𑣲⋆｡˚ - - - Fanfic writer / I’m 15!!!! / entp / no 1 dystopian enthusiast/ Spiritually living in an apocalypse/ pansexual / I need to go camping more/ She/Her ! ! !
- - - Media: black swan, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, girl interrupted,The long walk (500) days of summer, bones and all, Carrie, (any stephan king, literally ANYTHING) , dead poets society, IT, Red dead redemption, the last of us, 1984, resident evil, The hunger games . . .
- - - Music: Tyler the creator, Frank ocean, Erykah badu, Doja cat, Fiona apple, Mazzy star, Ms. Lauryn Hill, N.E.R.D, Lana del ray, Literally ANY R&B artists.
- - - fun facts about me: I have been commissioned and do loads of art, i have a significant following on tik tok! I am in Tyler the creators top 1.0 percent of listeners ! ! ! and i love to cook and my favorite thing to do in my free time is stay home alone, and watch movies and go on walks barefoot.
- - - WARNINGS ABOUT MY PAGE: There’s not really much to say, i write smutty fan-fiction and there all X reader. Sometimes i will repost things about SH and SA and that’s a warning other than that i am a freak ass ho. I share this account with my friend, Other than that my page is relatively normal, don’t be afraid to reach out. Have a great day ! ! !
My long hair is not girlish and my long dresses are not girlish and my hobbies and interests are absolutely not girlish because the only thing that makes me a girl is my body!! Nothing can make you more girlish or boyish because female vs male dictates nothing about you but your body!! Everyone shut up!!
So weird how armpit hair and pubic hair is only unhygienic for women. Do men sweat less? Nope they actually sweat more! Thats why I demand all men shave every inch of hair of their bodies. So no pubes, no butt hair, no arm hair, no facial hair 🤢 no stray eyebrow hairs, no hair down the nape of your neck, no chest hair, absolutely no armpit hair because that is ‘unhygienic’. I dont care if you have to pay thousands of dollars getting your pubes lasered off, or whether you must bend over backwards to hack a razor at your genitals. But if I see one hair just know that I will be disgusted. To add, if i see another man walking the street without a shirt on i will be honking my car, i dont care if its a billion degrees outside. If I have to wear a shirt, so do you.
summary: pervy nerd!ellie is really needy for you as she invited you to her room for the first time, and good thing you are just as needy.
dom!ellie, sub!femreader, fingering!
it’s noon when you check the notification from your phone, your body glued to the sheets of your uninteresting room. you see a text from Ellie, your newly girlfriend who’s always texting you about something random. this time it’s an invite, begging for you to come over, smiling to yourself reading each word.
while getting ready, your eyes meet with the lonely push up bra sitting on your comfy desk chair. you decide to put it on, with of course perverted intentions.
after a rushed twenty minutes spent on makeup and hair, you feel like you might be ready to go as you stare at yourself for the thousandth time, feeling that kind of adrenaline you wish would never die out.
time passes as you enter her room, Ellie’s eyes already glued to the cleavage peeking at her. “uh um… hey”, her body language is awkward, accompanied with the subtle fidgeting of her limbs. clearly affected by your presence, more so your beauty.
“I love your room”, you take in the furniture surrounding you both, posters and trinkets you have no knowledge of. your eyes catch on to the little video game setup by the tv, studying each little detail with interest.
Ellie nervously grabs a random plushie from her pillow, hiding it before you find out, “you wanna sit on the bed with me?” she hastily offers, trying to distract you from your exploration.
“um yeah sure”, you sit next to her on the soft cushion, your hand merely touching hers. you take a peek at Ellie, soft auburn strands framing her flushed face, her expression also empty as her eyes stick to the ground.
“so… tell me about you room, i wanna know you more ellie” your knee nudges hers, subtly begging her, desperate for some kind of conversation. Ellie can clearly sense your persistence, leading to feelings of guilt.
“sorry um, yeah I can show you my uh”, her eyes then trail to all the books about outer space, dinosaur figures, superhero comics, so many nerdy things she refuses to mention out loud, she scratches the back of her neck.
“ellie you know I don’t care right? seriously just talk to me”, you rub her bicep for some sort of comfort, she flinches slightly, her body heating up with every move of your fingertips.
“fine… you wanna ask about my video games first?” her eyes slowly light up as you agree without hesitation, her hand resting against your thigh as she begins to tell you.
as she rambles on about each passion, her hand travels across your body, you begin to shiver when her fingers reach under your long white lace skirt. her touch embellished over the valleys of your soft skin, her fingertips tracing little shapes over your thigh.
your breath hitches as she starts to squeeze, still hearing her ramble on like she isn’t torturing you at the same time.
“Ellie…”, you softly whimper uncontrollably, her eyes immediately turning towards you.
“you ok?” she asks, her face contorted with confusion, so unaware of her actions that it makes you whine out of desperation.
“you keep… touching there, go further.. please” you beg softly, ellie’s hand complies as her fingers crawl closer to your inner thigh, already feeling a little moist from the heat growing inside you.
you feel her touch against your clothed pussy, shaking when she applies more pressure. meanwhile her gaze lives within your cleavage, eager to paint with bruising hickeys.
ellie still takes time to really process what’s going on, all she did was innocently massage your thigh, she guesses you took it as an act of lust. ellie smirks a tiny bit, your mind in a whirlwind of perversity as you feel her fingers creeping your panties off, inserting her long middle finger deep inside.
the foreign feeling of your wet walls swallowing her makes ellie feel dizzy, you cry deep into her sage eyes, whining for more as your folds sob after each hard thrust.
“feels good?” ellie begins to reek of self doubt as she asks, poor ellie, so desperate to please you. her other hand focuses on your clothes, almost every garment fleeting to the wooden floor. you nod rapidly, crying out at the feeling of her ring finger joining in so intrusively.
the sound of your soft pretty moans soothe ellie into a state of inner hunger, blood rushing through her veins as her lust controls her every move. your finger nails bite her freckled skin as she curls her fingers, hitting that spot you’ve never felt before.
your begging words begin to slur, her fingers so deep it makes your soul fully numb. her cute nervous demeanor thrown away at the sight of you like this, all wet and open for her.
the only piece of fabric remaining on your sweaty body was your skimpy push up bra, she tried to pull it off, but was too preoccupied with the squelching sounds of your pussy. her hand only able to pull the cups down, your nipples greeting her as she fixates on them.
your body twitches from her overflowing need for you, her touch engraved around each crevice of skin, it’s all too much. as you climax, you gaze upon her wild pupils, fading into softness slowly.
she holds you by your waist, her arm clung as she kisses you tenderly, thumb rubbing against the soft skin of your torso. eventually you catch your breath, slowly your eye lids open up to her pretty face.
“did I do a good job?, I hope it was because to be honest i didn’t really-“ you kiss her softly to shut her up, only craving to feel her warmth consuming you entirely.
warning: engaging with this post may cause her to appear unannounced. she knows where you sleep.
✶ part one ⋮ 18+ ⋮ desperately, pussy achingly in need of a feralwife!ellie who:
౨ৎ mumbles shit like “you’re such a good girl” under her breath while you’re doing regular domestic shit. could be folding towels, loading the dishwasher, or even watering the little succulents on the windowsill. the art of watering plants. yup, she finds that shit attractive.
౨ৎ gets all twitchy when a toddler hands her a flower. claims, “i don’t like kids,” but keeps the flower in her sketchbook like it’s a signed autograph from caitlin clark.
౨ৎ holds a baby once at a family function, and the second it stops crying in her arms, she won’t shut up about it for the next week. “d’you see that? she liked me. babies fuckin’ like me, babe.”
౨ৎ gets awfully quiet whenever she sees you holding someone else’s baby.
౨ৎ gets all weird when she sees a my first pride onesie at the thrift store and shoves it in your face aggressively. “hah. imagine. that’d be... gay as fuck.”
౨ৎ starts picking baby names out of nowhere, like, you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and she goes, “that’d be a sick name if we ever had a kid,” then refuses to explain further. “not sayin’ we should. just sayin’... plus, s’not like i’d be a bad mom, right?” then crashes face-first into the doritos aisle when you actually agree.
౨ৎ suddenly starts leaving her sketchbook out, hoping you’ll find the little doodles she’s been doing of you. ones where you’re asleep with your hand on a pregnant belly you don’t even have, or you holding a baby she hasn’t told you about yet, as a silent “if you’d ever want one, i’d want one, too” she doesn’t have the heart to utter, mostly out of fear. because what if you don’t want it? even though you said a long time ago that you were open to it, things change, and so do people. that’s enough to scare her into silence. unbeknownst to her, she’s been knocking on a door that’s already pretty much unlocked.
౨ৎ floats subtle ideas like getting a dog, casually throwing out a shy, “just to see if we’d survive having a creature that needs us, like, a test run! a baby but with less trauma, y’know?” or testing the waters with offhand comments “you’d be such a good mom,” pretending she hasn’t been carrying that shit in her chest this whole time. but eventually, she grows a pair.
౨ৎ blurts out “would you ever wanna… y’know. do the baby thing? with me?” mid-makeout, while you’re straddling her, cheeks of a deep cherry-red as if she just asked you to try out a new position (you lowk have tried them all by now, but that’s besides the point.)
౨ৎ reads all the parenting articles you send her after saying yes. she’s got whole tabs open on her ipad titled “gentle parenting for anxious people” and “how to not fuck up your kid when you’re gay and traumatized.” #ipadkidcore
౨ৎ talks with you for hours about the different options, like real adults and real partners, because she’s serious about this and wants to be ready. timelines, genetics, your job, her job, who would carry, health considerations, etc. all of it etched right next to a half-completed drawing of you in an unfairly serene slumber.
౨ৎ nods to every word that comes out of the doctor’s mouth on your first appointment. he’s explaining how reciprocal IVF works and ellie’s can’t shut the fuck up for more than 6 seconds (you were keeping track.) you think her questions are silly, but to her, they are highly significant and totally life-altering.
“can she still eat gas station sushi, or is that a bad mindset for implantation?”
“does stress really lower fertility because she gets stressed when she looks for parking—” you smack the shit outta her.
౨ৎ cries as soon as you walk out. her legs feel so weak that she has to lean against a wall, eyes all glassy, trembling hands braced on her knees. you even start to worry, already convinced she’s about to backtrack and change her mind after dropping three grand, just like that one time she impulse-bought wonder woman curtains from tiktok shop because ‘they matched the living room vibe’ and regretted it instantly. typical ellie behavior.
“ellie? what’s wrong?”
“it’s just— the idea of… you carrying something that’s half me?” she sniffles, looking away ashamed, “i didn’t think i’d ever get something that good.” only option, really, is to kiss her dumb. what else could you do?
౨ৎ suddenly develops a huge breeding kink out of nowhere. 6 inches in and she goes, “fuck, yeah. just like that. takin’ me so good. my girl’s gonna get full off me, huh? gonna carry our baby.” you try to remind her how insemination really works and all you get is a defensive, “shut up. it’s my fantasy.”
౨ৎ slaps your ass around the house every time you bend over. “that’s a breeding ass, babe.”
౨ৎ takes the donor selection process way too seriously. at first, at least. the intention is there: notebook draped over her laptop keyboard, highlighter cap clenched between her teeth type of serious. she writes things down, circles relevant stuff; even makes a pros and cons list like it’s a fucking job interview.
but no one’s good enough. she’s actively roasting these dudes like they personally disrespected her entire bloodline. “his name is braxton,” she reads out loud, squinting at you sideways. “nope. immediate red flag. he absolutely says ‘epic’ unironically. instant pass.” click. “liam. i just know he got arrested for tax evasion and called his mom to cry about it.” click again, without even giving you time to react. “why does his smile look like he knows what crypto is.” click. “babe, i swear i’ve seen this one dude on the dark web before,” she stabs at the screen of her laptop with her finger. click. “absolutely fucking not.”
she’s scrolling fast now, flicking through profiles like she’s on tinder with way too much repressed rage, commenting it all—height, hair color, childhood photo, medical history tabs she pretends not to care about while still reading every single one with a judgmental heart.
the clicking eventually comes to a stop. “what. the. fuck.”
your eyes land on the name and you can’t help but snort. “who the fuck names their kid… elliot jackscum?”
click. click again. then goes back and clicks on the profile.
“…why does he lowkey look like me though.” you both frown, exchanging looks, “that’s me in the upside-down.”
now you’re both dead silent, fully locked in, reading every detail that actually matters. the medical history is clean, genetic screening clear. education is something arts-related, a personality similar to ellie’s (not that that holds much importance, in your opinion.)
you sigh, studying her face before murmuring a “we should pick him, shouldn’t we.” less a question, more a i know that look.
ellie sinks into the couch, blowing out a resigned breath through her nose as a calloused palm drags down her face. “god fucking damn it.”
“…yeah.”
“jackscum wins.”
౨ৎ starts hormone injections for egg retrieval and instantly becomes the most disgusting, horniest version of herself.
౨ৎ shrugs it off at first, saying it’s whatever, that she’ll get used to it. but it doesn’t level out; if anything, it escalates. gradually, but surely. suddenly she’s spooning you tighter at night, her hands wandering way more than usual, past the waistband of your underwear, up your shirt, cupping your breasts, kissing the back of your neck like you’re the dinner she didn’t get to eat because she got sent to bed early, grounded and starving.
the sex dreams start happening almost every night. sometimes she even moans in her sleep. all you know is you’ve caught her humping her pillow more times than you care to count. you bend over for half a second to pick something up, and she’s there, fake banging you from behind like a dog in heat—except she very clearly wishes it wasn’t fake at all. then she starts begging. for neck kisses. for head. always pulling you into her lap or groping your ass at the most random times. sometimes all while dirty talking to you in a low rasp, her mouth at your neck, her breath caressing your baby hairs deliciously. it makes your head spin.
౨ৎ starts with hints before she actively starts begging. you’ll be eating and she’ll just stare at your mouth and go, “you could do something else with that mouth.” or “how bout you kiss my thighs and see where it goes?” still, not so subtle, but at least she’s cute about it.
౨ৎ other times she straight up whines about it, every time using the same old excuse when you dare call her out. “you don’t understand. i feel like a greek fertility goddess right now. it’s a medical thing—what happened to feminism anyway? girls having each other’s back and all that shit.” does she make any sense? absolutely not, but you hold her hand through it and keep her thighs open when needed, mouth where it matters, patience in your praises and your tongue on her swollen clit. <3
౨ৎ wakes you up in the middle of the night to announce how unwell she’s feeling.
you feel her shaking you like a cocktail while you’re chasing some distant, juicy slumber of your own just to whisper, nearly panicked, “babe. emergency.”
“what,” you mumble, half asleep, half groan, half annoyed.
“i had a dream you ate me out while i was crying and then gave me a juice box. and i woke up horny and thirsty. it’s a sign. please.” she shakes you again, more urgently this time.
“mkay…” you don’t fully register any of it. your half-conscious brain assumes she’s hungry or something, she’s woken you up for less. “go drink water,” you reach for her blindly, eyes still closed, meaning to pat her on the shoulder, except your hand lands right on her tit and her breath stutters like you just hit a wounded nerve.
“it’s not the same,” she sighs, pouting a little at the ceiling.
౨ৎ jokes about dying if you don’t suck her tits and moans way too loud when you actually do.
from there, things derail fast, because somehow you end up between her thighs, slurping on a clit that’s never throbbed so angrily against your tongue. she’s so wet you almost feel bad. between the constant horniness, the random mood swings, the cramps, the snapping, you figure your girl genuinely needs the extra attention.
except she’s greedy about it.
she yanks at your hair harshly, sucking in a breath, moaning like a pornstar. freckles scattered over pink skin, growing impatient beneath you, looking so fucking pretty it physically hurts. “babe… please,” she begs in a voice so feeble, so high-pitched, “please, please—fingers, please.” seconds away from a full mental breakdown even as you’re eating her out.
it’s never enough for ellie. doesn’t matter if she’s going to bed with an orgasm count of five or thirteen.
you pull away with the filthiest smooch, lips abandoning her completely. “doctor said no internal stimulation.” your huff lands directly on her cunt, making her shiver. “you’re lucky i’m even doing this.”
of course, she argues. “i’m literally not gonna die from one knuckle—”
“ellie.” you glare at her through your lashes and she swears she’s gonna squirt just from that.
“this is the worst oppression i’ve ever experienced—oh my god, keep going, keep—oooh fuck, fuuck!—” she comes gasping into the crook of her elbow, all whiny and twitchy, actively trying to argue even as she rides it out on your tongue.
“you still gonna complain? i’m fucking you to sleep at this point.”
“i’ll give it a six… could’ve been better with your fingers.”
you wipe your mouth and snort. “you’re lucky i didn’t call the doctor mid-orgasm and tell him exactly what you were asking me for, you little bitch.”
౨ৎ wakes you up the next morning with breakfast in bed: a cute, wooden tray with a japanese cherry blossom tree painted on it (by her), heart-shaped pancakes, chocolate-dipped strawberries and a tulip very obviously stolen from someone’s garden two blocks away—plus… a thick envelope?
still blurry-eyed and half unconscious, you press a lazy peck to her lips, mumbling a sleepy thanks as you squint at the envelope. not that ellie isn’t a love-letter type of girl, but this is… not that.
“NOTICE OF NOISE COMPLAINT – UNIT 3C” written across it in threatening red sharpie, you frown. “huh… what’s this?”
you shift the tray over your thighs and tear the envelope open, barely looking at her as you pull the letter out. the mattress dips when she climbs back into bed, knee knocking into yours under the covers. you grab a chocolate-drenched strawberry, take a big bite and unfold the paper one-handed.
“looks like we got our first official citation,” she says casually with a slight bounce of her shoulders. “we’re on record.”
your eyes skim the page, the words making your frown deepen, “ellie… this is not… a good thing.” a masterpiece of overly formal language explaining that someone yelling “oh fuck, faster—” at ungodly hours has apparently disrupted the recycling schedule.
“the old lady next door told building management that unit 3c films amateur porn at ungodly hours and traumatized her grandkids. she kept tabs on us too… even submitted a whole report with timestamps. timestamps, babe.”
the pride in her voice makes you look back at her in disbelief. not because of the notice itself, but because she isn’t even a little ashamed that half the building now has a rough estimate of how many times a week she comes. “what. the. fuck.”
the concern is unmatched, she’s beaming by this point. “i know, right? you’re that skilled with your tongue. we should frame it and put it in the living room,” she lifts her hands to frame an imaginary golden plaque in the air, eyes all dreamy. “bachelor of arts in making your wife scream.” bumps your shoulder with hers. you snort, barely. more amused than anything. genuinely just shocked it didn’t happen sooner, back to when she used to fuck you stupid with her beloved strap every night before bed, period or not, because “your body didn’t get to cockblock her like that.” her words.
“should be fucking proud, babe. not even kat—”
your eyes narrow at the mention of her ex. “say that name again and you’re out of the fucking house.”
౨ৎ sits through the egg retrieval process like a real champ. all cocky in the car, all “guess i’m donating to the cause, huh?” but the second she gets in the gown and hears “you’ll feel a little pressure” she asks the nurse for “just a minute” at least five times before anyone gets to lay a finger on her.
౨ৎ something in her sick brain rewires the second she learns her eggs are fertilized. “that’s it, this pussy’s full of me already—ride me like you wanna make another.” science sure is an opinion to her.
౨ৎ goes fucking insane when the clinic clears you for a natural transfer cycle—which means no suppression, no medicated estrogen protocol, just monitoring, timing and a whole lot of hope. they explain to you that transfers are usually more controlled, with generous doses of estrogen and progesterone scheduled down to the hour, but your stubborn ass wanted to try option b instead. what they don’t explain is that this would apparently include ellie tracking your ovulation on THREE different apps and bothering you about it. constantly. and that’s on you, really.
“hydrate, mama. cervical mucus loves hydration.”
you could be brushing your teeth and she’s leaning against the doorway, “so… how’s the mucus lookin’ today?”
or it’s her prophecies. “according to clue, you ovulate in 15 days. according to flo? 14. but babe my gut says 13.5. trust.”
౨ৎ wakes you up every morning with fertility facts she studied the night before, after lying awake next to your snoring ass. the moment you open your eyes, the first thing you hear is shit like, “mornin’... apparently, when you sleep well, implantation chances go up.”
“I HAVEN’T EVEN OVULATED YET.”
“yeah, but you will soon… my perfect little incubator.”
౨ৎ checks the cervical mucus so seriously it becomes scary. you drop your underwear to pee and she’s already leaning over your shoulder to take a peek. “hmm. fertile window approaching.”
“ELLIE WILLIAMS. GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM.”
“just saying, babe. it looks… promising.”
the craziest thing is that all her guesses weren’t even half wrong. the clinic confirms everything with ultrasounds and blood tests.
౨ৎ comes home after a long day of work and instead of greeting you with bouquets of flowers like she used to, she’s always carrying something that could benefit your health. vitamins, teas, supplements, all bought in ridiculous amounts. she even leaves little notes on them, the kind that used to come tucked between baby blue roses, baby’s breath and lavender.
✉︎ “𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦 ˙ᵕ˙ 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘥.”
౨ৎ holds your hand through the entire embryo transfer, somehow more anxious than you are. the nurses nearly kick her out for interfering too much. she keeps stopping the doctor with stupid questions, insisting he double-check everything, even get another doctor in the room, just in case. she finally behaves after a few very firm warnings. (no pegging for a week.)
౨ৎ treats you like a fragile little fawn for the next two weeks. you’re not allowed to lift anything heavier than a bobby pin. “my wife’s got a belly to grow.”
౨ৎ constantly tucks blankets around you, shoving her own pillow under your legs, sleeping like a starfish without one ‘cause “science says gravity helps.” if you dare suggest she’s making that shit up, or that reddit isn’t reliable, “science IS reddit.”
౨ৎ sits on the bathroom floor two weeks later, shaking like a wet chihuahua while you take a pregnancy test. after peeing gracefully on the stick, you place it on the counter face-down. “please… please… please…” two minutes in, “why’s this shit takin’ so long? oh my fucking god.” four minutes in, “swear to god, if she gets pregnant i’ll go to church every sunday.” spoiler: she lied. she’s not even religious.
౨ৎ when the pregnancy test finally comes back positive, she doesn’t react like a normal person. sure, she kisses you hard and gets a little emotional, but she’s mostly praising herself.
“I DID THAT. I KNEW I NUT GOOD.”
“you didn’t even nut.”
“emotionally i was balls deep. let me have this.” + endless kisses to your nonexistent bump<3
౨ৎ is a nervous wreck the day she has to tell your family. and her dad.
it’s a sunny sunday, barbecue smoke filtering lazily through the open windows, the neighbors’ kids are shrieking outside, their laughter piercing straight through your skull. a dog down the street barks furiously at bees hovering over its bowl, while the grumpy man across the road yells at the kids for kicking a ball across his precious patch of grass.
and ellie is absolutely shitting her pants. quite literally. she’s excused herself to pee at least three times in a row. she always gets like this when she’s anxious. by the time she comes back the fourth time, your mom is setting a cherry pie down in the middle of the table.
ellie refuses to sit, impulsively blurting it out, “i got her pregnant.”
the crust of pie lodges straight in your throat as you launch into a coughing fit, hand pounding the table. “y—yes,” you manage between coughs. why is she like this. why does she have to make it weird. “a doctor got me pregnant,” you quickly correct her.
ellie turns to you, offended, waving it off. “my egg. her womb. our baby.” she finishes with a small shrug and a smug grin, “jackpot.” claiming it’s all thanks to her because she ‘manifested that shit.’
౨ৎ orders a mug that says ‘world’s best breeder’ that she claims is “a joke” but uses it every fucking day.
౨ৎ stares at your belly when it really pops and ellie looks like she’s just seen a leprechaun. “i gotta process this. it’s happening. you’re big. (you’re not) i did that. i did that. holy fuck.”
౨ৎ starts giving you weird ass pet names, “my little transport truck full of baby” or “my stacked fridge.”
౨ৎ immediately leaves a positive review on the clinic google page “$14,000 to breed my wife. money well spent!!!”
౨ৎ won’t let you walk anywhere alone. you don’t get privacy or independence, not anymore. you stand up to get water and she’s like “nonono—sit down. i’ll get it for you.” you sneeze once and she’s looking up: “can sneezing effect early pregnancy??” you lay on your stomach and she gets anxious about it, “what if you pop a tit?? will the baby feel it?”
౨ৎ has absolutely no idea how to act when she’s horny anymore. like, yeah, she’s still wildly attracted (obviously), but she’s also scared as fuck. she’ll kiss your belly, trail her mouth down your neck, press slow kisses to the inside of your thighs, then freeze like she’s committing a felony, two seconds away from an actual panic attack. “is it okay if i—? wait. is that safe? are you comfortable? tell me if you’re uncomfortable. actually… no sex tonight. nope. abort mission. i need to research.” she lasts exactly three hours before she’s straddling you again, phone carelessly tossed somewhere in the sheets, eyes gleaming in the dark like a cat’s. “okay,” she grins sheepishly, “i researched. turns out we can. can i ride your thigh now or no.” all that unnecessary stress just for her to end up leaving snail trails on your thigh. disappointing to say the least.
౨ৎ turns aggressively protective and insists on coming with you for every errand.
grocery store? someone bumps your cart with theirs and ellie’s already stepping in front of you like she’s shielding the president. “watch where you’re going, for fuck’s sake,” she snaps so loud your face burns and you suddenly become a stranger three aisles away. “can’t you see she’s pregnant?” she gestures toward you like a crazy woman. you’re barely a few weeks in, nothing is visible yet, not even a hint. you honestly don’t even blame the guy for looking at your wife like she’s insane as he quietly wheels his cart away, terrified. little does she know, next time he’s bringing his wife with him because women terrify him.
your first checkup? she nearly starts a riot in the waiting room because no one offers you a seat. again—absolutely no one can tell you’re pregnant. but ellie insists she can feel your shoulders tensing, your poor spine straining and your body working overtime.”
౨ৎ treats you like actual royalty. she brings you snacks but won’t make eye contact while doing it, drops them off all awkward, without mumbling a single word (loser ellie nghh)
౨ৎ kisses your bump goodnight and gets shy if she catches you watching her.
౨ৎ sticks little anxious reminders on your nightstand on mornings she has to leave early for work.
“𝘱𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳!!! 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘵!!!”
“𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘴 >:(”
“𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 + 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘺𝘰 ♡”
౨ৎ narrates everything to the baby. you eat strawberries and she talks directly to your stomach, rubbing it gently, “hear that? mama’s feeding you antioxidants.” later, you’re watching zootropolis together, a fox plush tucked against your side and she adds, “see, kiddo? absolute cinema.” like the baby can actually see through your eyes. she’s convinced it can.
౨ৎ thanks you out of nowhere, because not only you’ve chosen her as your forever partner like swans do, but you’re also building a family with her. “hey, thanks for doing this with me.” then she kisses your shoulder and immediately pretends she didn’t just get emotional, stomping away before you can catch her tearing up like a way-too-chalant lesbian she swears she’s not.
౨ৎ cries over baby clothes, you’ll be walking in walmart and other places and she’ll be crying as if she’s the one pregnant and a walking ball of stubborn, unpredictable hormones. “babe it’s so fucking small—look—wait, hold it against your belly again—oh my god—that’s OUR kid—”
you swat her hand away. “kid? ellie, it’s barely an embryo.”
“bite your tongue. that’s our fucking heir.” she’ll promptly hiss every time you remind her. swear to god she’ll make you apologize like you just said the worst thing imaginable.
౨ৎ checks your pregnancy app every morning before she even pees. you wake up to her perched in bed with her glasses on, “holy shit… the baby’s a blueberry today.” then she turns to you, grinning like a dork, “babe. you’re a blueberry mom.”
౨ৎ will clock that you’re sick before you even admit it.
౨ৎ cancels plans without even telling you because if her girl needs her, everything else can die. the world could literally collapse and crumble to the core of the underworld and she wouldn’t budge. you don’t even ask for her presence, ‘cause she’s already there like a sickening little parasite.
౨ৎ feels genuinely guilty when the morning sickness gets worse. you rush to the bathroom and somehow she beats you there. already kneeling behind you, holding your hair in a gentle fist and shielding your forehead from stubborn strands while you puke your soul out. rubs reassuring circles into your back with her palm, “’m sorry, baby… i’m so sorry you feel like this…” and she means that shit with her whole heart, like it’s her fault. “you’re doing so good. your body’s doing so much right now… i know it sucks ass, i know…” and the one that melts your insides every time, “my poor girls.”
౨ৎ goes down a rabbit hole about acupressure after reading somewhere in a facebook article dina sent her that it can help with nausea. the next morning you’re hunched over the sink complaining that you feel sick again and she’s already reaching for your wrist, “hold on, hold on, don’t move.” she presses her thumb on your wrist, right between your tendons, squinting back at you for any sign of improvement. “internet said this one’s for nausea.” when you tell her it actually helped a little, she sits back on the toilet lid looking waaay too proud of herself. “see? basically a doctor now.”
౨ৎ turns into a doberman about smells. you hate garlic, vinegar, anything sharp or fermented, so now she goes around sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “what the fuck is that? i said. no. funyuns. i told you the smell makes her gag. what the fuck is wrong with you?” and just like that, your friends are forever banned from your house.
౨ৎ sleeps lighter than ever when you’re feeling off. if you so much as shift or groan, she jolts awake like she’s just fallen into a void. “hey, hey… i’m here. what do you need?” even if what you need is just to complain.
౨ৎ refuses to complain herself, even when she’s exhausted, even when you keep her up all night because the nausea won’t leave you alone. she doesn’t say a word, doesn’t blame you, doesn’t take her stress out on you. even with dark circles under her eyes and all, she still rubs your shoulders, still makes you food, still reassures you. if you dare apologize, she shakes her head, shutting you up instantly. “don’t. you’re growing our baby and you’re sick. bare minimum. least i can do.”
౨ৎ cannot stand when men so much as glance at your bump or say anything remotely sweet to you. “that’s how it starts. smiling. then asking what school the kid goes to. next thing you know, he’s trying to be the father that steps up. not on my fucking watch.”
౨ৎ cries at your first ultrasound because the baby has her nose. honestly, you were glad. but then she says weird shit, “look at that shrimp spine. head’s huge as fuck, babe! definitely got my brain in there. my swimmers were built different.” the nurse looks at her weird.
౨ৎ prints out an image of your ultrasound, laminates it and keeps it inside the back of her phone case just to peek at it when she’s having a bad day :(
౨ৎ has a completely blank sketchbook she plans to fill only with baby drawings.
౨ৎ spoons you extra gentle at night, with one hand over your bump and her mouth in the curve of your neck, “you smell different,” when you ask her to elaborate, you feel her shrug behind you, “like… mom energy. sweeter. ripe. i dunno.”
౨ৎ is suffocatingly obsessive the entire pregnancy—waking you up at 3am to make sure you feel okay or if you need to pee. sometimes, you have to sleep on the couch just to get away from her. when you wake up, she’s passed out on the carpet right beside you. you even accidentally step on her the first time. arghh.
౨ৎ starts rearranging the entire house in the middle of the night to make sure the closets are neat and everything even remotely dangerous for a baby shoved out of the way (despite the fact that you’re barely a few months in).
౨ৎ keeps calling the baby “big sister” as if having this one in the incubator somehow means you’re already open to more kids.
“babe, she’s not even born yet.” (utterly irrelevant to ellie)
“doesn’t matter. mentally preparing her. she’s gotta know she’s not gonna be an only child.” she’s so excited it physically pains you to demolish that delusion of hers. “also i ordered matching onesies that say ‘1st round’ and ‘2nd round’—” and the cherry on top, “fuck it, let’s go full lesbian duggar family.”
“ah hell naww. i’m divorcing you.”
౨ৎ lowkey gets horny when hormones start fucking you up hard. you don’t cry, you’re just mean as fuck… to ellie it’s foreplay. she blushes and her pussy starts throbbing in about 0.34 seconds. immediate reaction.
“i said no fucking pulp.” you narrow your eyes, pissed as fuck. all because she got you the wrong type of juice. “fucking useless piece of shit.”
she wishes you were like this 24/7. snapping, mean, reminding her how stupid and pathetic and useless her existence is.
she doesn’t argue. can’t. actually, you catch that fucking loser stifling a groan—maybe a moan, you’re not entirely sure. all you know is she’s drooling between her legs. “right. yeah. i’m so sorry… wanna spank me? i deserve it, ma’am.”
౨ৎ the mornings are consistently tragic. she wakes up, unfortunately—that’s her first mistake. the rambling starts before her eyes are even open, words spilling out as her legs swing off the bed like her brain never truly powered down overnight.
you’re at the table, swirling your cereal, already soggy and sinking depressingly to the bottom of the bowl. she won’t stop pacing, won’t stop fucking talking. you check the clock more than once. ten full minutes of this and you’re at your limit.
“—in addition to that, i was reading that hedgehogs—”
your spoon clinks sharply against the porcelain. “oh. my. fucking. god.” she blinks, genuinely startled, thinking she’s missed a cue you never gave her. confusion seems to shut her up, granting you a sacred moment of momentary peace. your irritation, however, keeps growing. “do you ever shut the fuck up?” you snap, “do you have a switch? or did you wake up with an eminem up your fucking ass?”
ellie has always known that the normal response would be to get offended. to shut down, perhaps. cry. maybe even to snap back. only she knows how many times she’s wished that she could be normal about this. because unpredictability gets under her skin in the worst ways and she never knows which version of you she’s waking up to. way to keep the marriage alive!
౨ৎ spends actual hours tracing your stretch marks with her tongue before head time, “fuckin’ marked by me” like she’s proud of leaving permanent scars on your temple of a body (which is every other night because she claims orgasms keep the baby healthy.)
౨ৎ fucks you with a strap when you’re in the second trimester and gets anxious as hell. it starts before even getting you naked. you’re doing chores and randomly huff, frustrated, telling her you need her inside.
“oh! okay. yup. happening. bedroom. now. careful—let me hold you—no, don’t walk that fast—babe slow down—BABE YOU’RE PREGNANT.”
when she gets on top of you it’s even worse. she’s rocking the strap into you at the pace of a fucking snail. no cocky shit, no dirty talk, just a super focused look on her face like she’s scared of giving you an abortion with her strap.
you wrap your legs around her hips, the heel of your foot pressing into her butt as some type of encouragement. “ellie... faster.”
she tries to mask the nervousness with cockiness. doesn’t work. “…yeah?”
“yes. faster. please.” you pant, restless and impatient and worked up, watching her through a blur as she hesitates and deliberately keeps the same pace, dragging the slow strokes out like it’s a punishment. “are you—” you claw at her shoulder, visibly losing it. “what the hell is this? you fuck me slower than the wifi at my grandma’s.”
she’s offended, maybe even tries to defend herself, “i’m—m’not slow.”
“it’s awful. i’m pregnant, not a fabergé egg.”
“‘m just… savoring it, y’know?”
“oh my god,” you smack her hand off your tit, “you’re scared you’re gonna hurt the baby.”
she legit freezes mid-thrust. “…no?”
“ellie, the baby is in my uterus, not hanging out in the hallway waiting to get hit.”
still doesn’t speed up, stubbornly sabotaging your orgasm. “yeah, but… what if she’s, like, right here?” her hand drifts to the underside of your stomach.
you actually laugh at that and smack her hand away once again. “right where? in my fucking cervix? do you seriously think your strap has prenatal combat abilities?”
“i just don’t wanna bonk her in the head or somethin’.”
you cover your face with both hands, in disbelief. you aren’t sure if you find this hot or embarrassing. “ellie,” longest sigh she’s ever heard from you, “i am so close to flipping us over and doing this myself.” you threaten.
“oh my god. are you seriously pissed at me for protecting our child?”
“from silicone?!”
“from reckless parenting!—fetus cost me over ten thousand dollars, ma. think i’m about to knock it loose ‘cause you’re horny?” all of it punctuated by yet another slow thrust, “no thanks.”
“that’s not even how–”
“gotta protect the investment, bro.”
“call me bro again and you’re dead.”
in the end, you flip her over and grind down slow and deep. you don’t stop, not even after you’ve already come, not even when her fingers clutch at your hips in an anxious attempt to stop you. you had to. next time, you’re tying her to the headboard so you can fuck her properly.
౨ৎ keeps a tally on the fridge called “times she let me touch the belly” when you start getting self-conscious about the stretch marks on your body, about how different you feel in your own skin. some days you can’t even bear to let her rest a hand there, let alone kiss it. you erase the tally every time you see it, feeling embarrassed and completely overwhelmed. but she’s more stubborn, more determined. she starts it over every single time, even adding smiley faces to the days you let her kiss it, repeating every day “you’re even prettier like this” without fail, until it finally absorbs.
౨ৎ doesn’t ask questions when you’re upset or crying, because she’s aware hormones don’t always make sense, like that one time you sobbed over giraffes not having proper shelter during storms. she’ll disappear for a minute and come back with one of those microwaveable lavender plushies because she’s read somewhere—deep in a reddit thread full of other pregnant women swearing by it—that lavender and chamomile help calm the nervous system. aromatherapy. figured it was worth a shot. ever since that precious discovery, the routine’s been the same. she settles behind you in bed, tucking the warm plush against your chest and wrapping herself around you like a safe blanket. no talking, no trying to cheer you up at all costs, just warm lavender filling your nostrils and quiet reassurance. if you start crying anyway, she rubs slow circles into your arm, “yeah, i know, baby. hormones are evil.”
౨ৎ screams when your water breaks, not a cute gasp, not an excited “oh my god,” but something ugly. high-pitched, even. straight out of a horror movie. she even notices before you do. she’s mid-sentence when her eyes drop to your lap and goes dead silent for half a second before it dawns on her. “uh.” her breath stutters, “uh.” the scream that follows makes you flinch. “IT’S HAPPENING.”
you’re still processing, barely feeling any pain, and she’s already sprinting down the hallway like the house is on fire. drawers are slamming, cabinets are opening, she’s grabbing the hospital bag she packed three weeks ago at 2am, your phone charger, her wallet, your pillow(??) and somehow a random framed photo from the nightstand. as if you’ll need it. as if that’ll make the pain more tolerable.
౨ৎ keeps dropping things because her hands are shaking so bad. the keys hit the floor several times, the suitcase tips over at least twice. she tries to carry all of it at once and looks like a raccoon stumbling out of a 7-eleven, caught stealing whiskey.
you waddle after her, annoyed and contracting at the same time, clutching at your belly. “ellie. calm. down.”
“CALM DOWN?” she shrieks, “WE TRAINED FOR THIS!”
she barrels toward the front door, flings it open with way too much force and makes it halfway down the stairs before you realize something. “ELLIE YOUR FUCKIN’ SHOES. PUT YOUR SHOES ON!”
she freezes mid-step, looks down at her star wars socks, then looks back at you. “FUCK. FUCK. SHOES!” she glitches in place, like a badly programmed 2000s npc lacking any real sense of awareness, turning left, then right. “WHERE ARE MY— I HAD THEM— I—” she runs back inside, collides with the wall, then trips over the edge of the carpet, moving too fast for her own coordination. she yanks her converse on without untying them, nearly falling again as she tries to shove her heel in, hopping around on one foot like a deranged baby chimp.
౨ৎ has absolutely zero skills under pressure. she backs out of the driveway without checking the mirrors, knocking over your lined-up trash cans and the neighbors’. she honks at a random pedestrian who was literally just walking, screaming, “HOLY SHIT— THE BABY— THE BABY—” she nearly runs a red light and kills you both.
౨ৎ tries so hard to be supportive in the delivery room, letting you demolish her hand, stroking your sweaty hair, kissing your feverish forehead… until she makes the mistake of looking directly between your legs mid-push. she goes pale in 000.11 seconds, “oh my god—s’that—s’that supposed to— oh, fuck— OH—” and then she collapses to the floor.
౨ৎ wakes up and tries to pretend she didn’t faint even with a confused medical student fanning her, sitting up like, “i’m fine, i’m fine.” gets up again, pushes the nurse out of the way, “keep going, ‘m so proud of-” looks between your thighs again and… lights out.
౨ৎ fully wakes up at last, when the baby is already out of you, crying on your chest. she’s missed the entire thing and will forever hate herself for it.
౨ৎ follows you around like an anxious golden retriever every time your daughter makes any noise, “babe???? is that normal? do they always breathe like that??”
౨ৎ insists on taking the night shift so you can sleep, rocking the baby in the dim lit living room, “hey, baby girl… mommy’s tired. let her rest, ’kay? i gotchu, i gotchu…” when the baby finally drifts off, she tiptoes back into the bedroom and tucks the blanket around you with the same dedicated care.
౨ৎ always makes sure the bathroom cabinets stay stocked with extra diapers for the baby and extra postpartum pads for you.
౨ৎ becomes so domestic in the most adorable way your heart aches, doing everything she can to make postpartum easier, even if she looks like she’s two seconds away from passing out every day. she washes bottles, folds tiny onesies with crazy precision, brings you snacks and water without being asked, and holds the baby while you shower. sometimes she’s the one passing out on the couch from exhaustion, and you have to tuck her into bed again :( poor baby.
౨ৎ is understanding at first when, after birth, your body and its healing process don’t really leave space for intimacy. she’s supportive, loving, so patient it almost hurts, “you’ve been through so much, babe. just rest. i got you.” she gives you extra love and attention, takes care of you, makes you food when you forget to eat, rubs your legs when they ache from walking back and forth to the bassinet, and your tummy when you get cramps. because she loves you.
౨ৎ starts to get grumpy once you’re cleared to have sex and actually try to initiate it, only to get cockblocked by your own daughter. like, extremely bitchy. she folds laundry with too much force, cabinet doors no longer experience gentle closing. you swear you even hear her mutter “fuckin’ blue-balled in my own house” under her breath while warming a bottle.
౨ৎ the first time you ride her again after birth, she’s laid out flat on the bed, arms limp at her sides, eyes a little dazed like she still thinks she’s dreaming. it happens after the baby has finally fallen asleep in her crib (handmade by joel), you close the bedroom door like you’re planning a louvre heist.
“you’ve got fifteen minutes before she wakes up again,” you’d said and ellie makes it her side quest.
no strap this time, claiming she needs to feel the warmth she’s been missing for so long. she’s too overwhelmed just watching you hover over her, your tits bigger, fuller, your hips rolling slowly against hers, your stomach soft with loose skin and marked with lines she loves so much it makes her dizzy.
she just lies there with her mouth slack while you ride her slick cunt, so slippery you nearly struggle to anchor yourself against her. the wet sounds are louder than they should be in a quiet house. at one point, you lean over her, moaning into her mouth as your tits bounce and one leaks directly onto her throat. an accident that makes her whole body jerk like she’s been tased, clawing at your hips. she doesn’t think, doesn’t speak, just breathes heavily, letting out a strangled, wet “uhnngh—” that sounds like her soul leaving her body and something else taking over—a succubus, perhaps.
she’s already close when you grope your own chest, milk spilling over your fingers as it drips slowly down your wrist. that’s what truly breaks her. she whimpers like a kicked dog, rocking up into you, desperate, mindless rolls of jerky hips while she pants through a red face and damp mouth, “fuck—baby, you’re dripping. m’gonna cum—don’t stop—keep making a mess, fuckfuckfuck—”
౨ৎ googles “is it safe to breastfeed your wife” after accidentally licking your nipple clean earlier with the brightness all the way down. blueprint forever ruined.
౨ৎ genuinely starts tweaking when your tits leak through shirts and tank tops. even buries her face between them, motorboating you, greedy hands everywhere, mouth trailing down between your thighs, not giving two shits if you’re moaning into the baby monitor or how many times you try to push her head away. “she won’t remember this. shut up and take it.”
౨ৎ conveniently starts wearing a strap under her clothes like it’s a uniform. when the baby is finally out cold, she sneaks up behind you and starts palming you real slow, intentions clear in the greediness of her palms. “could just slide it in real quick. five minutes, tops—two if you’re loud.” if you try to protest, she has her answer ready. “hey, m’not tryna force it, baby, just sayin’. you’re dripping. math is mathing again.”
౨ৎ sends you texts from across the room while your family is over to see the baby.
“your tits look heavy. come sit on my face after they leave.”
“leak on me and i’ll build you another kid.”
when you look at her, she’s pretending to listen to whatever your aunt is saying about swaddling techniques, nodding and smiling all politely, while your phone lights up again in your lap like she’s not two feet away, acting completely normal.
౨ৎ gets ridiculously turned on when you whine “my tits hurt,” pacing around the house in one of her tanks while it slowly soaks through at the nipple. eyeing you from the couch, manspreading, she offers to help relieve the pressure with her mouth like it’s a public service, hoping the throbbing in her sweats will disappear if she lets her intrusive thoughts win. “that sucks, babe… do you want… me to, uhh… do something about it…?”
౨ৎ starts pulling little tricks. it always begins with an innocent shoulder massage, hands working the knots out of your tense muscles before her fingers disappear under the hem of your shirt when you’re most distracted. “i just wanna feel you,” she’ll claim before pulling your nursing bra down in one quick tug, pretending to be shocked when you leak. “oh nooo. oops.” the proud little smirk that follows genuinely makes you want to split her skull in half.
౨ৎ you find a folder on her phone named “ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏᴍɪʟᴋᴇʀs” and it’s just videos of you leaking through your shirts or nipple play.
her search history is worse, though.
⌕ “lactation kink + pornhub”
⌕ “is it normal to nut from taste of breastmilk reddit”
⌕ “wifey boob.fullplease help”
⌕ “www.betterhelp.com”
the kinkshaming goes crazy. “the fuck are you on. it’s not a kink, it’s just objectively hot. and you leaked on me last night, so that’s on you.” she’s just devoted like that. how dare you kinkshame your wife for worshipping you.
౨ৎ drags you into the backseat after grocery shopping and fucks you there with the diaper bag half-open beside you, its contents spilling out haphazardly. in broad daylight, in a walmart parking lot. the two car window sunshades barely hiding your naked lower half, your pants bunched around your ankles, shoes still firmly in place like shackles. her fingers plunging deep into your dripping pussy, her mouth stealing every moan from you. all because she couldn’t wait until nightfall, when the baby would finally surrender to a sweet slumber.
౨ৎ can’t sleep unless her hand is under your shirt and cupping one leaking tit. tries to be chill about it but whimpers a little every time you shift away ;((
౨ৎ goes through real grief when you stop lactating, wandering around the house sighing like a tormented spirit that never found the light, “miss ’em heavy.” she’s mourning</3
౨ৎ talks to your daughter like she’s an adult who just happens to be gnome-sized.
౨ৎ lets her “help” with everything, even if it makes the task ten times longer. even if it includes your kid handing her socks one by one while she’s folding laundry. even if your baby is just standing on a chair stirring absolutely nothing in her bowl. ellie never rushes her nor complains ‘cause—“we’re doing it together, that’s the whole point.”
౨ৎ never misses bedtime routine. she reads the same damn book every single night because your daughter insists and ellie reads the same lines she read the night before with the same excitement in her tone, switching between all the voices anyway, even when she’s exhausted. and if you dare suggest skipping a page or skipping reading before bed, ellie gives you a look, as if you’d just suggested abandoning your child in the woods with no water, no food, no caretakers. she’s a dedicated mom and you couldn’t be more proud.
౨ৎ lets your kid sit on the counter while she cooks. “this is garlic… it smells insane—don’t touch it,” she warns gently as the toddler’s finger wanders toward it, eager to poke it. when she touches it, ellie simply sighs but doesn’t get mad. “okay. now you know.”
౨ৎ tries to get the kid to say “mah-mah” again, but the first word that comes out of her mouth is a very firm “noh.” ellie bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh in the baby’s face. “strong boundaries. we love to see it.” later on, she tries again, crouching in front of the little gremlin and tapping her own chest. “say… love you. loh-ve you,” the kid squints, thinking very hard, then proudly produces a clumsy “wah-yoo.” ellie grins like she just won the lottery, her heart practically bursting. “yeah. wah-yoo too, kiddo.”
౨ৎ becomes the kid’s personal elevator. every five minutes, the toddler waddles up to her on unsure feet, arms stretched straight up, bouncing like a little spring because she barely knows how to walk yet. “UHP! EH-YEE!” (a gibberish version of her name) ellie sighs like she’s completely exhausted with the life she chose, but bends down to scoop her up anyway. “yeah yeah, uhp. i gotchu, bug.”
౨ৎ accidentally teaches her sarcasm before manners. you’ll hear your toddler drop her toy and dramatically exclaim, “oh great!” ellie grins proudly at you from across the kitchen. “what? she used it correctly.” she’s ellie’s daughter.
౨ৎ is weirdly gentle about scraped knees. you’ve never seen her panic over your daughter tripping or getting small cuts. instead, she’ll crouch down, inspect it like a professional and blow on it after disinfecting it. “okay. that sucks, i know, bug.” she applies my little pony band-aids and kisses all her boo-boos. done. that’s it. the kid immediately stops crying.
౨ৎ saves every drawing your daughter makes. every scribble, every half-ripped, crumpled piece of misunderstood art. you always find them tucked into her sketchbook, her wallet, or even her jacket pockets—the latter usually discovered after you’ve shoved the jacket into the washing machine and the drawing comes out soggy and ruined. when you ask why she feels the urge to collect them all like pokémon cards, she’ll say: “they’re important.”
౨ৎ teaches her music early. hands her headphones that are way too big for her head and lets her pluck the strings on her guitar. she nods proudly and pretends it sounds good. “you’ve got rhythm, peanut.”
౨ৎ never says “because i said so.” ever. because she doesn’t want to be like her dad. she’d rather overexplain everything, even when she’s tired as hell.
౨ৎ packs her lunch every damn morning before kindergarten. sandwiches with little faces, tiny cupcakes ellie bakes just for her, star-shaped pieces of fruit she meticulously cuts with tiny cookie cutters.
౨ৎ gives her adult reassurance in tiny doses. “hey peanut, it’s okay to be bad at things. that’s how you get good.” it makes you wanna rip your hair out. in a good way.
౨ৎ lets your kid tattoo her or color over her already existing tattoos with washable markers, then forgets to wash them off before going out.
౨ৎ teaches her that asking for help is normal by doing it herself. now, she’s the first to hate relying on other people, but she wants to set an example. “hey babybug, help me open this?” your daughter beams, a gummy smile with barely a few teeth on display and uses all her strength. ellie thanks her like she just saved her life, boosting her tiny confidence straight through the roof.
౨ৎ has a secret handshake with her that changes weekly (mostly because your daughter keeps forgetting it) and no one else is allowed to learn it.
౨ৎ goes insanely overboard for the kid’s third christmas. sometime after midnight, you wake up to noises in the living room, only to find ellie crouched on the floor with a bag of flour, making tiny snowy footprints across the floor from the window to the tree, like santa broke in like a cheap burglar and walked around the house. she even takes one of your boots and lightly stamps it in the flour to make it look ““realistic.”” when your toddler wakes up in the morning and waddles into the living room, she freezes in awe and points at the floor excitedly, “sah-nah! sah-nah he come! mama, look!” big, dreamy green eyes look up at you, tugging at your pajama pants, “he WALK!” and ellie’s standing behind you trying so hard not to laugh, shoulders shaking, covering her mouth as she nudges you gently in the ribs, “holy shit. it actually worked.”
౨ৎ gets two bouquets on valentine’s day, one for each of her fav girls. your toddler’s is mainly a tiny bundle of plush flowers tied with a pink ribbon, a little rainbow dash tucked in the middle because ellie knows it’s her favorite pony. yours, meanwhile, is an absurdly massive bouquet that barely fits through the door or into a vase. roses, peonies, every fucking flower she was able to find in the store. when you raise a brow at her, she goes, “she’s my valentine,” she nods toward the gnome-sized, freckled mess of a kid proudly clutching rainbow dash and zooming around the living room. “but you’re my wife. there are levels.”
౨ৎ keeps snacks in every pocket of every hoodie for every eventuality. when your toddler asks for one, ellie pretends to be surprised every time she happens to find snickers tucked in her pockets. “woah! how did that get there?” your kid genuinely thinks ellie is a magician.
౨ৎ thanks your daughter for the smallest things, it’s either “thank you for trying,” or “thank you for telling me.”
౨ৎ on nights your toddler falls asleep between you, ellie brushes your hair out of your face and mumbles “you’re such a good mom,” eyes full of pride, gratitude making her heart throb.
౨ৎ becomes that parent with the camera roll. your phone has maybe ten photos of the baby. ellie’s has thousands. blurry ones, mid-yawn ones, ones where the kid’s just staring at nothing like a confused potato with not a single thought behind her irises. at some point, it genuinely starts to feel like she’s documenting a rare species.
౨ৎ sets one of her favorite girls as her lockscreen: your kid asleep on your chest, drooling on your shoulder and her tiny hand clutching your shirt.
౨ৎ loves motherhood far more than she ever expected, but more than anything, she loves seeing you round, glowing, growing an entire human inside you. she loves the ugly parts of it, too—the stress, the anxiety, the sleepless nights, the excitement that sits in her chest like it might burst into tiny sparks, but would you want to go through it again the way she would?
you’ve been out with friends all day when she finally finds the courage to bring it up. funny enough, they’d just had a baby. a newborn. ellie had held him for a while, rocking him gently while he fussed, nose pressed to the crown of his head, which smelled faintly like cinnamon. it made her chest ache with nostalgia, holding something that tiny again, she realized she missed it.
it comes up later at home, while you’re both getting ready for bed. “what if she had a sibling,” ellie mumbles suddenly, after spitting toothpaste into the sink, looking at you through the mirror while you brush your teeth, shoulders bumping together. “like, one that’s just as annoying. that’d be kinda cute, right?”
“you mean another baby?” you question, already clocking the look on her face, watching her slide the hair tie off her wrist and gather her hair into a messy, low bun.
she hums casually, “one more can’t hurt.” for a second, you think she’s talking about gummy bears.
“i dunno. we already have our hands full, el.” you sigh. “babies take a lot of time—we barely survived the first one.”
she shrugs, already committed to the idea, determined to put the idea into your head. “you’ve already been pregnant once... what’s one more?”
you don’t answer. you just leave the bathroom and crawl under the comfort of your blankets, hoping silence will kill the conversation, but nothing ever dies with her. she’s sliding into bed a second later, scooting closer like a clingy koala. “we already have one kid,” she continues, “might as well go for the dlc.”
“dlc is crazy,” you smile despite yourself, “go to sleep.”
“huh. g’night, ma.” she presses a kiss to your shoulder when you turn into her arms, facing the wall. “...sleep on it, though.”
Synopsis: Your dad’s best freind is staying with you during your college summer break, things get weird.
WARNINGS: General smut, PRE- backrooms, Reader is generally fem - presenting with female genitalia and boobs. Maybe slight ooc for clark?? not really but he’s more loving then he usually is. There’s also probably some spelling errors or inconsistency’s in the writing, i’m not perfect guys sorry ):
TAGS: Masterbaition, Penis in Vagina sex, fingering (to some extent) Oral M!receiving, Making out, Kissing, Hand over mouth. . doing ts RAW (wrap it before you ride it guys!) Clark is a boob guy. Reader is insecure a little bit. Whiny clark. Dom!Clark Sub!Reader. No use of Y/N. Use of petnames, Guilt via clark. Being degraded (very slightly) and angry clark or frustrated clark. Smoking, Smoking weed, smoke blowing in faces. (can you guys tell i’m running out of weed 😭 #needthat) Also clark coo’s you and comforts you after climax, but that changes pretty quickly.
Authors note: Hey guys!! So i’m actively in a camp rn i snuck my phone in to write this . If i don’t respond it’s nothing personal my phone probably got taken away. . Love you guys!💗
The welcoming party had been loud and entirely too small for the amount of family friends your parents had crammed into the living room.
You spent the first hour answering questions about college. It wasn't until the crowd thinned out near midnight that you saw him.
Clark was leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer, looking out of place among the decorations your mother had hung up.
He looked rough. There was a heavy exhaustion in his shoulders, like someone just trying to survive.
When your eyes locked onto his, he froze. He just stared at you, his grip tightening around his glass. He was looking at your face and your clothes, completely disconnected from the teenager he had left behind a few years ago.
"Clark,"
you smiled, stepping across the linoleum.
"Hey,"
he said, his voice lower than it used to be.
You didn't hesitate, stepping into his space and wrapping your arms around his neck for a hug. It was meant to be a warm greeting for an old family friend. But the moment your body pressed against his, you felt him go rigid. He didn't hug you back immediately. When he finally did, his large hand rested flat against your lower back for a single second before he pulled away fast.
"Look at you . . !”
he murmured, his eyes doing a slow sweep of your face.
"You're. . . you've grown up."
"That happens when you go to college,"
you joked lightly.
"How have you been? My mom said you're staying in the basement for a bit. .”
"Yeah. Just sorting some things out,"
he said, playing off his situation with a casual shrug. He shifted his weight, his eyes darting toward the living room where your dad was laughing. Clark leaned in a fraction closer, his voice dropping.
"So. . you got a boyfriend out there? Some college kid keeping you busy?"
You looked up at him through your eyelashes, amused.
"No. No boyfriend."
A dark flicker crossed Clark's face, a spark of something dangerous that he immediately tried to bury behind a polite smile.
"Good,"
he said quietly.
"Keep it that way. . Much to pretty for those boys anyway. Focus on your schoolwork."
Three nights later, the house was dead silent.
It was 2:00 AM. The air in your bedroom was stifling, and the restlessness of summer had kept you awake for hours. You had finally given up on sleep, the heat in your body clawing to the surface.
You moved your hands up and down your clothed cunt, trying to catch your breath. . it felt hot.
Your fingers slipped under your waistband, and quiet gasp escaping your lips.
You pressed your face into the pillow as you moaned. Fingering yourself aimlessly and grinding your clit against the palm of your hand, your hips rolling off the mattress.
You let out a trembling moan when, you felt your knees give out. Letting out a breathless “Fuck. .” in the dark. Your body felt tense. Then it all stopped. All you heard was ringing against your ears. You were completely spent.
—-
Downstairs, the heat had woken Clark up. His throat was dry from the stuffy basement air, forcing him to get up to grab a cup of water from the kitchen.
He padded quietly up the basement stairs, wearing a worn out t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. He filled his glass, but as he turned to head back down, a faint sound from the hallway upstairs caught his ear.
Clark froze in the kitchen, the glass heavy in his hand. He listened, his heart dropping straight into his stomach as he recognized the muffled gasps coming from your bedroom door.
“Fuck- Agh. .”
He hears your voice whimper out, You’re loud.
He stepped up the stairs, his gaze now entirely focused on your bedroom door. He heard more moans. He could swear he was hard just by the fuckin’ noise.
Upstairs, you grabbed a joint and your lighter from your nightstand, desperate for a distraction to cool your racing pulse. You slipped out of your room, your bare feet making no sound on the hardwood hallway.
You were halfway to the bathroom when you saw a shadow standing at the top of the stairs.
Clark was standing right there, his t-shirt clinging to his shoulders. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning. .
He just awkwardly stood there staring at you, completely paralyzed. His eyes dropped down, tracking the state you were in. You were wearing nothing but a pair of tiny sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that slipped off one of your shoulders. Your hair was its own messy halo from the friction of your pillows. Your skin was warm, damp with a light sheen of sweat from your release, and your chest was still heaving.
For a long moment, you stood there too, the cold air of the hallway hitting your bare legs. You began trembling, your knees shaking from a mix of the leftover physical high and the terror of being caught. . He felt his face run hot.
The silence stretched so long that it became suffocating. The intense weight of his stare made your stomach twist, the scrutiny making you so uncomfortable that you couldn't even find your normal voice.
"Your parents will smell that,"
Clark finally whispered, his voice rough, cutting through the silence of the hallway.
You swallowed hard, your throat tight as you forced the words out in a breathless whisper.
"Are you going to tell my dad?"
Clark looked at you. Really looked at you. He saw the heat on your neck from your bedroom, the dishevelment of your oversized shirt, and the adult defiance in your eyes. A wave of profound self-loathing hit him in the gut because he wasn't looking at you like a family friend anymore. He was looking at you like a man possessed. He hated himself for it.
"No,"
Clark spoke softly, stepping forward until he was entirely in your space, his large frame blocking out the rest of the hallway.
"But you're doing it wrong. Come ‘ere."
He turned and led the way down the creaking basement stairs into the dark. The air instantly shifted, turning cold, smelling of damp concrete and the dust of his temporary sanctuary. His makeshift bed. . (just a mattress on the floor with tangled sheets) sat in the corner under a small window near the ceiling.
You followed him down, suddenly feeling very small. You walked over to the window, raising your hand to try and unlatch it, but your fingers fell inches short. The stone wall was too high.
"Window's too high for you to stand and hold that,"
Clark said from behind you. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated right through the quiet room.
"Sit on the bed. Your parents won't come down here."
You turned, your knees trembling from the sheer adrenaline from earlier. You walked over to the mattress and sat down on the edge, letting out a sharp huff of relief as your muscles finally relaxed against the low bed.
Clark didn't stay standing. He stepped over, his massive shadow enveloping you, and sat down right behind you. He didn't give you space to think. He spread his legs, offering the space between his thighs, and reached out with his large hands. Wrapping them firmly around your waist, he pulled you back until your spine was pressed right against his chest.
you adjusted your weight and leaned back into his heavy frame, entirely comfortable with the proximity.
Clark's breath hitched. He felt his mind instantly spiraling into a bitter jealousy. You've done this before, he concluded, his grip tightening on your hips. Who taught you to be this comfortable? Whose lap have you sat in at school? The thought of another man touching you made him want to rip the room apart, but the sheer thrill of having your acceptance right now was a drug he couldn't refuse.
He leaned his head down, his breath hot right against the shell of your ear.
"Look at you,"
he murmured..
"Legs shaking like a little deer."
You took a slow breath, holding the unlit joint up between you. You tilted your head back slightly against his shoulder, looking up at him.
"Will you tell my dad? Seriously, Clark."
Clark looked down into your eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily against your back. He was a bad man. He felt horrid . . a girl whose parents trusted him explicitly under their own roof. .He felt utterly disgusted with himself, sickened by his own lack of control, but he was entirely adoring the (now) woman in his arms.
"No, no. . . never, baby,"
he whispered, the word hanging heavy in the damp air.
You didn't look away. Instead, you let out a tiny, knowing hum, your lips curving into a subtle smile. .
"Yeah. . . you have too."
Clark went completely rigid. His hands slid down your hips, mapping out the full, mature curve of your adult body, his fingers sinking into your skin with a rough desperation. He leaned in until his lips were brushing the sensitive skin of your lobe, a dangerous chuckle catching in his throat.
"Wow,"
he growled, his voice trembling with a mix of intense lust and paranoia as his eyes darted toward the dark stairs.
"Who the hell taught you how to talk to a man like that?"
"I think the college boys just aren't as easily intimidated as you are,"
you whispered, trying to sound brave, though the slight tremor in your voice completely gave away how flustered you actually were.
You quickly dropped your head, hiding your face as your head came to rest back against his broad shoulder, completely unable to hold his intense gaze in the dark.
He hitched his thighs upward, lifting your weight effortlessly so you slid further back into his clothed cock.
He reached around you, his fingers brushing yours as he smoothly took the lighter from your hand.
The click of the spark was loud in the quiet basement as he lit the end of the joint, taking a slow, deep drag himself before holding it back up to your lips.
"Is that right?"
he murmured, his voice laced with a bitter, passive-aggressive edge as he blew a cloud of smoke toward the high window.
He tilted his head down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"Well, if those college boys are so brave, maybe you should have stayed on campus instead of being in my bed.”
Before you could even think of a comeback, his hand moved up from your waist.
His large, warm palm cupped around the back of your neck, his fingers anchoring firmly into your hair.
He didn't squeeze to hurt, but the grip was dominant and unyielding, tilting your head back against his chest so you had no choice but to look up at him in the dim light.
He wrapped his other massive arm entirely around your middle, locking you against him so tightly that you could feel the rapid, heavy thudding of his own heart right against your spine.
You didn't stay pressed against his chest, though.
Instead, you shifted your weight and carefully spun around in his lap to face him, straddling his thighs in the dim basement light.
Clark's hand left your neck as you turned, but his gaze never left your face, his dark eyes tracking your every movement with an intense, unblinking focus.
He lifted the joint to his lips, taking a slow, heavy hit that made the tip glow a bright, angry orange in the shadows.
You didn't pull away when he leaned his face in close, his nose almost brushing yours as he deliberately exhaled, blowing the thick cloud of smoke right into your face.
Instead of coughing or turning your head, you parted your lips and deliberately inhaled the smoke straight from his mouth, swallowing the heat of it down into your lungs.
Clark went completely rigid beneath you.
He was incredibly flustered.
His chest rose and fell in a sharp, ragged breath, his fingers twitching against your waist as his eyes widened slightly, completely transfixed by the sight of you unbothered in his lap.
"You. . .”
he started, his voice instantly trailing off into a gravelly whisper as he stared at your lips. He swallowed hard, trying to look angry, but his breathing was way too ragged.
"You think you're so smart, don't you?"
“I like to think I am.”

“Yeah . . ‘course you are.”
Clark's large hands clamped down onto your waist, his fingers digging hard into your hips as he suddenly surged upward from the mattress. He used his entire weight to shift you, effortlessly lifting your body and pinning you flat onto your back against the tangled sheets.
He hovered completely over you, his massive frame blocking out what little light was left in the basement, his chest heaving heavily against yours.
He grabbed the joint from your fingers, tossing it blindly onto the floorboards, his focus entirely consumed by the sight of you trapped beneath him.
He leaned his face down until his lips were brushing right against yours, his whole body trembling with a mix of intense lust and pure paranoia as his eyes darted toward the dark basement stairs one last time.
“Fuckin’ hell,"
he spoke softly, his voice shaking with a rough desperation right against your mouth. .
"If your dad walks down those stairs right now. . . I swear to God. .”
He didn't finish the threat. His large hand slid from your hip straight up to the side of your neck, his thumb anchoring under your jaw to tilt your head back as his mouth slammed into yours, completely smothering your breath in a desperate kiss.
You can feel his body heat as he starts to undress himself slowly revealing his chest . . He wasn’t chubby; but he wasn’t fit either. Either way, you didn’t mind the look of his chest. . He slowly knees down, and spreads your legs apart gently. Despite his size he seems gentle and careful with you.
He traces your inner thighs lightly feeling your soft skin. His hands inches closer to your core in a teasing manner. He gently squeezes your thigh. . Your breathing got heavy.
Down and further down until they were prying your thighs apart, pulling frantically at the thin fabric of your underwear on the sides of your hips.
“God. . .”
For a moment he just seemed to stare, you felt a little insecure yourself if you were being honest.
You began to cover yourself a bit, with your arms and folding your legs together.
“No- No. . No. Stop it. . C’mere baby I wanna see.”
You folded instantly, slipping your fingers away from your lower body. You could see him biting his lip underneath the low lighting of the basement. That made you want to giggle and kick your feet if you were being honest.
The fabric fell to your ankles, his hand slipping right in between your thighs. As soon as his fingers made contact with your sopping heat, you moaned louder than you should have. The sound bouncing off the walls of the basement.
His body stilled. Then, he's stopping you with his hands, pulling back as if your touch had burned him.
He was trembling from head to toe, his eyes frantically darting toward the dark basement stairs, listening with a pathetic, breathless desperation for the sound of the floorboards creaking upstairs.
"Are you stupid? Are you completely out of your fuckin’ mind?"
He whispered, his voice shaking.
His hand went up to cover your mouth, silencing whatever came out of you.
“Shh. . .”
He hissed out. . His gaze moving down to his own trousers, he looked towards the stairs again before beginning to prod at the waistband of his pants. He quickly moved himself up, pulling you upward with him so you were now face to face with his crotch, mumbling something bout’,
“I know what’ll shut you up- I know . . since you’re so fuckin’ needy.”
his dick is heavy in his hand, flushed and leaking, the head slick as he runs it slowly through your lips. Your lips are soft, He’s hard.
He slips his cock inside of your mouth, for a moment, you gasp and seem shaken. . But you don’t seem to mind. For a moment you gag.
Tears were filling your eyes, the gagging was too much for you. As he started moving the tears got worse. Clark did feel bad to some extent. But you knew exactly what you were getting into with that fuckin’ moan. So if you wanted to lose your voice quicker then this would do the trick. . Drool covered your lips, any makeup you had on now smudged.
"Don't start that crying shit now. Y'know the damn rules. You want to act like you're stupid? Then I'm gonna make sure you remember your god damn manners."
Every time you tried to pull back you were just pushed back down. His dick bobbed along your tongue, heavy and thick.
The furiousness of his thrust matched just how pissed off you made him with your little act. Your knees began to ache, thighs burning from being forced to sit up. With each act of trying to hold his thighs you were only met with a slap to the cheek.
"Breathe through your nose, because I'm not letting up."
At this point you seemed to accept your fate, you just opened your jaw and moved your head to each thrust. The gagging wasn’t as bad now. . It didn’t hurt as much.
Clark was taken aback by your submission, to say the least.
"look at that... look at — . . Ah-Haha. . . you're swallowing me whole,"
He seems to chuckle, His hips moving back and forth.
“Wh-Who taught you how to . . how to fuck like this?”
you gag when he pushes in too deep, throat fluttering around him, and the noise that rips from him is downright filthy. He finally starts fucking your throat in the messy, desperate rhythm he's been holding back.
wet shlick sounds fill the room, spit spraying, your lips stretched tight around the base of him. he's shaking, using your mouth to work out every scrap of frustration he had while doing this.
"gon— Fuck . . -gonna cum. .” he warns, but he doesn't slow down.
he slams his hips forward, buries himself completely in your throat, and comes with a broken moan that vibrates down your spine.
you feel every pulse of it, every hot rope flooding deep, your throat swallowing around him automatically while he holds you still and whimpers through the overload. . He covers his own mouth to keep himself from moaning too loud.
when he pulls out, there's spit on you, on him, on the sheets . . fuck. Everywhere. and you're gasping for air, throat raw, lips glossy and swollen.
clark looks down at you like he's never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.
"You made mess . .”
“You did too.”
You wiped your mouth softly, coughing a little and swallowing down whatever remaining cum remained on your mouth.
Clark seemed to stare at you for a moment, his eyes glancing down to your boobs hidden underneath the baggy shirt, he looked at your face . . then down again. He swallowed sharply.
“Off.”
“What?”
“Take your shirt off . . . Please.”
His eyes almost looked sad, like almost a look of want. At his pleading you felt like you didn’t have much of a choice but to go ahead and do it. . not like you didn’t want to anyway.
You pull of your remaining clothes, unclasping your bra and letting your breasts fall down from the confines of them.
Clark just seemed to stare.
He'd been married before; it wasn't that he'd never seen a woman's body before, but seeing you completely unraveled every single bit of his logic. . .
He let out a low, ragged huff, his broad shoulders hunched as he awkwardly shifted his weight, his fingers clenching into the fabric of his shorts to stop them from visibly shaking.
"God-damn it,"
he muttered, his voice dropping into a rough, frantic whisper that was mostly just to cover up his own intense embarrassment.
He clumsily reached out, his large, calloused hand wrapping firmly around your knee to guide you toward the center of the rumpled mattress, his jaw clenching hard as he looked up at your embarrassed face.
For a moment he surrounded you just simply staring. You whined at that, you were horny. Why can’t he take the fuckin’ hint!?
“Please . . Pleeeaaassseeee . .”
When you whine he raises a brow. He sighs when he pulls his dick out again and lays it flatly against your lower abdomen. You almost cry out in pleasure just from feeling him. You try to grind on him desperately but he shush’s you.
" Ah- Ah. No . . not so fast. gonna ease it in, baby... s'gonna feel big. you tell me if it's too much, alright?"
but you're already nodding, the first inch pushes past your entrance and your body clenches around him immediately, His dick barely even moving before your body is already pulling him in further. He swallows, his breath hitching as he grabs rather side of your torso. Before planting his hands against your tits.
"oh-oh, shit-. . .”
his dick is fat. It wasn’t an understatement, i mean obviously it wasn’t huge; around 7 inches at most. But it was fat; and it forces your walls to stretch around him, snug and slippery and tight, and he's biting his lip hard to keep himself from fucking you deeper too fast. the air's full of heat and moans, your gasps high and breathy while his are low, cracked, almost desperate. . . His fingers fondle with your tits, he watches his fingers move against them, grazing over your nipples and squeezing them from time to time.
he's panting into your neck, trembling from restraint as he forces himself in more. your pussy gives a sticky noise each time his hips nudge forward, and you can feel the drag of every vein along your walls . . it’s a strange feeling, nothing like you have ever felt before . . but fuck. It felt good.
You moan out under your breath, trying to stay quiet as he pushes himself in deeper. You roll your eyes back and close them. They flutter open from time to time to look at his face. He stares at you when you curse, as if he’s reprimanding you. You didn’t mind the gaze on you at all.
by the time he's halfway in, your nails are digging into his back and your thighs are starting to shake. there's a thick pressure deep in your belly, like your body's being filled too full, and when you glance down, you can see the faint outline of him under your skin, stretching you out from the inside.
"Hold still- Fuck. Godamnit! — A-Agh. . "
He groans quietly, trying to stay silent while he’s actively fucking you.
your cunt pulses around him when he bottoms out, a dripping mess down onto the curly haired base of his cock.
his hand finds your lower belly, His palm spreading over that swollen spot where his dick bulges inside you.
"look at that," he murmurs . . He seems to chuckle at his own size for a moment and how your reacting to it.
he doesn't even need to move. just the feeling of being buried inside you for the first time, the sight of your pussy stretched wide around him, your gasping mouth, your fluttering lashes, your slick dripping onto his thighs-it's all too much.
he grinds in once just to feel the way you tremble and you both moan at the same time, breath tangled, filthy and flushed and soaking the bed. .
Then he moves, slow and teasing, testing. Hips pistoning forward with a gradual rhythm, and he goes all the way in each time, every push of his cock into your cervix feels like a maddening attempt at trying to rearrange your guts.
You're halfway into forming a coherent thought when he dips down to your breasts, mouthing sloppily at the nipples like he's not even trying, like he isn't fucking you dumb right now, like it's all so effortless for him.
He continues to move his hips mercilessly against your own spasming cunt.
. . . You lightly covered your mouth with your shaking hand and moaned into it as quietly as you could (which wasn’t very quiet at all, if you were being honest with yourself) You came all over his bedsheets . . The cum spilling pathetically against his cock, and his own cum spewing against your lower abdomen as he pulled out. (which made you feel lucky that your laundry machines were down in the basement in the first place.)
—
Clark is old enough to be your father and you both know it.
You see the silver in his stubble when he leans over your body, the way his knuckles are busted and healed a hundred times over. yeah. . . he's got a weird job and a warehouse that’s older than you are . . . and a driver's license that expired the year you graduated high school . . but, whatever.
—
The second the rush faded, Clark practically collapsed off your body.
He sat up on the edge of the mattress, his back turned to you, his broad shoulders hunched as he buried his face in his large hands.
His chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged breaths against the quiet of the basement. The reality of what he had just done under your dad's roof hit him like a blow, and the silence was instantly filled with the low sound of his own self hatred— no. Not hatred. He didn’t hate himself, no, he was whining.
"Disgusting. . . you're a disgusting piece of work, Clark,"
he muttered to himself, his voice a bitter whisper in the dark. He rubbed his hands roughly over his face, his teeth grinding together as he stared at the concrete floor.
"What the hell am I doing. . . in his house. . . with his kid? . . why does this garbage always happen to me? God, I'm sick— fuckin’ sick. “
He kept murmuring, the words tumbling out in a whiny stream of pure self disgust as he tried to deflect the blame in his own head, sounding exactly like a man who felt the entire world was constantly against him.
But then, he stopped.
Slowly, Clark turned his head and looked back over his shoulder at you.
You were laying there in the tangled sheets, your chest heaving slightly, looking completely unbothered in the dim light of his room.
The moment his eyes locked onto yours, his whole demeanor cracked. All that bitter complaining just evaporated into the damp air, leaving him looking entirely defenseless.
He shifted back onto the mattress, crawling right back into your space as if he couldn't help himself.
He hovered over you again, his large, calloused hand surprisingly gentle as his fingers tangled firmly into your hair, his thumb stroking your scalp in a soft, rhythmic motion.
He dropped his head, burying his face right in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply as he crushed your body back against his chest.
"You're going to be the absolute ruin of me, baby. Just completely ruin me."
Your shaky legs barely held your weight as you tried to stand up in the dark, your hands fumbling slightly as you pulled the oversized shirt back down over your sleep shorts.
The toll of the encounter finally caught up to you all at once. Your knees completely buckled, and instead of walking away, you collapsed right back into his arms, your forehead dropping heavily against his shoulder.
He let out a low, heavy grunt as your weight hit him, his arms automatically locking around your middle to anchor you before your knees could give out completely. .
He held you tightly against his chest, lightly rocking you just a fraction in the dark basement, the motion purely instinctive. .
He leaned his head down, resting his chin heavily against the top of your tangled hair. He let out a low sigh, a murmur that sounded exactly like the tone he used to use on you years ago when you were small.
"Look at you,"
he muttered, his voice dropping into a gravelly whisper right against your skin as his hand rubbed a slow circle into your back.
"You always were too soft for your own good. Just a fragile little thing running around. . .never could handle too much, could you?”
He wasn't trying to be mean. Atleast you don’t think he was.
Hearing him drop that nickname right alongside those low, heavy murmurs completely broke your control.
The sheer overload of the night finally crashed down on you, and a few quiet, hot tears spilled over your eyelashes, wetting the shoulder of his t-shirt.
The exact second Clark felt the dampness on his shirt, his entire body went completely rigid.
The panic hit him instantly, his hands freezing against your back as his eyes widened in the dark.
"Hey.— no, no. . . what did I. . . what did I do?"
he started, his voice instantly fragmenting into a panicked, frantic stutter as he desperately pulled you closer against his chest, his grip turning tight and terrified.
He wasn’t scared because of the thing he just did, he was scared because of the mere threat of him getting caught.
"I-I shouldn't have. .. . god, your dad. . . if you go up there— . . .if you tell him. . . please, please don't . . . it's my fault. . . I'm a sick bastard. . . I-I ruined everything . .”
He couldn't even finish a complete sentence, his voice cracking into a whiny mumbles as he crushed you to his body, completely terrified that you were going to run up the stairs and expose his mistake. He looked entirely pathetic, weeping out incoherent, desperate apologies into your hair while holding you like a shield.
But as he continued to fall apart and demean himself, you didn't pull away.
To shut him up, you leaned forward and slammed your lips right against his, catching his rant in your mouth.
Clark froze.
He went entirely, completely paralyzed beneath you, every single muscle in his massive frame locking up as his eyes stayed wide in the pitch black.
The sudden kiss completely broke his panic, instantly stopping the whiny stuttering in his throat as the realization of your mouth on his sank in. .
Slowly, the rigid terror melted out of him. His hands relaxed against your back, his eyes finally fluttering shut as his posture softened completely under your touch, surrendering to the kiss before he could find the strength to push you away.
When you twoo finally parted, he let out a low, defeated huff against your lips, the whiny panic fading into a heavy, exhausted silence. He didn't stay that soft for long; his defensive walls immediately started crawling right back up as he grabbed your shirt from the floorboards.
he muttered, his voice dropping into a rough, passive-aggressive grumble as he shook out the fabric. He shoved the hem over your head with an impatient jerk of his hands, forcing your arms through the sleeves for you.
"Can't even put your own clothes on. You come down here acting like a big adult, and look at you. Completely useless the second a man actually handles you."
He roughly adjusted the collar of the shirt as he shoved it back on himself, his hands smoothing down the cotton before his fingers trailed slowly down the center of your chest, his jaw clenching as a cocky smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Though, I suppose I did a pretty thorough job, didn't I, sweetheart? Had you soaking through my sheets in no time."
The blunt comment made your stomach instantly flip, a wave of heat hitting your face. You frowned, pulling your shoulders back as you gave him a sharp look.
"Clark, stop."
He went completely rigid, his cocky smirk vanishing instantly as his defensive walls slammed back up. He let out a low, rough huff, his fingers tightening against your shoulders as he leaned down, pressing his forehead hard against yours. His thumb firmly cupped your jaw, keeping you perfectly still beneath his anxious gaze.
"What, you get to say whatever you want to me?"
he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble that sent a sudden rush of butterflies straight to your stomach. He leaned in, his lips brushing right against the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot and uneven.
"you had plenty of messy things to say to me ten minutes ago, sweetheart. But the second I talk back, you get sensitive?"
He pulled back just an inch, his grip on your jaw turning firm as his eyes locked onto yours, his panic bleeding through his face.
"Listen to me. You don't use that sharp tone with me under this roof. We both know your dad will kill me if he finds out about this, so you're going to keep your mouth completely shut upstairs."
He let out a uneven breath, his gaze holding yours as his control locked the secret down tight.
"I'm trying to look out for us, baby. I mean it. So you're going to go back to your room, and you're coming right back down to this basement tomorrow night so we can figure this out. Understood, kiddo?"
He gave your chin one last, rough squeeze before letting you go, his expression instantly snapping back into that cold, rigid composure as he pointed toward the stairs.
"Now go. Don't make a sound."
You just nodded, your face burning as you finally stood on your shaky legs and slipped toward the stairs. When you reached the top step and looked down, he was still sitting there in the shadows, his silhouette watching over you until the basement door quietly clicked shut behind you.
___________
This took for fucking EVER for me to write i hope you guys liked it !!!!! 💗
nina’s guide: how to enjoy summer as a lonely girl
baseline
ㅤꨄ︎ create a moodboard for the aesthetic you want to achieve this summer (can be pinterest board, video,a page in your journal, collage, drawings)
ㅤꨄ︎ what to include in it - picture your dream summerself for this year and imagine:
what weather would it be
what plant would it be
what fictional character would it be
what song would it be
what flavor would it be
what scent/perfume would it be
what quote would it be
what artist it would be
what movie it would be
what drink it would be
what time of day would it be
what animal would it be
by which director / singer would it be written by
what place would it be, etc…
ㅤꨄ︎ you can also include just random aesthetic pictures which speak to you and you imagine will fit for this summer
ㅤꨄ︎ try to not limit yourself to just one specific theme/aesthetic, just choose what speaks the most to you, what makes your soul joyful
appereance
ㅤꨄ︎ try a new hairstyle. it can be as simple as a signature braid, curls, colorful highlights, a new haircut (layers or bangs maybe) or maybe just a whole new fun haircolor if you’re brave enough
ㅤꨄ︎ experiment with makeup. don’t be afraid to use colors, glitter, rhinestones, fun eyeliner, a new lipstick color, colorful false lashes/mascara
ㅤꨄ︎ try a new nail shape/length/design
ㅤꨄ︎ wear what is comfortable but at the same time gives you joy and confidence
ㅤꨄ︎ have a signature peace of jewerly for this summer, a ring, a necklace, an ankle bracelet, fun earrings, a single braid in your hair with a charm, a flower crown, a cool hairclip, maybe even get a new piercing
ㅤꨄ︎ if you’re afraid to experiment with your clothing style/makeup/jewerly cause of what others might think, do it at home first, where they can’t see.
ㅤꨄ︎ then gradually, go outside with one new piece of jewerly, with a single rhinestone on your face, subtly a single piece of clothing in your desired style
ㅤꨄ︎ eventually you will notice that others don’t truly care and won’t treat you any differently/negatively. and even if someone will, you will find yourself not caring, because you will feel too good with urself to care about insecure people’s opinions c:
rituals
ㅤꨄ︎ have one drink to start your day with and end your day with. for example, black tea with lemon in the morning, herbal tea before bed to soothe you and make you sleepy.
ㅤꨄ︎ / coffee in the morning, and warm milk before bed. you can add bananas, strawberries or diffrent fruit to the milk, maybe vanilla extract
ㅤꨄ︎ try to have breakfast within the first hour/1,5 hours of waking up everyday. research new easy and yummy recipes you can make quickly. it helps a lot with brain fog and feeling good mentally & physically in general
ㅤꨄ︎ open your window right after waking up to listen to the birds chirping and the cool morning breeze. close your eyes for a few moments and just feel and listen, take a few deep breaths too, just be present
ㅤꨄ︎ try light yoga or stretching in the morning to wake your body up gently. it can be also a short walk alone, or with your pet
ㅤꨄ︎ get a nicely scented body lotion which you will apply after your nightly shower every day
ㅤꨄ︎ try to go outside at least once a day. wether it’s tanning in your garden for 20 minutes or a peaceful evening walk at sunset
ㅤꨄ︎ start a letterboxd and watch one new movie per day and rate them the whole summer
ㅤꨄ︎ if you’re willing, look up how to analyze your skin type and research for new skin cosmetics to start a skincare routine
ㅤꨄ︎ start a new journal specifically for this summer. every night before bed, you can write down one thing you learned today, one beautiful thing you saw today, or 3 things that happened today that youre grateful for. you can summarize your day briefly too and rate it from 0-10
ㅤactivities
ㅤꨄ︎ try to step out of your comfort zone. visit a cafè alone and simply just order some tea or a desert. (you can always leave if you get too anxious)
ㅤꨄ︎ visit the cinema alone
ㅤꨄ︎ go on walks in your town and take routes you haven’t taken before
ㅤꨄ︎ pick up and learn a new fun outside sport, like bikecying, skateboarding, rollerskating, inline skating
ㅤꨄ︎ create a herbarium and collect plants on your walks, later you can find out what they are and write about them
ㅤꨄ︎ create a memory box for this summer. you can collect rocks, leaves, flower petals, bottle caps, candy papers, seashells etc
ㅤꨄ︎ get a digi cam and take pictures of anything you find pretty
ㅤꨄ︎ set a reading goal for this summer. if you usually read one book per year, try reading 3 this summer. if you read 10 books per year, try reading 10 this summer
ㅤꨄ︎ try a new flavor you never had before at least once a week. a new ice cream flavor, drink flavor, candy flavor, a new fruit
ㅤꨄ︎ find a new topic to fixate on and research. for example: witchcraft, matrix destiny charts, tarot, astrology, planets, quantum physics, psychological trauma, appalachia, entities, history, folklore, crystals, religion, conspiracy theories, fashion history... (something u always wanted to know more about but never got to)
ㅤꨄ︎ listen to one new unreleased lana song a day and make a playlist with the ones you liked the most
ㅤꨄ︎ start turning your negative feelings into art. drawing, painting, poetry, music, dance
ㅤꨄ︎ research about mindfulness to calm your nervous system to get less affected mentally by unfortunate events out of your control
ㅤꨄ︎ when you’re on roadtrips or walks, try to spot animals and write down which ones you saw this summer
ㅤꨄ︎ watch/rewarch euphoria season 1. i mean it.
ㅤꨄ︎ rewatch a show that reminds you of summer/one that you started watching during summer in past years for the feeling of sweet nostalgia
ㅤꨄ︎ go alone to thrift stores, malls, cosmetic stores and buy (mentioned earlier) at least one item for your new style. one dress/one piece of jewerly/one make up pallete/one top
ㅤꨄ︎ journal to get to know yourself (some questions insterted below)
lastly, and most importantly: make peace with being alone currently. it won’t last forever. see this as a lesson to get to know yourself. you are the only one single person in your whole life who you have for granted that will never leave. so might aswell start to get to know them and like being around them ♡
nina’s guide: how to enjoy summer as a lonely girl
baseline
ㅤꨄ︎ create a moodboard for the aesthetic you want to achieve this summer (can be pinterest board, video,a page in your journal, collage, drawings)
ㅤꨄ︎ what to include in it - picture your dream summerself for this year and imagine:
what weather would it be
what plant would it be
what fictional character would it be
what song would it be
what flavor would it be
what scent/perfume would it be
what quote would it be
what artist it would be
what movie it would be
what drink it would be
what time of day would it be
what animal would it be
by which director / singer would it be written by
what place would it be, etc…
ㅤꨄ︎ you can also include just random aesthetic pictures which speak to you and you imagine will fit for this summer
ㅤꨄ︎ try to not limit yourself to just one specific theme/aesthetic, just choose what speaks the most to you, what makes your soul joyful
appereance
ㅤꨄ︎ try a new hairstyle. it can be as simple as a signature braid, curls, colorful highlights, a new haircut (layers or bangs maybe) or maybe just a whole new fun haircolor if you’re brave enough
ㅤꨄ︎ experiment with makeup. don’t be afraid to use colors, glitter, rhinestones, fun eyeliner, a new lipstick color, colorful false lashes/mascara
ㅤꨄ︎ try a new nail shape/length/design
ㅤꨄ︎ wear what is comfortable but at the same time gives you joy and confidence
ㅤꨄ︎ have a signature peace of jewerly for this summer, a ring, a necklace, an ankle bracelet, fun earrings, a single braid in your hair with a charm, a flower crown, a cool hairclip, maybe even get a new piercing
ㅤꨄ︎ if you’re afraid to experiment with your clothing style/makeup/jewerly cause of what others might think, do it at home first, where they can’t see.
ㅤꨄ︎ then gradually, go outside with one new piece of jewerly, with a single rhinestone on your face, subtly a single piece of clothing in your desired style
ㅤꨄ︎ eventually you will notice that others don’t truly care and won’t treat you any differently/negatively. and even if someone will, you will find yourself not caring, because you will feel too good with urself to care about insecure people’s opinions c:
rituals
ㅤꨄ︎ have one drink to start your day with and end your day with. for example, black tea with lemon in the morning, herbal tea before bed to soothe you and make you sleepy.
ㅤꨄ︎ / coffee in the morning, and warm milk before bed. you can add bananas, strawberries or diffrent fruit to the milk, maybe vanilla extract
ㅤꨄ︎ try to have breakfast within the first hour/1,5 hours of waking up everyday. research new easy and yummy recipes you can make quickly. it helps a lot with brain fog and feeling good mentally & physically in general
ㅤꨄ︎ open your window right after waking up to listen to the birds chirping and the cool morning breeze. close your eyes for a few moments and just feel and listen, take a few deep breaths too, just be present
ㅤꨄ︎ try light yoga or stretching in the morning to wake your body up gently. it can be also a short walk alone, or with your pet
ㅤꨄ︎ get a nicely scented body lotion which you will apply after your nightly shower every day
ㅤꨄ︎ try to go outside at least once a day. wether it’s tanning in your garden for 20 minutes or a peaceful evening walk at sunset
ㅤꨄ︎ start a letterboxd and watch one new movie per day and rate them the whole summer
ㅤꨄ︎ if you’re willing, look up how to analyze your skin type and research for new skin cosmetics to start a skincare routine
ㅤꨄ︎ start a new journal specifically for this summer. every night before bed, you can write down one thing you learned today, one beautiful thing you saw today, or 3 things that happened today that youre grateful for. you can summarize your day briefly too and rate it from 0-10
ㅤactivities
ㅤꨄ︎ try to step out of your comfort zone. visit a cafè alone and simply just order some tea or a desert. (you can always leave if you get too anxious)
ㅤꨄ︎ visit the cinema alone
ㅤꨄ︎ go on walks in your town and take routes you haven’t taken before
ㅤꨄ︎ pick up and learn a new fun outside sport, like bikecying, skateboarding, rollerskating, inline skating
ㅤꨄ︎ create a herbarium and collect plants on your walks, later you can find out what they are and write about them
ㅤꨄ︎ create a memory box for this summer. you can collect rocks, leaves, flower petals, bottle caps, candy papers, seashells etc
ㅤꨄ︎ get a digi cam and take pictures of anything you find pretty
ㅤꨄ︎ set a reading goal for this summer. if you usually read one book per year, try reading 3 this summer. if you read 10 books per year, try reading 10 this summer
ㅤꨄ︎ try a new flavor you never had before at least once a week. a new ice cream flavor, drink flavor, candy flavor, a new fruit
ㅤꨄ︎ find a new topic to fixate on and research. for example: witchcraft, matrix destiny charts, tarot, astrology, planets, quantum physics, psychological trauma, appalachia, entities, history, folklore, crystals, religion, conspiracy theories, fashion history... (something u always wanted to know more about but never got to)
ㅤꨄ︎ listen to one new unreleased lana song a day and make a playlist with the ones you liked the most
ㅤꨄ︎ start turning your negative feelings into art. drawing, painting, poetry, music, dance
ㅤꨄ︎ research about mindfulness to calm your nervous system to get less affected mentally by unfortunate events out of your control
ㅤꨄ︎ when you’re on roadtrips or walks, try to spot animals and write down which ones you saw this summer
ㅤꨄ︎ watch/rewarch euphoria season 1. i mean it.
ㅤꨄ︎ rewatch a show that reminds you of summer/one that you started watching during summer in past years for the feeling of sweet nostalgia
ㅤꨄ︎ go alone to thrift stores, malls, cosmetic stores and buy (mentioned earlier) at least one item for your new style. one dress/one piece of jewerly/one make up pallete/one top
ㅤꨄ︎ journal to get to know yourself (some questions insterted below)
lastly, and most importantly: make peace with being alone currently. it won’t last forever. see this as a lesson to get to know yourself. you are the only one single person in your whole life who you have for granted that will never leave. so might aswell start to get to know them and like being around them ♡
hey guys so sorry but i hate yumeshippers with a passion, “Non sharing!” man….stfu, Recently i hate some fuckass yume shipper ask me to DELETE my fanfic because it was getting to much traction and they are “Non-sharing” .. Like idgaf whether or not YOU read it, i don’t know you?!!!! wtf makes those yumefuckers feel so entitled that they think they can just bash anybody who remotely likes a character.
Also like fanfic maybe coming out soon idfk it’s clark x reader again! new plot tho. On a real note if you’re a yumeshipper please please please don’t try to tell people what to do, idgaf if you wanna interact with people’s fanfics and whatnot but please have some respect for the people who are writing the fics and others who are actively engaging in them. Because when some of you guys think you can walk into fandom spaces and act entitled to have all fanfic that is your preferred whatever, and then go ahead and ask the person who wrote it to DELETE it?!?!?!? is insane.
Like, where do you think all your fanfic content and art is coming from? the people who are writing it are VERY often attracted to the same character as you! they are just a writer/artist. Because most of the people who are yumeshippers only care when it benefits themselves and not others. For some reason i know there’s some corny motherfucker whos reading this and talking about how “Yeah that’s the point btw” i want you to know that you should actually never express free speach again. Believe it or not, but having a crush on a popular character in media doesn’t make you exempt from other people’s crushes/feelings for them! ! ! !
Sorry for the rant and cussing a lot. ’m just frustrated lol, Thank you!! byee ❤︎
