ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE, PLEASE BE KIND!!!
All my work is +18.
If you are a minor: leave. BYE BYE!
MARVEL PART 2
DC
SUPERNATURAL
CALL OF DUTY
STRANGER THINGS
CRIMINAL MINDS
THE PITT
9-1-1
ONCE UPON A TIME
OTHERS
Masterlist will be updated as i post.
A/N: Hello, thank you for reading my blog!
I need to clarify, due to recent events, my stories are mine. I am translating them from my Wattpad profile where I used to post (and sometimes still do). There was a recent accusation that raised the hypothesis that someone translated and posted some of my stories (without my consent, obviously). I can prove that the stories are mine, since they have been posted on Wattpad since 2012.
I do not allow copying/reposting/translation without my consent.
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Hi! Some of you might have seen my last post about Dean Winchester ( Death) and know that Iâm writing an extended, multi-chapter version of that story (which was my original plan).
Iâm leaving the synopsis and warnings here in case youâre interested; let me know if youâd like me to tag you when I publish it.
Synopsis: She never had an ordinary life. Her dreams aren't made of hopes and beginnings, but of endings. She witnesses the deaths of strangers, acquaintances, and loved onesâsome peaceful, others terrifying. And worse: a simple touch reveals how each person will meet their end. No matter how hard she tries, she has never been able to change what she sees. Until she meets Dean Winchester.
Warnings: death; suicide (not involving main characters); Death (the Horseman of the Apocalypse); plus-size!Reader; use of Y/N (I try to avoid it); platonic relationship with Sam Winchester; enemies-to-friends dynamic with Castiel; future romantic involvement with Dean Winchester; a touch of "weirdo!Reader" (itâs just who I am); visions of death; plot twist (though maybe not much of one if you pay close attention); smut; strong language; more warnings to be added as the story progresses.
âŚsummary: you ask dean to sleep with you, he turns you down, and you believe him. you tell him you don't care, and he believes you. eventually, one of you is going to have to tell the truth, won't they. âŚ
âŚwarnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, implied age gap (20s - 40s), virgin!reader, angst, overprotective, bad at feelings dean, pining, idiots in love, as is my way, shameless smut (loss of virginity, praise kink, dry humping, teasing, dean's dirty talk, spanking, fingering, stripping, body worship, degredation kink, soft!dom Dean, size kink, begging, pussy slapping, soft and rough sex, messy, creampie, big dick dean, mean dean, dumbification), love confessions, fluffâŚ
âŚwc: 8.6kâŚ
âŚauthor's note: i love writing idiots in love it's my favorite kind of idiot it's for loveâŚ
âHave sex with me.â
Dean spits his coffee out. You sigh, bracing your hands on your hips, and wait for him to collect himself. Youâre patient. Heâs scrambling and slamming a fist on his chest, and you pass him a napkin with a sweet smile. You donât think itâs going to win you a spot in his bed, but it might help.
âBetter?â You ask, when he no longer sputtering and choking. He grunts, holding a hand up for a few more seconds. You roll your eyesâit wasnât that crazy a thing to sayâbut bounce on your toes and wait.
Dean clears his throat, ears red, and looks up at you like youâve grown a second head.
âWhat?â
âHave sex with me-â
âYeah, I- I heard you the first time, thatâs not-â Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. âItâs eight in the fuckinâ morning-â
âItâs eight fifteen.â
That earns you a flat look, and you smile innocently.
âThatâs fifteen extra minutes, it matters-â
âNot for this. And- I ainât even showered yet-â
Your nose wrinkles. âWhy havenât you showered?â
âI shower after coffee,â Dean mutters, turning his mug in his hands. âIf I donât, Sammyâs stinkinâ up the kitchen from his run.â
âOh- Okay.â You clasp your hands behind your back, peering at his tight jaw, his mussed, soft-looking hair. âIs that⌠A yes?â
Deanâs eyes widen on yours. Youâre worried heâs going to choke on the air this time. âYes?â
âAre you going to have sex with me,â you clarify, and his mouth falls open.
âI- Iâm- Youâre-â His throat bobs, and he starts to look around the room with a worried squint. âAre you fuckinâ with me?â
You frown. âWhy would I be fucking with you?â
ââCause, sweetheart, you canât just-â He lets out a sharp breath. âIs it Sam? Did he put you up to this? âCause I told him- That kinda prank, itâs off the table-â
âWhat kind of prank?â Youâre a little lost, and thereâs shame starting to burn up your neck.
A prank. He thinks itâs a prank.
Itâs not. Youâre so serious itâs almost embarrassing. You wouldnât have asked him if you werenât. Youâd almost talked yourself out of it, after spending too much time convincing yourself into it. Nights of tossing and turning in bed, an insatiable and aching heat between your legs and the sheets bunched around you in a mockery of a body. Weeks of watching the boys slip out of bars with women that seemed to fall into them like magnets while you spun around, alone on a barstool without any prospects.
Months, of watching Dean with a flush he never saw. An adoration written all over your face he didnât seem capable of noticing. Youâd tried to stomp it out. Your stupid, useless little crush. Dean was older. Seasoned and desirable in the way that made you wonder if he was even real sometimes. Out of your reach, tantalizing, and impossible to just forget about.Â
Youâd neglect your feelings in the hope theyâd die, but heâd water them until they were in full bloom and overtaking your heart and mouth and head. Heâd buy the snacks you like and let you chose the movie. Heâd open doors and let his hand linger on your lower back, heâd smile at you in the dim light of the Impala and make you feel like the only person in the world, heâd call you when he was away on a separate hunt every single night, just to update you. Heâd play wrestle you for the remote, and somehow never manage to wonder why he always won when heâd see you take down men closer to Samâs size with barely a grunt of effort.
âNice try, sweetheart,â heâd whisper in your ear, when he had you pinned on the floor beneath him, and youâd have to swallow down your moan.
Heâd get up, turn on the TV, and leave you on the couch while he went to the bathroom. Youâd sit with your knees to your chest and your breathing uneven, unable to focus on anything but the ghost of his body over yours. The heat of him, the way his arms had caged you in, his knee pressed far too close to your neglected core.
If Dean knew how you dreamed about himâhow those moments followed you into bed, every single nightâyouâre so sure heâd never look at you again. He doesnât see you like that, youâre sure. Youâre the kid they took in, the annoying girl whoâs got too much mouth on her and not enough experience, in every possible way.
Youâve never done sex. You sort of just missed the window, where itâs supposed to happen, and then it became too big a deal, then you met Dean and you were lost. What was the point of being with anyone else, when you had his shoulder bumping yours in the hallway. When you were so hopelessly in love with him, you think your heart might beat out of your chest like a cartoon every time you see him.
So you made a choice, a few weeks ago. A choice it took a lot of courage to work yourself up to following through on
You just need to have sex. With someone. Anyone. Preferably Dean. It just needs to be done and over withâone time, where he doesnât know heâs taking your virginity, where heâs peacefully oblivious of your worship of his very existenceâand then you can try to move on. Once youâve had sex, it wonât be this big monster you shy away from anymore. Itâll just be another thing.
So youâre asking Dean. Outside of your alternate motivations, itâs a sound strategic call. You know about his prowess. Heâs bragged to you about all his five-star reviews. And maybe that always made you gag over a toilet bowl after, but if it did, thatâs none of his fucking business.
Maybe youâre not up to par with his usual partners, but you can do your makeup, or he can turn off the lights, or whatever else makes it easier for him. Anything that makes him touch you. You wonât even cry about it in front of him.
But he thinks itâs a prank. Why would he think itâs a prank.
âYou know,â he says, watching you wearily. âSammy gives you a tenner, you come and ask me for sex, everyone gets a good laugh at Dean. Good joke. Classy.â
You wrap your arms around your stomach, shrinking slightly into yourself. âItâs not a joke,â you mumble. âI- I was serious.â
âYou were serious?â
He says it like itâs insane. You shrug, fixing your gaze on the floor. A joke. He thinks fucking you would be a joke.
âSweetheart-â
âYou donât have to,â you take a step back, trying to sound casual. Like your heart isnât being torn to ribbons.
You really hadnât expected him to leap at the opportunity, but this is so close to cruel it hurts. Tears are threatening your eyes, and a lump is forming in your throat. Pathetic, a voice spits in your head. Why the fuck would he ever want to fuck you.
âWait, just- Hold on-â
You look up, faster than you want to admit. Dean staring at you with pale face and slack jaw, throat working like heâs swallowing his own words every second. You wait, because youâre a fucking useless idiot. Bouncing nervously on your feetâtheyâre smarter than the rest of you, they want to runâand trying not to melt under his gaze.
âYouâre actually askinâ me to fuck you?â He rasps, and you nod.
Itâs the tiniest motion of your head. Dean shifts in his seat, staring at you with wide, dark eyes.
âWhy?â
âWhy?â You frown, saying the first, easiest, least embarrassing reason that pops into your head. âBecause- You- Youâre good at it?â
âIâm good at it,â Dean repeats. âYou wanna fuck me âcause you think Iâd be good at it?â
You wish heâd stop saying fuck like that. With a harsh ending and low drawl. âI donât think,â you offer. âYouâre the one who said you would be.â
Deanâs lips twitch, but he doesnât look amused. âI could be lying, sweetheart.â
âI donât think you are.â
He stares at you. His eyes flick up to the ceilingâmaybe he still thinks heâs on a prank showâand he lets out a sharp, slow breath from his nose.
Then he shakes his head, and you feel the echo of your heart as it howls in pain.
âNo,â he mutters. âI ainât- Doinâ that. Not just âcause you- No.â
You blink at him, the world blurring a little. You stumble back, and Dean says your name, moving to his feet. You shake your head, moving back another step. Your eyes are stinging with tears, but thatâs not his problem. Heâs allowed to reject you. Youâre also allowed to cry about it.
âSweetheart-â
âItâs fine.â Your voice is too high. Too wobbly. âItâs- Thatâs okay.â
âNo, just- Fuck-â He rubs his jaw. âListen to me, alright-â
âYou donât have to explain,â you shrug weakly. âItâs okay.â
Dean gives you a disbelieving look, but you move further back before he can try to make you feel better about the rejection. Itâs not going to help.
âIâll just-â You look over your shoulder. To the door, just one more step back.
Dean says your name again. When you look back, heâs reaching to you, trying to beckon you back into the kitchen. You smile, tight and watery.
âThank you for your consideration.â You say, because youâre a fucking idiot. Dean certainly looks at you like youâre one.
You flee the kitchen. He calls your name again, but this time you donât look back.
Rejection is fine. Youâre fine. Youâre so fine, you lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day and eat so much ice cream your stomach hurts. Because itâs fun. Itâs fun to cry over something you never even had.
At least you anticipated this. You have a very solid plan B.
If Dean wonât sleep with you, youâre going to find someone who will. Youâre going to get it over with. This week.
Youâre learning something about yourself.
You are not good at flirting.
The first thing you try is the bars. Sam and Dean slide into a booth, and you go to get the drinks. A guy makes eyes at you, and you smile sweetly in return. When you bring the drinks back, you set the beers down in front of the boys and turn back on your heels to give the bar-guy a shot.
Dean says your name, and you freeze. You always do that for him. Itâs a habit you donât think youâre able to break.
âWhereâre you going?â He frowns at you, one arm slung around the back of the seat. Around where youâd usually sit.
âBar,â you say lamely, and the lines on his face deepen.
âWhy, you forget something?â
âNo.â
âThen what-â
Dean cuts himself off, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. To the bar. To the man, waiting for you with a smirk, because you promised youâd be back.
Dean grunts your name, low and rough, and if he asked you to stay, you donât think youâd be able to tell him no.
Things have been strange, since the kitchen. Neither of you have brought it up, and Dean hasnât stopped treating you the way he always has, but thereâs something charged beneath it. A live wire that frays and crackles, every time your fingers brush or your eyes meet. Youâve caught him staring at you with an open mouth a few times. Last week he tried to talk to you, alone in the Impala while Sam got snacks from a gas station. You announced that you had to shit, and scrambled out of the car.
You donât want to talk about it, and Dean has no right to make you. Heâs not the one who got his heart broken. Heâs not the one who sort of wants to cry, whenever your eyes meet.
He certainly has no right to glare at you, when he puts together what youâre doing. He said he wasnât going to sleep with you, and youâre a grown woman. You can, if you so please, have casual sex with a stranger. It is your right.
âYou canât be for real, sweetheart-â
âDean.â Sam stares at his own beer, looking like he wants to vanish into the floor, and Dean scowls.
âCâmon, Sammy- Tell her sheâs being crazy-â
âCrazy?â You snap, and Dean leans back in surprise. âYou fuck around all the time, how is it crazy that Iâd do the same thing?â
âItâs not- You just- You donât-â He swallows. âYou donât do this-â
âI do now.â
âSweetheart, just- Sit down-â
You flip him off, and march back to the bar before he can ask with a little more conviction. You just need to break out of his orbit. To force yourself to realize that there are plenty of other men, and not having Dean isnât the end of the universe.
Unfortunately, you sort of just keep proving the opposite.
âWhatâs a pretty little thing doinâ in a place like this?â The first guy at the bar asks, and you fumble.
You have no idea. You giggle nervously and spin in your chair, speaking words you canât really hear. He seems into itâno matter how pathetic you must be coming offâuntil his fingers brush your arm, and you flinch back because his skin is cold. It sends a shiver up your spine thatâs not the hot rush of Deanâs touch, but the sliver of a snake.
You go home alone that night, and you donât look Dean in the eyes. He tries to talk to you, before you retreat to your room. You ignore him, because thatâs the only way this is going to work.Â
But you try again and again and again, and you never get anywhere. They always touch you, and it all falls apart. You look at them too long, and you canât manage to squeeze them into a Dean shaped hole in your heart, and thereâs no way forward. You try dating apps. That goes worse. Every dick pic you get sent just makes you wonder if sex is even something you want. Theyâre all worm-shaped and ugly. At least dildos come in nice colors. Maybe you should just buy a dildo.
No. Youâll just pretend itâs Dean all the time, and thatâs the opposite of what youâre supposed to be doing here.
So you keep trying. And you keep failing. And Deanâs been looking at you weirdâbrow pinched and jaw set, every single nightâand youâre getting desperate and fuck it.
âSam.â
Sam hums, not looking up from his book. You clear your throat, leaning further over the table.
âSam.â
âIâm listening, whatâs-â
âHave sex with me.â
Sam, to his credit, doesnât choke. He just goes very, very still, and looks up at you with an expression close to horror. He says your name slowly, and you shake your head, holding up a single hand.
âJust- Listen-â
âNo?â Sam gapes at you. âIâm not- Iâm not going to listen to that- Jesus Christ-â
âCome on, we could turn off the lights, and- I wouldnât make it weird-â
âItâs already weird-â
âYouâd be doing me a favor-â
âIâd be making a death wish!â Samâs voice drops to a hiss. âDean would fucking kill me.â
 You roll your eyes. âThen donât tell him, dumbass.â
âNo, I- Iâm not doing that.â Sam shakes his head, like heâs trying to jolt the image free. âTo you. Or him.â
âTo him?â You narrow your eyes. âI- What the fuck would this do to Dean?â
Sam gives you a puppy-eyed, hopeless look. âI⌠Canât say.â
âSam Winchester-â
âWhy are you asking me?â Sam whines. âIâm not- Youâre not even into me-â
âExactly, there would be no strings attached-â
âThatâs not healthy-â
âFuck off, like you donât have casual sex-â
âI mean, I do, but Iâm not-â Sam cuts himself off, sighing dramatically. âJust- Why would you even want to have sex with me?â
You flush, but shrug. Itâs just Sam. Itâs easier to tell him than Dean. âI want to get it over with.â
âGet it over with?â Sam echoes. âIt- You mean sex?â
You nod, and Sam blinks.
âAre you a virgin?â
âMaybe.â
âYou- Youâre-â
âDonât be an asshole-â
âNo, Iâm not- I mean- Itâs fine. It doesnât matter. It actually-â Sam frowns at the air. âIt makes sense, I guess.â
That makes you scowl. âIt makes sense?â
Sam shrugs, giving you an apologetic smile, and you canât even think of an argument. You sigh, your shoulders slumping, and Sam clears his throat.
âYou know Iâm not going to sleep with you, right?â
âYeah.â You sigh, and he nods slowly.
âDoes Dean-â
âNo.â You point a stern finger at him, and Sam raises his hands in surrender.
âI think you should-â
âSam. Iâll cut your balls off.â
âI- Okay.â
You give him one last glare, and go to leave. But before you can go, the question scratches up your throat. You turn around, hands tucked behind your back, and speak softly. âWould you?â
Sam blinks. âWhat?â
âIf you didnât- Know me,â you mumble. âIf we werenât like- Friends. And you just met me, and I asked you- Would you?â
Sam snorts, and you scowl.
âIâm serious-â
âYeah, I know you are.â Samâs lips twitch. âItâs just- Yeah. I would. Of course I would.â
You stand a little taller. âReally?â
âYeah, I mean- You know youâre attractive, right? If you just didnât, like, annoy me. Iâd be in.â
âI do not annoy you-â
âYouâre annoying me right now.â
You laugh despite yourself. Sam smiles, his voice dropping to something gentler.
âAnyone would be lucky to have you,â he says your name slowly. âI just- Donât want to be lucky.â
You huff in amusementâif Sam isnât lying, aversion to luck is a family traitâbut dip your head. âThanks. I think.â
âYouâre welcome. And-â Sam pauses, looking you up and down with a strange expression. âIâm sure the whole- Thing will work out for you. There are⌠People. I think youâre going to figure it out.â
âYou need to sleep with her.â
Dean needed to stop drinking coffee when people walked into the kitchen. This was the second shirt heâd ruined in as many months, and it was because everyone kept saying crazy fucking shit.
âSammy, what the fuck-â
Sam said your name, and Deanâs hands fisted on the table.
Again. Son of a bitch, he was about to go through this again. The first time had been bad enough. Youâd looked at him with glossy, hopeful eyes, practically begged for him to fuck you, and Dean had wondered if heâd died in his sleep last night and been dragged back to hell. Forced to experience some new kind of torture Crowley was developing, where everything heâd ever wanted was just a stretch away from his fingertips, and he wasnât allowed to take it.
He had to be the noble one here. The wise, old asshole who didnât take advantage of you. Taking you up on that offer would be one of the worst things heâd ever done. It would be selfish, and cruel, and a worse fate than anything else. To get what he wanted, for one night, then never fucking have it again. To get hookedâbecause he would, he fucking knew heâd never be able to kiss and touch you once then go back to just livingâand turn into an addict willing to do anything to get another hit.
Dean wouldâve turned into a bigger creep than he already was. Instead of stares and long, shameful showers with his cock in his hand and your name on his lips, heâd stuff your panties in his pocket and press them to his nose while he fucked himself raw. Heâd get possessive, heâd snarl at anyone else who got to close, heâd fall to his knees and beg you to stay if you ever decided you had enough of him.
And he knew that last thing was going to happen eventually. You had a whole life ahead of you, and he was stuck here. In this dim bunker with blood on his hands and under his feet and staining his past and future all at once. He swam in a river of it. In front of him, behind him, washing over him all the time, there was just fucking blood. You deserved better than that. Better than Dean. You deserved the fucking world.
So heâd told you no, and youâd looked at him like a wet fucking kitten heâd kicked into the rain, but it had been for your own good. Youâd get over it. Dean was the one who had to watch you flirt with douchebags at the bar. Who couldnât get in another bed anymore, because he kept getting kicked out for moaning your name.
He was the one who was rooted here forever. Youâd find something softer. Something good. Heâd accepted that, with a lot of beer pushing it down. Youâd find something better, and that was what he wanted.
Sammy knew all that. Dean had gotten drunk once and confessed his stupid, undying feelings, then sworn Sam to secrecy in the morning. Heâd kept his word, only shooting Dean sad looks whenever you went off to flirt and smirking whenever Dean called you on a hunt.
But now he was asking Dean to sleep with you. Like heâd lost his damn mind.
âNo,â he grunted, and Sam rolled his eyes.
âLook, Dean, I get that youâre being cool and righteous and whatever-â
âIâm not fuckinâ her, Sammy- I shouldnât.â He shot Sam a glare. âYou know why I shouldnât.â
âYeah, well, I think your why is pretty stupid.â Sam said flatly. âYouâve never even asked her if sheâd be- You know. Open to it-â
âI know sheâd be open to it,â Dean scowled at his coffee. âBut thatâs- I ainât doing it, Sammy. Never.â Not like that.
Sam was silent for a moment. When Dean looked up, he was staring at him with wide eyes. âShe asked you first, didnât she.â
Dean frowned. âWhatâd you mean, asked me first-â
âTo take her virginity.â
He hadnât taken a sip of coffee again. This time, he managed to choke on nothing at all. âTo- What?â
Sam leaned back slightly. âDid she not ask you to sleep with her?â
âNo, she did, I just didnât fuckinâ- Sheâs a virgin?â
âI guess,â Sam shrugged. âYou know thatâs not a big deal, right?â
Dean grunted. His head was spinning. Of course it wasnât a big deal, he didnât care. Heâd wanted you before, he wanted you now, that wasnât the fucking issue.
But youâd asked him.
Youâd asked him to fuck you. Youâd wanted him to- Do it. Take it. Pop it, whatever. Youâd chosen Dean, to be the guy, and heâd told you no, and then youâd started flirting around with other people, and you couldâve ended up with someone dangerous, someone who took advantage of you, who thought your inexperience was hot for all the wrong reasons and hurt you and-
Dean paused. He looked at Sam. Sam blinked, and Deanâs eyes narrowed.
âHow the fuck do you know that.â
Sam swallowed, taking a small step back. âUhâŚâ
âSam-â
âShe mightâve⌠Asked me.â
âShe what-â
âI said no!â Sam said quickly. âI told her I wouldnât. But- You know.â Sam cleared his throat. âIf youâd said yes to her the first timeâŚâ
Sam gave him a pointed look. He was asking to get punched in the fucking face.
âNo.â
âDean, just-â
âNo. Iâm not takinâ advantage of her, Sammy, Iâm not-â
 âItâs not taking advantage of her if she wants it!â
âShe doesnât want it-â
Sam snorted. âOh, fuck off.â
Dean blinked, leaning back in his chair. Sam turned a little red, wincing at himself, but didnât back down.
âWow, Sammy. Big claws, huh.â
Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. âDean⌠Just- Think about her, okay?â
Dean almost laughed. âAll I fuckinâ do is think about her-â
âThen think a little harder.â Sam said flatly. âBefore both of you get actually hurt.â
Dean didnât have an answer to that. Sam didnât seem to be asking for one. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dean alone. With only his coffee mug and thoughts for company. A dangerous thing to do. Dean could talk himself into and out of almost anything, if the logic police werenât there to stop him.
He was going to do something really fucking stupid and selfish, and it was all Samâs fault.
âCome in!â You call to the knock on your door, glancing up from your laptop as the door creaks open.
Dean shuffles into your room with his head bowed. Your face heats, and you slam the laptop closed. He doesnât need to see you scrolling through hookup websites and think any lower of you. Youâre already losing sleep over the worry youâve fractured something between you beyond repair.
âHi,â you whisper, and he swallows.
âUh- Hey.â
âHi.â What the fuck is wrong with you.
Deanâs lips twitch. âHey.â
You start to pull the sheets between your fingers, trying not to ogle him too obviously. Heâs wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and itâs sexier than all the profile pics youâve spent hours staring at. His hair is a mess, and there are bags under his eyes, and you donât think youâve ever wanted to climb over him more.
âYou, uh-â He glances at your computer. âYou busy?â
âNo- No.â Never for him. You shove your computer onto your bedstand, moving to sit on your knees. âWhatâs up?â
Deanâs throat bobs. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing something close to a laugh, and shakes his head. âJesus.â
âWhat-â
âNothinâ.â He clears his throat, giving you a strange look. âDid you ask Sam to sleep with you?â
Your mouth falls open. You almost trip sitting down. âI- I didnât-â
âYou didnât?â
âNo, I mean- I- He wasnât supposed to tell you,â you whine, avoiding Deanâs stare. âI didnât- Fuck-â
âHey- Itâs- Woah-â
Dean crosses the room in a few strides, grabbing your wrists with firm, warm hands. Youâd started to pick at your nails with the anxiety. You hadnât even realized it.
âDonât hurt yourself, sweetheart,â he mutters, his thumb dragging a circle on your wrist.
You nod, your voice only a breath. âOkay.â
Heâs so close. You can count all his crowâs feet, map his stubble, trace his lips with just your eyes. Heâs still frowning at your wrist, so you allow yourself to stare.
Then he looks up. And you freeze in panic, but donât manage to look away.
Deanâs tongue flicks over his lips. Your breath catches. Neither of you move, and you let yourself have it. For a single second, you imagine that Dean is here, in your room, on your bed, and that means something. You get lost in the warmth of his proximity, the calloused but soft feeling of his touch.
âSammy told me something else,â Dean mutters, scanning over your slack, flushed features.
âYeah?â You whisper, and he nods tightly.
âYeah. Said youâre, uh-â He clears his throat. âSaid youâve never- You know.â He cringes. âBeen fucked.â
Your mouth falls open. You think youâd like to die now. âDean-â
âIs that why you asked me?â His grip tightens on your wrist. Not allowing you to pull away. ââCause you just wanted someone to take it?â
You drop your gaze to his crotch. Thereâs a soft bulge there. Youâd drool over it, if you didnât think you were going to explode any second now.Â
Dean says your name, and you shake your head.
âDonât,â you mumble. âDonât just- Feel bad for me- You said no, thatâs- Itâs fine-â
âWhat if itâs not.â
Your eyes shoot up. Youâd think he was joking, if he didnât look so fucking serious. His jaw is set. His eyes are blown out and fixed on yours. Your mouth hangs stupidly open, and Dean smiles softly.
âHuh?â You manage to choke out, and he almost chuckles.
âWhat if I wanted to. Help you.â
âBut-â You blink. âYou donât.â
Dean shakes his head. âWrong, sweetheart. I do-â
âYou said you didnât-â
âI lied.â
You stare at him. He doesnât back down.
âWould it mean something?â He muttered, reaching up to trace the curve of your cheek. âIf I did it?â
You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. It sends violent, hot shivers through your whole body. Almost like a fever. You donât want the cure. âWould it matter to you?â You ask, and Deanâs eyes flash. His fingers curl on your cheek. He leans an inch forward, then another inch. Your lips brush, the lightest possible touch, and you let out a soft, uncertain whine.
Dean pushes forward, his lips fully crashing into yours, his kiss demanding but certain. He presses over you, pulling you a little further up on your knees. You grab the collar of his shirt for balance, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to kiss him back with as much fervor as heâs offering you.
âDe- Dean-â You gasp against his lips. âDean-â
He groans, his arm sliding around your back so he can pull you tight to his chest. You melt into his arms, and his kisses turn messy. Open mouthed and rough, his tongue dragging over your teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. You run out of air fast, but donât try and pull away. You donât want this to ever end, and youâre afraid that if you dare to break the moment, it will never be repaired.
High gasps start to escape your throat, though, and Dean pulls away. He cups your face between his hands, frowning slightly, and presses his brow against yours. You struggle for air, almost pressing forward to try and kiss him again, but he holds you in place.
âBreathe, sweetheart,â he mutters, rough and thick. Itâs the same voice he uses on you during hunts. When heâs giving an order you didnât ask for.
Usually, you protest or ignore him. Right now youâre putty in his hands. He could tell you to follow him to hell, and you would. Youâd do anything, just for him to never let go.
You inhale unevenly, and Dean rubs your upper back. His hand slipped under your shirt, and his palm is broad and warm. Itâannoyinglyâhelps a lot.
âThere you go,â he murmurs, watching you under hooded eyes. âThatâs a good girl.â
You whine again. âDean-â
âSorry. Couldnât help it.â
He doesnât fucking look sorry. His lips are twitching, and thereâs a smug glint in his eyes thatâs almost dangerously intoxicating.
âBetter?â He asks, and you nod, slumping closer to his chest. He doesnât push you away.
This might be real.
âAre you sure, âbout this?â Dean rasps, and you almost giggle.
âYes.â
âIâm old, sweetheart-â
âI like it.â
Dean blinks, and you stutter, so sure you should shut up but not really sure how.
âI- I mean- I like you, so- I donât care if youâre old- I like you old- I like you-â
Dean smirks, holding your face so firmly against his you canât shy away.
âYou- Can you- I mean- If itâs just- Just sex- You can forget I said- I think you being old is hot-â
He finally takes mercy, and shuts you up with a long, rough kiss. You hum, pushing further up on your knees, and climb slowly into Deanâs lap. He sucks on your lower lip, angling your head back as your core settles against his bulge, then pulls back with a low sigh.
âNot just sex,â he mutters, dragging his thumb over your swollen lower lip. âNot with you, baby.â
You nod, smiling wider than you probably should. âCool.â
Dean grins back. âYeah?â
âMhm.â
âCool âcause you like me,â he teases, shoving your hips down, right over his crotch. âOf âcause Iâm old.â
You face burns. All you can do is stare and him and whimper, âYouâre spritely.â
Dean huffs, in disbelieving amusement. âSpritely? You think Iâm-â
âYouthful,â you babble quickly. âYouâve got a lot ofâŚâ You flush as he stares at you, sort of wishing heâd just kiss you and shut you up. âYouth.â
Deanâs mouth curves up. âYouth, huh.â
You nod, and he chuckles, pressing the lightest kiss over your lips.
âHurts when I bend over now, honey, donât think thatâs very youthful of me.â
âSo donât bend over,â you mumble, and Dean snorts.
âDemanding, arenât we?â
You shrug, trying not to turn into a puddle and miserably failing. Dean kisses your cheek, then under your eye, tracing his mouth down so he breath tickles your ear.
âMouthy and demanding,â he rubs your hips, dragging your hips back and forth across his crotch. âDonât worry. Iâm gonna fix that.â
You whimper, and Deanâs grin grows.
âYou like that, huh.â
âDean-â
âAh,â he kisses the corner of your mouth, moving away before you can chase his lips. âYou wanted my help. This is how Iâm gonna help, baby. Takinâ real good care of you,â he thrusts his hips up, and you whine as the hard outline of his cock hits your clothed pussy. âJust like this.â
 You nod, pressing your face into the crook of Deanâs neck. You donât think youâve ever been this turned on. Itâs different, with Deanâs hands wandering your sides and his voice right in your ear. Your heart pounds and everywhere gets slick with sweat and arousal, just his dirty talk reducing you to a heap of confused nerves. Deanâs lips drag over your jaw, and you curl further around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he nips at your throat.
âJust gotta do what I tell you, alright?â He mutters, squeezing a handful of your ass. âCan you do that, baby? Do it for me?"
You nod quickly, and Dean chuckles against your skin.
âEager,â he drawls, pushing his fingers slowly under the hem of your shorts. âEager and soft.â
He squeezes your ass again, his fingers brushing against the edge of your pussy. You grind backwards, trying to push him to where you need him so very desperately. He lets you, teasing his fingers over the lips of your pussy, and you whine in his ear.
âSit still,â he grunts, and you have to bite your lower lip, but you force your hips to come to a stop.
It earns you a sharp slap of your ass, and a kiss on the side of your head. Worth it.
âThatâs right,â he mutters, letting those thick fingers dance back over your cunt. âGood work, baby girl. You fuckinâ love the attention, donât you. Eager to please me, eager to make me proud.â
You swallow, hugging him so tight youâre a little worried youâll choke him. Dean doesnât even flinch. He dips two fingers into the wetness of your heat and groans right in your ear, spreading the arousal everywhere between your thighs.
âIf youâre gonna hide that pretty face,â he grunts in your ear. âAt least fuckinâ kiss me.â
Nervously, you wander your lips over the strong curve of his shoulders, the arch of his neck. Dean moans in your ear, his cock jumping in his jeans. His fingers keep wandering near and around your pussy, and you get a little bolder. Kissing up his jaw, over his cheek, the top of his lip. Youâre panting, trying to focus on your job as Dean keeps pulling and teasing you with his touch.
âShit,â he moans your name, tracing around your flutter entrance. âThatâs it, baby, just like that-â
 Dean grabs your jaw with his free hand, like he canât fucking help himself, and slams his lips against yours. You squeak in surprise, but kiss him back, grinding down onto his hand. His fingers dip inside of you for a moment, and you moan. Dean grunts and shoves those fingers inside of you.
Your mouth falls open, your eyes widening at the thick, pleasurable stretch. He feels so good, so fucking right, youâre worried his cock might kill you.
âLook at you,â Dean coos, smirking at your slack face. âJust my fuckinâ fingers, baby. Keep breathinâ, or this is all weâre doing tonight.â
You take a deep breath, sharp and sudden, and Dean smirks in approval.
âGood girl,â he pushes his fingers a little deeper, scissoring them and bumping against a spot that makes your whole body jerk.
âDean-â
âShh,â he kisses you, crooking his fingers to rub against that hidden button, and you mewl against his lips. âYou feel that, baby?â
âMmm- Mhm.â You press your cheek against his, eyes fluttering as Dean keeps pushing and tickling deep inside you. âFeels good.â
âI know it does, sweet girl,â he wraps his hand back around your neck, guiding your brow to press back against his. âItâs that special little spot, gonna make everything feel good.â
His words are sweet and mocking all at once, and it sends a new gush of arousal between your legs. You watch him with wide, clouded eyes, and Deanâs smile softens for a single second. He kisses you, more gentle than before, and pulls his fingers slowly out of your cunt.
âLie down,â he whispers before you can protest, and you swallow, but obey.
Dean hums in approval, rubbing a massive hand on your thigh.
âEverything off,â he says, and you go still.
âEverything?â
âMhm,â he raises his brows at your flushed expression. âThat gonna be a problem?â
You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach. You donât want to disappoint him, but heâs going to see you. Really, fully see you. God, you really donât want him to see you and change his mind, and-
âHey,â Dean takes your hand, squeezing it gently. âYou want my help?â
âYes, please,â you breathe, and thatâs all it takes.Â
Dean rips off his shirt firstâmakinâ it even, he saysâthen makes quick work of his jeans. You donât get more than a second to marvel himâflushed, tanned chest and thick everything, and heavy cock that does not look like a wormâbefore heâs touching you. He shimmies your shorts down, then peels your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your underwear. For a moment he just admires you, palming his cock with a tiny grin, and you roll onto your stomach.
Dean laughs, tapping your ass with a single finger. âGettinâ shy, baby?â
âShut up-â
âAh.â He drags that finger down your clothed pussy. âWho tells who what to do?â
Your face burns, and you press your face further into the pillows. Dean chuckles, and you feel the bed shift as he crawls over your body. You can feel the heat coming off of him, feel the drag of his cock somewhere near your ass as he whispers in your ear.
âYou were doinâ so well,â he drawls, unhooking your bra with a single hand. âDonât get shy on me now.â
It doesnât help. You keep grinding, trying to get some friction with the sheets. Deanâs hand comes down on your pussy with one, sharp smack, and you squeal, pushing back against his hand.
âNeedy fuckinâ baby,â he mocks. âCanât even help it, can you. Still tryinâ to be good for me.â
He hooks two fingers around your panties, pulling them tight so they push against your clit. You push back against his hand, and he smirks against your ear.
âYou want a little more?â
You nod, and he snaps the fabric down, sending a tiny shock through your body.
âSay please-â
âPlease,â you gasp, moving your arms up to hide your face. âPlease, Dean- More- Oooh-â
Deanâs thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles. Your words fall off, and he fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head back to allow him to kiss you again.
Heâs not cruel, with how he touches you. Heâs generous, but controlled. Every stroke of your clit is deliberate, making your head spin and your mouth fall further open. That seems to be exactly how he wants you, though, because he pushes his tongue further down your throat and flicks his thumb back and forth, working you up into a writhing frenzy.
When his fingers finally push back inside of you, Dean almost seems unwilling to pull back and stop kissing you. Youâre bent back and pliant under him, whimpering happily as he feeds his fore and middle finger into your hole.
âGreedy little pussy,â he rasps against your lips. âKnow youâre gonna strangle my cock, baby, son of a bitch-"
He groans, like heâs the one being fingered into oblivion. Heâs set a harsh pace with his wrist, snapping his fingers in and out of your cunt without relent. His thumb moved away from your clit, replaced by the heel of his palm, rubbing in tight, unrelenting circles on your swollen clit.
Every single time, he hits that spot inside of you, and your head is starting to get light. All the electricity and heat in your body is pushing down into your core, building like a bomb and threatening to explode. You almost sob, with how overwhelming the sensation is. Dean notices, kissing you a little softer.
âPoor girl,â he mutters. âAlready like this and Iâm not even properly fuckinâ you.â
âYour- Your hands,â you push out the word between sharp breaths. âTheyâre big.â
Dean grunts, his cock jumping near your ass. âYeah, sweetheart? You like how fuckinâ big my hands are?â
âMh- Mhm.â
You try to kiss him again. He pulls back, moving his hand impossibly faster against your cunt.
âWords,â he grunts. âYouâre not stupid enough to not speak, not yet.â
âLike it,â you breathe out. âLove- Love it, Dean, oh- Oh my god-â
You moan again, and Dean grunts. His hips are starting to jerk near your ass, making him rut against you as his fingers work.
âYour close,â he mutters, pressing his fingers fully inside and crooking them against that gooey spot. âCum for me, pretty girl. Now.â
His voice must have some kind of supernatural power over you, because that pressure in your lower tummy bursts, and your orgasm rips through you link a hurricane. Your thighs clench, trapping Deanâs hand between your legs, and he groans, rubbing his fingers harsher and harsher against your g-spot. Youâre shaking and rolling beneath him, and he has to grab the back of your neck and pin it down to keep you still.
Dean works you through your orgasm, whispering low praise in your ear as you float back down to earth. Your pussy feels empty, when his fingers finally pull away. Your eyes are slightly crossed, and your smile is dazed and a little stupid.
You donât even squeak, when Dean grabs your thigh and flips you over. You keen, back arching and body twitching, but youâre mostly just staring stupidly and happily up at him. Dean swallows, his chest rising and falling fast, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hum, eyes fluttering shut, and cup the back of his neck to hold him against you.
He drags his fingers lazily through the mess between your thighs, sending pleasurable little shivers up your spine. He drags your panties fully off your body, holding them up to his nose and taking a deep, long whiff before tossing them off to the side. He gathers your arousal on his fingers and slowly pulls away, rising over you with parted lips and gleaming, almost wholly black eyes.
Dean sucks your juices off his fingers, lapping them up with his tongue and a lazy, knowing smirk. Your breath catches. You almost push up to try and grab him, but youâre still foggy and boneless from the orgasm, and he shoves you back down with a broad hand splayed over your tummy.
âDean-â
You cut yourself off under his stern gaze, swallowing nervously.
âPlease?â You try again, and he chuckles.
âYouâre cute.â
âI- I am not-â
âYeah, you are. Cute when you cum for me,â he dips his fingers back into you, smirking lazily. âCute when I touch you. Cute when you beg.â
âDeeeean-â
âDeeean,â he mocks, squeezing your upper thigh. âListen to you. Fuckinâ adorable.â
You flush, a new wave of arousal hitting you like a rising tide, and you donât even understand how you could possibly be ready that fast. Dean watches you pussy tremble and flutter, letting out a slow, rough breath.
âSon of a bitch,â he shakes his head, his hand moving to rub against his cock. âYou got no idea what you do to me, baby, no fuckinâ idea.â
You swallow, watching him move against himself, almost enchanted. He really is prettier than is fair, in every possible way. His cock is thick and long, flushed at the head and leaking pre-cum against his thumb. Your tongue flicks over your lips, as you try to mentally measure the girth and length of him. Youâve taken toys before, when you got really curious. Heâs bigger.
âYou wanna touch, sweetheart?â He prompts, and you nod, your tongue flicking over your lips.
Dean pushes his hips forward, slowly taking your hand and guiding it against his shaft. Heâs warm. Warm and hard. You dance your fingers down the length of him and he grunts, a vein ticking in his neck.
âEasyâŚâ He rasps, and you nod nervously.
You find his balls, give them a light squeeze, and Dean catches your wrist.
âThatâs enough.â He mutters, twining your fingers together. âJesus, woman, gonna blow it before I even get inside of you.â
Your eyes widen. Youâd almost forgotten about that part.
âThatâs not going to fit inside of me.â
Dean chuckles. âYeah, it will.â
âNo, I mean like- It canât-â
âIt can.â
âDean, Iâm serious-â
He shuts you up with a quick rough kiss, and you go embarrassingly limp. His cock rubs between the folds of your pussy, bumping and pressing against your clit, and your breath hitches. Oh, God.
âJust do what I tell ya,â he mutters. âWeâre gonna make it fit.â
You do. It is very easy to do what Dean tells you, when he follows through on all his promises. When he gives you such low and certain orders, and you find yourself molding perfectly around his cock.
Because it does fit. Somehow, Dean spreads your legs and kisses your pussy onceâas if he canât help himselfâbefore crawling over you and slowly pushing the head of his cock inside of you. Itâs tight at first. He grunts, pressing his brow to you shoulder, and rubs tight circle around your clit with his thumb.
âOpen up for me, baby,â he rasps. âCâmon.â
You go limp with every inch he feeds you. The stretch is glorious, pulling you apart with every drag over your fluttering walls, every low grunt of your name from Deanâs lips. His determination to tease you seems to dissolve, by the time heâs fully seated inside of you, his balls pressed against your ass. He pants in your ear, hot and heavy, and cradles your body in his arms like itâs fragile.
âSlow,â he mutters, and it sounds like heâs talking to himself more than you. âGonna go slow.â
You keen, at the first, lazy thrust of his hips. A lewd, wet sound fills the air, and the head of Deanâs cock pushes right up against that already abused spot inside of you, making stars dance behind your eyes. Every roll of Deanâs hips makes your whole body spark. He kisses all over your face, his own voice thick and wrecked as you clench around him. Â
âTakinâ me so well, baby,â he rasps. âFeels good, doesnât it. Feels so fuckinâ good, beinâ filled up with cock like you deserve-â
His words fall into a moan, his hips snapping forward, and the air gets knocked from your lungs. A sound youâve never heard escapes you, and Dean chuckles, kissing your open mouth as he repeats the motion.
âYeah, you like that.â He pulls almost fully out, then slams back forward. âSay it, baby girl, say you like it-â
âI like it,â you gasp out, sounding drunk to your own ears. âLove it, Dean- Fuck- Fuuuck-â
Dean captures your mouth in another kiss, and sets a brutal, drilling pace. Youâre split open with every thrust, your every nerve on fire as he fucks you like a machine. He never gets too fast, just hard. Over and over and over again, until youâre gasping for air and clawing at his shoulders. That pressure turns molten and demanding, threatening to burst. Deanâs fingers dig into your hips. He moans in your ear, his own words staring to slur.
âTight,â he moans. âSo fuckinâ tight- I- I canât- Shit-â
Deanâs hands fumble, dragging over your thighs and as he gropes for your pussy. Two fumbling fingers find it, rubbing tight circles, and you cry out, clenching down on his cock.
âLet go, sweetheart, need you to let for âf me- Fuck-â
Your orgasm hits you even harder than before, and your vision goes white. Your pussy flutters and clenches, something hot gushing out as your body trembles with overwhelming pleasure. Itâs a strange sensation, but not bad. Not even close. You think you scream with pleasure, but Dean slams his mouth over yours and muffles the sound.
His hips stutter and jerk. You whine his name and he grunts, slamming forward and burying himself at the hilt as his cum spurts deep inside you, mixing with your own release.
Youâre almost gone to the world. Dean lies over you, kissing you as you float back down, murmuring praise you can barely hear.
âGonna clean you up,â he grunts, and you whine when his weight disappears.
âDeeean.â You grab at the air and catch his bicep. âStay.â
You pout at him, eyes watery and hopeful. He just chuckles, kissing your knuckles before drawing back up, and promising to return.
He better. You really donât want to let go of him now.
Dean brings a wet, warm towel, and cleans between your thighs. You didnât realize how sore you were until he touches you with such light hands, but itâs a good kind of sore. When you moan, itâs not even really in pain.
He brings you water. A snack and a fresh shirt, that he bundles you in like a penguin. You somehow end up curled against his chest, half asleep and smiling against his bare, warm chest.
âI like you,â Dean says suddenly, and you beam. You donât think youâve ever felt so bubbly in your life.
âI like you too-â
âNo,â his jaw works, the words low and tight. âI like like you- Like- Fuck-â
He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. Itâs almost adorable.
âYou- Youâre just- That really wasnât nothinâ for me, sweetheart, not even close-â
You take his trick. You push up on his chest, press your lips together, and kiss him until he shuts the fuck up. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your face between shaking hands. You smile against his lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, âI like you too.â
Deanâs eyes snap open, his voice hoarse. âReally?â
âYeah,â you flush. âA- A lot.â
Dean grins. He smiles wider than you knew he could, and slams a shorter rougher kiss against your lips before pulling back again. Like he canât stand not to look at you for too long.
âCan I take you out?â He says, and you nod.
âCan we have more sex,â you whisper, and he laughs, pressing another kiss against your lips.
âAny time you want, baby.â He says. âYouâre mine now.â
âŚEnd note: drooling for him âŚ
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The cuffs bite into Simonâs wrists under the table, cold steel against scarred skin. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead like they always do, but heâs not seeing any of it. Simonâs staring straight at you.
You sit across from him in that crisp blouse, skirt just modest enough to be professional, legs crossed at the ankle. Your voice is calm, clinical, asking about his âadjustment to the facilityâ like you always do. But Simon isnât listening to a thing you have to say.
Fuck, look at her mouth when she says my name.
In his head heâs already got you bent over the metal table, that pretty blouse ripped open, buttons scattered across the floor. His hand fisted in your hair, dragging your head back so he can growl in your ear while he hikes that skirt up around your waist. No panties in his fantasyâjust bare skin and the wetness he knows is waiting for him. Heâd spread you with two thick fingers first, make you gasp his name like a confession instead of a diagnosis.
Sheâd be so tight. So fucking warm. Bet sheâd try to stay quiet at first, try to keep that therapist voice⌠until Iâm balls-deep and sheâs moaning like she needs it.
He shifts in the chair, the restraints tugging as he tries to get some relief. His cock is half-hard already, pressing against the rough fabric of his prison uniform. Youâre still talkingâsomething about coping mechanismsâand all he can think about is how your thighs would tremble if he dropped to his knees right here, shoved your legs apart, and buried his tongue in you until your clipboard hit the floor.
Sheâd taste sweet. Wouldnât be able to stay professional after that. Iâd have her begging. âSimon, pleaseââ like sheâs the one locked up.
His eyes drop to your lips again, then lower to the modest neckline of your blouse. He imagines marking the soft skin there with teeth and stubble, leaving bruises only he gets to see. Imagines you crawling into his lap in the middle of a session, sinking down on him slow while the guards outside the door remain blissfully unaware. Your hands in his short hair, nails scraping his scalp, riding him while the cuffs rattle with every thrust.
She wants it. I can see it in the way she looks at me when she thinks Iâm not paying attention. She gets wet thinking about the monster in orange. Dirty little therapist.
Simon exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight behind the mask they let him keep. You lean forward slightly, concerned, asking if heâs all right.
He gives you the smallest smirk beneath the fabric, voice low and gravel-rough.
âFine, doc. Just⌠thinkinâ.â
In his mind heâs already fucking you against the wall of his cell, one hand over your mouth, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, pounding into you until you forget every clinical term you ever learned, leaving you with only thoughts of him.
You have no idea how many times heâs imagined ruining you in this exact chair.
Dean and you were sitting in the bunker kitchen late at night, leftovers of the takeout he brought on the table while Dean shamelessly kept reaching over to steal food from your plate after already finishing his own.
You smacked his hand away for what had to be the fifth time.
âDeanâ
âWhat?â He said, unbothered by your smack, reaching out again.
âYou have your own foodâ
âHadâ He corrected âPast tenseâ
âThat sounds like a you problemâ
Dean groaned dramatically like youâd deeply wounded him âWow. Coldâ
You snorted and pulled your plate farther away.
That only encouraged him.
Next thing you knew, Dean was literally leaning across the table trying to snatch a fry while you blocked him with your arm, laughing.
âStop stealing my food!â
âSharing is caring, sweetheartâ
âI already shared enough. You are robbing me nowâ
Dean managed to steal another fry and looked at you with a triumphant grin.
You narrow your eyes at him âYouâre annoyingâ
âYou love me anywayâ He says smugly.
You snort âQuestionable choice on my partâ
Dean grinned lazily, green eyes bright with amusement. Then, because apparently annoying you was like a hobby to him, he reached for one of your onion rings.
You slapped his hand again âSeriously, why do you always think youâre entitled to my food?â
Dean scoffed dramatically like the answer was obvious.
ââCause Iâm your boyfriendâ He said easily, chewing âItâs literally my rightâ
Silence.
Dean blinked, and then his eyes widened a bit when realization hit him.
Oh.
Oh, he said it out loud.
You two had never really cared much about labels. You were together. Committed. You both knew exactly what you were to each other, and everyone around you two knew it too. There was never any doubt about that. But neither of you really said words like âboyfriendâ or âgirlfriendâ.
Until now that he said it.
You blinked back at him. Then slowly, your mouth turned into a playful grin.
âDid you just use the b word?â
Dean immediately got flustered. Not dramatically, but enough that the tips of his ears turned red while he grabbed his beer and tried very hard to look casual.
âNoâ
âYou didâ You chuckle âBoyfriendâ
Dean rolled his eyes dramatically âYeah, alrightâ He grumbled âWhat about it?â
âYouâve never called yourself that beforeâ
âOkay, first of allâ He said âYouâre enjoying this way too muchâ He points a finger at you defensively.
âA littleâ You say with a soft laugh âI mean, you called yourself my boyfriendâ You repeat with a grin.
âBecause I amâ He said back instantly âWeâve been exclusive since forever, you live in my bunker, you ride shotgun in my Baby. Iâm just stating facts here. Don't make it weird"
âIâm not making it weirdâ You laughed âI just think it was cuteâ
âItâs not cuteâ
âYou said it so naturally tooâ You grin.
He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed.
âLook, Iâm regularly risking my life for you and driving you around while you criticize my music choicesâŚâ
âI do not criticize your music choicesâ
ââŚSo I think Iâve earned my boyfriend statusâ He finished.
âMhmâ You laughed again before adding teasingly âSo should I start looking for matching outfits now?â
âShut upâ Dean groaned immediately.
âYou started this, boyfriendâ
He suddenly grabbed your wrist, tugged you closer and kissed you to shut you up.
You let out a muffled laugh against his lips.
âConversationâs overâ He muttered against your mouth.
When he pulled away slightly, you were still grinning.
Dean narrowed his eyes âYouâre annoyingâ
âAnd youâre my boyfriendâ You repeated with a grin yet again.
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You were riding him, clenching your cunt around him, making the both of you see stars. Your face reflected pleasure and joy, which, combined with the sounds you were making, showed how much you were enjoying this.
Simon was obviously enjoying it too. He couldnât stop himself from looking at you, admiring your features changing with pleasure and staring at the way your body moved when you were in control.
Sex with him was amazing; I know he probably doesnât look like it, but he always checks on you and makes sure youâre comfortable with whatâs happening.
âGod, baby⌠keep moving like that.â âS-Simon⌠it feels so good.â
You kept moving on top of him and moaning like you were the only people left in the world, until your expression changed. Your face started showing something else that wasnât quite pleasure anymore⌠it was pain.
âS-Simon⌠n-noâŚâ But you kept moving because you didnât want to ruin this for him, not when you knew he was about to cum. But at the same time, it felt wrong not to communicate to him what was going on.
Simon noticed. Noticed your expression and the change in your pace. He knew something was wrong right away; he didnât even need to hear your whine.
âHey, hey⌠whatâs wrong?â He placed his hands more firmly on your hips to keep you in place and stop you from moving. He didnât care if he was about to cum; he would never keep going knowing that you were hurting.
âI donât know⌠it started hurting.â At this point, your face was showing pain and discomfort, with the faint trace of a tear in your eye.
âJust stop moving, baby⌠itâs alright.â He signaled for you to stop and separate from him. When you did, you immediately moved your hand to where the pain was coming from to try and find what was wrong. He stopped you, thinking it might be an infection and fearing youâd make it worse by touching it.
âItâs okay⌠just lie down for me. Will you let me see whatâs wrong?â He always treated you like a princess, even in situations like this where you would think he might be rough with you.
You lay down on your back. He sat on the bed in front of you and gently spread your legs apart for him to see, instantly moving his eyes to the area.
âOkay⌠it does look a bit swollen, doll.â He placed his hands around your red and inflamed pussy, not really touching the area but spreading the lips apart.
âIâm gonna touch you here, and youâll tell me if it hurts, okay?â You just nodded. You trusted him with your own life, so you obviously didnât mind him seeing you in such a vulnerable state.
He pressed his palm against your cunt. He wasnât trying to penetrate you again; he just needed confirmation as to where it was hurting the most. He immediately looked at your face afterward.
âThat doesnât hurt; I think itâs inside where the problem is.â He nodded, agreeing with you, you knew your body better than anyone, after all. He gently inserted one finger inside you, but not too deep, just at the surface.
âDoes that hurt?â His expression looked so determined; he wasnât even thinking of this as a sexual interaction. He genuinely wanted to help you and wasnât thinking of it as sex, nor was he trying to penetrate you again. If you told him it hurt, he would stop the session for good, at least for that day.
You shook your head. âNo⌠go deeper.â You werenât seeing this as something sexual either, nor were you trying to make him finger you.
He went deeper with his fingers, and thatâs when you let out a little whine of displeasure. He instantly knew and took his fingers out.
âOkay⌠looks like you were moving too fast, baby. Letâs try to do it more gently next time, okay?â
You nodded your head. You were feeling a little embarrassed by this, but he wasnât trying to make you feel that way.
âItâs alright. This can happen; itâs not your fault.â âBut I wanna keep going.â
He smiled at this; he loved how much you desired him. It made him feel appreciated and loved, and he desired you just as much.
âI know, love, but itâs better if we stop for today, okay? I donât wanna hurt you.â
He saw the disappointment on your face and decided he couldnât let you down like this. So he thought he could do something else⌠something that didnât require penetration to make you feel good and make you come.
He ate you out until you came twice in his mouth and screamed until your lungs gave up. He definitely knew how to make you feel good.
You nearly chirp in indignation when ghost says it, "what the fuck do you mean i have to dye my wings?!"
"Oi mean jus' that." Ghost crosses his arms, stares you down like he already knows you'll submit "can't have...those things shouting our location to the enemy, can we?"
Those things being your wings.
Bright reds, blues, yellows. As a parrot hybrid your wings have always meant so much to you. Now, after years of service with no problem, your new lieutenant tells you to dye them? You shift your wings, widen them for a moment "I've used wing covers just fine, sir."
And you have. Almost every winged hybrid you know of uses wing covers. But ghost scoffs, nods to your wings "we need you flying. Can't very well do that with covers, can you?"
"...fine." you chirp, wings hitching up in irritation. You understand it but...it's still hard to get past. "How is it done?"
Ghost makes a face under the mask, the bridge of his nose scrunching.
"...I'll have to dye them for you."
Ghost. The lieutenant who's been on your mind since you joined the team. The man you've been denying your crush on despite your instincts pointing out what I nice mate he would be.
That ghost, is essentially asking to touch you in such an intimate way only partners touch.
"...okay." you relent. Surely you'll be able to keep your cool that long.
summary: it takes ten weeks for clark kent and a shy, touch starved, you to fall in love. (or, 4 times clark touches you and 1 time you touch him.)
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week one
The Daily Planet only seems to employ lovely, outgoing people. You're convinced of it.Â
You don't know how or why they hired you after meeting some of the people here. Maybe your interview self had somehow managed to make you seem like youâd fit right for that thirty minutes.
Whatever happened, they hired you anyway.Â
For the past week youâve tried so hard to settle in. To put yourself out there a bit more. It hasnât helped much.
There's some faulty wiring in your brain, you're sure, that makes you awful and awkward and idiotic around people you don't know. And right now, you don't know anyone. At work or in metropolis as a whole.Â
Cat Grant has tried no less than five times to strike up a conversation with you. Which is nice of her and horrible for you. Every attempt leaves you fumbling through responses and replaying every part of it in your head for hours afterward.
To avoid inflicting your shyness on anyone else, you've got into the routine of taking lunch late. By the time you head to the breakroom. Most people have already finished theirs up.
With your head shoved so far into the refrigerator you might as well be looking for the opening of another reality in the back of it, you squint at the shelves. Where the hell is your cherry soda? You know you set it right next to your lunch box so it canât have gone far. Unless someone took it. But putting it next to your lunch box kind of impliesâ
âHey!â
You yelp and jerk upright, immediately slamming the crown of your head into the shelf above you. Shocking pain explodes across your skull as you stumble backward, one hand flying to the throbbing spot on your head.Â
âOh, Iâm so sorry. Iâm so sorry.â
The unfamiliar voice is still going, apology after apology tumbling over itself as you blink through the stars in your vision. When your eyesight steadies, you turn towards the sound and a man is already pulling out a chair.
âHere,â he says, âSit down.â
You follow the instructions easily, it's a sharp and startling kind of pain hitting your head, you think youâd do anything you're told until it dulls a little. The apologies don't stop coming as you try to pull yourself together. Seriously, he will not stop apologising.
You press your palm against your head and wait for the ache to dull while he hovers nearby looking increasingly distressed.
Once youâve gathered yourself a little better, you chance a glance up at him, and immediately avert your eyes back to the floor. Heâs staring at you with so much concern your stomach ties itself in knots.Â
There's a couple of thoughts to sort through then. The first, how the hell didn't you hear him step into the room? Heâs tall and broad and firm. You should've heard his footsteps for sure, maybe he moves like a cat or maybe you were too in your own head, it wouldn't be the first time. The second, that one revolves around how pretty he is. He is with no exaggeration maybe the handsomest man youâve ever seen. Glasses and curly hair and bright big eyes.
âSâokay,â you find your voice, staring at the floor. âIâm okay, I'm fine.âÂ
You hear him release a sigh of relief, it makes your face warm.
âOkay, that's good.â He rubs the back of his neck. âI thought youâd hear me come in, butââ
He cuts himself off and you chance another look at him. The sheepish smile on his face somehow makes him even prettier.
âGosh. Sorry. Iâm being rude. Iâm Clark.â
You give him a soft smile, which he returns and you murmur your name in reply.Â
Clark can't believe it when you tell him, heâs heard from the others how slow and reluctant you've been to warm to anyone at all since you started and now heâs done this. He might've ruined everyoneâs chance, not just his own, of getting to know you. He could kick himself. Nice going, Kent.Â
âNice to meet you,â he gestures toward the refrigerator, âwhat were you looking for?â
His question makes embarrassment flare up in you all over again. Clark watches as you dip your head away from him again, he has to fight the urge to reach out a hand to your shoulder to comfort you. He doesn't think he's met someone quite so shy before.Â
âI, uh, just my soda,â you give a helpless little smile while your fingers worry at your cuticles. âIt's fine though, it doesn't matter.â
Clark can feel his heart clench as you dismiss it. It's your soda! You should have it!
âWas it cherry?â
âUh, yeah?âÂ
âTheres a cherry soda thief, I haven't figured out who it is yet though,â he puts a hand on his hip and points at you with an open hand. âStay there a sec, okay?â
You watch open mouthed as he rushes out of the room. It's shameful to admit, even to yourself, but you'd probably do whatever Clark told you to despite having only just met him. Something is clearly wrong with you.
When he comes back into the room it's with a bit of a crash and a new can of soda in his hand from the vending machine. How strange. Then he's murmuring a Here you go and holding it out towards you. You can't come up with a cohesive response, your mind goes blank because this is really so strange.
Itâs simple to Clark, heâs just making up for scaring you out of your skin. To you there's nothing to make up for, accidents just happen. That's life.
Still you reach out. What youâre sure of then is that as your finger tips brush taking the can from him, the touch fucking burns.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week three
Your easy routine â get up, go to work, go home, maybe go for a walk before settling in for the night, all without really speaking to anyone â has been slightly tweaked.
Every morning, Clark goes out of his way to stop by your desk and talk to you.
At first, you were convinced he was doing it out of pity. (Clark would be devastated to know you thought that.) Then you decided he must just enjoy the sound of his own voice. (He'd be equally horrified to hear that conclusion.) After all, you rarely give him anything more than a one-word response. Neither explanation feels quite right, but you canât figure out what else it could be.
Little do you know that in Clark's mind his one and only mission currently is to befriend you. He wants to know more, curiosity piqued by the pretty shy thing that lingers around.
Lately, your walks home have been plagued with thoughts of him. How kind heâs been. The slope of his nose. His dark hair and cute glasses.
 As if youâve summoned him with thoughts alone you hear your name called from somewhere behind you. You turn and sure enough Clarkâs impossible to miss.
Heâs a head taller than almost everyone around him, weaving apologetically through the crowd with one hand raised so you wonât lose sight of him. As if you could. His bag bounces against his side as he finally catches up. Stopping beside you with an easy smile on his face while you frown at him in confusion.
 âWhereâre you heading?â he asks, dipping his head down closer to you.
Clark likes asking odd questions but this one really throws you for a loop.
âHome?â you answer with a tilted head and scrunched brow.
He nods once, like that's exactly what he expected. You wonder if youâre so predictable that having no plans on a Friday night is just a given to other people. He adjusts the strap of the bag on his shoulder and nudges his head towards the sidewalk.
âCan I walk you home?â
What is going on?
âUhh⌠sure.â you agree, taking a step in the right direction. âIf you want to.â
You start walking and he falls easily into step beside you, matching your pace.
For someone who never seems to run out of things to say at work, Clark is surprisingly comfortable with silence. You half expected him to chatter the entire walk, but you suppose you can scratch likes his own voice off of your list of reasons he might talk to you.
The evening sky has melted into streaks of pink and orange, casting everything in a warm night. As you sneak glances over at Clark he almost doesn't look real.
It all makes your shoulders tense and curl forwards. You don't understand how someone can move through the world the way Clark does, so confident without seeming arrogant, so open, so completely unafraid to ask for what he wants. He talks to everyone like they're already his friend.
And he's walking you home from work. It's weird. He has friends, cool friends but heâs spending his time with you. You're⌠just you.
What you don't know is that Clark has spent the time between your first meeting and now trying to figure out how to become your friend without scaring you off. He hasnât figured it out yet. Still, in for a penny, he supposes.
âWhat, uhâŚâ He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck before turning his head towards you. Somewhere during the walk heâs drifted closer without noticing, his shoulder almost brushing yours now. âWhatâre you doing this weekend?â
âOhâŚâ your mouth opens and closes as you try to come up with a lie that makes you sound less lame, it doesn't work. âNothing, I guess.â
âReally?â
âWell,â you shrug, âI need to do my laundry, I guess. And clean my apartment.âÂ
Clark hums, nodding absently, âYouâre not hanging out with your friends?âÂ
He knows it's the wrong thing to ask as soon as it leaves his mouth, he feels like heâs missed the last step as he watches you curl in on yourself again, embarrassed.Â
â...I donât really have any.â you whisper, timid.
Clark's brain seems to misfire and he canât formulate words because how can sweet lovely, albeit quiet you, not have any friends. His silence stretches too long and you quickly take it for judgement.
âI havenât had time to make any, okay?â You say quickly, voice sharper than you intend.
Itâs maybe the most assertive Clark has ever heard you. Hell, it's probably the most assertive you've heard yourself. But you don't need Clark knowing you're a bigger loser than you probably already are in his eyes.
âIâm sorry,â He blurts, shaking his head, âI didn't mean it in, like, a bad way or anything.â He sighs like he's all disappointed in himself before murmuring under his breath. âIâm such an idiot.â
You're not supposed to hear it, but you do, and it pulls a giggle from your lips before you can stifle it. Clark's head whips towards you at the sound with a great beaming smile on his face delighted by the noise. Reflexively, you smile back, the biggest one he's been on the receiving end of.
You can see your building moving closer in the distance now and it disappoints you. You don't want this walk home to end. The company is too nice.
âItâs not true anyway. You have at least one friend.â
You scrunch your face at that, maybe Clark really does have too much faith in your social skills outside of work or something, but he is dead wrong. When you turn your head to tell him as much, his upper body is angled towards you with a hand raised pointing to his face which is sporting a dopey grin. It takes a second to catch his meaning as you come to a stop outside your building.Â
You feel your eyes start to sting, as wetness builds in your lashline. There's no threat of tears falling, itâs just so nice.
âReally?â you ask, sad eyes staring up at Clark. He can practically feel his heart break in his chest.Â
âYeah, Iâm your friend.â he nods âif youâll have me.âÂ
When you give a small nod, he reaches out a hand to your shoulder and rubs a steady back and forth to console you.
This touch is less of a burn and more of a sharp pinch.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week five
The park is filled with people, it's a warm day with sunlight spilling over the grass in sheets of gold. Groups of friends lounge on the grass with their shoes kicked off, the basketball court is packed out and there's couples meandering along the path holding hands. It's all so nice, yet you find yourself worrying at your bottom lip as you cross the grass..
Is your outfit okay? Do you look nice enough? Is it obvious that youâve rushed here because you left the apartment too late?Â
Clark Kent, from what you can tell, is a genuine guy. Not a deceitful bone in his body, you'd bet. Really you shouldn't have been surprised that he meant it when he said he was your friend, but you were, and now he walks you home from work nearly every day and you can manage to speak more than two words at a time to him. You know, he probably won't care what you look like, but if he does, maybe a smile can win him over instead, proving he hasnât made a mistake.
You seem to see Clark at the same moment he sees you. Heâs already spread out the sweetest little picnic blanket beneath a tree that casts shadows across it. Beside him sit two grocery bags bulging with, if you had to guess, more food than two people could possibly eat at once. He's gone so over the top it hurries you forward.Â
âOh gosh,â your eyes are wide, they don't seem to settle on any one thing. âAm I late?â
âNope,â he says easily, already getting to his feet. âIâm early. I wanted to get everything set up.â
As soon as you're standing in front of him, Clark reaches for your tote bag without seeming to think twice about it. He slips the strap from your shoulder and places the bag carefully beside the blanket. Thoughtless and sweet.
It's the first time youâve seen him not in the slightly oversized suit he wears to work and somehow he looks more handsome. It's unfair.Â
âYou look really nice, honey.âÂ
That's even more unfair. Heat rushes to your cheeks so quickly you have to look away, hiding your pleased smile by lowering yourself onto the blanket instead.
âSo do you, Clark.â you murmur.
Your quiet compliment seems to level the playing field a bit. His own smile turns unexpectedly bashful, the tips of his ears flushing pink beneath the dark curls that fall over them. To distract himself, Clark quickly kneels beside one of the grocery bags.
âI wasnât sure what you liked,â he admits, beginning to unpack containers one after another. âSo⌠I got a little of everything.â
âThis is too much, you shouldn't have,â you giggle, shaking your head, smiling despite yourself. âYouâre too nice to me.â
As he lays out the variety of picnic food, you can't help but notice how close your knee is to his. How close they are to bumping together. You wonder if that closeness is intentional or not.Â
Clark shrugs, before leaning closer to you. Maybe that answers your question.
âTheres no part of me that could be mean to you,â He says, earnestly. His blue eyes meet yours without hesitation. âItâs easy to be nice to you.â
There's no time to digest what that means beyond the way it makes your stomach flip and your head feel lighter before he's offering you a punnet of strawberries, like what he said was simple and easy. When you reach for one you give Clark the sweetest smile you can muster which makes his stomach flip in return.
It's hard to believe how lucky youâve got. How the hell have you ended up sitting in the sunshine, making a life here, inches away from Clark Kent the kindest man youâve ever met. Sharing strawberries and sandwiches while he smiles at you like spending time together is the easiest thing ever.
âIâve never been very good with people,â you start. âAnd I moved here just for the job, I didnât really think about⌠about all the other stuff and it's so tricky to make friendsâŚâÂ
You trail off, losing steam in your confession. Your fingers find your cuticles automatically, picking absentmindedly at the skin as your nerves creep back in.
âWhat Iâm trying to say, I guess, is thank you, for being patient with me.â
Clarkâs expression changes immediately, his brows pulling together. There's something almost heartbroken in the way he looks at you, as though he's genuinely upset youâd ever think gratitude was necessary.
âYou don't have to thank me,â he says, quietly. âItâs my pleasure, really, honey.â
You try your best to internalise those words as soon as heâs said them, the corners of your lips lifting.
âAndâŚâ He pauses, until you look up at him, Clark wants to make sure youâre listening. âI get it, yâknow.â
The words shock you so much that you let out an unattractive but entirely authentic snort. Itâs so unbelieveable, you think that maybe Clark Kent is a liar after all.Â
âYeah, right.â
âNo really,â he turns until heâs fully facing you, one leg tucked beneath him. âI grew up in Kansas, on a farm! All this was so overwhelming but you learn to love it, I promise.â
Looking at Clark in the light, you think that, yeah maybe you are learning.Â
By the time the sun begins to set, youâve both packed everything away and Clark is walking you home. He has the picnic blanket rolled beneath one arm and a bag with food neither of you touched in that hand, leaving his other arm free to swing comfortably at his side as you both make the walk back.
Itâs so sweet the effort heâs taken to make today nice, the thought of it makes your next words bubble up and out before you can stop them.
âNext time, Iâll bring the food.â
Clark's eyes widen, surprise flashing so openly across his face that your stomach immediately drops and you can't help but scold yourself mentally. Why would you just assume there would be a next time? You donât notice his thrilled expression at you suggesting a next time until it bleeds into his voice.
âYes!â he says a little too quickly, almost laughing at himself before adding, softer, âWhatever you wanna do.âÂ
The enthusiasm in his voice catches you off guard. It's so genuine, so earnest. You can't stop yourself from grinning back and you're fairly certain the way you're looking at him now leaves every ounce of your affection written plainly across your face.
The rest of the walk passes quickly. Soon enough, you both come to a stop outside your building. You turn toward him, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands.
âThank you.â you say quietly.
Clark shakes his head almost immediately.
âNo, thank you.â His smile softens. âI had a really great time.â
Before you know it, Clark is pulling you in for a little side hug. Warm and solid and gentle. His arm draped across your shoulders in goodbye.
This feels like less of a pinch and more like pushing on a bruise.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week seven
When did recipes become so hard to follow? How much salt is too much? How much isn't enough? The most important question really is, why would you offer to cook for Clark?
The answer to that, you do know. The number of nice things heâs done for you is innumerable now and somewhere along the way you figured you should return the favour. And maybe impress him a little. You always seem to want that, whether you admit it to yourself or not.
 It's easier now to not be so shy around him. Clark makes things easy.Â
With two trays safely put into the oven all you need to do is set a timer andâ
There's a steady knock on your door, obviously Clark being as punctual as ever. You stumble quickly through your apartment, nearly catching your foot on the corner of the rug, not wanting to keep him waiting on you now.Â
You pull the door open. Clark stands there looking exactly how he always does, broad shouldered and gentle eyed with the light catching in his glasses. In his hands is a bouquet of flowers.
The arrangement is beautiful. Soft pink peonies together with pale lavender sweet peas. Somehow, despite how large the bouquet is, Clark still manages to dwarf it. The sight has you a little shocked, mouth opening and closing as you try to figure out what's going on.
â...For me?â
The corners of Clarkâs mouth lift to an easy smile and a tiny furrow appears between his brows as though he's genuinely puzzled you had to ask.
âOf course they are,â he says. âMy ma raised a gentleman, I couldn't show up empty handed.â
âYou totally couldâve,â you shuffle to the side of the doorway, gesturing him in. âI invited you to treat you for a change, remember. They're beautiful.â
Clark gives a small shrug that suggests he doesn't entirely understand your logic.
âThey made me think of you when I saw them.â
Heat rushes to your face but the instinct to duck your head away from him when he says nice things has all but disappeared. Instead you meet him head on now with a bashful but thankful smile.
Your apartment suddenly feels impossibly small as Clark follows you into the kitchen. Itâs cramped enough with just one person moving around. With him leaning against the counter, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of him, itâs tight but nice.
You crouch down, digging beneath the sink to find a vase you're sure you own. You find the slightly dusty glass vase.Â
When you stand, head well away from anything you could bump it on, Clark speaks again.Â
âWhat can I help with?â he asks, âPut me to work.â
You laugh softly as you begin trimming the flower stems.
âNothing,â you point toward the tiny table. âyou can sit and relax.â
Clark huffs, discontent with that and it prompts a faint laugh to fall from you once again. You can practically feel the energy coming off of him now. He doesn't do well sitting still, having no purpose while someone else works. Heâs always in motion, a quirk of his you've learnt.Â
âYouâre so strange, Clark.â you drawl, arranging another stem into the vase. It's maybe the first time youâve teased him properly, and from the wide smile and joy that basically radiates from him, youâd guess he likes it. âYou canât sit still, can you?â
âI can sit still.â he defends, though his tone wobbles, betraying the lie.Â
When the flowers are finally arranged, they're even prettier than when they were wrapped in paper. Maybe it's because Clark Kent bought them for you. You place the vase carefully on the counter before leaning beside him.
âI donât think I've seen you relax the whole time I've known you,â you say, shaking your head fondly, "You're always up to something, helping someone⌠helping me.â
His blue eyes flick away from you, almost shy. When they return to yours theyâre softer, somehow. His face seems to filter through a number of emotions before simply settling on content.
âThat is relaxing to me.â
âYeah?â you snort, âHelping me unjam one of the printers while you had an article due was relaxing?.âÂ
âIt was,â he replies, tone genuine. âBesides those printers are super fiddly, honey.â you roll your eyes, jovially. âI like looking out for the people I care about.â
Now that does make you duck your head away from him, too overwhelmed by him to look at him any more.
âPeople you care aboutâŚâ you start, âIncluding me.âÂ
âIncluding you.â
All this vulnerability makes you fidgety where Clark stands tall finding it easy to be so open about all this. He smiles as he watches you fix your hair and brush away imaginary dirt from your clothes. The smile you wear is almost blinding, so pleased to have verbal confirmation that you mean as much to Clark as he does to you. Itâs the nicest thing to hear.
The smell of fresh flowers gives way to the crisp scent of burning and both of your heads snap to look at the other alarm growing in both of you.Â
âOh no.â
You spring into action moving towards the oven but you don't get far as the handle before Clark is gently nudging you aside with your oven gloves already in hand.Â
The blast of heat that escapes when he opens the oven carries the acrid scent with it. What he pulls out is beyond saving, everything blackened and charred. Your face crumples before you can stop it.
âOh, no no no.â you groan, stepping forward like getting a better look might change it. âI forgot the timer,â You press a hand to your forehead. âI'm such an idiot, sorry.â
Clark sets the ruined trays aside and turns back to you, both hands raised, palm forward. This is such a disaster, a simple dinner you couldnât get right.Â
âWhoa,â he says gently, closing the distance until only a few inches separate you. âItâs fine, it's fine, sweetheart.âÂ
âNo Itâs not,â your voice comes out smaller than intended. âI wanted to do something nice for you.â
âYou have!â he exclaims, looking over his shoulder and turning back to you. âItâs just a little⌠over done.â you swat at his bicep with a roll of your eyes at his teasing. âWe could order takeout and pretend you made it.âÂ
It takes a second to think over that offer, and yes, clarks attitude is right and your evening isn't ruined.
âOkay.â
âOkay?â he asks.
âYeah,â you nod, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips.
His face lights up. Without another word, Clark lets out an amused little laugh and closes the remaining distance in one easy step, wrapping both arms around you.
âJeez,â you mumble, though there's no real complaint behind it.
The weight of his arms around you makes you stiffen. It feels awkward and unfamiliar and what are you supposed to do? Your arms hover awkwardly by your sides.Â
One of Clark's big hands sweeps a smooth arc back and forth across your back and that's all you need to relax into his hold. You move to wrap your arms around him in return. Comfort and security in his arms.
It's nothing like pushing on a bruise, all you feel is warmth.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week ten
Clarkâs apartment is nice, itâs maybe the third time you've been here. The big windows are gorgeous, spilling the last of the evening light across the hard wood floors until the whole place sort of glows. You sink into his couch, soft enough that youâd happily stay here forever. You probably would, too, if it meant spending it with Clark.
Heâs very quickly become your favourite person ever. His easy touches have become frequent and you've come to love them even if you don't initiate them.
Youâve noticed Clark tends to stomp around when he's tired. Most people wouldn't notice but learning about Clark has become a wonderful thing. There's no surprising you when he appears from his kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in hand.
âHere you go, pretty.â he murmurs as he drops down beside you, placing the bowl in your lap. Heâs closer than he needs to be, but that just seems to be how Clark likes it now, you won't complain.Â
Another thing that seems to have changed for him is the amount of pet names that fall from his lips. Honey, sweetheart, lovely, pretty and even a babe once or twice. Itâs weird because when you think about it now, all signs seem to point to Clark Kent liking you. Like liking you. Romantically.Â
You turn your head to look at him while he watches the screen. The movie reflects in his eyes, they're enchanting usually but it's tenfold now. Clark hands out caring touches like it's nothing and youâve grown to crave them. Despite this, you canât figure out why he hasnât tried to kiss you yet.
Clark turns towards you with concern across his face, as he takes in the way you're looking at him.
âWhats wrong?â he asks.
It takes concerningly little deliberation for you to make up your mind. You know that Clark is nice enough that if youâve got this wrong heâll let you down gently. But you're pretty sure you haven't got this wrong.
âWhy havenât you kissed me?â there's no hesitation in your voice.
His relaxed slouch disappears as he sits upright, eyes widening behind his glasses.
âIâŚâ He laughs once under his breath, more startled than amused. âI wasnât sure you'd want me to.â His gaze drops, almost involuntarily, to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes. âIâve wanted to.â
That's all you need, with a faint fuck it you surge forward to connect your lips. For a second, Clark doesn't move, not an inch, and heat floods your face as panic creeps in. He seems to be knocked out of his shocked reverie when you start to pull away.
Before you can get far, Clark raises his hands to frame your face. Large, impossibly gentle hands cradle your jaw as he draws you back towards him with obvious care. He kisses you, slowly.
Thereâs no urgency in it, you both have all the time in the world. His thumb brushes softly over your cheek as he smiles into the kiss. It's contagious, you feel your own smile widen until, with all the happiness, it's unclear whether you're still kissing with all the smiling going on.
summary: it takes ten weeks for clark kent and a shy, touch starved, you to fall in love. (or, 4 times clark touches you and 1 time you touch him.)
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week one
The Daily Planet only seems to employ lovely, outgoing people. You're convinced of it.Â
You don't know how or why they hired you after meeting some of the people here. Maybe your interview self had somehow managed to make you seem like youâd fit right for that thirty minutes.
Whatever happened, they hired you anyway.Â
For the past week youâve tried so hard to settle in. To put yourself out there a bit more. It hasnât helped much.
There's some faulty wiring in your brain, you're sure, that makes you awful and awkward and idiotic around people you don't know. And right now, you don't know anyone. At work or in metropolis as a whole.Â
Cat Grant has tried no less than five times to strike up a conversation with you. Which is nice of her and horrible for you. Every attempt leaves you fumbling through responses and replaying every part of it in your head for hours afterward.
To avoid inflicting your shyness on anyone else, you've got into the routine of taking lunch late. By the time you head to the breakroom. Most people have already finished theirs up.
With your head shoved so far into the refrigerator you might as well be looking for the opening of another reality in the back of it, you squint at the shelves. Where the hell is your cherry soda? You know you set it right next to your lunch box so it canât have gone far. Unless someone took it. But putting it next to your lunch box kind of impliesâ
âHey!â
You yelp and jerk upright, immediately slamming the crown of your head into the shelf above you. Shocking pain explodes across your skull as you stumble backward, one hand flying to the throbbing spot on your head.Â
âOh, Iâm so sorry. Iâm so sorry.â
The unfamiliar voice is still going, apology after apology tumbling over itself as you blink through the stars in your vision. When your eyesight steadies, you turn towards the sound and a man is already pulling out a chair.
âHere,â he says, âSit down.â
You follow the instructions easily, it's a sharp and startling kind of pain hitting your head, you think youâd do anything you're told until it dulls a little. The apologies don't stop coming as you try to pull yourself together. Seriously, he will not stop apologising.
You press your palm against your head and wait for the ache to dull while he hovers nearby looking increasingly distressed.
Once youâve gathered yourself a little better, you chance a glance up at him, and immediately avert your eyes back to the floor. Heâs staring at you with so much concern your stomach ties itself in knots.Â
There's a couple of thoughts to sort through then. The first, how the hell didn't you hear him step into the room? Heâs tall and broad and firm. You should've heard his footsteps for sure, maybe he moves like a cat or maybe you were too in your own head, it wouldn't be the first time. The second, that one revolves around how pretty he is. He is with no exaggeration maybe the handsomest man youâve ever seen. Glasses and curly hair and bright big eyes.
âSâokay,â you find your voice, staring at the floor. âIâm okay, I'm fine.âÂ
You hear him release a sigh of relief, it makes your face warm.
âOkay, that's good.â He rubs the back of his neck. âI thought youâd hear me come in, butââ
He cuts himself off and you chance another look at him. The sheepish smile on his face somehow makes him even prettier.
âGosh. Sorry. Iâm being rude. Iâm Clark.â
You give him a soft smile, which he returns and you murmur your name in reply.Â
Clark can't believe it when you tell him, heâs heard from the others how slow and reluctant you've been to warm to anyone at all since you started and now heâs done this. He might've ruined everyoneâs chance, not just his own, of getting to know you. He could kick himself. Nice going, Kent.Â
âNice to meet you,â he gestures toward the refrigerator, âwhat were you looking for?â
His question makes embarrassment flare up in you all over again. Clark watches as you dip your head away from him again, he has to fight the urge to reach out a hand to your shoulder to comfort you. He doesn't think he's met someone quite so shy before.Â
âI, uh, just my soda,â you give a helpless little smile while your fingers worry at your cuticles. âIt's fine though, it doesn't matter.â
Clark can feel his heart clench as you dismiss it. It's your soda! You should have it!
âWas it cherry?â
âUh, yeah?âÂ
âTheres a cherry soda thief, I haven't figured out who it is yet though,â he puts a hand on his hip and points at you with an open hand. âStay there a sec, okay?â
You watch open mouthed as he rushes out of the room. It's shameful to admit, even to yourself, but you'd probably do whatever Clark told you to despite having only just met him. Something is clearly wrong with you.
When he comes back into the room it's with a bit of a crash and a new can of soda in his hand from the vending machine. How strange. Then he's murmuring a Here you go and holding it out towards you. You can't come up with a cohesive response, your mind goes blank because this is really so strange.
Itâs simple to Clark, heâs just making up for scaring you out of your skin. To you there's nothing to make up for, accidents just happen. That's life.
Still you reach out. What youâre sure of then is that as your finger tips brush taking the can from him, the touch fucking burns.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week three
Your easy routine â get up, go to work, go home, maybe go for a walk before settling in for the night, all without really speaking to anyone â has been slightly tweaked.
Every morning, Clark goes out of his way to stop by your desk and talk to you.
At first, you were convinced he was doing it out of pity. (Clark would be devastated to know you thought that.) Then you decided he must just enjoy the sound of his own voice. (He'd be equally horrified to hear that conclusion.) After all, you rarely give him anything more than a one-word response. Neither explanation feels quite right, but you canât figure out what else it could be.
Little do you know that in Clark's mind his one and only mission currently is to befriend you. He wants to know more, curiosity piqued by the pretty shy thing that lingers around.
Lately, your walks home have been plagued with thoughts of him. How kind heâs been. The slope of his nose. His dark hair and cute glasses.
 As if youâve summoned him with thoughts alone you hear your name called from somewhere behind you. You turn and sure enough Clarkâs impossible to miss.
Heâs a head taller than almost everyone around him, weaving apologetically through the crowd with one hand raised so you wonât lose sight of him. As if you could. His bag bounces against his side as he finally catches up. Stopping beside you with an easy smile on his face while you frown at him in confusion.
 âWhereâre you heading?â he asks, dipping his head down closer to you.
Clark likes asking odd questions but this one really throws you for a loop.
âHome?â you answer with a tilted head and scrunched brow.
He nods once, like that's exactly what he expected. You wonder if youâre so predictable that having no plans on a Friday night is just a given to other people. He adjusts the strap of the bag on his shoulder and nudges his head towards the sidewalk.
âCan I walk you home?â
What is going on?
âUhh⌠sure.â you agree, taking a step in the right direction. âIf you want to.â
You start walking and he falls easily into step beside you, matching your pace.
For someone who never seems to run out of things to say at work, Clark is surprisingly comfortable with silence. You half expected him to chatter the entire walk, but you suppose you can scratch likes his own voice off of your list of reasons he might talk to you.
The evening sky has melted into streaks of pink and orange, casting everything in a warm night. As you sneak glances over at Clark he almost doesn't look real.
It all makes your shoulders tense and curl forwards. You don't understand how someone can move through the world the way Clark does, so confident without seeming arrogant, so open, so completely unafraid to ask for what he wants. He talks to everyone like they're already his friend.
And he's walking you home from work. It's weird. He has friends, cool friends but heâs spending his time with you. You're⌠just you.
What you don't know is that Clark has spent the time between your first meeting and now trying to figure out how to become your friend without scaring you off. He hasnât figured it out yet. Still, in for a penny, he supposes.
âWhat, uhâŚâ He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck before turning his head towards you. Somewhere during the walk heâs drifted closer without noticing, his shoulder almost brushing yours now. âWhatâre you doing this weekend?â
âOhâŚâ your mouth opens and closes as you try to come up with a lie that makes you sound less lame, it doesn't work. âNothing, I guess.â
âReally?â
âWell,â you shrug, âI need to do my laundry, I guess. And clean my apartment.âÂ
Clark hums, nodding absently, âYouâre not hanging out with your friends?âÂ
He knows it's the wrong thing to ask as soon as it leaves his mouth, he feels like heâs missed the last step as he watches you curl in on yourself again, embarrassed.Â
â...I donât really have any.â you whisper, timid.
Clark's brain seems to misfire and he canât formulate words because how can sweet lovely, albeit quiet you, not have any friends. His silence stretches too long and you quickly take it for judgement.
âI havenât had time to make any, okay?â You say quickly, voice sharper than you intend.
Itâs maybe the most assertive Clark has ever heard you. Hell, it's probably the most assertive you've heard yourself. But you don't need Clark knowing you're a bigger loser than you probably already are in his eyes.
âIâm sorry,â He blurts, shaking his head, âI didn't mean it in, like, a bad way or anything.â He sighs like he's all disappointed in himself before murmuring under his breath. âIâm such an idiot.â
You're not supposed to hear it, but you do, and it pulls a giggle from your lips before you can stifle it. Clark's head whips towards you at the sound with a great beaming smile on his face delighted by the noise. Reflexively, you smile back, the biggest one he's been on the receiving end of.
You can see your building moving closer in the distance now and it disappoints you. You don't want this walk home to end. The company is too nice.
âItâs not true anyway. You have at least one friend.â
You scrunch your face at that, maybe Clark really does have too much faith in your social skills outside of work or something, but he is dead wrong. When you turn your head to tell him as much, his upper body is angled towards you with a hand raised pointing to his face which is sporting a dopey grin. It takes a second to catch his meaning as you come to a stop outside your building.Â
You feel your eyes start to sting, as wetness builds in your lashline. There's no threat of tears falling, itâs just so nice.
âReally?â you ask, sad eyes staring up at Clark. He can practically feel his heart break in his chest.Â
âYeah, Iâm your friend.â he nods âif youâll have me.âÂ
When you give a small nod, he reaches out a hand to your shoulder and rubs a steady back and forth to console you.
This touch is less of a burn and more of a sharp pinch.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week five
The park is filled with people, it's a warm day with sunlight spilling over the grass in sheets of gold. Groups of friends lounge on the grass with their shoes kicked off, the basketball court is packed out and there's couples meandering along the path holding hands. It's all so nice, yet you find yourself worrying at your bottom lip as you cross the grass..
Is your outfit okay? Do you look nice enough? Is it obvious that youâve rushed here because you left the apartment too late?Â
Clark Kent, from what you can tell, is a genuine guy. Not a deceitful bone in his body, you'd bet. Really you shouldn't have been surprised that he meant it when he said he was your friend, but you were, and now he walks you home from work nearly every day and you can manage to speak more than two words at a time to him. You know, he probably won't care what you look like, but if he does, maybe a smile can win him over instead, proving he hasnât made a mistake.
You seem to see Clark at the same moment he sees you. Heâs already spread out the sweetest little picnic blanket beneath a tree that casts shadows across it. Beside him sit two grocery bags bulging with, if you had to guess, more food than two people could possibly eat at once. He's gone so over the top it hurries you forward.Â
âOh gosh,â your eyes are wide, they don't seem to settle on any one thing. âAm I late?â
âNope,â he says easily, already getting to his feet. âIâm early. I wanted to get everything set up.â
As soon as you're standing in front of him, Clark reaches for your tote bag without seeming to think twice about it. He slips the strap from your shoulder and places the bag carefully beside the blanket. Thoughtless and sweet.
It's the first time youâve seen him not in the slightly oversized suit he wears to work and somehow he looks more handsome. It's unfair.Â
âYou look really nice, honey.âÂ
That's even more unfair. Heat rushes to your cheeks so quickly you have to look away, hiding your pleased smile by lowering yourself onto the blanket instead.
âSo do you, Clark.â you murmur.
Your quiet compliment seems to level the playing field a bit. His own smile turns unexpectedly bashful, the tips of his ears flushing pink beneath the dark curls that fall over them. To distract himself, Clark quickly kneels beside one of the grocery bags.
âI wasnât sure what you liked,â he admits, beginning to unpack containers one after another. âSo⌠I got a little of everything.â
âThis is too much, you shouldn't have,â you giggle, shaking your head, smiling despite yourself. âYouâre too nice to me.â
As he lays out the variety of picnic food, you can't help but notice how close your knee is to his. How close they are to bumping together. You wonder if that closeness is intentional or not.Â
Clark shrugs, before leaning closer to you. Maybe that answers your question.
âTheres no part of me that could be mean to you,â He says, earnestly. His blue eyes meet yours without hesitation. âItâs easy to be nice to you.â
There's no time to digest what that means beyond the way it makes your stomach flip and your head feel lighter before he's offering you a punnet of strawberries, like what he said was simple and easy. When you reach for one you give Clark the sweetest smile you can muster which makes his stomach flip in return.
It's hard to believe how lucky youâve got. How the hell have you ended up sitting in the sunshine, making a life here, inches away from Clark Kent the kindest man youâve ever met. Sharing strawberries and sandwiches while he smiles at you like spending time together is the easiest thing ever.
âIâve never been very good with people,â you start. âAnd I moved here just for the job, I didnât really think about⌠about all the other stuff and it's so tricky to make friendsâŚâÂ
You trail off, losing steam in your confession. Your fingers find your cuticles automatically, picking absentmindedly at the skin as your nerves creep back in.
âWhat Iâm trying to say, I guess, is thank you, for being patient with me.â
Clarkâs expression changes immediately, his brows pulling together. There's something almost heartbroken in the way he looks at you, as though he's genuinely upset youâd ever think gratitude was necessary.
âYou don't have to thank me,â he says, quietly. âItâs my pleasure, really, honey.â
You try your best to internalise those words as soon as heâs said them, the corners of your lips lifting.
âAndâŚâ He pauses, until you look up at him, Clark wants to make sure youâre listening. âI get it, yâknow.â
The words shock you so much that you let out an unattractive but entirely authentic snort. Itâs so unbelieveable, you think that maybe Clark Kent is a liar after all.Â
âYeah, right.â
âNo really,â he turns until heâs fully facing you, one leg tucked beneath him. âI grew up in Kansas, on a farm! All this was so overwhelming but you learn to love it, I promise.â
Looking at Clark in the light, you think that, yeah maybe you are learning.Â
By the time the sun begins to set, youâve both packed everything away and Clark is walking you home. He has the picnic blanket rolled beneath one arm and a bag with food neither of you touched in that hand, leaving his other arm free to swing comfortably at his side as you both make the walk back.
Itâs so sweet the effort heâs taken to make today nice, the thought of it makes your next words bubble up and out before you can stop them.
âNext time, Iâll bring the food.â
Clark's eyes widen, surprise flashing so openly across his face that your stomach immediately drops and you can't help but scold yourself mentally. Why would you just assume there would be a next time? You donât notice his thrilled expression at you suggesting a next time until it bleeds into his voice.
âYes!â he says a little too quickly, almost laughing at himself before adding, softer, âWhatever you wanna do.âÂ
The enthusiasm in his voice catches you off guard. It's so genuine, so earnest. You can't stop yourself from grinning back and you're fairly certain the way you're looking at him now leaves every ounce of your affection written plainly across your face.
The rest of the walk passes quickly. Soon enough, you both come to a stop outside your building. You turn toward him, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands.
âThank you.â you say quietly.
Clark shakes his head almost immediately.
âNo, thank you.â His smile softens. âI had a really great time.â
Before you know it, Clark is pulling you in for a little side hug. Warm and solid and gentle. His arm draped across your shoulders in goodbye.
This feels like less of a pinch and more like pushing on a bruise.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week seven
When did recipes become so hard to follow? How much salt is too much? How much isn't enough? The most important question really is, why would you offer to cook for Clark?
The answer to that, you do know. The number of nice things heâs done for you is innumerable now and somewhere along the way you figured you should return the favour. And maybe impress him a little. You always seem to want that, whether you admit it to yourself or not.
 It's easier now to not be so shy around him. Clark makes things easy.Â
With two trays safely put into the oven all you need to do is set a timer andâ
There's a steady knock on your door, obviously Clark being as punctual as ever. You stumble quickly through your apartment, nearly catching your foot on the corner of the rug, not wanting to keep him waiting on you now.Â
You pull the door open. Clark stands there looking exactly how he always does, broad shouldered and gentle eyed with the light catching in his glasses. In his hands is a bouquet of flowers.
The arrangement is beautiful. Soft pink peonies together with pale lavender sweet peas. Somehow, despite how large the bouquet is, Clark still manages to dwarf it. The sight has you a little shocked, mouth opening and closing as you try to figure out what's going on.
â...For me?â
The corners of Clarkâs mouth lift to an easy smile and a tiny furrow appears between his brows as though he's genuinely puzzled you had to ask.
âOf course they are,â he says. âMy ma raised a gentleman, I couldn't show up empty handed.â
âYou totally couldâve,â you shuffle to the side of the doorway, gesturing him in. âI invited you to treat you for a change, remember. They're beautiful.â
Clark gives a small shrug that suggests he doesn't entirely understand your logic.
âThey made me think of you when I saw them.â
Heat rushes to your face but the instinct to duck your head away from him when he says nice things has all but disappeared. Instead you meet him head on now with a bashful but thankful smile.
Your apartment suddenly feels impossibly small as Clark follows you into the kitchen. Itâs cramped enough with just one person moving around. With him leaning against the counter, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of him, itâs tight but nice.
You crouch down, digging beneath the sink to find a vase you're sure you own. You find the slightly dusty glass vase.Â
When you stand, head well away from anything you could bump it on, Clark speaks again.Â
âWhat can I help with?â he asks, âPut me to work.â
You laugh softly as you begin trimming the flower stems.
âNothing,â you point toward the tiny table. âyou can sit and relax.â
Clark huffs, discontent with that and it prompts a faint laugh to fall from you once again. You can practically feel the energy coming off of him now. He doesn't do well sitting still, having no purpose while someone else works. Heâs always in motion, a quirk of his you've learnt.Â
âYouâre so strange, Clark.â you drawl, arranging another stem into the vase. It's maybe the first time youâve teased him properly, and from the wide smile and joy that basically radiates from him, youâd guess he likes it. âYou canât sit still, can you?â
âI can sit still.â he defends, though his tone wobbles, betraying the lie.Â
When the flowers are finally arranged, they're even prettier than when they were wrapped in paper. Maybe it's because Clark Kent bought them for you. You place the vase carefully on the counter before leaning beside him.
âI donât think I've seen you relax the whole time I've known you,â you say, shaking your head fondly, "You're always up to something, helping someone⌠helping me.â
His blue eyes flick away from you, almost shy. When they return to yours theyâre softer, somehow. His face seems to filter through a number of emotions before simply settling on content.
âThat is relaxing to me.â
âYeah?â you snort, âHelping me unjam one of the printers while you had an article due was relaxing?.âÂ
âIt was,â he replies, tone genuine. âBesides those printers are super fiddly, honey.â you roll your eyes, jovially. âI like looking out for the people I care about.â
Now that does make you duck your head away from him, too overwhelmed by him to look at him any more.
âPeople you care aboutâŚâ you start, âIncluding me.âÂ
âIncluding you.â
All this vulnerability makes you fidgety where Clark stands tall finding it easy to be so open about all this. He smiles as he watches you fix your hair and brush away imaginary dirt from your clothes. The smile you wear is almost blinding, so pleased to have verbal confirmation that you mean as much to Clark as he does to you. Itâs the nicest thing to hear.
The smell of fresh flowers gives way to the crisp scent of burning and both of your heads snap to look at the other alarm growing in both of you.Â
âOh no.â
You spring into action moving towards the oven but you don't get far as the handle before Clark is gently nudging you aside with your oven gloves already in hand.Â
The blast of heat that escapes when he opens the oven carries the acrid scent with it. What he pulls out is beyond saving, everything blackened and charred. Your face crumples before you can stop it.
âOh, no no no.â you groan, stepping forward like getting a better look might change it. âI forgot the timer,â You press a hand to your forehead. âI'm such an idiot, sorry.â
Clark sets the ruined trays aside and turns back to you, both hands raised, palm forward. This is such a disaster, a simple dinner you couldnât get right.Â
âWhoa,â he says gently, closing the distance until only a few inches separate you. âItâs fine, it's fine, sweetheart.âÂ
âNo Itâs not,â your voice comes out smaller than intended. âI wanted to do something nice for you.â
âYou have!â he exclaims, looking over his shoulder and turning back to you. âItâs just a little⌠over done.â you swat at his bicep with a roll of your eyes at his teasing. âWe could order takeout and pretend you made it.âÂ
It takes a second to think over that offer, and yes, clarks attitude is right and your evening isn't ruined.
âOkay.â
âOkay?â he asks.
âYeah,â you nod, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips.
His face lights up. Without another word, Clark lets out an amused little laugh and closes the remaining distance in one easy step, wrapping both arms around you.
âJeez,â you mumble, though there's no real complaint behind it.
The weight of his arms around you makes you stiffen. It feels awkward and unfamiliar and what are you supposed to do? Your arms hover awkwardly by your sides.Â
One of Clark's big hands sweeps a smooth arc back and forth across your back and that's all you need to relax into his hold. You move to wrap your arms around him in return. Comfort and security in his arms.
It's nothing like pushing on a bruise, all you feel is warmth.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Week ten
Clarkâs apartment is nice, itâs maybe the third time you've been here. The big windows are gorgeous, spilling the last of the evening light across the hard wood floors until the whole place sort of glows. You sink into his couch, soft enough that youâd happily stay here forever. You probably would, too, if it meant spending it with Clark.
Heâs very quickly become your favourite person ever. His easy touches have become frequent and you've come to love them even if you don't initiate them.
Youâve noticed Clark tends to stomp around when he's tired. Most people wouldn't notice but learning about Clark has become a wonderful thing. There's no surprising you when he appears from his kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in hand.
âHere you go, pretty.â he murmurs as he drops down beside you, placing the bowl in your lap. Heâs closer than he needs to be, but that just seems to be how Clark likes it now, you won't complain.Â
Another thing that seems to have changed for him is the amount of pet names that fall from his lips. Honey, sweetheart, lovely, pretty and even a babe once or twice. Itâs weird because when you think about it now, all signs seem to point to Clark Kent liking you. Like liking you. Romantically.Â
You turn your head to look at him while he watches the screen. The movie reflects in his eyes, they're enchanting usually but it's tenfold now. Clark hands out caring touches like it's nothing and youâve grown to crave them. Despite this, you canât figure out why he hasnât tried to kiss you yet.
Clark turns towards you with concern across his face, as he takes in the way you're looking at him.
âWhats wrong?â he asks.
It takes concerningly little deliberation for you to make up your mind. You know that Clark is nice enough that if youâve got this wrong heâll let you down gently. But you're pretty sure you haven't got this wrong.
âWhy havenât you kissed me?â there's no hesitation in your voice.
His relaxed slouch disappears as he sits upright, eyes widening behind his glasses.
âIâŚâ He laughs once under his breath, more startled than amused. âI wasnât sure you'd want me to.â His gaze drops, almost involuntarily, to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes. âIâve wanted to.â
That's all you need, with a faint fuck it you surge forward to connect your lips. For a second, Clark doesn't move, not an inch, and heat floods your face as panic creeps in. He seems to be knocked out of his shocked reverie when you start to pull away.
Before you can get far, Clark raises his hands to frame your face. Large, impossibly gentle hands cradle your jaw as he draws you back towards him with obvious care. He kisses you, slowly.
Thereâs no urgency in it, you both have all the time in the world. His thumb brushes softly over your cheek as he smiles into the kiss. It's contagious, you feel your own smile widen until, with all the happiness, it's unclear whether you're still kissing with all the smiling going on.
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And you really thought Simon would be a little mean during sex. He had to be a sadist after everything heâs been through.
So, when heâs between your parted thighs, youâre shocked when he speaks to you so softly. Quietly begging in your ear, cock pressed to the hilt, for you to be good for him.
And everytime you let out a whine, fingers tightening at his shoulders because heâs massive and you feel like youâre splitting in two with every thrust; he shushes you. âYou can take it. Yesâyes you can.â
And when you clench tighter around him because the cadence of his voice licks warmth in your core, he smiles. âThere you go, baby. Just like that.â
When all the small things Clark does matter the most.
Warnings - none
a/n - wow it has been awhile and I said I was gonna upload this a bit ago and never did. I need to lock in and get back to writing because I most def miss posting here. Hereâs a lil draft because I wanted to just post something
The random sickness at work couldnât have spread any faster. You were sure that you wouldnât get it because you were so isolated in your office but it somehow made its way right into your office.
You were basically day dreaming from the strong meds that Clark bought at the store. You were slumped up against the couch arm with a pillow not soft enough to get comfortable with. They made you feel like you were a zombie from how tired they made you â Clark kept saying you just need rest but what would he know? He couldnât even get sick! You were snapped out of your thoughts as you heard the door shut. You made eye contact with your boyfriend, âOh, gosh, honey I didnât mean to wake you. Iâm so sorry.â He spoke softly walking over to you, sitting his jacket on the chair.
âItâs okay..I wasnât really asleep.â Your throat felt like it burned as you spoke. Clark leaned over giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. âDo you feel like eating anything? I can make some soup. I have Maâs chicken soup recipe.â You hummed in response nodding your head. You watched as he walked to the kitchen.
âJimmy and Lois invited us over for game night again.â He tried not to speak too loudly but wanted to make sure you still heard him. You chuckled remembering the last game night at Jimmy's apartment.
âClark, you have to lay a card down. Itâs literally the reason for the game!â You tried pulling at his arm, âI..l donât like my cards.â Lois laughed as you pulled his wrist, looking at his cards. âClark! Itâs just a game.â You pulled one of his draw 4s, putting it in the middle and grabbing 4 cards. Clark looked at you with basically a frown.
âWhat a hero!â Lois giggled, causing you to nudge Clark, trying to let him know itâs okay.
âAre you sure you want to play uno again, Clark? Itâs basically the only game Jimmy has.â Clark tries to ignore your giggles. âI hate that game.â He mumbles bringing you warm tea. âItâs actually at Loisâ new apartment. She wanted to have us all over for dinner and offered a game night and of course Jimmy was quick to agree.â You nod as you bring the cup to your mouth.
âWe can always pick up some games from the store as a present for Lois.â Clark smiled at your suggestion, âYeah, that would be great.â
As the night went on, Clark let you lay on his chest while you watched a movie. Normally you would push someone away because youâre sick but since Clark couldnât get sick, all you wanted was to be around him.
He leaned up against the couch as you laid on top of him. His hands rubbed up and down your back trying to comfort you. âHave you taken more meds?â Clark asked softly but you didnât give a response. âHoney?â He looked down seeing you sound asleep. He smiled before slowly getting up to put you in bed.
He was careful not to wake you up as he gently dropped you into bed. You grabbed the blanket before Clark could cover you up â he watched making sure he didnât wake you. He slowly walked out of the room to turn the tv off but before he could get out of the room, your voice stopped him.
âClark?â You called out, sitting up in bed. âIâll be back, hon. I'm gonna go turn the tv off.â You laid back down watching Clark walk around.
Your eyes felt heavy as you slowly drifted back to sleep. A couple minutes go by before you feel warm arms holding you close. Clark pulls you to his chest before leaving a soft kiss to your cheek.
âGânight, sweetheart.â You heard before Clark turned his nightstand light off.
This might be too far butâŚ. thinking abt Jack purposely fucking her (younger reader) where those divorced army buddies could see/hear but itâs âby mistakeâ đđđđđđđ
In reference to this fic â which lowkey I was tempted to write that happening but my brain wasnât working half through that fic and I was struggling to make the transitions to where I wanted it to go make sense anyway itâd go something like this.Â
Jack was beyond over his friends flirting with you every chance they could when they would visit him, heâs also not certain but he swears they ask to hang out at his far more than before. They are in fact on their way over now, you are not at all aware of this. If you were he wouldnât be able to have gotten you into your current position.Â
Jack currently has you on top of him as he lays back in the large armchair, hands gripping your hips, his thumbs ribbing at your waist while you greedily bounce on his cock. âCanât do it, Jackieâ you cry and start grinding your pussy down on him in lazy motions. He canât help but like the sound of that nickname from your lips in this context. âAlways needing me to do all the workâ He tsks and you let out a sharp gasp when he bucks his hips up, âFeels that good huh sweetheart? â he coos and uses his hold on your hips to rock you back and forth, your clit bumping up at the patch of coarse hair at the base of Jackâs cock. Now your back may or may not be facing his front door which has a frosted fair size window, and you are far too lost in the bliss that is the tip of Jackâs cock hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle when you grind down in time with him thrusting his hips up. That you miss a small knock his buddies give the door informing him they are here, Jack takes this as his cue to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around your center he brutally thrusts up into your leaking pussy.Â
âJack!!! Mhm- you feel so good oh, fuck!â you moan out in a loud gasp that he knows travels outside because he watches their silhouettes freeze through the window. âYeah doll, you can take it know yaâ canâ He growls out, as your nails scratch at his biceps. âNo no- canât sâ too muchâ you whine out and lightly shake your head, Jack grabbing a hold of your face so your eyes lock with his. âCum fâ me sweetheart you can do it, come on coat this cockâ he gives his words emphasis by somehow speeding up the strength of his thrusts til your eyes roll back in your head and your cunt clenches down on him, trying her hardest to milk him for all heâs worth.Â
âThere we go babyâ he coos as you let your orgasm wash over you in waves, his hips slowing down to let you ride out your high. As your panting against his chest trying to catch your breath
âOh and doll when you can walk again, we will probably wanna let the guys inâ he shrugs. âForgot they were on the way, think theyâre outsideâ you are embarrassed but none the wiser he is lying his ass off in the ladder half of that sentence, youâll never know he did this on purpose. When the guys are eventually let in they avoid flirting and direct eye contact with you, having gotten the intended message.
simon can see that johnny is struggling. demons feasting on the darkness in his mind. so simon invites johnny somewhere good (now johnny wants to fuck simon's pregnant wife)
ghoap x reader
warnings: johnny is depressed, vague talk of suicide
johnny doesn't quite know what to expect when he pulls up to the address ghost gave him. if you need help. that was the only explanation offered to him when ghost gave him the piece of paper.
but this is nice. a two story house hidden behind neatly trimmed hedges. a wooden white gate, the paint chipping away. the plastic play set in the yard, well used. the path he walks on is clean of any leaves or cut grass, clean enough that johnny bets it's been recently scrubbed.
johnny keeps going, towards the porch and the front door. the porch has no cobwebs covering it, like whoever lives here has far too much time for outside maintenance.
johnny steps up to the front door and knocks.
he doesn't expect any of the sounds he hears when he knocks. a dog barking, a child screaming with glee, a gentle coming! before the door is pulled open.
for a second, he thinks he's got the wrong house. you're the epitome of softness, a pretty, flowery dress, a blue and white checkered apron lined with ruffles, and a bump that looks ready to pop.
(you're not ready to pop. actually, you're just carrying more than one and you're ready to kill your husband over it).
your smile is so warm when you look at him. his muscles relax and his mind quietens for the first time in a long while. "can i help you?" you ask him, voice sweet like honey.
johnny clears his throat. he stops looking at your face, instead looking at your carefully painted baby blue nails. for just a moment, he wonders if it's a clue as to what you're carrying.
his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "is simon riley here?" he asks.
your eyes seem to sparkle at that. "oh!" you cry, and johnny dares to look at you. "you must be johnny! wait right here."
you retreat into the house, leaving the door ajar like you know and trust him. but you don't. you have no idea who he is, just what ghost has told you. but still, you left the door open.
johnny wants to push it open some more. to reveal this secret perfect life ghost has been keeping from him, from all of them.
because this, the pregnant wife, the kids running around, the dog barking somewhere in the background, is everything johnny has ever wanted.
johnny hears ghost before he sees him. the lumbering footsteps that sound like they should shake the whole house. "daddy!" a little girl cries, and johnny wants to imagine ghost playing the part, but he just can't.
but ghost doesn't pull open the front door. simon riley did. without the mask, scars on display, blonde hair sticking up in all directions. but the most striking thing is the little girl on his hip, sucking her thumb like she's blanketed in complete safety.
"christ, LT," johnny says before he can stop himself. the little girl gasps and goes to cover her ears. "you got it pretty good here."
simon looks around and nods. "yeah, i do," he answers and tips his head, gesturing for johnny to follow him.
johnny does, pushing the front door shut behind him.
the inside of the house is lovely, too. plants and kids toys everywhere. every sofa has an array of cushions and blankets. there's enough dog beds for johnny to wonder how many dogs you've got.
simon puts the little girl down and she runs through the house, out to the garden. "full of beans at that age," simon says as he leads johnny through the house.
they stop at the kitchen, where you're making enough sandwiches to feed a small army. simon reaches for you, settles his hands on your waist and pulls you into him.
hearing your laugh, standing there as a spectator, feels so wrong to johnny. but what else can he do?
simon whispers something in your ear and you nod. "I'll make up the spare room after lunch," you say and simon kisses your shoulder. "what would you like for dinner, johnny?"
johnny shakes his head. "whatever's fine," he says as simon moves over to the fridge. it's covered in magnets and drawings, not an inch of actual door to be seen. simon pulls it open and grabs two beers from inside the door.
johnny follows Simon outside. the back garden is gorgeous, too. a little swing set, a furniture set surrounding a fire pit. somehow, johnny can imagine you put here with simon, tucked against his side with the fire burning in front of you while the kids are asleep upstairs.
the little girl from before swings on the swing set while a little boy rides his trike around. simon picks him up as he comes zipping past, knocking the trike over and hoisting him up onto his hip.
"papa!" the little boy shrieks. he kicks his legs excitedly and simon presses a kiss to the top of his head.
"say hello to papas friend," he says and nods towards johnny.
the little boy waves his hands. "hello mister!" he says and simon puts him down. he's immediately on his trike and riding away.
"my entire fuckin' world, those two," simon mumbles as he sits on the garden sofa. there's an umbrella, but it's not open.
"got another on the way?" johnny asks, like he didn't notice your swollen belly.
simon chuckles and opens his beer (a corona, the lime forgotten about). "two, actually," he says and stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, leaving a space for you.
johnny takes the seat opposite. "thanks for this, LT," he says quietly, looking around the garden. at the greenhouse, at the flower garden, at the vegetable patch. he looks towards the house, at you in the kitchen window, at the dog guarding the back door. "you've got it good out here."
"I do," simon agrees. he's got it real good. good wife, good kids, good life. "thought you could use a bit of it, johnny."
his throat burns as he nods. "yeah," he answers.
he'd kept himself so guarded, protected those around him from his own mind. and he thought he saw that in ghost. he does see that in ghost.
but ghost isn't in front of him. simon riley is. simon riley has everything.
"you've not got the mask on," johnny says.
simon chuckles. "wife doesn't like it," he says. "don't want the kids to see it, either."
they drink as the kids play, chatting about anything that isn't work (you've got a rule. no work talk while the kids are awake). at some point, you brought over a bowl of cut up fruit. the kids joined the three of you, snatching pieces of fruit and feeding it to the dog at your feet.
it really is a little slice of heaven. the kids asking him questions, pointing at his tattoos, asking how he knows their daddy. your little girl, trinity, stood for a full minute, explaining to concept of twins to him. it's sweet and relaxing and everything johnny needs.
"okay, my munchins," you say as you stand up. you pick up the now empty bowl and head towards the house, the dog at your feet and the children behind you.
simon's got this sickeningly loving look on his face, a look johnny should never get to see. but he does and it's lovely.
"you're gonna get to see bed time," simon says and finishes his beer. "it's always fun with those two."
johnny let's himself smile. "can't wait," he says and looks up at the sky. "your wife is gorgeous, LT," he mumbles.
"yeah," he agrees and looks at him. "she's really something. fucking horny, too. you know, pregnancy and all that. 's been amazin'."
Johnny's eyes widen. "huh," he says, finishing his beer.
"yup." they're both staring at the house, at you in the kitchen. "she'd probably be down to let you fuck her."
johnny nearly chokes. "seriously?!"
"seriously," simon answers. he stands up and, for a second, johnny thinks he's gonna pet his head (and he likes it). "just gotta stick around."
Summary - Nobody ever calls Clark Kent by his Kryptonian name, only you really understood and loved that piece of him like no other. When you call him Kal-El he knows you mean business, but he also knows your genuine.
Warnings - Drabbles not full fic!, Suggestive themes, whiny + needy Clark, Clark Kent is sad, Kryptonite poisoning, He's mushy and golden retriever, my pictures are malfunctioning | WC: 1974
AN - First req, tysm! Office Crush Pt. 2 Will be written soon, but I really wanted to do this drabble. I also, I have to feed my other account because I neglected it so badly (Sorry Outsiders, I still love you a lot...). Anyway, sorry if this is repetitive, I kind of got carried away, so it feels less like a drabble, whoops!
Kal-El, the son of Jor-El and Lara, was sent down to Earth to serve and protect the people living there. Naturally, he adapted to human nature, going by Clark Kent. Nobody ever reached the Kryptonian part of him, so when you called him Kal-El, he knew it mattered, and it made his heart melt a little every timeâor fear for his life. Either way, it made him feel seen, for every part of him. Not just the part Earth sees.
Clark walks through the door after work, slipping off his shoes, setting his briefcase down. He loosened his tie as he ran a hand through his hair before he heard the undeniable sound of your feet on the hard wood, rounding the corner to tackle him. You crashed into his chest, âKal-El!â He didnât stumble, standing solid as his big arms swallowed you whole. He perked up at the name, a smile already spreading across his face. âHi, sweetheart. You smell like cinnamonâŚâ he comments, wiping a patch of loose cinnamon that was smeared across your cheek. âI made you apple cake, you said youâd wanted to try it,â you said, guiding him to the kitchen and he followed with no complaint. âI donât recall saying that to anybody,â he mumbles, sitting at the island as you gave him the spatula caked in cream cheese frosting. âYou didnât, you marked it in your little cook book.â You said it so casually, his cheeks warmed, licking the rubber utensil in his hand as he watched you work that little apartment kitchen like a professional.
Clark had invited over his work friends after a long time of you asking, you wanted him to have people around, to have friends other than you. So he invited Jimmy, Steve, Lois and Cat over. He had said, âLet yourselves in!â when inviting them. They were due to come in 30 minutes, so you were helping him cook and get drinks together before getting distracted by the radio, twirling each other in the kitchen before it ended in you kissing his face, leaving little lip gloss stains on his face. The front door swinging open stopped you both, when his friends rounded the corner they all laughed. âDid we interrupt something?â Jimmy asks. Clark looks at the confused, fixing his glasses. He touched his cheek, lip gloss coming off, his ears started to burn at his friends' laughter. You joined in, guiding him to the bathroom to wipe it off for him. Quietly you mumbled, âDonât tell me you're embarrassed, Kal-El. As if you donât save the world in bright red underwear on the outsideâŚâ The teasing made him get redder and furrow his brows. âYou told me you liked it,â Clark said, watching your lips for any sign of the name Kal-El leaving them again. âI do, still a little silly,â you replied, the sound of his friends chatting in the living room stole his attention away, you casually walked out, sitting with them and passing around wine.
Clark had a few quirks that drove you up the wall, he breaks things easily from his strength, or apologizes for everything, even for dropping his spoonâbut the thing that annoyed you most? When he got out of the shower and dripped water everywhere. He would step out of the shower, get it all over the floor, water all over the counter when he did his hair, his curls would be sopping wet after a shower. You lay in bed, watching a show on TV, the screen lighting up your bedroom. He climbed in next to you, grabbing his book. âWhatâre you watching?â he asked, opening to his book marked page. You look over at him, water dripping from his curls. âGilmore Girls⌠Do you not dry your hair with a towel?â you asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He looks at you confused, tilting his head. âOh⌠I mean I do. Not very well, I guess,â Clark shrugged before shaking his head a little, harsh and quick, the cold droplets pelting you, landing on your nose and forehead, even on your shoulder. When he stopped he noticed you staring at him irritably. âKal-El!â you snap, your brows furrowed. Clark stopped quickly, looking at you wide-eyed, and giving you a guilty grin. You look over at the floor and notice the trail of water from the bathroom. âThereâs water all over the house!â you continue, sitting up. He got up quickly, and he could tell you meant it. âIâm sorry, honeyâŚâ He froze for only a second at the sound of his Kryptonian name before his eyes darted to the trail of water heâd left behind.Â
He always works hard at Daily Planet before putting time in as Superman for days on end without any rest. During this, when heâs home he can get snappy, or he loses that positive attitude that you love so much about him. Clark promised tonight would be the night he takes a break, you made him swear it, but after you went to sleep, he caught himself going out anyway, helping take down a Luther corp robot in minutes. When he landed on that balcony, sliding the slider open, he was greeted with you, arms crossed on the couch waiting. âKal-El. Where have you been?â You asked, your voice stern but the undertone of worry he didnât miss. He took his boots off before moving to the bedroom to change back into his pajamas. âI heard something⌠Lex doesnât stop at night.â When he turned around you were close, standing solid and intimidating despite him towering over you. You learned that his height wasnât intimidating because of the little puppy that was underneath it all. âYouâre over working yourself, and donât say you donât need to sleep. Even if you are an alien with superpowers, you have to, Kal!â you lectured, guiding him to bed. Clark held his head down, and he felt bad immediately. You were just worried, hearing his name made his heart hurt a little, he had let you down and heâd hurt your trust a little. ââM sorry⌠Tomorrow Iâll be off, all day. Promise,â he whispered, climbing into bed before pulling you close. The stern tone, âKal-El.â rang through his head a few times before he drifted off, feeling more comforted in the warmth of your arms around him.
When Mr. Terrific delivered Clark to you, his veins were a deep green, clashing with the sweet ivory of his skin; you were in near shambles. Lex Luthor had poisoned him to the brink of possible death; how he managed, you were unsure, but it was a few days of no contact from Clark, and you were worried. You were in contact with Mr. Terrific immediately. He tracked him for you; he could tell by how worried sick you were. âOh, thank you so much⌠Is he going to be okay?â you ask, stroking Clarkâs face. He was in a deep sleep; his suit was dirty and smelt of smoke. He was limp in bed, making your head feel like it was going to explode. âHe should, just donât let him go anywhere, get some sun and restâŚâ he replied, before leavingâleaving you to worry how you worried best. With a struggle, you got his suit off, his body twitching in his sleep. The green veins ran in rivers all over his body, down the muscles of his chest and stomach, his legs, even to his fingertips. âOh, Clark, come back to meâŚâ You whisper. He was out cold for 2 excruciating days. You kissed his cheeks, tucked him in while he slept, and worried sick. When you heard him shift in bed for the first time, you rushed in, stroking his forehead. âSweetheartâŚâ you whisper, tears starting to roll down your cheeks in relief. His eyes fluttered open, comforted by your warm voice. He weakly moved his hand to yours and gave you a soft smile. The sunlight shining through the window warms his skin. The green veins were close to gone now. âYou scared me, Kal-El. So badâŚâ You cried, pressing kisses on his face. He took them, his heart kick-starting again. Hearing his Kryptonian name in your voice grounded him. The sound of Kal-El in your voice settled something sweet inside him. It wasnât Superman you were relieved to see. It was him. âLex⌠tricked me. Iâm sorry,â he croaked out. You shook your head, âDonât say sorryâŚâ you whispered.
At work, he had a busy day. Perry had sent him back to rewrite his article three separate times. Lois still landed the front page after all that work, only scoring the third page. Then, while helping a civilian as Superman, he managed to pull a Clark Kent and clipped the corner of a building. Heâd taken the hit instead of the civilian, but the embarrassment stung right to the core, more than the impact ever could. He came into the apartment, head down, looking at his shoes, his hair messed up, a few curls flat, and his shirt all ruffled, ink-stained up the white sleeve. âClark!â You yelled excitedly, and when you rounded the corner to see him with his head down, very upset, you changed, your eyes softening and brows furrowing. âWhatâs wrong...?â you asked, watching him take off his shoes and carelessly toss his briefcase by the front door. He sighs, looking at you with his big blue eyes filled with guilt and disappointment. âNothing went right today⌠I was so clumsy, and I just felt like a big oaf,â he mumbles, walking off to the bedroom without even a kiss to your forehead. You padded behind him and wrapped your arms around him from behind as he unbuttoned his shirt. âYou arenât a big oaf⌠Iâm sorry, honey,â you said quietly, your eyes looking up at the back of his head. You reached up to ruffle and adjust the curls in the back, how he liked it. He walked to the bathroom, using the restroom before coming back out. Clark looked at you, feeling miserable. âCome here, Kal-El,â your tone soft, and you opened your arms for him. He looked down, your arms empty and waiting for him. Without another thought, he crossed the room, melting into your embrace and holding you tight. It was all he needed to hear, that soft tone and feel your arms around him. He knew that at least he had youâand that was all he needed at the end of the day. The world expected Superman to be invincible. The Daily Planet expected Clark Kent to be brilliant. You expected neither. You only asked him to come home in one piece.
As you two watched a movie, the rain slid down the windows. He lit candles for the occasion, a romantic night at home, where you ordered takeout and put on a corny romance. Over a bowl of ice cream, feeding each other, it evolved into kissing. Where the movie was forgotten, and the only thing you were conscious of was your lips moving together in a perfect rhythm. His hands on your hips, his back sinking into the pillows as he allowed your tongue into his mouth, your sweet thighs squeezing around where he was starting to need you most. âMm, sweetheartâŚâ he groans into your mouth. You felt the unmistakable outline of his incoming erection on your legs, making you grin. âOh, Kal-El, you dirty, dirty man,â you tease, running your hands down his chest, moving against him, making him whine in place at the roll of your body against his. âPlease, donât tease me, itâs so mean!â he complained, the flirty tone of his name on your tongue making him harder, making him strain and squirm in his boxers like it physically hurt.Â
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Jack brings younger reader (in my head sheâs a nurse that Jack works with and thatâs how they met) around his army friends for a pool party/BBQ. Theyâre all giving him shit for being with someone younger (like mid-late 20s) but theyâre all secretly jealous of him having a pretty young thing dote on him and care for him. They flirt with her and then when they see her in a bikini they all tease Jack saying things like âyou sure you know how to handle that??â and he gets possessive and maybe a little spicy !!!! đ
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â warnings: jack abbot x younger!fem!reader, 1.5k wc, fluff, sexual language + but only small smut, nicknames [sweetheart, doll], hickeys and bite marks, protective + possessive!jack, accidentally wrote jackâs friends [who I was too lazy to name] as being a little rude/creepy when flirting. I couldn't think of a diff way to do it.
â a/n: didnt proofread as always, guys send me more jack requests please!! or other pitt character requests!Â
âSweetheart you have nothing to worry about, the guys are gonna love yaâ i know itâ Jack coos at you as his large hands cup your face, his thumbs rubbing at your soft cheeks. You were nervous to meet Jackâs old army buddies, the guys he served alongside, it was easier âmeetingâ his other friends as his girlfriend. They were just your co-workers, technically whom youâve briefly interacted with before getting with Jack. Working alongside Jack as a night-shift nurse helped the two of you grow closer, it helped that Jack thought you were the prettiest thing to grace this earth as well.
âIf you say soâ you mumble out, as Jack is practically smushing your cheeks together now with a slight cocky smirk on his face. You were still just a little nervous, your co-workers didn't care much about yours and Jack's age gap, I mean Robby and Dennis flirt in front of the whole hospital for gods sake and Whittakerâs about half his age. You didn't know or have any clue to how his older friends would react to seeing how young you were.Â
Jack had been prepping the grill in the backyard for the little get-together BBQ he was throwing to introduce you to his buddies. He was a little excited, he knows theyâll rib him about how young you are but he just loves showing off his girl.Â
âAtta girl, now go change doll and cover up huh?â He plants his hands on your waist and spins you around towards the door back inside, patting you on the ass to get you moving. You had padded outside in nothing but your little tank top, no bra, and flowy sleep shorts. You had woken up without Jack in the bed and immediately went out to look for him, with a sad lost puppy look on your face.Â
You squeal lightly at the pat on the ass but head inside to change.
Â
Slipping on a light weight sundress, deciding if you are gonna tan or swim later youâll run inside to change. You do your hair in the way you like so itâs out of your face and put on light makeup. Youâre tempted to go ask Jack to rub your sunscreen on for you but you can hear the door bell ringing meaning his army buddies have arrived. Quickly dosing yourself in sun protection you take a deep breath and hurry outside towards the sounds of men talking to meet everyone.Â
âAhh thereâs my girl, câmere sweetheartâ he beckons you over with a slight wave of his hand and a small smile on his face, you're quick to bounce over to his side.Â
Jackâs arm wraps his arm around your back, his hand landing on your hip to nestle you even closer to him.Â
You can watch as each of his army friends' eyes widen slightly, looking you up and down briefly before attempting to school their expression, one after the other introducing himself to you. You shift a little uncomfortably on your feet causing Jack to run soothing circles on your hip as you hold conversation with the three men in front of you. Everything from that moment on runs pretty smoothly, you donât really know what you were so nervous for, his friends are very pleasant albeit a little forward with their borderline flirty comments and ribbing on Jack. You merely smile and giggle a little at some comments.Â
Jack however is a tad irritated with all the flirting, he doesn't care that they make stupid comments on how Jack is probably old enough to be your dad, or how does an old man like him keep up with you, he expected those. He didnât so much anticipate the comments like how you're so pretty, why are with him, that if Jack isnât treatinâ you right one of them can, theyâd be able to keep up with you. He is slowly losing his patience.
Luckily the teasing dies down a little as the guys lounge by the pool and chat about more mundane things like work and upcoming holidays. That is until you decide itâs really sunny and while starting on the BBQ that you want to tan a little, you stand up from where you were sitting poolside and bounce over to Jack. He looks at you a little questioningly before you peck him on the nose, a big smile on your face. âGonna head inside to change real quick baby, wanna tan a bitâ you tell him, you know you donât have to but you also know how protective Jack is, he sort of likes keeping tabs on you. He nods but before you can spin and pop inside, he is wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you to him. The small surprised squeal that leaves your lips is muffled against his as he kisses you fervently. Your fingers tangle in his curls at the back of his head and pressing yourself closer, easily forgetting about your company and apparent audience.Â
âLet the girl breathe a little bit Jack, jeezâ âYeah man she isnât going anywhereâ âDonât let the food burn nowâ yells all coming one after the other from the peanut gallery causing you to break away, an embarrassed smile crossing your face but a cocky smirk on Jackâs. Reluctantly pulling away from Jack you head inside to change into a bathing suit.
As you are stripping out of your clothes, you caught sight of your body in the large full length mirror in his bedroom. There were a few hickies that littered your chest as well your inner thighs, you even had a bite mark or two, one being dead square on your ass cheek courtesy of a Mr Jack Abbot who loved marking your body. You debate for a second whether to wear a one piece that would possibly cover them up as best as it could or you can wear the bikini you intended to wear today and flaunt them.
With a sneaky smile on your face as you decide on the ladder.
As you head back outside a barrage of wolf whistles greets you, it causes Jackâs irritation to build once again however it fades a bit when his eyes catch sight of you and the little reminders of last night that decorate your body on display. âHey Jackie boy, are you sure you know how to handle all that?â being yelled across the way nearly sends Jack's eye twitching, heâs beginning to regret bringing his divorced army friends around you. Heâs about to speak up and end their behavior when you beat him to it.
âYou guys have watched Jackie boyâ you nod at the man who is still stood frozen staring at you and deliberating on the risk of killing his friends currently, you however say the nickname with an affection lacing it that does nothing to help the ache growing under his shorts. âDo surgery in the field right? He has veryyy capable handsâ you drag your words in a faux teasing voice. Your comment is met with some âclearlyâ yells in reference to the marks and more whistles and whoops before they die down into a laughter. You make your way over to Jack, finally his hands finding your waist immediately as if he is magnetized to you. Everything that isnât the woman in front of him is muted for Jack as he stares into your eyes, a fire light behind them. âWas startinâ to think i should just bend yaâ over the patio table and fuck you in front of emâ maybe then theyâd stop flirting with my girlâ he whispers as he pulls you closer, his eyes tracing the purple and red splotches on your chest. Jackâs words spend a spark down your spine and an ache that sits in the pit of your stomach, you lightly squeeze your thighs together. His eagle eyes for sure donât miss it, a bigger smirk growing on his face as his fingers play with the strings of your bikini bottoms.Â
Now Jack is definitely not a teenager anymore obviously so giving his girlfriend hickies would probably be considered childish but it seemed to be quite effective. âThink my handiwork speaks for itself, was that your plan doll?â he questions with a certainty in his voice as if he already knows the answer. Growing shy under his gaze you murmur out under your breath â "Maybeee, had to let them know you take very good care of meâÂ
Ohh does Jack plan to take extra good special care of his girl that night.
A small twisted part of his brain wishes his friends got to hear just how good so theyâd never question it again. Your moans and cries fill the bedroom, your back to Jackâs chest as the two of you lay on your sides. His cock repeatedly hitting that spot deep inside you that leaves you a twitching mewling mess arching away from him, âToo much baby- too full! fuck!â you moan and try to reach behind you and push at Jack but he is quick to grab your arm. pinning it down behind your back by pressing his chest even closer to your back, his hips smacking harder against your ass as he speeds up. One hand coming around your body to rub at your throbbing clit and the other sneaking under your body up to grab lightly at your neck. Not choking you hard but putting enough pressure to make your head go cloudy.
âNot done with you yet sweetheartâÂ
â a/n: i had an idea how i wanted this to go than i paused writing it, lost the idea and my flow so i dont know how i feel about this wanted it.
simon can see that johnny is struggling. demons feasting on the darkness in his mind. so simon invites johnny somewhere good (now johnny wants to fuck simon's pregnant wife)
ghoap x reader
warnings: johnny is depressed, vague talk of suicide
johnny doesn't quite know what to expect when he pulls up to the address ghost gave him. if you need help. that was the only explanation offered to him when ghost gave him the piece of paper.
but this is nice. a two story house hidden behind neatly trimmed hedges. a wooden white gate, the paint chipping away. the plastic play set in the yard, well used. the path he walks on is clean of any leaves or cut grass, clean enough that johnny bets it's been recently scrubbed.
johnny keeps going, towards the porch and the front door. the porch has no cobwebs covering it, like whoever lives here has far too much time for outside maintenance.
johnny steps up to the front door and knocks.
he doesn't expect any of the sounds he hears when he knocks. a dog barking, a child screaming with glee, a gentle coming! before the door is pulled open.
for a second, he thinks he's got the wrong house. you're the epitome of softness, a pretty, flowery dress, a blue and white checkered apron lined with ruffles, and a bump that looks ready to pop.
(you're not ready to pop. actually, you're just carrying more than one and you're ready to kill your husband over it).
your smile is so warm when you look at him. his muscles relax and his mind quietens for the first time in a long while. "can i help you?" you ask him, voice sweet like honey.
johnny clears his throat. he stops looking at your face, instead looking at your carefully painted baby blue nails. for just a moment, he wonders if it's a clue as to what you're carrying.
his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "is simon riley here?" he asks.
your eyes seem to sparkle at that. "oh!" you cry, and johnny dares to look at you. "you must be johnny! wait right here."
you retreat into the house, leaving the door ajar like you know and trust him. but you don't. you have no idea who he is, just what ghost has told you. but still, you left the door open.
johnny wants to push it open some more. to reveal this secret perfect life ghost has been keeping from him, from all of them.
because this, the pregnant wife, the kids running around, the dog barking somewhere in the background, is everything johnny has ever wanted.
johnny hears ghost before he sees him. the lumbering footsteps that sound like they should shake the whole house. "daddy!" a little girl cries, and johnny wants to imagine ghost playing the part, but he just can't.
but ghost doesn't pull open the front door. simon riley did. without the mask, scars on display, blonde hair sticking up in all directions. but the most striking thing is the little girl on his hip, sucking her thumb like she's blanketed in complete safety.
"christ, LT," johnny says before he can stop himself. the little girl gasps and goes to cover her ears. "you got it pretty good here."
simon looks around and nods. "yeah, i do," he answers and tips his head, gesturing for johnny to follow him.
johnny does, pushing the front door shut behind him.
the inside of the house is lovely, too. plants and kids toys everywhere. every sofa has an array of cushions and blankets. there's enough dog beds for johnny to wonder how many dogs you've got.
simon puts the little girl down and she runs through the house, out to the garden. "full of beans at that age," simon says as he leads johnny through the house.
they stop at the kitchen, where you're making enough sandwiches to feed a small army. simon reaches for you, settles his hands on your waist and pulls you into him.
hearing your laugh, standing there as a spectator, feels so wrong to johnny. but what else can he do?
simon whispers something in your ear and you nod. "I'll make up the spare room after lunch," you say and simon kisses your shoulder. "what would you like for dinner, johnny?"
johnny shakes his head. "whatever's fine," he says as simon moves over to the fridge. it's covered in magnets and drawings, not an inch of actual door to be seen. simon pulls it open and grabs two beers from inside the door.
johnny follows Simon outside. the back garden is gorgeous, too. a little swing set, a furniture set surrounding a fire pit. somehow, johnny can imagine you put here with simon, tucked against his side with the fire burning in front of you while the kids are asleep upstairs.
the little girl from before swings on the swing set while a little boy rides his trike around. simon picks him up as he comes zipping past, knocking the trike over and hoisting him up onto his hip.
"papa!" the little boy shrieks. he kicks his legs excitedly and simon presses a kiss to the top of his head.
"say hello to papas friend," he says and nods towards johnny.
the little boy waves his hands. "hello mister!" he says and simon puts him down. he's immediately on his trike and riding away.
"my entire fuckin' world, those two," simon mumbles as he sits on the garden sofa. there's an umbrella, but it's not open.
"got another on the way?" johnny asks, like he didn't notice your swollen belly.
simon chuckles and opens his beer (a corona, the lime forgotten about). "two, actually," he says and stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, leaving a space for you.
johnny takes the seat opposite. "thanks for this, LT," he says quietly, looking around the garden. at the greenhouse, at the flower garden, at the vegetable patch. he looks towards the house, at you in the kitchen window, at the dog guarding the back door. "you've got it good out here."
"I do," simon agrees. he's got it real good. good wife, good kids, good life. "thought you could use a bit of it, johnny."
his throat burns as he nods. "yeah," he answers.
he'd kept himself so guarded, protected those around him from his own mind. and he thought he saw that in ghost. he does see that in ghost.
but ghost isn't in front of him. simon riley is. simon riley has everything.
"you've not got the mask on," johnny says.
simon chuckles. "wife doesn't like it," he says. "don't want the kids to see it, either."
they drink as the kids play, chatting about anything that isn't work (you've got a rule. no work talk while the kids are awake). at some point, you brought over a bowl of cut up fruit. the kids joined the three of you, snatching pieces of fruit and feeding it to the dog at your feet.
it really is a little slice of heaven. the kids asking him questions, pointing at his tattoos, asking how he knows their daddy. your little girl, trinity, stood for a full minute, explaining to concept of twins to him. it's sweet and relaxing and everything johnny needs.
"okay, my munchins," you say as you stand up. you pick up the now empty bowl and head towards the house, the dog at your feet and the children behind you.
simon's got this sickeningly loving look on his face, a look johnny should never get to see. but he does and it's lovely.
"you're gonna get to see bed time," simon says and finishes his beer. "it's always fun with those two."
johnny let's himself smile. "can't wait," he says and looks up at the sky. "your wife is gorgeous, LT," he mumbles.
"yeah," he agrees and looks at him. "she's really something. fucking horny, too. you know, pregnancy and all that. 's been amazin'."
Johnny's eyes widen. "huh," he says, finishing his beer.
"yup." they're both staring at the house, at you in the kitchen. "she'd probably be down to let you fuck her."
johnny nearly chokes. "seriously?!"
"seriously," simon answers. he stands up and, for a second, johnny thinks he's gonna pet his head (and he likes it). "just gotta stick around."
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