Lovey

Your eyes drifted back to the view beyond the large window of your apartment. The city looked gray, just as it always did, but today that gray felt heavier, as though the sky itself had grown tired. A faint redness lingered around your eyelids, and the dark circles you'd been carrying for days were more noticeable than ever. You had slept badly, once again, and your body reflected it. Your breathing still came in uneven waves, as if something inside you had broken and could no longer be put back together. The world outside felt distant, so distant that you hardly cared what happened beyond those windows anymore. Only you existed, sitting on that couch with your gaze lost in nothingness.

Your heart beat slowly, painfully slowly, as though it no longer had the strength to keep going. It was the heartbeat of someone waiting for something while already knowing, deep down, that disappointment was inevitable. Like waiting for a phone call that never comes or for words that are never spoken. That was how your chest felt—empty and unbearably heavy at the same time. You looked down at your phone again, the same one as always, its screen dark. With a gentle tap, it lit up, and there it was. That photograph you treasured like the most precious thing in the world, as though it were the last memory of something that no longer existed. You let out a long, deep sigh, your fingertips brushing lightly over the image.

It was him.

Of course it was always him.

"Come with me. Come on, we'll be in Metropolis. The Daily Planet is where you belong."

His voice echoed through your mind once again, just as powerfully as the first day you'd heard it. So clear. So certain. So convinced.

And you, as always, had followed that voice without asking a single question.

Because whenever he spoke, you listened.

Whenever he asked, you gave.

Whenever he smiled, you smiled too.

Now, though, that voice felt different, like an echo that no longer belonged to you.

You should have realized it from the very beginning.

That was all you were to him: a traveling companion, someone who happened to share the same place of birth among the stars, the same powers that made him extraordinary. But despite the Kryptonian blood running through your veins, Clark only ever saw a human woman before he saw you.

It had always been that way.

And you had always known it.

You had simply refused to accept it.

You squeezed your eyes shut until tiny stars danced behind your eyelids. Your brows furrowed, and another sigh escaped your lips.

Why were you doing this to yourself?

Why were you still holding on to something that had never been yours?

You had met him in college, back when everything still seemed possible. He was the quiet boy who always sat in the back of the classroom, the one who looked as though he were hiding something behind those glasses. And you, with your own secrets, knew exactly what it meant to hide who you truly were.

Everything changed during a history field trip, when the bus veered off course and chaos erupted. Your friend nearly flew out of the bus after fainting, and in that moment you didn't think—you simply acted. You activated your heat vision to push the bus back into place and used your strength to catch your friend before pulling her to safety.

Everything happened so quickly that you barely had time to process what you'd done.

But he saw it.

Clark told you one night, with that calmness that always defined him, as though it weren't a big deal. You barely spoke back then. You weren't even friends.

Then, all at once, he became your everything.

You felt seen.

Understood.

Like you finally weren't alone anymore.

That warmth inside your chest became something you never wanted to lose.

"People talked about you," you had told him that day, looking straight into his eyes.

"On other planets, Kal-El."

You called him by his true name with a smile that tried to hide just how much it meant to you to say it aloud.

"You're lucky you ended up on a planet that doesn't attract the attention of the people searching for you," you whispered, as though sharing a secret that only the two of you understood.

He smiled.

That smile.

The one that always unraveled you.

Then he nodded.

In that moment, everything made sense.

You had arrived on Earth when you were fifteen years old, alone and terrified, knowing nothing about this world. But the parents who took you in loved you as though you had always been their daughter. They taught you that humans weren't selfish, that they could be kind, compassionate, and generous.

And with Clark by your side, life felt right.

It felt as though everything had finally fallen into place.

Like you'd found something you'd been searching for without ever realizing it.

He convinced you to apply to the Daily Planet, and the two of you did it together, like a team. After living together in the same apartment for a year, you eventually found a place of your own directly across the hall from his.

It was routine.

Comfortable.

Safe.

You believed Clark would eventually see you as a woman instead of just his friend. He was so close, close enough to touch, close enough to dream about.

But time passed.

And he never took that step.

Then she appeared.

"No, it's just..." Clark said, his eyes shining with a light you'd never seen before. It was different, as though he had discovered something entirely new.

"God, I mean... Lois is... she knows so much."

He laughed softly, his cheeks turning pink like a boy talking about his very first love.

"Seriously," he repeated, almost as though he needed to convince himself.

"The woman you work with?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

Your voice sounded far calmer than you actually felt.

You had seen her countless times.

Not with Clark.

At the Planet.

She was everyone's favorite. The one who always received praise. The one everyone admired.

You thought it would pass.

That it wouldn't change anything.

That everything would stay the same.

But then you saw them.

Normally, you worked alongside Cat as both a photographer and a reporter, which kept you away from the office most of the time. That day, however, you came back early.

The moment you stepped into the building, you saw them.

Clark was holding two cups of coffee.

With a smile that shattered your heart, he offered one to Lois Lane.

They stood there together, close enough that the rest of the world seemed to disappear around them.

You froze.

Watching them from a distance.

Feeling something inside you splinter apart.

"They look good together, don't they?" Jimmy teased as he appeared beside you without you even noticing.

You forced one of those smiles.

The kind you wore whenever you wanted to hide what you truly felt.

"I already told Clark he should ask her out," Jimmy added enthusiastically, as though he were doing the greatest favor imaginable.

"I hope it's soon," you replied.

Your voice sounded so natural that it almost surprised even you.

Jimmy nodded before heading back to work, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The smile vanished from your face the moment he walked away.

You looked at Clark.

You could hear his heartbeat perfectly.

Fast.

Excited.

A rhythm you knew better than anyone.

Then you left.

Because they did look perfect together.

Like two puzzle pieces that had spent their entire lives searching for one another.

Like two magnets already pulled together, with only time separating them from becoming completely inseparable.

There was no place for you in that story.

And no matter how much it hurt...

You knew it.

But the real reason you now found yourself sitting silently on your couch with swollen eyes and smeared makeup was what had happened during that night out with your coworkers.

Everyone knew one another.

Including Lois.

Clark had already told her about you.

So she knew you as "Clark's friend."

The girl who was always by his side.

The one who shared his secrets.

The one who seemed to understand him without either of you needing to say a word.

You should have expected it.

You should have prepared yourself.

But when the music thundered through the room, when everyone else danced while you remained leaning against the bar, you saw Clark kiss Lois.

Your vision blurred instantly, as though someone had placed a sheet of fogged glass in front of your eyes.

Your hair fell loosely around your shoulders, the same hair you'd spent so much time carefully straightening, hoping he'd notice it and give you a compliment.

It became nothing more than another hairstyle.

He didn't notice.

He didn't notice that you were wearing the blouse he'd once told you looked beautiful on you, the one you'd carefully saved for a special occasion.

He noticed nothing.

Every bit of effort.

Every ounce of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would finally look at you differently...

Disappeared in a single second.

Your heart pounded so hard that you were certain everyone around you could hear it. But what shattered you the most wasn't the smile they shared after the kiss, or the blush spreading across Lois's cheeks, or even their fingers intertwined as though they were two perfect pieces of the same puzzle.

What truly broke you was when they walked over to you as though nothing had happened, as though you hadn't just watched your entire world collapse.

Then they laughed, and Lois said something while you picked up the glass of orange juice you'd ordered simply so you wouldn't have to drink alcohol.

"God, it must be awful not being able to get drunk. I guess alcohol tastes different for you," Lois said with an easy smile, as casually as if she were commenting on the weather.

You looked at her, confused at first. It took your mind a few seconds to process what she'd just said.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice tighter than you intended.

"Oh, don't worry. His secret is perfectly safe with me. Besides, it's amazing knowing a woman can be just as strong as a man," Lois replied with a kind smile that somehow made you feel even worse. "But I won't pressure you to talk. Clark said it's only a matter of time before your warm personality comes out."

She let out a light laugh, as though it were some inside joke.

"I'll go get another drink," she said before walking away with the same confidence she'd arrived with.

You stood there frozen.

You looked at Clark, and he was watching Lois as though she were his entire world, as though the whole universe had narrowed down to her alone.

You pressed your lips together and swallowed the knot forming in your throat.

To anyone else, her comment had been harmless.

But to you, it carried years of ridiculous remarks, lingering stares, and whispered conversations that had filled you with insecurities.

Years of hearing you were too strong.

Too strange.

Too different.

Did Clark see you that way too?

Did he think that because you were so strong, you couldn't be fragile inside?

Did he really believe that just because you could lift a car with one hand, your heart couldn't break into a thousand pieces?

"Did you tell her your secret?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, nearly swallowed by the music.

He looked at you, and for a brief moment you caught something that resembled guilt in his eyes.

"Yeah... she figured it out. And I wanted her to trust me, so I told her who I really am," Clark said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"And while you were at it, you decided to tell your beloved my secret too?" you asked, unable to hide the sharp edge in your voice.

Clark looked at you again.

This time, he noticed you were angry.

"Lois is trustworthy," Clark said with the certainty he always seemed to have. "She won't tell anyone."

"It was my secret, Clark. I don't care if she found out about you. I..."

You stopped yourself.

The music kept pounding through the room, an irritating buzz echoing in your ears.

You stared at him, feeling anger and heartbreak twist together inside your chest.

"You've told her so much about me, haven't you? That's why she seems to know me almost as well as you do," you said, your voice trembling by the end.

He shook his head, though not with the confidence of someone who truly believed what he was saying.

"No, it's just..." Clark stopped, searching for the right words. "You're my best friend, and I thought... Lois likes me—I mean, I like Lois. I wanted to be honest with her."

Your eyes drifted toward Lois, who was already walking back with another drink in her hand.

Without thinking, you grabbed your purse.

You needed to leave.

You needed to breathe air that wasn't poisoned by the sight in front of you.

You hurried away, hearing your name being called behind you.

Clark tried to stop you, but you were already heading for the exit.

With your super hearing, you caught Lois saying something about "the noise must have overwhelmed her," followed by the sound of Clark's footsteps chasing after you.

Outside, the night air was freezing, slamming into your face with force.

You didn't care.

You didn't shiver like a human.

You couldn't feel the cold settling into your bones.

It did nothing to you.

The only thing you felt was anger.

Hot.

Bitter.

Rising through your throat like vomit you couldn't force out.

Knowing Clark had told Lois everything about you.

That everything the two of you had shared...

She now knew.

Your secrets were no longer yours and Clark's.

They belonged to Clark and Lois now.

There was nothing left that belonged only to the two of you.

You finally stopped when he continued following you.

The streets were empty, illuminated only by streetlights flickering as though they, too, were exhausted.

"I know... I was wrong," Clark said, using that gentle voice he always used whenever he wanted to fix things. "But you're important to me, and Lois deserved to know our story."

"Everyone has their own story," you said, your eyes burning as you looked at him. "Did you tell her where I came from? Did you tell her what happened to me on the other planet I lived on before I came here? Did you tell her all of that, Clark?"

Your voice broke on his name.

He looked at you with shame.

With that expression that confirmed everything you already knew.

"You stole my story!" you shouted, tears threatening to spill over. "You revealed things I only shared with you because you're so blinded by your love for her!"

"It wasn't like that... I just..." he tried to explain before stopping himself.

Maybe he had finally realized what he'd done.

Maybe, for just a second, he understood.

You didn't wait to find out.

You shot into the sky without caring who saw you.

You flew through the clouds, passing your apartment building with your purse still hanging from your shoulder.

Clark didn't follow you.

Because you knew he'd rather go back to Lois.

Because he wanted to protect her.

Because you were strong...

...and she wasn't.

Because you could send people flying with a single punch.

Because you could eliminate threats with the heat vision blazing from your eyes.

Lois Lane couldn't.

Lois was fragile.

Human.

She needed protection.

You didn't.

Tears filled your eyes as you flew, the icy wind crashing against your face but doing nothing to soothe the burning ache inside your chest.

You climbed higher and higher until you were above the city, watching its lights flicker below like tiny stars scattered across the earth.

Then you went home.

That was how you ended up curled up on your couch, your knees pulled tightly against your chest, your hair now a tangled mess after all the effort you'd put into straightening it earlier.

You slipped off your ankle boots with trembling hands, realizing that everything you'd done to look pretty had been for nothing.

Maybe that was the moment you finally understood.

Clark wasn't looking at you that way.

And he never would.

To him, you were the strong friend, the one who could always take care of herself. You had always been that way, even before arriving on Earth. And once you got here, nothing changed. You fought back against the people who tried to hurt you, against those who mocked you. You were strong by nature, by genetics. Hurting you was nearly impossible. With only the smallest fraction of your strength, you could knock down any man foolish enough to stand in your way.

"God, no one will ever want you. You're the man in the relationship," they used to tease before you even started middle school. The girls would laugh behind your back, whispering that you were too rough, too aggressive, that no boy would ever want someone who could break his bones with a hug.

"Don't wear skirts. You act more like a man," others would say, simply because you refused to let people walk all over you. Because whenever someone tried to hurt you, you fought back. Because you refused to stay quiet. Because you never lowered your head.

And so they called you manly, tomboy, freak.

Words that lodged themselves beneath your skin like tiny needles, one after another, until you taught yourself not to hear them anymore. Until you learned to smile and pretend none of it mattered.

You looked down at your hands.

The same hands that could crush steel as though it were nothing more than paper.

Kara loved her powers just as much as Clark loved his. She was proud of who she was, proud of everything she could do.

You weren't.

You wanted to be normal.

You wanted to blend into Earth.

To go unnoticed.

To avoid drawing attention to yourself.

That was why you didn't have a suit like theirs.

No cape.

No symbol across your chest.

You didn't fly around saving people like Clark or Kara did, unless someone happened to be within your reach.

You didn't use your powers.

You never used your strength.

At least not intentionally.

Sometimes, though, when Jimmy looked like he was about to throw his back out carrying heavy boxes, you'd pretend to be struggling even more than he was. Then, the moment he turned around, you'd lift every box effortlessly and stack them where they belonged.

Always carefully.

Always afraid someone might notice what you were capable of.

"Clark helped me."

That was always your answer.

A lie you repeated so often you had almost started believing it yourself.

But even then...

You had been exposed.

Lois knew.

And who knew how many other people did too?

Your feelings had to stay buried.

Your secrets weren't yours anymore.

Your identity had been revealed without your permission.

You wiped away your tears with the back of your hand, but they kept coming, as though someone had left a faucet running somewhere deep inside you.

"You're so strong. You don't need anyone."

"You can handle everything on your own. You always can."

But none of it was true.

You wanted someone to hold you too.

You wanted someone to tell you everything was going to be okay.

You wanted someone to see beyond your strength.

Beyond your powers.

You wanted Clark to see you as a woman.

Not as his strong friend.

Not as the girl who could handle everything on her own.

But maybe the world would never accept people like you.

Maybe Clark would never truly see you, because for him there was only Lois.

And nothing else.

You were merely another presence in his life.

A blurry memory he turned to whenever he needed something.

You remembered every single time you had held yourself together.

Every time you wanted to cry but couldn't because the strong one doesn't cry.

Every time you wanted to ask for help but stayed silent because you can do it on your own.

You had built yourself an armor made of strength.

But beneath it...

There was only a little girl who wanted to be loved.

And now, sitting on that couch with your makeup smeared and your heart shattered into pieces, you finally realized that armor had never protected you from anything.

It had only made you heavier.

You remembered the day, back in school, when a boy shoved you against a row of lockers and called you a freak.

You had simply looked at him, knowing you could have lifted him with one finger and slammed him into the ceiling.

But you didn't.

You stayed perfectly still.

Biting your tongue.

Swallowing every urge to show him what you were truly capable of.

Because if you did...

You would only prove everything they already believed about you.

And being different was already hard enough.

The memory slowly faded away.

You stood up from the couch and walked toward the hallway mirror.

You looked at yourself.

Your hair was a mess.

Your eyes were red and swollen.

The blouse you'd spent so much time choosing was now hopelessly wrinkled.

You stared at your own reflection.

At the girl who had always wanted someone to truly see her.

And for the first time, you wondered whether it was worth continuing to wait for someone to do it.

As soon as the sunlight slipped through the curtains, you slowly opened your eyes. The energy flowing through your body, the warmth radiating from the sun, almost made it seem as though nothing had happened. It was as if your skin and every cell within you were renewing themselves, as though emotional pain could heal as easily as your physical wounds always did.

But it couldn't.

No matter how rested your body felt, no matter how much strength the sunlight gave you, the weight in your chest remained exactly where it had been, unmoving, like a stone that refused to be lifted.

You sighed as you shifted beneath the covers.

It was Monday afternoon.

You hadn't stepped outside your apartment all weekend.

The blinds were still closed, silence filled every corner of the room, and you had done nothing but exist between your bedsheets and your thoughts.

You knew Clark was waiting for you to come out so he could talk to you.

You had heard him.

Of course you had.

Even when you didn't want to.

Your hearing always picked him up without your permission.

It was as though your body had been programmed to look for him, to find him, to know exactly where he was at every moment.

You had memorized the sound of his heartbeat.

Those slow, steady beats that had always filled you with peace whenever you listened to them.

Just as he had memorized Lois's heartbeat, you had memorized his.

It wasn't something you could control.

It was as natural as breathing.

As instinctive as blinking.

He was on the other side of the wall, inside his apartment, and you could feel him there.

His presence pulled at you like a magnet.

Now, more than ever, you wished it didn't.

"I know you can hear me," he had said on Saturday morning.

You heard his voice clearly, as though he were standing right beside you.

Your hearing always searched for him, like a storm searching for calm.

His voice was so gentle, so full of emotion, that it made you feel things you didn't want to feel.

Even his laugh, a sound that had once felt like music to you, had become nothing more than a reminder of everything you could never have.

Without meaning to, your hearing always tuned itself to the sound of his voice.

Now you wished it wouldn't.

You wished you could switch off that connection between the two of you, as though it were nothing more than a light you could turn off and forget.

"I'm sorry. I truly am."

Clark didn't have to raise his voice.

He knew that.

He could have looked through your walls with his X-ray vision if he'd wanted to.

But he never did.

It was one of those boundaries neither of you ever crossed, one you both respected because privacy mattered.

That morning, while he spoke from the other side of the wall, you remained silent, staring at the ceiling as tears once again slipped down your cheeks.

"I should've thought about it. I was only thinking about myself. You know how important you are to me. Please... just talk to me."

Then he waited.

But no answer ever came.

You couldn't speak.

You couldn't even move.

The words remained lodged in your throat like thorns that refused to come out.

So you stayed there, staring at the ceiling while tears silently rolled down your face.

You thought about every time you'd imagined a future with him.

Every morning you'd woken up hoping that day would finally be different.

You thought about all the ways you believed the two of you might someday become something more.

That Clark would look into your eyes and finally notice the way they always lit up whenever you looked at him.

That he'd notice how you searched the skies every time there was a battle, even though you hated using your powers.

But if he needed you...

You would have used them for him without hesitation.

That your smile always grew wider whenever he laughed, whenever those dimples appeared on his face.

That your heartbeat changed whenever he was close.

It sped up.

It raced.

It completely lost its rhythm.

If he had noticed...

If he'd only paid attention...

Maybe everything would have been different.

Sunday passed slowly, stretching endlessly like an hour that refused to end.

You knew eating wasn't necessary.

Your Kryptonian body didn't need food the way humans did to survive.

You enjoyed eating.

You simply didn't need it.

Back in college, you used to skip meals to save money.

It wasn't because you didn't have any.

You just didn't want to spend it on something you didn't actually need.

Until Clark said something to you one afternoon while the two of you were sharing a park bench.

"If you don't eat, then what's the point of living?" he had said that day, breaking his sandwich in half with his large hands.

His eyes looked so blue beneath the sunlight that you found yourself staring at them for a second longer than you should have.

You smiled.

You accepted the half he offered you.

For a moment, everything felt perfect.

He had managed to make something as simple as eating feel important.

Now that memory hurt far more than it should have.

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone.

It wasn't ringing.

It wasn't vibrating.

But the screen lit up with Cat's name.

You hesitated for a moment, staring at it, feeling like you didn't have the strength to talk to anyone.

In the end, you picked it up and answered, clearing your throat so your voice would sound as normal as possible.

"Finally, you answered! Where are you? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Are you okay?" Cat asked so quickly you could barely keep up.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice sounding far more fragile than you wanted it to. "I got sick, but everything for the article we worked on is already scheduled."

You wanted to change the subject.

You wanted her to know that, despite everything, you'd still done your job.

"Hey, that doesn't matter," Cat said, her voice softening. "I thought something had happened to you, especially after I saw Clark's little shadow asking whether it was true that you hadn't come in. And him asking is weird because out of everyone here, he's the only one who should know where you are."

Cat paused, as though waiting for you to say something.

You stayed silent.

"I'm home, Cat. Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow," you said, your voice sounding steadier even though you still felt completely broken inside.

"You left the party early too, sweetheart. You might be able to fool everyone, even Kent, but we both know what you saw."

This time, Cat sounded more serious.

More understanding.

You couldn't answer.

There weren't any words capable of describing what you felt.

"It's okay. Get some rest. Just... remember how beautiful you are. He isn't the only man in the world. Someone will come along who truly sees you."

Her words lingered in the air after she said them.

A comfort that somehow never quite reached you.

"See you tomorrow," you said before ending the call.

You turned your phone off without reading the messages Cat, Jimmy, and Clark had already sent you.

You didn't want to see them.

You didn't want to read the apologies.

You didn't want to face the reality that everything had changed.

You simply sat there, your phone still in your hand, feeling as though the world kept moving forward while you had been left behind.

Tuesday arrived, and it was as though you had decided to erase everything that had happened.

You were the first to fly toward the sun, letting its rays wrap around you and replenish your body as you floated weightlessly through space, doing nothing except absorbing the energy you'd drained over the weekend.

It had become a ritual.

A moment that belonged only to you.

A chance to feel whole again without thinking about anything else.

But that morning, even the sun felt different.

Its warmth couldn't quite reach the hollow that had formed inside your chest.

The moment you returned to your apartment, you hurried to get dressed.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing made you feel any different.

You arrived at the Daily Planet and followed your usual routine, but something inside you had hardened.

You ignored Clark all day.

Whenever he walked toward your desk, you found an excuse to leave, pretending you needed to print something.

Whenever he tried to talk to you, you quietly changed directions, as though the two of you had become magnets that now pushed each other away.

Even when you had coffee with Jimmy, you always made sure more people joined you so you wouldn't have to be alone with Clark.

You smiled.

You pretended everything was fine.

Inside, though, every smile cost you a little more energy than the last.

When work was over, you would barely make it to the restroom before waiting a few minutes and using your super speed to race home in the blink of an eye, locking yourself inside your apartment.

That became your routine for weeks.

A routine built on avoidance.

On eyes that never met.

On conversations that never happened.

Clark kept trying to get close to you.

You had already built a wall between the two of you.

One that seemed impossible to tear down.

Then Perry called for you.

"My office," he said, pointing at you with his index finger.

You walked over slowly, already convinced something bad was about to happen.

The moment you stepped inside, you saw him.

Clark was already there, sitting in one of the chairs with the same expression he always wore whenever he wanted to fix something.

Apparently, not even superpowers could help you escape your boss's orders.

You sat in the chair farthest from him.

Clark looked at you and offered a small smile.

You never saw it.

You were too busy staring down at your fingernails as though they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Finally, everyone's here," Perry said.

You looked up just as Lois, Cat, and Jimmy walked in, greeting everyone with cheerful smiles.

You looked back at Perry, waiting for him to explain why he'd called all of you in.

"The annual Journalists and Photographers Convention is here again," he announced. "I want all of you there. It'll be held near the Metropolis History Museum. They gave us six passes, and I thought the six of you should represent the Planet."

You couldn't refuse.

You had already missed a day of work.

Even though you wanted to decline, you knew accepting was the least you could do for Perry.

So you nodded, gathered your things, and left the office first, hoping Clark wouldn't follow you.

He did.

"Can we talk?" he asked as he walked beside you with that steady confidence he always carried.

"No," you answered without looking at him.

He gently caught your arm, forcing you to stop.

You looked at him.

His blue eyes searched yours, and for just a moment you felt your resolve begin to waver.

"I'm sorry," Clark said, his voice softer than you'd expected. "You're the only person who understands what it's like to be born the way we were. I don't want to lose you."

You remained silent, feeling his words trying to force their way back into your heart.

"I was wrong. I said too much, and... I didn't realize how terrible of a friend I was being. I really... you have no idea how much I miss you."

For a split second...

You almost believed him.

Instead, you pulled your arm free, brushing his hand away with more force than you'd intended.

"My secrets are now shared with someone who isn't even my friend," you said, your voice colder than you meant it to be.

You glanced toward Lois, who was laughing with Cat as though nothing had happened.

"How am I supposed to trust you again when I know you'll tell her everything?" you asked.

Without waiting for an answer, you walked away.

"Want to grab lunch?" Cat called after you.

You turned and found her smiling at you with that warm smile that always managed to make you feel a little better.

"Sure," you replied.

This time, your smile was genuine.

Cat looped her arm through yours, and the two of you walked toward the exit together, leaving Clark behind.

The day of the convention arrived sooner than you'd expected.

Everyone traveled together in a company van.

You sat in the front passenger seat beside Jimmy.

As the van drove through the streets of Metropolis, you found yourself laughing at one of Jimmy's stories.

For a moment...

You almost forgot everything.

"It's not funny. I mean... how did I forget?" Jimmy said, shaking his head without taking his eyes off the road. "I planned two dates at the same restaurant. I felt like such a jerk, but I honestly don't remember agreeing to go out with the other girl."

The embarrassment in his voice only made you laugh harder.

"Well, Jimmy, that red mark on your cheek speaks for itself," you teased, laughing again as the lightness of the moment settled around you.

"You'll learn eventually, Jimmy," Cat said from the back.

"You will. And if you don't, start protecting your cheeks," Lois added.

Everyone laughed.

You smiled as you looked out the windshield.

For just a moment...

Everything felt like it used to.

When they arrived, you grabbed your purse and closed the van door behind you.

You could feel Clark's eyes on you.

Heavy.

Persistent.

You looked at him for only a second.

He tried to smile.

You immediately looked away, as though meeting his eyes would burn you.

"Come on, Jimmy," you called as you walked over to Cat.

Together, everyone made their way toward the auditorium, admiring the banners and digital displays announcing the convention.

You occasionally scribbled notes into your notebook, trying to keep your attention focused on work.

Everyone settled into their seats in silence, waiting for the presentation to begin.

When you looked up, you noticed that several university students had also been invited, most likely the winners of the annual journalism competition.

Your attention drifted toward two students sitting a few rows ahead.

A red-haired girl.

A blond boy wearing glasses.

They were speaking quietly, but every word reached your ears with perfect clarity.

"See? This is our world," the boy said.

A small, bittersweet smile appeared on your face before you even realized it.

"I know, Jack, but this world feels way too big for me," the girl admitted.

The insecurity in her voice felt painfully familiar.

"As long as it's the two of us, it'll feel small enough. We'll figure it out together," the boy replied as he adjusted his glasses with a gesture that somehow reminded you of Clark.

You lowered your gaze.

His words echoed inside you long after he'd finished speaking.

Then your phone vibrated.

Your chest tightened before you could stop it.

"Last time we came here as college students, and now we're journalists :)"

It was a text from Clark.

You locked the screen without replying and slipped your phone back into your purse.

Then you looked toward the stage again, your expression unreadable as you listened to the presentation and continued taking notes.

You weren't angry because he'd fallen in love with someone else.

As much as it hurt, you could understand that.

No one chooses who they fall in love with.

If Clark had found Lois, you were willing to accept it.

What you couldn't forgive was the betrayal.

The way he'd shattered your trust by revealing your secrets.

Those secrets had been your safe place.

The parts of yourself you'd shared only with him.

Now they belonged to someone else.

More than anything else, that was what broke you.

It wasn't unrequited love.

It was knowing he'd told someone else everything you were without ever asking for your permission.

You felt something before it happened.

It was like an electric current racing down your spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with imminent danger. You lifted your gaze, searching through the crowd, trying to identify the source of that feeling. But everything seemed normal. People were listening attentively to the talk, students were taking notes, and camera flashes lit up the stage every now and then. You sighed, thinking maybe it was just your imagination, and turned your attention back to what the speaker was saying.

Then you felt it.

A vibration, deep and powerful, shook the ground beneath your feet. A massive explosion rocked the entire place, making the walls tremble and people scream as they grabbed onto whatever they could. The lights flickered, and for one second, everything became chaos. The main door burst open, and a man ran in, his face twisted with panic.

"They're attacking the place!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the screams of the crowd.

You looked around, assessing the situation with the speed your years of training had given you. You spotted the emergency exit at the lower level, and you knew it was the only safe way out.

"Move!" you shouted, helping people to their feet and gently pushing them toward the exit.

Then you saw the two students in front of you, the blond boy and his red-haired friend. He was holding her by the arm, shielding her with his body while she trembled with fear.

"They're going to attack the emergency exits," you said, your voice sounding steadier than you expected.

Without thinking, you ran, leaping between the seats and moving with an agility you couldn't explain. You arrived just in time to stop them from opening the door. One second was enough for you to throw yourself over them, covering them with your body as the emergency door exploded in a rain of fragments. The students stared at you with wide, terrified eyes, unable to understand how you had gotten there so quickly.

"There," you whispered, pointing to the side as you stood up.

A sharp pain shot through your leg, and you looked down to see a shard of glass from a table embedded in your calf. Without hesitation, you pulled it out in one swift motion, and the wound began closing almost immediately. No one was looking at you. Everyone was too busy running.

Clark looked at you from across the room, and in his eyes, you saw a mixture of worry and gratitude. He used the explosion of one of the walls to slip away, and within seconds, he was dressed as Superman, ready to act. He got Cat and the others out, including Lois, then returned to face the attackers.

Meanwhile, you protected the two college students, guiding them toward the stairs.

"This way," you said, running toward the main exit.

When you reached the outside, the cold evening air struck your face, and you saw Clark fighting two strange figures. One of them was a woman whose body seemed to be made of silver nanobots, shifting and glowing like a swarm of fireflies. The other was a man completely covered in black, even his face, with strength that matched Superman's. You turned your head and saw strange soldiers aiming unfamiliar weapons at civilians. You knew they needed Superman. He was the only one who could stop them.

Taking advantage of the soldiers rushing toward the building, you aimed your heat vision at the roof. The beam of energy struck the structure, and the ceiling began collapsing in pieces, creating a curtain of smoke and debris. Superman flew out immediately, and his eyes met yours.

It lasted only an instant, barely a second, but something passed between you.

As though the broken trust still hung by a thread.

As though that wordless communication you had always shared still existed.

He understood.

You had used your powers so he could save the people.

But then the man in black lunged at you. His arms closed around your body with brutal strength, and before you could react, he was already dragging you backward, pulling you away from where you stood. The screams of the crowd multiplied, and you heard Cat shouting your name in desperation.

Clark tried to throw himself toward you, but the woman made of nanobots stepped into his path, striking him with enough force to send him flying several meters back.

"No!" you heard Clark shout, but his voice began fading as the man in black carried you farther and farther away, bursting through the roof of the building and out into the open air.

Everyone left below thought a human had been taken, an ordinary journalist.

They didn't know you weren't like them.

And maybe it was better that way.

The wind struck your face as you flew in your captor's arms. You clenched your fists, feeling rage gather in your chest. You weren't going to stay still. You weren't going to let him take you without a fight. Once you were far enough from the building, once you knew no one could see you anymore, you acted.

You broke free from his grip with a violent movement, using your strength to push yourself away from him. The man in black flew back several meters, surprised, and in that brief hesitation, you took your chance to hit him. Your fist slammed into his chest, and you felt the force of the impact travel up your arm.

But he didn't fall.

He stumbled, yes, but he recovered quickly.

He launched himself at you again, and you moved with agility, dodging his outstretched hands as he tried to grab you. An aerial dance began, with you retreating and him chasing you, both of you moving through the clouds as though the sky itself had become your battlefield. You found one moment of advantage, a single second where he lost his balance, and you struck him hard, feeling his body shift from the impact.

But he was fast.

Faster than you expected.

He recovered almost immediately and, instead of attacking you, changed his strategy. Instead of striking you, he grabbed you as though he wanted to shove you toward something.

Then both of you began to fall.

The wind whistled in your ears as you plummeted. The ground rushed closer and closer, and you couldn't stop the force he was using against you. Within seconds, the sky became a green blanket of trees, and the impact with the ground was brutal.

You landed in a forest, the crack of branches and dry leaves accompanying the heavy thud of your fall. You rolled several meters, feeling dirt cling to your clothes and hair. You lifted your head quickly, searching for your attacker among the undergrowth.

The man in black rose slowly.

So did you.

The two of you stood there, facing each other in the middle of the forest, surrounded by silence and the breeze moving through the treetops. There was no more movement, only your uneven breathing and the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet.

You shifted into a defensive stance, ready for whatever came next.

You were no longer in the city.

You no longer had to hide who you were.

Here, in the middle of nature, you could use all your strength, all your powers.

You were breathless, your body still tense and your fists clenched, ready to charge at him again.

But the man in black didn't move.

He only stood there in the middle of the forest, his mask covering his face and his hands falling to his sides. The crunch of leaves beneath his feet was the only sound that broke the silence.

Then something small fell from his chest.

A metallic device that clinked when it hit the ground and rolled a few centimeters.

And from it, a voice came through. Human. Of course it was human, as though the device connected him to another place.

"There are malfunctions. He's... losing it."

Then, with one hand, he crushed it and looked at you.

Even though you couldn't see his face beneath the mask, you knew he was looking at you.

You blinked several times, confused, and he, the man in black, tilted his head like a curious animal watching you from a distance, analyzing you.

Then he spoke.

His voice was strange, broken, as though he wasn't used to using it. Every word seemed to cost him an immense effort, as though he had to remember how sounds were formed.

"You... here... better," he said.

What kind of joke was this?

This man had kidnapped you, dragged you through the sky, and slammed you into the middle of a forest, and now he was telling you that you would be better here. You let out a bitter laugh, one made more of disbelief than amusement.

"I don't have time for games," you said.

With one powerful impulse, you tried to fly.

But he was faster.

He grabbed your arm with a strength that startled you, and both of you crashed to the ground among branches and dirt. You rolled several meters before standing up, furious, feeling earth cling to your clothes while anger burned in your chest like a flame you couldn't put out.

"Who are you?" you shouted, your voice echoing through the trees, bouncing off the trunks like a sound that refused to disappear. "Tell me who you are and what you want from me!"

He stood slowly, in no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. He said nothing. He only shook his head when you tried to move away again.

"You... not go," he said.

His voice sounded firmer this time, though it still carried that broken quality, like someone who hadn't spoken in a very long time, as though the words got stuck in his throat before they could come out.

"Why not?" you asked, your heart beating fast, so fast it felt like it might tear out of your chest. "What do you want? Why did you bring me here?"

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he slowly lifted his hands and touched the edge of his mask. Without rushing, with movements that seemed calculated, as though every gesture had a purpose, he removed it completely.

And then you saw him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It was Clark.

No.

It wasn't Clark.

He was identical to him, but different.

He was an imposing, rough, imperfect version of Superman, with rigid muscles that seemed carved out of stone instead of flesh. The difference was minimal, but it was enough for you to know it wasn't him. His features were slightly misaligned, as though someone had tried to copy a perfect face but failed to finish the final details. Unlike Clark's impeccable hairstyle, his dark hair was noticeably longer and unkempt, lacking the careful order Clark always maintained. His face was the same, but there was a hardness in his expression that Clark had never had, a cold and empty look that sent a chill down your spine.

"Ultraman," he said, pointing at himself with his thumb before gesturing to the U on his suit.

His voice was still broken, but now it carried a weight you hadn't noticed before.

"Kill... Superman."

You blinked, trying to process what you had just heard.

Ultraman.

The name was unfamiliar, but the intention behind it was clear.

This man, this twisted version of Clark, had come to kill Superman.

To kill Clark.

The same Clark who had broken your heart, yet you still couldn't fully hate. Despite everything, despite the lies and the secrets, he was still important to you.

You stood there in silence for a moment.

Then, without thinking, you moved closer to him.

His eyes followed you with that empty stare, without expression, without emotion, as if he were looking through you instead of at you.

You stopped a few steps away from him, your chest tight and your head full of questions you didn't know how to ask.

"Are you going to kill me too?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, almost a whisper lost among the leaves.

He shook his head, and his fingers pointed toward the broken device on the ground.

"People... from here," he said, clumsily touching his chest where the device had been removed, the one that had seemed to give him orders. "Not know... about you."

He repeated the words as though he wanted to make sure you understood, as if every syllable were a brick building an explanation that could barely stand.

"Why did you bring me here? I'm Superman's friend, the man you're planning to kill," you said, still unable to believe what your eyes were seeing. "I don't understand."

He tilted his head like a dog hearing a new sound, and his forehead furrowed slightly, as though he were trying to process your words.

You assumed he didn't understand, because he seemed to want to speak but kept stopping, as if the words slipped away from him just as he was about to say them.

Then he sighed.

A deep sound that seemed to come from somewhere far inside him.

"Energy... yours... draw me... protect you," he said, each word sounding like an effort, as though he were pulling strength from some dark place within himself.

Then he flew away with force, moving so fast you could barely see him.

You rose into the air with super speed and, using your vision, realized he had left with the other soldiers and the woman who had attacked.

But you didn't know who they were.

You didn't know where they came from or what they truly wanted.

You descended carefully, touching the ground as your legs trembled slightly, and sighed, releasing all the air you had been holding.

You took out your phone.

Clark was calling.

You answered.

"Where are you? I'm still in the suit. I can attack him and..." Clark said, his voice worried and rushed, as though he were about to fly straight to you.

"I'm fine. I'll fly back to the apartment. Just act like Superman rescued me," you said sharply, feeling the words leave your mouth with an edge you couldn't soften.

Before hanging up, you added, "Clark, do you have any idea who they were?"

You swallowed, feeling the knot in your throat.

"I have no idea," he admitted, then sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "But I feel like Luthor is involved."

You nodded, even though he couldn't see you, feeling the name resonate inside you like the toll of a bell.

"Fine," you said, and hung up without another word.

You stayed there in the middle of the forest, phone in hand and your head full of questions with no answers.

Ultraman.

Luthor.

The broken device.

The energy that had drawn him to you.

None of it made sense.

You flew back, feeling the cold night air cling to your skin as you approached your apartment.

When you arrived, you called back everyone who had been trying to reach you, making sure they knew Superman had saved you and brought you home, that you were fine and only wanted to rest.

But the truth was, you couldn't rest.

You paced back and forth across the living room, arms crossed, your mind spinning like a carousel that refused to stop.

The face of that man, that Ultraman, made you go pale every time you remembered it.

He was identical to Clark, and yet so different at the same time.

Had they made a clone of Clark?

Or was it something else?

Questions piled up in your head like a storm you couldn't calm.

And then another question arose.

Why was he interested in you?

What reason did he have to pull you away from the area he seemed to consider dangerous?

so when you’d told satoru you were ready to start dating again, he thought you were bluffing. how could you want to date anyone else when he was right in front of you? when he’s constantly on top of you? when he always finds himself inside of you? you and him are practically dating. you go out and do couple-y things, you just lack the label. 

and that’s because while both of you have been addicted to each other since that night, neither of you are bold enough to admit that you have feelings for each other. feelings beyond carnal desire.

you’d simply come to the conclusion that your best friend wanted nothing more from you than just sex and you wanted more. now lines are beginning to blur and you wanted to move on before things got messier than they already were.

now that you are moving on– now that you’re going on a date with some fucker who probably doesn’t even deserve you– he’s upset. beyond upset, actually. he’s livid. 

that’s why he bent you over your bathroom’s vanity, pushed your dress up and makeup products to the ground and thought to prove himself to you.

now his hand tugs at your hair, essentially forcing you to stare at yourself in the mirror while he reduces you to a mess like he does every time his cock is inside of you. 

“mmh, could he make you feel as good as i do, huh? you think he knows how to make this pretty pussy feel good?” the question comes through gritted teeth and it finally clicks in your dumb little brain. “i don’t fucking think so.”

“are you j-jealous or something?” you’re able to ask, though it’s choked. his reply never comes, but his thrusts get harsher– merciless– and you take it as a wordless admission, crying out your next words, “me ‘n you are jus’ friends, t-toru!”

he tugs at your hair harder and the other hand that resides on your waist squeezes your skin gratingly. “we’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” he replies, voice hushed and raw with emotion. 

you do. you know it. you and satoru are glued at the hip both figuratively and literally. there’s no one on the earth that makes you feel a quarter of what you feel for him. and you also know there isn’t a single man who could fuck you as well as satoru does. that was the bet that started this after all. 

but when you told him you wanted to start dating again, he brushed you off with a “yeah, right,” and it made you believe that there wasn’t a chance with him. you figured that the idea of you and satoru being together was simply a dream that would never happen.

though, you’re not so sure anymore because he’s spewing out possessive words faster than you can comprehend while his cock stirs you up. 

the reality is, you’ve always had satoru in the palm of your hand. he was whipped. wrapped around your finger. he doesn’t want to share you– he never has and he can’t believe you’ve been this oblivious. 

“he’s never gonna make you feel this good,” he confidently states. “no one is ever gonna make you feel this good– you’re made for me.” 

“fuck!” you cry, tightening around his cock at the affirmation. “satoru, please!”

“that’s it, pretty, say my fuckin’ name.” he moans, sloppily thrusting into you as his mind runs away from him. “look at me and tell me how much you like it.”

your eyes nearly cross as they try to find his in the mirror, but when they finally land on those baby blue orbs that you truly adore, you feel yourself grow even hotter. “love it. i love it, toru.”

he smiles triumphantly like he’s won the lottery. he’s sure that this is better, though. you? admitting to the fact that you love the way he fucks you? fucking priceless. 

“yeah? you love my cock?” he asks, cockily, yet he knows the answer. 

you give him a broken sob with a nod, “so much!”

“then why don’t you cum for me, baby. cum all over this cock ‘n show me how much you love it.” he coaxes breathily, continuing to fuck you into oblivion. “it’s yours. i’m fucking yours.”

you can’t stop yourself as soon as you hear his request. the tight coil in the pit of your tummy comes undone as you sob out his name. you trap his twitching cock between his spasming cunt all the while he fucks you through your blinding orgasm. every second feels more euphoric than the last, more tears running down your face at the pleasure. 

satoru isn’t far behind you with the way you grip him so heavenly. he’s quickly pulling out, the hand in your hair coming to wrap around his cock. you whine at the loss of his warmth, but you’re pleasantly surprised when you hear the lewd noise of his hand vigorously pumping himself and the sounds of his pretty groans. 

he lets out a string of curses, hand moving quicker before his body jerks and his ribbons of his cum spurt out. some of it lands on your bare ass, but the majority ends up on your date outfit. he can’t help but smile at the fact that he’s ruined your pretty outfit. one meant for someone who isn’t him. 

“you know what? i think you should cancel your date.” he pants out. “‘n be sure to tell him that you’re taken now.”

he watches the way you nod with a dazed smile and he can’t help but feel proud of himself. you’re finally his and he’s finally yours. 

© all works belong to SLUTURU 2025. do not copy or repost.

You’ve been traveling with him for long enough to remember all his other little habits. You know how he prefers to hunt around dusk and all his favorite fishing spots. You know which way he prefers to pitch the tent or make the shelter in case the two of you need to make a quick escape. You know how often he likes to sharpen his tools, and often he’ll drag you into the nearest town for a pitstop and quick refuel of supplies. You know which foods he prefers you to cook for him because he thinks your recipes are better, and which side of the bed he likes best. Hell, you even know when he’s about to run off on some side quest and leave you somewhere just by the subtle twitch of his ears.

​

Because you know him. You know his habits. You know what he does. You know what he likes. You know him. So while it took you by surprise, it wasn’t surprising, per se. You know this side of him, too. You just forgot for a moment.

​

But a moment was all that it took for him to slip in right behind you, completely undetected, and place his hands on your hips as if that was where they had always belonged.

​

“Link!” You gasp his name breathlessly as you quickly try to steady yourself before you end up eating a face full of dirt after nearly jumping in surprise. “A little warning next time!”

​

He caught you while you were foraging for mushrooms. The part of Milda Woods that you two were in seemed to be full of the normal ones- just ripe for roasting and easy snacking. But you stepped away from helping him start the fire because you swore you had seen some truffles not too far away from where the two of you were making camp. So naturally, you went over to where you thought they were and got on your hands and knees to go searching. And searching. And searching. And searching. And searching. Until suddenly, you were too busy to do any more searching.

​

Because the sound of the kneeling man behind you undoing the buckle of his trousers was far too distracting to pay attention to absolutely anything else.

​

“Sorry,” Your travel companion murmured from behind you, not really sounding all that sorry, as he gave your hip a quick squeeze. Looking over your shoulder at him, you were able to find that his expression told you the exact same thing. That he wasn’t sorry- not in the slightest. His eyebrows were furrowed, his lips were set in a straight line, and his cheeks were flushed a deep red as one of his hands kept fiddling with his pants. “Couldn’t help myself…want you to look forward though.”

​

“Look forward?” The question falls from your lips dumbly, almost as if you’ve never traveled a day with him before. But luckily for him, he doesn’t need to explain. Or rather, he chooses not to explain and instead lets out a low whistle, just to grab your attention. It surprises just enough for a moment that you don’t even see which hand he uses to push the side of your face back to facing forward- just like he initially asked of you. But as the shock of the action wears off, you find yourself feeling a little annoyed by his brashness. It’s not uncommon. He is a man of few words after all. But in your mind, it wouldn’t kill him to use a few of those words to actually speak to you properly, right? In fact, you have half a mind to turn right back around and to put a stop to what he was doing and to tell him off for always being so rough with you. In fact, you should! And you will.

​

At least, you wanted to. And for a moment, you really did think about it. But within that moment, he had already pulled down your own trousers, lifted your tunic up, and had pulled your panties to the side.

​

Just to lick at your slit from behind.  

​

“F-fuck…” Is the only thing you can whimper as you feel Link’s tongue flatten against your pussy once- twice…three times back to back. Instinctively, you tense up as your back arches at the sensation. It causes you to fall forward a little, and you now have to brace yourself on your elbows instead of your hands as he starts paying a little too much attention to your clit for you to form a proper sentence.

​

But even that is over far faster than you would have imagined. Because all too quickly, the tongue you were feeling lap at your insides is replaced by the thick, blunt head of Link’s cock as he lines it up with your entrance. You can do little more but gasp quietly as you feel him drag his cock up and down your wetness, gathering what arousal he can before he starts to push his way past the lower lips of your pussy.

​

“Shit…” He groans deep and low from behind you as he makes his way inside, inch by inch. Though you can barely hear him over how much you’re whining yourself as you’re slowly stuffed full of his cock. You’re not the wettest you could have been. You know that. He knows that. You both know that. But what little licking and sucking he did do is what is currently allowing him to sink his dick inside of your tight little hole with nothing but whimpers and gasps from your end until he finally, finally bottoms out six excruciating inches later. “You alright?”

​

At his question, you do your best to huff in what you hope is obvious displeasure. Though from the sounds of his low, pleased-sounding chuckles and the way he affectionately strokes your now bare hips while adjusting his grip, you have a feeling the sound you made came off as more pathetic than angry. And that made you angrier- just a little. But of course, he didn’t exactly leave you any time to be angry at him. Because the second he could feel you wiggling your hips and adjusting yourself to better accommodate his own throbbing length within you, he was pulling back his hips and snapping them forward. And doing it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And-

​

“O-oh my…oh my goddesses…Link- Link, fuck!” You squeal in time with the blonde’s continuous thrusts as he fucks you doggy style in the middle of the woods. “F-fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He only offers you a low, possessive-sounding grunt in return as his grip on your hips tightens just enough to offer him an easier time thrusting inside of you. But that only serves to make things impossibly worse for you as he manages to hit that spot inside you that has you seeing your stars damn near perfectly each and every time.

​

“You’re gonna get me in trouble…” He huffs out moments (minutes?) later, despite not bothering to do anything about the now cruel pace of his strokes. His words barely process in your mind. Though for a moment, you are able to piece enough thoughts together to remember the fact that you’re not in the most remote part of the woods. Where he found you- rather, where he now has you bent over, writhing, and drooling into the dirt, leaves, and grass- doesn’t offer that much cover. Sure, there are a couple of trees within arm's reach. And some of the bushes in the immediate vicinity are thick enough to ease some of your fears of being seen in such a compromising position should someone be around.

​

But if you keep looking forward like Link wanted you to and squint, you could see the path that eventually leads to Hateno village. You could see how easy it is for the two of you to reach civilization. Or rather, how easy it would be for civilization to reach you.

And suddenly, you’re hyperaware of just how wantonly you’re moaning. And how deep his strokes are. And how loud and messy your pussy gets each time he pulls back and pushes his length back in. And how desperately he undressed and mounted you. Just because he saw you bent down and distracted a few paces away. Just because he saw you from behind. Just because he needed this. Needed you.

​

A few seconds later, Link lets out another groan.

​

One that’s immediately followed by a nasty string of curses between his labored breaths- and it’s something you’re not used to hearing due to his inclination to stay silent, even during sex. Those you suppose even he can’t help but fall victim to pleasure. Especially since you’ve been starting to tighten up more and more over time now that the growing knot within your lower belly is getting increasingly harder to ignore.

​

So you’re into what he does to you. So you like the fact that at any moment- at any time, the Hylian Champion could get so needy that even bending down in front of him is a risky move. So you like the fact that he doesn’t seem to care about the timing or place or the fact that the two of you are supposed to be preparing a shelter before nightfall right now. So you like the grabbing, the roughness, the quickness, the riskiness- the animalistic nature of it all. So you like it all. So what?

​

This particular moment may have come as a surprise, it isn’t really that surprising.

​

You’ve been traveling with him long enough to know all his little habits and quirks. And maybe you forgot about this one particular habit of his this one time. Or maybe you didn’t. Whose to say? And whose to blame you, either way?

​

He does take good care of you whenever you two are traveling. And the Hero of the Wild does deserve a little reward for all the good he does. For you. For the people you encounter. Hell, for the whole world too. And you?

​

Well, let’s just say you’re his happy little companion. Who’s more than willing to be accommodating. To help him with the needs he can’t fulfill himself. And of course, to go along with the ride. Any ride.

​

“‘m…I’m close…I’m close, Link, I- ah~!"

​

You’ve been traveling with him for long enough to remember all his other little habits. You know how he prefers to hunt around dusk and all his favorite fishing spots. You know which way he prefers to pitch the tent or make the shelter in case the two of you need to make a quick escape. You know how often he likes to sharpen his tools, and often he’ll drag you into the nearest town for a pitstop and quick refuel of supplies. You know which foods he prefers you to cook for him because he thinks your recipes are better, and which side of the bed he likes best. Hell, you even know when he’s about to run off on some side quest and leave you somewhere just by the subtle twitch of his ears.

​

Because you know him. You know his habits. You know what he does. You know what he likes. You know him. So while it took you by surprise, it wasn’t surprising, per se. You know this side of him, too. You just forgot for a moment.

​

But a moment was all that it took for him to slip in right behind you, completely undetected, and place his hands on your hips as if that was where they had always belonged.

​

“Link!” You gasp his name breathlessly as you quickly try to steady yourself before you end up eating a face full of dirt after nearly jumping in surprise. “A little warning next time!”

​

He caught you while you were foraging for mushrooms. The part of Milda Woods that you two were in seemed to be full of the normal ones- just ripe for roasting and easy snacking. But you stepped away from helping him start the fire because you swore you had seen some truffles not too far away from where the two of you were making camp. So naturally, you went over to where you thought they were and got on your hands and knees to go searching. And searching. And searching. And searching. And searching. Until suddenly, you were too busy to do any more searching.

​

Because the sound of the kneeling man behind you undoing the buckle of his trousers was far too distracting to pay attention to absolutely anything else.

​

“Sorry,” Your travel companion murmured from behind you, not really sounding all that sorry, as he gave your hip a quick squeeze. Looking over your shoulder at him, you were able to find that his expression told you the exact same thing. That he wasn’t sorry- not in the slightest. His eyebrows were furrowed, his lips were set in a straight line, and his cheeks were flushed a deep red as one of his hands kept fiddling with his pants. “Couldn’t help myself…want you to look forward though.”

​

“Look forward?” The question falls from your lips dumbly, almost as if you’ve never traveled a day with him before. But luckily for him, he doesn’t need to explain. Or rather, he chooses not to explain and instead lets out a low whistle, just to grab your attention. It surprises just enough for a moment that you don’t even see which hand he uses to push the side of your face back to facing forward- just like he initially asked of you. But as the shock of the action wears off, you find yourself feeling a little annoyed by his brashness. It’s not uncommon. He is a man of few words after all. But in your mind, it wouldn’t kill him to use a few of those words to actually speak to you properly, right? In fact, you have half a mind to turn right back around and to put a stop to what he was doing and to tell him off for always being so rough with you. In fact, you should! And you will.

​

At least, you wanted to. And for a moment, you really did think about it. But within that moment, he had already pulled down your own trousers, lifted your tunic up, and had pulled your panties to the side.

​

Just to lick at your slit from behind.  

​

“F-fuck…” Is the only thing you can whimper as you feel Link’s tongue flatten against your pussy once- twice…three times back to back. Instinctively, you tense up as your back arches at the sensation. It causes you to fall forward a little, and you now have to brace yourself on your elbows instead of your hands as he starts paying a little too much attention to your clit for you to form a proper sentence.

​

But even that is over far faster than you would have imagined. Because all too quickly, the tongue you were feeling lap at your insides is replaced by the thick, blunt head of Link’s cock as he lines it up with your entrance. You can do little more but gasp quietly as you feel him drag his cock up and down your wetness, gathering what arousal he can before he starts to push his way past the lower lips of your pussy.

​

“Shit…” He groans deep and low from behind you as he makes his way inside, inch by inch. Though you can barely hear him over how much you’re whining yourself as you’re slowly stuffed full of his cock. You’re not the wettest you could have been. You know that. He knows that. You both know that. But what little licking and sucking he did do is what is currently allowing him to sink his dick inside of your tight little hole with nothing but whimpers and gasps from your end until he finally, finally bottoms out six excruciating inches later. “You alright?”

​

At his question, you do your best to huff in what you hope is obvious displeasure. Though from the sounds of his low, pleased-sounding chuckles and the way he affectionately strokes your now bare hips while adjusting his grip, you have a feeling the sound you made came off as more pathetic than angry. And that made you angrier- just a little. But of course, he didn’t exactly leave you any time to be angry at him. Because the second he could feel you wiggling your hips and adjusting yourself to better accommodate his own throbbing length within you, he was pulling back his hips and snapping them forward. And doing it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And-

​

“O-oh my…oh my goddesses…Link- Link, fuck!” You squeal in time with the blonde’s continuous thrusts as he fucks you doggy style in the middle of the woods. “F-fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He only offers you a low, possessive-sounding grunt in return as his grip on your hips tightens just enough to offer him an easier time thrusting inside of you. But that only serves to make things impossibly worse for you as he manages to hit that spot inside you that has you seeing your stars damn near perfectly each and every time.

​

“You’re gonna get me in trouble…” He huffs out moments (minutes?) later, despite not bothering to do anything about the now cruel pace of his strokes. His words barely process in your mind. Though for a moment, you are able to piece enough thoughts together to remember the fact that you’re not in the most remote part of the woods. Where he found you- rather, where he now has you bent over, writhing, and drooling into the dirt, leaves, and grass- doesn’t offer that much cover. Sure, there are a couple of trees within arm's reach. And some of the bushes in the immediate vicinity are thick enough to ease some of your fears of being seen in such a compromising position should someone be around.

​

But if you keep looking forward like Link wanted you to and squint, you could see the path that eventually leads to Hateno village. You could see how easy it is for the two of you to reach civilization. Or rather, how easy it would be for civilization to reach you.

And suddenly, you’re hyperaware of just how wantonly you’re moaning. And how deep his strokes are. And how loud and messy your pussy gets each time he pulls back and pushes his length back in. And how desperately he undressed and mounted you. Just because he saw you bent down and distracted a few paces away. Just because he saw you from behind. Just because he needed this. Needed you.

​

A few seconds later, Link lets out another groan.

​

One that’s immediately followed by a nasty string of curses between his labored breaths- and it’s something you’re not used to hearing due to his inclination to stay silent, even during sex. Those you suppose even he can’t help but fall victim to pleasure. Especially since you’ve been starting to tighten up more and more over time now that the growing knot within your lower belly is getting increasingly harder to ignore.

​

So you’re into what he does to you. So you like the fact that at any moment- at any time, the Hylian Champion could get so needy that even bending down in front of him is a risky move. So you like the fact that he doesn’t seem to care about the timing or place or the fact that the two of you are supposed to be preparing a shelter before nightfall right now. So you like the grabbing, the roughness, the quickness, the riskiness- the animalistic nature of it all. So you like it all. So what?

​

This particular moment may have come as a surprise, it isn’t really that surprising.

​

You’ve been traveling with him long enough to know all his little habits and quirks. And maybe you forgot about this one particular habit of his this one time. Or maybe you didn’t. Whose to say? And whose to blame you, either way?

​

He does take good care of you whenever you two are traveling. And the Hero of the Wild does deserve a little reward for all the good he does. For you. For the people you encounter. Hell, for the whole world too. And you?

​

Well, let’s just say you’re his happy little companion. Who’s more than willing to be accommodating. To help him with the needs he can’t fulfill himself. And of course, to go along with the ride. Any ride.

​

“‘m…I’m close…I’m close, Link, I- ah~!"

​

Lestat guessed you might have had a horrible horrible time with relationships before him and Louis, you'd always flinched a lot when they'd move their hands too quickly, or when they started shouting you'd immediately find somewhere to hide. The skiddish nature of you did help encourage them to handle situations more maturely, less brash, and significantly less yelling, just for your sake.

Surprisingly, Lestat noticed it before Louis, your randomly skittish nature this week. You'd accidentally seen one of your ex boyfriends in one of the shops with Lestat and of course, it's normal for humans to get scared, yes but you're overly scared as if the boogeyman was right on your doorstep doing a jig or something. (Yes, that's a Sinners reference.)

Your ex had made sure to bother you regularly this week, he'd gone to the pub you stop at to get whatever alcohol of choice that either Louis or Lestat are fancying, just watching you. He'd stopped you at the little market down the way that sold Lestat's cigarettes, you weren't doing anything but the weekly shopping that you told your lovers you could handle alone and for the most part, you did but they both noticed how you were now favoring your wrist a bit and didn't want to go out much more this week without one of them by your side.

As the weekend came, the three of you had gone to a party and as soon as you saw him again, your hands began to sweat in Louis and the both of them could tell something more had happened between you and this man, quite possibly why your wrists were so tender. Your heart pounded and the room started to spin a little making you need to take a moment.

Silently Louis looked over at Lestat but both of them were caught by the man's thoughts, the vile and aggressive tone in which he directed them at you. "Fucking bitch, I should've killed her when I had the chance...she doesn't deserve to be here. Who are the men she's with? They look easy to pick off, just like her. I just need one moment with her alone and I can do whatever I please and I'll get away with it since the sheriff owes me big time."

Louis guided you away, wrapping his arms around you to help comfort you not draw attention to your discomfort. He pulled you forward to stand on his feet, guiding your arms around his neck, and pulled you as close as he possibly could as he slowly stepped for you. The scene was nothing out of the ordinary next to the other couple dancing in a similar fashion.

Lestat on the other hand spoke softly into the man's ear, wrapping an arm around him as if he knew him but clearly didn't, swiftly cutting the man so he could not scream. The man's hand flies up to his neck, Lestat ushering him out of the room to play with him, to watch every little bit of pain move across his features, to revel in it all.

This man had caused you serious pain and scared you so deeply, Lestat and Louis had both seen it in his mind, little pictures flashing in their mind of you bruised and beaten, him screaming at you, him holding you down, each of these the man associated with pleasure, each memory making Lestat cut him slower and more brutally.

Louis knows exactly what's going on in the other room but he doesn't even remotely make it known as his eyes find yours and his lip quirks up to give you a soft smile. "You look tense, cherie. Relax, we're supposed to be having fun."

Louis could see the man's pain and for once he also enjoyed it, this man was scum in general but even more so since he hurt his woman. He understands now how killing could be so easy, all he had to do was think of you in the place of any helpless woman hurt in a man's thoughts, his grip tightened on you but quickly loosened as your hand found his face.

"Où as-tu la tête, Mon Amour?" (Where's your head, My Love?) You say as you look into those beautiful green eyes of his, always so attentive to his and Lestat's feelings sometimes knowing way before they do.

"Thinking how horrible life would be if Les and I hadn't met you." His nose pressed to the side of yours, breathing you in before his lips find yours as you both still sway to the music.

Flashes of the man's agony appeared again to Louis but he just smiled and kissed you more deeply, finding solace in your safety and Lestat's pursuit of it.

Before he knows it Lestat is back, in different clothes his mind swimming with content. He'd drug the man to the attic of your shared home, where he and hopefully Louis would join him to drain his body tonight and incinerate him.

"You changed." You noticed rather quickly as Lestat approached you both, Louis's grip softening even more as he realized the man might as well be gone.

"My, my, our woman has a keen eye, Mon Cher. My outfit was far too formal for this evening it seems." Lestat smiled at you but his eyes glanced to Louis as a way of telling him "it's done, you don't have to worry."

"It would seem so, I was hoping you wouldn't realize I was completely stalling for him." Louis smile brightened even more in the presence of Lestat but also in knowing their little human is safe.

"Well if it's all the same to you, I would be delighted to dance with you." Lestat softly asked as he reached his hand out to you, pulling you towards him. In a way it was good to dance with Lestat, he didn't complain too much when you stepped on his feet while learning to dance but on the same note he'd never let you stand on them the way Louis does but alas you all enjoyed a wonderful evening without any worry from the man you once feared.

The two of you are curled on the couch, limbs tangled and blanket-draped, the TV casting soft light across Charles’s cheekbones while he’s too busy scrolling Deliveroo to notice your scheming.

“Pizza or Thai?” he mumbles, his voice already full of sleep and Monaco softness.

“Thai,” you say, leaning into him. “Craving spring rolls. And your spice tolerance is tragic.”

“I’m getting better!”

“You cried over medium spice last time.”

“It was emotional,” he pouts. “The rice was perfect.”

You giggle as he hands you the phone to confirm the order. “Okay, I’m getting my wallet, one sec—”

He slides off the couch, feet pat-patting toward the kitchen. It takes him all of six seconds.

Six seconds too long.

“Okay, here’s my card,” he says as he returns, holding it out like Simba at Pride Rock.

You glance up, already setting the phone down. “Oh, it’s done.”

He pauses mid-step. Blinks. “What?”

“I paid.”

“ . . . you what?”

“I already paid, Charles. It’s done.”

He freezes, staring at you like the app just cursed your firstborn.

“It’s done?” he echoes. “What do you mean it’s done? Is it free? Did they make it free for you?”

“No—”

“Then how is it DONE if I didn’t PAY?”

You burst out laughing as he kneels dramatically on the floor, still holding out the card like it might reverse time.

“I told you to wait!” he groans. “I was supposed to pay! It was my idea to order food!”

“You were too slow, Speed Racer.”

“I’m literally a professional driver! You cheated!”

You toss a cushion at him. He catches it, slumps over it like a fainting Victorian woman.

“This is humiliating,” he mutters into the couch. “I’m never going to financially recover from this.”

“It was thirty euros, Charles.”

“That’s not the point,” he says, crawling back onto the couch like a man defeated. “You’re my girlfriend. I am supposed to pay. I’m the one who spoils you. That is my job.”

You smirk, pulling him into your lap. “So let me spoil you for once.”

He grumbles something unintelligible against your hoodie.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“ . . . fine. But next time, I’m buying the entire menu. And dessert.”

“You always buy dessert.”

“I’m buying your future dessert cravings. All of them.”

You roll your eyes, kissing his forehead. “Deal. But only if you don’t cry over the spice level again.”

He lifts his head, utterly affronted. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Good morning.” You yawned into your hand. Eyes heavy, brain still processing the lack of sleep, you trudged into the kitchen where Clark and your twin girls were.

Your husband had taken the morning shift to allow you to have a much needed lie in since the babies had hit the four month sleep regression like two hurricanes joining together.

“Good morning, honey.” Clark rubbed your back as you passed.

He had one baby girl in a carrier on his side. They had tripled in weight since being born, on the 99th percentile for height and weight — his genes were powerful — so your four month old twins looked more like fully functioning adults in a mini-version. The other twin had managed to be put down for a nap rather than in Clark’s arms where she usually resided for her slumber.

Clark had the baby monitor clutched in his hand like it may run away from him.

He leant against the countertop, munching away at his toast, both him and your daughter watching you carefully as you turned to them and pulled at the bottom of your top to bring it up, tucking it under your chin.

Breast pumps filled to the brim with breast milk, you let out a sigh of relief as you released one of your breasts from the suction part.

Clark’s brows raised. He took another bite of his toast and gave a nod of approval.

You deadpanned, “Clark.”

“What?” He snapped out of his trance, your daughter turning her head to stare at him too, “I can’t admire you?”

“You’re not admiring. You’re ogling.”

You pulled your top down over your naked chest and Clark kissed his teeth, “Ogling is a form of admiring, honey. I ogle your beauty.”

Planting the two full breast pumps onto the kitchen counter, you pressed a kiss to Clark’s mouth and patted his chest.

“I’m going to take a shower.” You pointed at the pumps, “Food is ready for them. If there’s any leftover—”

“—Fridge it. On it, honey.”

Clark already began pulling the bottles from the designated baby cupboard that used to hold the abundance of mismatched mugs you collected — Clark handmade a cabinet to showcase them once you found out you were pregnant.

Two pink bottles ready, Clark placed the baby monitor close by, his one hand cradled his baby girl’s back, the other awkwardly twisting the cap of the breast pumps so he could pour the contents into the bottles.

His daughter began to babble and fidget in the carrier as he poured the milk.

“Isn’t Mommy amazing?” He asked her earnestly, “Her body produces all of this goodness for you and your sister.”

She began to blow raspberries.

His free hand twisted the hot tap on to fill the sink up with soapy water to clean the different compartments of the breast pump; so it was one less thing for you to worry about.

“Uh huh. I hear you.” Clark kissed his daughter’s head, his voice lowered, “Between you and me, Stinky, I think the sight of your Mommy just now has put her leagues ahead of you guys in my love department.”

You called from the bathroom, “Clark! I heard that! No favouritism!”

Clark looked to his daughter, lips pulled into a deep frown and shrugged, “She’s my wife. She has to be my favourite, Stinky.”

“What?” you hiccup.

“You’re shivering.”

As if to prove his point, his hands—calloused and strong from years of use—dance along your sides. They move from the dip of your hips to where your breasts bulge at their sides.

Sighing, you say, “Well, when you do that…” and bury your face into the mattress.

Leon laughs and your body absorbs it like it’s your own. As if your bones are conductors, the sound sends an addictive jolt to the pulsing organ in your chest and between your thighs.

“We don’t have to do this, you know, if you’re too nervous.”

You’re quick to shake your head and even quicker to arch back into him. A little absently, you think then about how in this position, you two slot perfectly together—like you were made to fit.

“Want to,” you add weakly. “Wanna do this with you, Lee. Please.” For good measure (as if your words in all their breathy, whiney nature weren’t indicative of how you felt), you start to roll your hips back. Leon groans loud.

His flushed, hot tip rests just inches away from your weepy hole. He watches you flutter on nothing; as the slick pooling there catches the silvery moonlight strobing through the bedroom window. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. God-sent and lovely and all his. To take, to have, to hold…

Your hips move again, slowly, dangerously, and Leon stops you with a hard hand to the dip of your spine, making you squeak. “Baby…” he warns.

“Leon, please. Please, honey…wan’ you so much.”

Leon inhales, all sharp and shaky. “Alright…yeah, yeah, okay. …Whatever you want, baby.” He kisses your spine once more as he crawls up your body.

With his thighs bracketing yours, he pushes down on you with the hard line of his abs. His pecs—all swollen and round and slick with sweat—cement to your shoulders. The sheer mass of his body feels as if it’s swallowing you whole. You preen at the contact, letting out a mewl so pathetic you even surprise yourself.

Gradually then, with the kind of control and calculation he exhibits at work, Leon pushes his thick head through your gummy walls. He’s so painfully hard that it takes everything in him to go slow. And, by the time his pelvis is flush to your ass, he already feels spent.

The crook of Leon’s chin hooks around your shoulder ensuring his face is firmly pressed against yours. He pants heavy in your ear, and out of the corner of your vision, you see his face flush a berry-red.

“Fuck, baby. You—shit—y’feel—”

“Leon…‘m ready.”

The man nods, mainly to himself, before pressing a chaste kiss to your collarbone. Slowly—just as slowly as he entered you—his hips draw back. The languid drag of him has you grasping aimlessly at the sheets; the thick vein that curves around his even thicker cock is relentless in catching the ridges of your walls. In this position, you’re able to feel all of him. “God, Leon...”

Of course, sex with Leon has always been something else entirely…but this? There aren’t enough words in any language to describe the way you’re feeling right now.

“I know, baby, I know. I need you just as bad,” Leon purrs. You just nod along, jaw falling as Leon slowly slides back into you. He braces himself then, arching and tightly curving over your figure.

“How do you want it, baby? Like this?” His hips speed up then, shallow thrusts that have your thighs immediately stinging with the friction of being stationary. Still, you groan, eyes rolling back into your head as he keeps pace. After a while, Leon shifts over top of you again. “Or do you want it like this?” With steady hips, he suddenly slams forward, the action practically punching your soul straight out of your body. You cry when his head shoves directly into that spongey notch deep inside you.

Desperately, you reach for the hand braced by your head. Leon locks your fingers with his before bringing them to the soft skin of his mouth.

“Hm, you like that?” You try to crane your head so that you can meet your boyfriend’s eyes, but Leon ‘tsks’ at you. You aren’t at all ashamed by the attempt or his response, though. It’s done without any sort of malice. Nothing more than light teasing, born from a place of reverence and pure, unadulterated love. “Use your words, baby. Gotta know you want it. Need to know I’m making you feel good, y’know?”

“Shit, Le—yes. Yes, like that. Fuck—“ you manage to eventually get the words out, only for another thrust to leave you blubbering.

Leon lets go of your hand, but only for the briefest of moments, before his fingers come up under your jaw. He cradles your face as he finds your mouth, a curtain of his blonde hair hanging low over your eyes. He licks at your own tongue, at the corners of your lips, behind your teeth… Any and every inch of space he can reach becomes learned in a matter of seconds (as if he already wasn’t so intimately accustomed).

Because of the pillow beneath your hips, Leon’s able to fix his grip on you every once in a while—whether the pads of his fingers are digging into the tempting plains of your waist, or the fat of your shuddering thighs. Each thrust has his pubic bone bouncing against your ass in an even, but incredibly hard-hitting pace.

Leon nips at your earlobe, gently tugging on the loose flesh so as strengthen (or perhaps ground) his dwindling resolve. In little time, he feels the effects of his impending orgasm: his balls tightening against your puffy clit, dick swelling deep within your walls…

You’re just so warm, and so wet, and so…so good to him, so good for him, Leon can’t resist the flurry of emotions threatening to escape him. “Fuck, I love you. Love you so much, baby. Always so tight for me. Shit. Y’love sucking me in like this, don’t you?”

“Leon…” is all you can manage to say. It’s the only warning your hazy brain can conjure up; the only thing on the tip of your tongue other than another strangled whimper.

Leon understands though. He always does.

You’re close. Really, really close. The sound of your squelching slick as he rifles through you over and over; the way your spine arches and your feet start to helplessly kick out from beneath you—it’s all the confirmation he needs.

The muscles in his arms have begun to strain, a sharp tightness that blooms from his wrist all the way up to his shoulders. He takes the opportunity then to collapse onto you, carefully accommodating some of his weight with his knees so as not to smother you entirely (though he would without question if that’s what you asked).

The sounds of your whines pitch higher and higher with every snap of his hips. You’re shaking again, though this time it’s for sure an unconscious act. In relieving his arms from the awkward angle, Leon’s able to wrap an arm around your head, and you nearly choke on spit when you realize what he’s doing.

Leon’s arm—meaty bicep, veins, and all—rests safely against your collarbone, holding you snug to his chest. His cheek is pressed to yours again, so close that you’re convinced you’re practically becoming one (as if you haven’t already…). You’re both two halves of one heart stitched together; all haphazard, but terrifyingly real.

“I need you to come for me. Can you do that, baby? Can you make a mess for me?” His voice is a beautiful ragged sound—one that in any other situation would have you pushing your hips back to meet his. But not this time. Leon has you locked in place, pliant and safe as the knot of your orgasm pulls tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

So with that, you opt to just nod into Leon’s arm, albeit rather weakly. Suddenly, you feel a different kind of pressure come up between your hips.

Leon somehow managed to sneak his free hand down to your cunt, calculated fingers once again toying with your clit in easy circles. And that alone that has you coming with a sharp and stuttered gasp. While you shudder and twitch, Leon continues his ministrations; humping and grinding into you while his own release crests.

He grunts and huffs as he spills into you, as if his fucked-out body can’t decide on which sound it wants or needs to make. Regardless, all that really matters is that you’re holding on tight to him, whispering something about how good he makes you feel and how much you love him.

Of course, Leon has to return the sentiment tenfold. He doesn’t say it exactly like how you did (he’s never been the best with words), but as he cleans you up, petting your head and kissing everywhere the damp cloth doesn’t—from the inner curve of your knee, to your navel, to the hollow of your throat—he knows that you understand.

Your heart jumped, lips tugging into a smile as you swung a leg over his waist. You straddled him, lifting your nightgown up over your thighs. Before you reached for him, you tugged your bonnet back into place, adjusting it carefully, ignoring the way he huffed a laugh at the sight.

“Gotta look right,” you mumbled, more to yourself, before pulling his dick free of his briefs. He was heavy and warm in your hand, already thickening just from your touch.

Settling over him, you guided the head against your slick folds, gasping when it nudged against your entrance. He gripped your hips, eyes barely parted, watching the way you teased yourself on him.

“Go on then,” he rasped, voice low and edged with sleep. “Take what you wanted so bad you had to wake me up for it.”

You sank down slow, the stretch making your eyes flutter. His dick filled you inch by inch, and your lips parted, breath shaky.

“Mmm…” you moaned, hands braced against his chest as you bottomed out, the weight of him deep inside.

Your thighs trembled as you eased yourself into a steady rhythm, rocking against him, savoring the deep stretch of his dick filling you to the hilt. Each slow roll of your hips made you moan softly, little broken sounds that slipped into the quiet of the room. You were wet enough that every motion drew out a slick, lewd sound, your arousal dripping down to dampen his briefs bunched low around his hips.

He kept his eyes closed at first, head sunk into the pillow, his hand still heavy on your hip. Every so often, he let out a low grunt or a quiet moan, the kind of sound that rumbled from his chest and made you clench tighter around him.

You rode him like that for a while—slow, sensual, almost lazy. But the ache in your belly only grew sharper, needier. You leaned forward and pressed one palm to his stomach, sliding it under his t-shirt. Your nails scraped over his skin, dragging lines across his abs as you bounced harder, faster.

His breath caught, and his eyes cracked open. Hooded, half-dreaming, but watching you now—your nightgown bunched high, bonnet crooked, your lips parted around breathy moans, the slick sound of your cunt taking him raw filling the room. His lips parted too, a faint grunt pushing past them as he shifted his grip, squeezing your hip tighter.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice rough, gravelly with sleep. “You’re lucky I love the way you feel.”

That only spurred you on—you fucked yourself down on him harder, wetter now, your moans rising into whines. The drag of him inside was unbearable, thick and perfect, hitting so deep your stomach clenched.

“Mghn—ahh” you gasped, nails digging into him as your hips snapped down, creamy arousal coating his dick with every grind. “You feel so fucking good—”

His gaze dragged over you slowly, hungry even through the haze of sleep. He groaned again, hips lifting just enough to meet your movements, driving deeper, making your breath hitch.

You rode him faster, tits bouncing with each movement, sweat pearling on your skin, voice catching as you gave him everything—your whimpers, your nails, the sight of your body working his cock like you were made for it.

His eyes stayed on you, hooded and dark, lips parted around another low moan.

“Messy little thing,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep but edged. “Getting wetter the longer you use me. Gonna make yourself cum on this dick, ma?”

Your hips faltered for a moment, thighs burning from the effort, and you let out a shaky little moan. He felt it immediately—the drag of your rhythm slowing, your body trying to take mercy on itself.

“Uh-uhn,” he murmurs, eyes still half-lidded but sharp enough. “Keep going.”

“Mhm,” you whimpered, nodding fast, biting down on your lip as you tried to grind faster, harder, the stretch almost too much but addictive all the same.

He watched the struggle, the way your mouth parted, the way your brows furrowed and eyes watered just a little as your body worked him. A dark smirk curled at his mouth.

“Shameless.” he muttered, voice edged with heat. “Waking me up at three in the damn morning just to sit on this dick. You’re so fucking nasty, you know that?”

A flush burned through your chest at his words, your thighs quivering. His hand released your waist and he slapped your ass, his filthy way of trying to spur you on. You wined at the sharp stinging sensation.

He groaned low, thrusting his hips up into you once, hard enough to make you yelp. “Faster. I didn’t tell you to slow down.”

You rocked slow, already sensitive. “I—fuck—you shouldn't talk—ah—you’re making me do all the work,” you gasped, nails clawing at his chest.

That got him. He sighed like you’d tried his patience, then suddenly his big arm was wrapping tight around your waist, hauling you down flush to him. His other hand came up, rough and certain, wrapping around your jaw and squeezing until your lips jutted in a pout.

Your eyes went wide, lips parted around a soft, broken sound.

“Watch your mouth,” he scolded, his hips snapping up into you, hard and fast, making your whole body jolt with each deep thrust. “You’re the one who woke me up begging for dick. You should be grateful I even let you ride me, slut.”

Fresh tears pricked at your lashes, your breath coming in high-pitched moans as his dick slammed into you, raw and deep, stretching you in a way that bordered on too much.

“Mmghn—oh god—” you gasped, voice breaking as your nails dug harder into his chest, leaving deep cresent marks as your mind slipped sideways with the force of his thrusts.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grunts against your mouth, eyes locked, lips curled. “Cry for it. Take what you asked for.”

You keen, wet and whimpering, eyes glassy as you felt him battering deep inside, his grip on your jaw forcing your gaze to stay locked with his. Your thighs shook, your walls fluttering around him, every stroke drawing you closer even as his voice scolded, edged with possession.

“Ungrateful little brat,” he gritted, jaw tight as he kept fucking into you. “So mouthy, but you always listen when it counts, don’t you? You love me putting you in your place.”

You nodded frantically, lips trembling under the pressure of his hand, every thrust pulling a needy moan from your throat, your whole body screaming yes even as tears spilled from the corners of your eyes.

His thrusts never lost rhythm—deep, rough, unforgiving—forcing your body to take him over and over.

“Don’t pout at me,” he teases, voice low and edged, his breath hot against your face. “You wanted this. You woke me up begging, and now you’re gonna take it the way I give it.”

His hips snapped harder, making you yelp. He swallowed the sound with a deep groan, lips parted, eyes blown. Your walls clutching him with desperate pulses.

You pant, clinging to him, your body burning, splitting, drowning in him.

“Please—ah—!” your voice cracked, high and broken, “please—”

“Mm, I love hearing that,” he rasped, pushing deeper until your walls spasmed around him, soaked and messy. “My sweet girl, dripping all over me, crying for it. Look at you. So fucking needy.”

Your eyes rolled back when he hit that spot again and again, and you could feel your body trembling on the edge, teetering. But just when you thought he’d let you break, he released his grip on your jaw and waist, leaving you suddenly free, trembling and desperate.

“Go on,” he said, leaning back into the pillows, sweat glistening at his temple, lips curling as he watched you. “Ride it. Show me how bad you need it.”

Your thighs burned as you shifted, lifting yourself just enough to start bouncing again, his cock dragging deliciously through your slick walls. Your head tipped back, moans spilling out, wetter and louder than before.

He groaned low in his chest, one big hand sliding down between your thighs, thumb circling your clit. You gasped, body jolting, hips stuttering as the pleasure doubled.

“Ohhh—fuck, I—” you whimper, bouncing faster now, the mix of his dick stirring your insides and his thumb working your swollen clit making you gush wetter, dripping down his shaft.

“Messy little problem,” he grunted, watching his dick disappear into you, creamy and soaked. “So nasty and perfect. Can’t even wait ‘til morning—had to wake me up dripping for it.”

Your moans broke higher, tears streaking your cheeks as you rode him harder, his thumb rubbing fast and dirty over your clit. He groaned with every bounce, his eyes fixed on you, dark, lips parted, savoring the sight of you falling apart but not giving you permission yet.

“Keep going, ma,” he ordered, voice a low drawl. “Show me you’re grateful. Show me how much you need this dick.”

Your thighs shook, your body begging to give in, but he only pressed harder at your clit, drawing it out, dragging your need to the very edge without letting you tumble over.

Your thighs were trembling, muscles screaming, but you didn’t dare stop. His dick kept splitting you open, sliding in deep and raw.

“God—oh, baby—” your voice pitched, cracked and broken, breathless from the pace. Your lashes fluttered, lips parted and glistening with spit as your head tipped back.

“That’s it,” he rasped, voice low and rough, every word vibrating against your chest where you leaned into him. His hand at your waist held you steady while his other worked between your thighs. “Look at you. Falling apart on my dick. So fucking wet for me.”

More tears streaked hot down your cheeks as the pressure built unbearable. “F–fuck, I can’t—” you sobbed, bouncing harder, messy and uncoordinated now, your wetness gushing down his shaft.

“Yes you can,” he snapped, eyes locked on you, sweat beading at his brow. Breath ragged, but his stare never wavered. “You’re gonna cum for me, sweetheart. Right here, right now. Cream all over this dick—come on. Be good for me.”

His thumb pressed harder, circling tight, and that was it. Your whole body seized as your orgasm tore through you, violent and raw. You screamed his name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, your pussy squeezing around him in desperate pulses, soaking him as you collapsed forward.

“That’s it,” he groaned, gritting his teeth as he fucked you through it, keeping you bouncing, milking him while you shattered. His eyes burned into yours when you lifted your head, dazed and wet-faced, your lips trembling. “Mghn—so pretty. Look at you.”

Your body shook, tears blurring your vision, but you held his gaze. Even while your orgasm ripped through you, you saw him watching—hungry, proud, undone by how desperate you were for him.

He hissed, groaned deep, He pulled out fast, stroking himself rough until he spilled hot and messy over your stomach, streaking your skin, painting across the underside of your tits.

“Goddamn, baby” he panted, voice frayed, chest heaving as his release dripped down your belly.

You were still shaking, your thighs weak, lips glossy and parted, chest heaving. You smeared some of his mess across your belly with shaky fingers, half-worn, half-proud, and he only smirked, pulling you down into his arms, sweat-slick and sticky between you both.

His mouth pressed to your temple, giving a sweet peck before he whispered into your hair, "Got it out your system?"

❤︎𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰 ❤︎

White lace bow divider by @dollywons

Mdni/Support text by me