie to yourself and say you don’t feel a little possessive, either.

“Are we dating now?” You ask quietly. You’re not able to look him in the eye when you ask it, so you keep your face turned down. You don’t think you could handle seeing his expression if his answer is no.

There’s a pause. His hand halts the sweet patterns he’d been drawing on your back.

“Was that a question for me, or my cock?” He asks. He seems to be aiming for his usual sort of dry humour, but his tone comes out a little guarded, as though he’s actually not sure.

You raise your head, stifling your insecurity, and make eye contact with him. Those pretty brown eyes, so warm when they’re looking at you like this.

“You,” You say.

There’s another pause, and then his hand starts tracing its way over your bare back again.

“Yeah,” Ghost says, and the corners of eyes crinkle. “Stuck with me now, lovie.”

[screamingoverfiction]

ASHSJGDJEVAHSVSHWB

[mockerycrow]

photos from my kyle gaz garrick inspo pinterest board !

[creativepromptsforwriting]

I never had people draw fanart for one of my fics or write something based on it, but I just know that that is such a high honor and show of love. I once had someone ask me if they could translate my fic in Chinese and I was like, wow, they love it enough to want to put time and effort into it to show it to more people.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

To all writers, you can use this post to let people know that you would be delighted to receive fanart and would love if they get creative with what you created.

[vampireapologist-archive-deacti]

Being a good person is a choice. Don’t let people fool you into believing that truly good people never have bad thoughts, are never tempted by the easier path, by the low road, never mess up or act out selfishly. Never believe a person can be good without making a conscious effort.

Every single time you do something good, you’ve made a decision to make the world a little brighter.

Goodness is not an inherent trait, it is a choice. Keep making it! I see you, I’m proud of you, and I’m rooting for you!

[the-californicationist]

The Fox & the Hound

Inspired by a tag on @ceilidho's tumblr post reblogged by @garbagecompactor3263827 where Johnny wants to sink his teeth into a newbie porn star.

MDNI/18+ NO EXCEPTIONS

AO3 Link - Comments/Reblogs very appreciated

You watched him prep in the shared bathroom. People were bustling in and out, and a lighting manager was handing him a fresh razor, reaching over him for her films. He trimmed around his fat, flaccid cock with a practiced hand, getting the hairs just right. Part of you wished it was still the 80s when bush was en vogue . The rest of him remained furry, thankfully, and just as you were about to tend to your own garden, he caught you looking. That same glint in his eyes sparkled, like a hound that had spotted the writhing tail of its fox, ready to crack its bones in his huge maw. He’d been looking at you like that all day. He laughed, but he didn’t ride you for gawking. If anything, he looked a little relieved. What had you gotten yourself into?

Nothing had gone according to plan. This was your first real shoot, and the original actor who had set you up with this production company wasn’t even in the film. Film , your internal monologue chided you, it’s a porno, you filthy slut . Okay, a porn film. You’d sent nude photos here and there, and you’d even landed in Playboy as a back-page lube advert girl. It was a start. But, now, here you were about to shoot your first porno , and the only thing you knew about this guy was that he had fought for this part. 

He was beyond famous. You’d heard that Johnny Dangerous was the man of the hour, and that most of the girls who needed to boost their bankrolls called him up to ask him to co-star. You’d never even heard of him until today, and after hanging around the catering cart, you learned that he was the one who had paid actual money to star with you. 

It was probably some power play. Maybe it was your novelty. Banging the brand new porn actress must have been some sort of game. You didn’t care. This one gig was about to pay off your loans and buy you a brand new car all at the same time. You just needed to survive Mr. Dangerous. 

“Honey, are you comin’? We gotta shoot outside before the sun goes down.”

The voice came from the doorway, but you weren’t the honey, for once. They were talking to him. He didn’t answer. He just nodded, dismissing them, throwing his bright green swim shorts back on and rubbing the remainder of the oil into his broad chest. He was staring at you, biting hard at the inside of his cheek like he had a secret. Then, his expression became resolute, and he spoke to you softly, the way you do when you’re trying to coax a cat out from under a car,

“You gonna make it, lass?”

“Yeah,” you swiped on some waterproof mascara as an excuse to stare into the mirror and not at him, “I’m just a little nervous, that’s all. That seems normal.”

“It is,” Johnny moved closer to you, fluffing his own eyebrows in the mirror right alongside you, “Very normal. I’ll take care of you, hen. Nothin’ to worry your wee head about.”

You smiled. You didn’t want to thank him, exactly, but you wanted to be nice. Cordial. Professional. 

It wasn’t very professional of you to stare at the way his cock bounced as he adjusted his shorts, though, was it?

Then, to your shock, he leaned down and planted a kiss on the corner of your lips, tasting your sticky, cherry gloss, and saying, 

"See you in a bit, bonnie. Gonna make you feel real good." 

You stopped. He was gone, and for the first time that afternoon, you were alone. He lingered in all of the cracks and crevices of you, though. Now that he had pressed his lips to you, the spell had begun, and you realized you’d be fucking this man for hours. You drank your water from your icy jug, trying to turn it into liquid courage.

“Okay, okay, uhh… cute, yeah. Love it,” the director, Mike, appraised you like he worked on an assembly line, swooshing you over to the diving board with his hand, clutching a venti Starbucks cup in the other, “You look great, babe. Go sit on the diving board and let’s do a little preamble. Feel yourself up, pretend that you’re sunbathing in Malibu and not fuckin’ Santa Clarita, mkay?”

You made your way over to the diving board, walking in a way that you assumed was sexual, making a sexual face, and moving your hands across your tits…sexually. You thought it was a fine job until you heard the cut whistle. 

Mike was behind four people, two cameras, and an iPad when he shouted at you again,

“This isn’t a goddamn church service, babe. C’mon. I get hard when Chuy over here drives too fast, and this is not doin’ it.” 

“Sorry,” you said, moving back to your mark, determined to be positively the sexiest sunbather he had ever seen. 

“Mikey,” you heard Johnny’s voice call out, “Lemme kick it off.”

“Shut up, Johnny. I can’t afford your extra minutes, you skank,” Mike laughed and sipped his triple caramel mochaccino. 

Johnny came out from his shaded tent and cut his eyes at Mike before staring right at you,

“No charge. Just want it to be right.”

“Ugh,” Mike rolled his eyes behind his too-small sunglasses, “You and your…” he used scare quotes, “... art . Fine. Whatever. I just don’t want to shoot in the goddamn dark, so hurry up.”

Johnny walked around the pool, stroking himself across his shorts to stay hard. He was so thick that it looked like he was petting a handle of vodka back and forth. You tried to control your face, but you were getting more and more nervous as he came closer and closer to you.

“C’mere, bonnie,” he pulled you up from the diving board and held you in his arms.

If it wasn’t for the twenty people sweating to death in black tech clothes and eating dried-out hummus from foam plates standing around you, you would have felt like you were at your high school formal, being cradled gently in hands that wanted to do so much more. 

“Eyes on me,” he whispered. 

You obeyed, for some reason. There was nothing else to do but obey him. 

When he bent to kiss you, you knew it was for the cameras, because the angle of his face was open and softly spread so that the way he sucked your lips into his mouth would be seen by A and B-roll film. You kissed him back, trying to turn the sexiness up to eleven, rubbing your hands on his rigid cock to appear wanton and needy. 

He shuddered, and you thought you’d done something wrong. The look in his eyes told a different story. They were feverish, daring, and his pupils were fully blown. You could smell the coconut sunscreen someone had applied to him, and you could feel his breathing quicken in his huge body. 

Mike’s nasally voice came over the speakers,

“Let’s get a boom in there and pick up some of the kissing noise, please. Also, Johnny, some of your famous accent there, baby. You know what the ladies like.”

You were being kissed again, now set up for everyone to hear. He was devouring you, and you tried to keep your footing, grabbing his hulking shoulders and running your hands across his hirsute form. His muscles rippled and stretched beneath your touch, and he spoke his lines,

“Thought you would sneak into my wee pool, did ya, hen?”

You gave your voice a high-pitched lilt,

“Yes, I just wanted to get nice and tan.”

“Aye?” He pulled the tie on your bikini top, “Wouldn’t wanna get any tan lines, huh?”

You shook your head no, kissing his bare chest and feeling the top slither off of you to hang around your waist. 

“Wow,” his voice had changed its timbre, “Look at these pretty tits. Jesus…”

Johnny brought his mouth down to your nipple and sucked on it, licking on your beaded nub until it tightened for him, making sure to allow the camera man a full view of your perky breasts as they filled his hands. 

You moaned, and then you remembered to moan the right way, high and whiny. The higher the pitch, the higher the profit, they’d said. 

Johnny stopped suddenly, looking you in your eyes,

“Go back, lass. The first way. Do it the first way.”

“Johnny!” Mike complained, “Do you wanna come sit in this fuckin’ chair, or are you gonna focus on gettin’ your fat dick wet? Stop directing mid-scene. Cut. Cut. Start over with the tit sucking, and we’ll take it from the top,” Mike changed the tone of his voice and smiled at you, “You’re doing great, babe. Ten outta ten.”

You felt Johnny move his mouth to you again, but this time, his eyes were watching you, looking at you and waiting for you to make a choice. He was eager to make you moan, sucking hard and then soft, letting his long tongue lave over you like an animal, nibbling at your skin and making your blood rush to the surface. 

You moaned for real, testing the waters. Johnny smiled so wide you could see his back teeth, his jaw open and parting to let his tongue come forward to do its work. 

“Tha’s it, hen. Lemme hear you.”

His enormous hand squeezed your other breast, and he moved his mouth between them, stirring up your pleasure like a whisk in cream. Soft peaks. 

You obliged. The more you moaned, the more he fondled. He was yanking at your strings and ripping the bikini from you quicker than you had assumed he would be, especially since you were still in the outdoor scene. Wasn’t this all supposed to be inside?

“Christ,” Mike groaned, “I look at my email for five seconds and you’re almost nose-deep in her asshole? Johnny, this was supposed to be at couch scene three. Can - hey! Can somebody get him a book?”

Someone handed him a book, and he tossed it in the bushes,

“I dinnae care if it’s scene five thousand, Mikey. Just shoot it vérité, mate. Just like old times,” Johnny barked. He was getting more and more ruffled as Mike kept cutting in, almost like he was impatient to be done with it. Done with you?  

Mike turned his head to his assistant and asked,

“How many minutes do we have? Are we good? Okay. Okay!” He threw up his hands, “Okay, Johnny, you prima donna bitch. Let’s take it inside.”

The Someone with the book now passed Johnny his robe and he shouldered it on. He looked around and barked again,

“Aye! Hers? Give it here.”

He then had your robe in his hands and put it over you, cloaking you in its soft terrycloth, making sure you were covered. It was such an abrupt stop to your pleasure, one that you were not used to making, and your body railed you for it. Your pussy throbbed, your nipples ached, and your belly was full of butterflies. He held your hand as you walked inside. Just as you were about to get into position four on couch three, he pulled you back, nodding up at Mike and his team of people.

“Okay, lets get lighting on couch scene three, Billy. Hey! Hotdog! I didn’t say pull the lamp. Put the lamp back. Thanks, my man. Two more clicks on the warm light. Okay, gross, one click. Perfecto.”

Mike’s head popped over his iPad,

“You lovebirds ready for scene three?”

“Hang on,” Johnny grumbled, removing his swim trunks and flip-flops. 

He positioned himself on the couch and spread his legs, jerking himself back to full hardness and staring right at you as he did so. 

“C’mon, bonnie. I’m ready for you.”

You made your way over to the couch and knelt down. You didn’t mean to, but you hissed when your knees hit the cold, hard tiles. 

“Sorry!” You whispered to him.

He took his hands off his cock and pulled you onto the couch with him,

“Here, bonnie girl. Like this instead, yeah?”

Johnny pushed himself out along the length of the couch so that you were both laying on it. You placed your knees on the arm of it, raising your bare ass in the air for B-roll shots, your face perfectly positioned at Johnny’s raging hard-on. It was massive up close. His plump head and thick rod had seemed normal in his huge hands, but now that your small fingers were wrapped around him, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. 

“Okay, fuck,” Mike smiled, drinking his coffee and nodding, “That’s hot. Good call, new girl. Smart.”

You smiled back at Mike, grateful for the praise, feeling like you were going to knock it out of the park. Then, Johnny’s cruel hand grabbed your hair and turned your head up to stare into his eyes. He grinned like a demon,

“You don’t have to smile at him, lass. He’s a fuckin’ bawbag.”

“JD! Can we get on with it?” Mike rolled his eyes. 

You got on with it. Something in Johnny’s demeanor had stirred a dark place in your belly. He was possessive, and he didn’t like you smiling at Mike. He did like the way you took each of his balls in your mouth and sucked on them with loose, pouty lips. His moans were cut short, not wanting to over-saturate the reel with male grunting sounds. Apparently, the straight male audience wasn’t a fan of anyone’s grunting but their own. 

He also liked when you tried to take him into your throat, moving your head as far as you could down his shaft, choking on his cock until you felt drool coat the inside of your mouth. You spit it onto him, and he wrenched his eyes shut, unable to watch you fuck your own face with his shaft. 

“Okay, while Johnny’s taking a nap or whatever that face is, let’s get B-roll in here for her mouth. Also, let’s take a minute or so of that gorgeous ass she’s got up there for us. That’s gonna be money, my friend. You are gonna be Miss Popular!”

In the place where you were staring before, Johnny’s face of agony and bliss, now there was a big, black lens. You could see yourself, bobbing up and down hungrily, and you pulled out all the stops. You suckled gently on his glans, lapping up his precome dutifully, enjoying it enough to moan again. 

He jumped, and Johnny’s hand snaked its way under the camera to squeeze the life out of his shaft. 

“Hey, mate, move to B-roll of her ass, would ya?”

The camera man laughed,

“About to lose it, Johnny? I thought she was the newbie.”

“Shut up, mate.”

You stayed stock still, watching as the camera moved to your rear end, feeling beyond exposed. You played with your pussy, spreading it open, fingering yourself, all of the things you were supposed to do. And, to be honest, it felt great. You needed to come so badly, a warm breeze would have been sexy to you at this point. 

Johnny stared down at you, his dick still in the prison of his fist, panting,

“How are we doin’, lass?”

“Good, you?” You appreciated the check-in. 

“Good. Ready to fuck you. So damn ready.”

His voice and his eyes were predatory. You felt like his prey. Prey had claws, too, though. So, you licked his shaft again, and you fed his own line back to him,

“I’m gonna come so fast. You’re gonna make me feel so good, baby.”

His face changed into a look of shock. Just then, Mike rang the bell,

“Alright, it’s couch doggy and - what does this say?”

“Light,” someone told him.

“Okay, light spanking? You okay with that new girl? It says you signed off on it.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. 

“Okie dokie, just checking. Sweet. Let’s get there.”

Johnny was standing at the arm of the couch, positioned behind you were you couldn’t see him. You felt his hands rub your cheeks and spread them wide, opening your core up to him. Then, that long tongue was lapping up your wetness, and he was talking with his mouth full,

“Mmf, so wet for me, lassie. That’s my good girl.”

Your pussy clenched and you knew he could see it. You thought he might laugh or make some other comment, but he kept your secret, licking the inside of you with soft, languid strokes, you gave him another clench - this time on purpose - waiting to see if you could rile him up again. 

“Oh, fuck,” Johnny moaned, “You’re so ready for me. Fuck me, wait.”

He stopped eating you out, which was the opposite of what you were going for. This shoot was a disaster, and you really needed this gig.

“I’m sorry!” You said, turning around.

“What?” His brow furrowed, “No, just wait. Mike!”

“What is it now? Johnny - this is why I didn’t call you about Manuel Ferrara’s gangbang.”

“I just need my bag.”

Mike’s sigh was theatrical,

“Everyone take five.”

The bell went off again. You sat on the couch and the same someone brought you your robe and a water. You smiled and thanked them. Johnny had disappeared, but when he came back, he was wearing a thick, black cock ring, tightly secured around his shaft and balls. 

“Okay,” he sighed, sitting by you on the couch, robeless.

“Are you alright?” You asked, offering him some of your water.

He took it, gulping down two huge swallows before responding,

“Aye, lass. Just had to stop myself from ending this show too soon.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise,

“I thought it was for the opposite reason. Must be hard to keep it up for such a long time, especially with all these breaks.”

He laughed,

“Usually, yeah. But, not today.”

His eyes were raking over you, still hungry for you even though he’d seen it all already. It would have been a lie to say you weren’t hungry for him, too. It was intoxicating, the way he stared at you, eager and joyful. You weren’t surprised he was so popular. 

“Annnnnd, we’re back, people! Baby, could you perch up there again, please? Now that Mr. Princess is done preening, we can shoot a fucking porno.”

You repositioned yourself back to where you were, and someone came by to re-oil your ass cheeks. They felt shiny, and you hoped you looked great. Watching the film was going to be humbling, but this was your first time and you were learning so much. 

Johnny took his place behind you, and you felt the familiar, heavy slap of a cockhead on your pussy lips, sticky and exciting. You gasped. He responded, 

“That’s right, hen. It’s time for your reward.”

He began to feed his head into you, and the crown of it popped into your hole with some resistance. Behind you, his thick fingers spread your cheeks apart, and you felt one hand leave just to return in a sharp smack. You cried out louder. He sank in a little deeper, moaning right along with you. He slapped your ass again and growled,

“Fuuuuuuck, that’s too tight, that’s too tight. Oh, Jesus.”

You keened, embarrassed, but unable to stop the noise that came out of your mouth. 

“You like it, lass? Gettin’ this pretty little cunt all stretched out for me. Gonna make you beg for this cock and only this fuckin’ cock, ain’t that right?”

“Yeah,” you moaned, your voice straining, “Only this cock, baby. Fuck me nice and hard.”

You regretted every word because he was pleased to oblige you. He slammed himself down into your aching hole, pressing through your walls, through your wetness and the oil and the lube, and it still wasn’t enough. You felt like you were tearing apart, especially when he pressed you onto his hilt. 

Everything slowed way down. You saw white, for a moment, and you felt tears well up in your eyes, burning on their way down your cheeks. He was trying to ease you though it, but you were coming on him. Your whole body was shaking and trembling, and his girth was forcing an orgasm to rattle through your core. You even felt him fighting to stay inside of you, battling against your tightening walls, desperate to keep his position, nestled at your womb, deep within you. 

“Oh, fuck! Lass! Holy God, that pussy is tight. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You felt him slap you again, but the sting was gone. Your body had flooded you with orgasmic endorphins and adrenilne, and it was going to take a lot more than a “light spanking” to get your attention away from the cosmic nova exploding in your belly. 

Johnny’s thrusts were that of a hungry beast. He didn’t falter, nor slow, nor stop to check and see if you were even still alive. He was chasing himself down inside of you like a dog with its tail. Over and over and over, you felt the heavy weight of him pushed forward, smacking into you, feeling his hips snap repeatedly spearing your core with his enormous rod. He was grunting with abandon now, just barking out cries along with you, and when you looked at him over your shoulder, his face was bent and twisted in such a rage that it frightened you. He looked inhuman.

Suddenly, you were lifted from the couch, and his hands were around you. He flipped you over and held your thighs pressed down to your chest, creating an even deeper angle. You regained your thoughts quickly enough to hold your legs pinned for him, only half-worried that you’d tumble off the couch. 

You weren’t sure it was possible though, since his grip on your waist was so punishingly tight. He was fucking you so hard and so fast that you were feeling it in your bones. Your hips were taking the brunt of his sex-fueled wrath, and you knew you were going to be sore tomorrow. 

Then, his fingers found your clit, rubbing accurate and pleasure-filled circles around and around, making your lips swell with intensity. You were going to come again, and you told him so,

“Johnny… you’re gonna make me come, baby.”

“Come,” he snarled down at you, his eyes wild and haunted, “Come on me. I wanna feel you fuckin’ squeeze me out. Come. Come. Come, lass. Come for me, pretty girl. Oh! Oh, there it is. Yes, yes, yes, good girl. Good girl. Fuck!”

He rode you through your orgasm and stalled, leaving himself inside of your fluttering walls, basking in the sensation, trying to catch his breath. Johnny sat on the couch and you climbed into his lap, taking his cock in your hands and guiding it back into your dripping hole. 

“Bonnie,” he sighed, kissing your neck and grabbing your ass in both of his hands, “You feel like heaven. God, baby, don’t stop. Just like that, don’t stop.”

You were rocking back and forth on him, and you could feel his swollen head rubbing at the end of your pussy, bullying your cervix, making you feel too full. 

“It’s too much, baby,” you confessed, squishing your breasts together and letting him move his mouth across your nipples once again, “You’re too big. Filling me up… I’m so full.”

“You’re so tight, lass.”

He said it like a prayer. His eyes were glassy as they stared up at you. All of his bravado and flirtatiousness was gone, and it had been replaced by boyish wonder. It was as if it was his first time to feel the inside of a woman, to be hugged, warm and wet, engulfed in her core and playing within her the oldest song known to man. You sang it for him, not for profit anymore. His bewtichment was complete. You were totally and completely ensnared by him. 

Then, he held you to him, clutching you to his chest and screaming out loud, braying and writhing beneath you. He was coming. You felt him pulse, over and over, spilling and foaming and frothing around the edges of your hole, soaking you from the inside. 

You rode him slowly, back down from his high, and he gasped with every roll of your hips, looking at you in some sort of horrible ecstasy. 

Mike’s bell went off in your ear.

“Okay, folks! Thanks so much. Let’s wrap it. I’m sure some of this is salvageable. Johnny, and uh… whatever your name is, you still owe me garden scene six and upstairs… um, is it pool table? It’s pool table. Wanna be back here tomorrow at two?”

Johnny gave an exhausted thumbs up, and so did you, finally sliding yourself off of him with a wet milky sound. 

“Um,” you tried to catch your breath, “Thanks, for helping me today. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

He looked at you quizzically, almost a little hurt. It was a confusing face to see, but you didn’t really know him that well, so you waited for his reply.

“Sure, bonnie.”

You untangled your legs from him and pulled on your robe, leaving him on the couch. You needed a shower and some brand of fast food, as soon as physically possible. 

The bathroom was steaming when you hopped in, and you were covered head to toe in coconut smelling soap when you heard a knock at the door. 

“Uh, come in?” You peeked around the glass partition.

It was Johnny. 

“Got room for one more, lass?”

You looked around behind him, half-expecting a camera to pop out. He noticed your reticence, and he shook his head,

“Nevermind. Forget I asked.”

“Hey, yeah. Sure, if you want. Come on in,” you moved deeper into the shower, letting him step into the billowing steam. 

At first, he was silent, just washing himself, scraping the suds over his body and sharing the water with you. But, then, he asked,

“Wanna get a bite? I’m starvin’ to death.”

“Me, too,” you laughed. 

“Class,” he smiled.

There was another long pause, and then when you turned off the water, he stepped into your space, too close to be friendly, 

“What if I was still hungry for you as well, hen? What would you say to that?”

The water dripped from the head of the shower in a soft tinkling pattern. You breathed each other’s breaths, inching closer and closer until your lips touched his wide chest, the hair smeared flat from the warm water, rivulets rushing down his belly to his crotch, dripping off of him and of you. 

You kissed his chest again, feeling him shudder under you as if he hadn’t just come inside of you minutes ago, packed with anxious excitement. 

Smiling up at him, you took a chance, 

“Your couch or mine?”